Capable dumb

So yesterday SR posted results of a personality test.  The left brain/ right brain one.  He was 60/40 with the higher being the left brain. 

I clicked it and decided to take it, assuming I would be the exact opposite or 20 left/80 right.  It was about 12 questions and I answered them.  My results came back.

80 left/20 right. 

Wait, what???

80% left brained?  "I am logical, analytical and rational."

What??  Says who?

So I took it a second time and it came out the same.  Clearly this test is askew.  So I looked on line for a few more tests and they both came out the same.  Clearly left brain dominated. 

I popped on line and shared these results with my bestie.  She said "So you don't agree with the results that you are left brained, so you went on line and took two more tests to prove that you are not left brained?  That's very left brained of you." 


Logical, analytical and rational?  Ok, well I guess I DO try to stay calm instead of emotionally explode most of the time.  I will often try to see someone else's side in an argument or confrontation- simply because taking into account the other persons point of view just helps everyone.  I AM a pretty decent problem solver when things are a mess.  I have this process of looking at the problem from all sides and taking into account all the people involved and deciding what is more important and who benefits and all that.  It's quite effective.  I RARELY make snap decisions.  I'm never one to just say "hey lets do it!" without thinking about all the stakeholders in my life and how it might effect them. 

But does that mean I'm logical?  Of course not.  A rational person doesn't.... well, I know I've done something irrational lately.  Haven't I? 

So yes, this has been on my mind.  I did some research (oh my god) on the whole left brain/right brain thing and I think my assumption was that left brained people are really smart and right brained people are not.  No, not that they are NOT- but that they are more, I don't know, free spirited.  Left brain = type A.  Type A = bossy.  Bossy = not free spirited.  Free spirited = not smart??  Wait, that's not right. 

I guess my point is that I don't usually consider myself one of the 'smart people.'  I get lost in my own neighborhood and I have no idea which way is north unless I am looking at a GPS which tells me which direction I'm going.  Everywhere I go is "up".  I go up north, I go up to San Diego, and apparently San Diego is south???  All my life, Riverside was East, because you had to take the 91East to get there.  But now that I live in Riverside, I have no idea which way East is.  And if I'm not on the freeway, forget it!!

I have been happy to assume that I've been "capable dumb" my whole life.  Maybe I used to be that way- it's hard to remember what I thought of myself before my 30's.  I am not sure if I am, or if I have just believed it because maybe that's what people told me.  Whenever I do something impressive, people assume it's a stretch for me.  Or maybe I just make that assumption on my own and have been trying to sell it to people- and well, I can be a pretty decent salesperson, but I always assumed that was because of my boobs. 

See what I did there? I did it again!!!

I've been too much of a slut to be left brained, haven't I?

I don't think being left brained means I'm smart.  I understand that now.  I think it means that maybe I'm not as dumb as I thought I was.  If I take a moment to look at my life, and my achievements, I guess everything points to Not Dumb.  So why am I so hesitant to believe that?  Even when people point out those achievements, I brush them away with bird brained reasons for why I did it. 

My friends don't think I'm irrational or illogical.  I doubt they think I'm smart, but I don't think "dumb" is what comes to mind either.  I'm just Julie.  I'm my own descriptor.  Capable dumb.  Yes, that is a term I'm comfortable with.  That's probably not a good thing though.

I feel like maybe I have spend a lot of time thinking that smart people are humoring me.  There was a friend of mine, I called him Jack, don't ask, and he was mega smart.  He used to talk about all sorts of things that were over my head.  He never really let me get away with thinking I was too stupid to have a conversation with him.  (Conversing wasn't exactly our thing.)  He would talk to me about whatever smart people talk about and I would do my best to follow, and if he saw a blank look on my face, he would keep talking and then curve the conversation around to explain whatever it was that he lost me on.  He was super cool that way.  However, I always thought he was just being polite.

So now I have to figure out what this all means, and if it has had any effect on my life.  I think I AM left brained, based on the theory of what left brained means.  But what has been the effect on me from thinking I was right brained all my life.  Are my talents unused.  Have I missed opportunities because I didn't have the confidence to think I could succeed? 

For the record, I never would have considered myself artistic or creative like the right brain theory says. It was a process of elimination.  I'm clearly not THAT, so I must be this.  However, maybe I was wrong.  Maybe you CAN be a logical and rational slutty attention whore who secretly wishes people would break into song in every day life. 

It's all so double rainbow for me. 
What does it mean??


Smells like preteen spirit

Having a preteen is exhausting.

My 11 year old, or as I lovingly call him, Jerkface, is a particular blend of it.  For starters, he's a good looking kid.  If this is his "awkward phase" which 11 usually is, then I'm in serious trouble. He has his dad's good looks which I was afraid of.  His father, in his younger and healthier days was very handsome despite the fact that he was always stocky.  I admit that his good looks made up for a multitude of sins when we were dating.

Jerkface also has a mix of both me and his fathers personality.  Which means he is overly emotional, an attention whore, vain, chatty, a hypochondriac, afraid of strange things and a pretty good dancer.  I won't tell you which trait comes from which parent.  So chances are he will grow up to be handsome and charming, but with a dark side...AND a pretty good dancer.

Big fucking trouble.

The thing about preteens is that they are AWARE of their preteen status but think that it means something.  Being a preteen means you have not reached the asshole status that makes you a teenager, but that's your next step.  It's like being next at the checkout stand at the grocery store.  It's not your turn yet.  You can put  your items on the conveyor belt, but the cashier is not going to look at you just yet so don't try talking to her.  Preteens start talking to the cashier and trying to hand her money for the items that haven't been rung up yet because they think being next is as good as being first.  No.  Being next means you are NEXT.  Wait your turn, pal.  Simmer down.

Lets face it, teenage boys are assholes.  They are useful for household chores and later on, to lift things that are heavy- but they do it while whining and asking you to make them something to eat.  Or money.  Or the keys to your car.  Teenagers want to barter everything, or worse, they have the audacity to think the family dynamic is some sort of democracy.  I have a 19 year old, who I call PunkAss, so I know what I 'm talking about.  Just last month when he came home to visit he tried to tell me he didn't have to help with the dishes because he was on vacation.  I reminded him that this is not a hotel and unless he wants to pay me $69.99 and buy his own food, he will be happy to help out around the house and pick up his own damn mess.  Seriously dude, I may be cool, but I'm still your mother.

So Jerkface is a preteen.  With all of his 11 (almost 12) years of experience on this planet, he is certain that he is telepathic and doesn't need to listen to what I have to say because he knows already.  I can explain something once, twice, three times a lady and he will say "Ok Ok" - which is the universal code for, "I'm not listening anymore."  Then he will go and do something sort of in the vicinity of what I asked for, but not quite.  Sometimes not even close.

Jerkface has only one regular chore.  Doing the dishes/ cleaning the kitchen.  He took over this job after PunkAss went off the Marines.  He is not very good at it.  Every few days I have to go in and ACTUALLY clean the kitchen, wipe the counters and often rewash some dishes.  I don't complain about it too much, because his version of tidying up is often sufficient for my sanity.  However, I do acknowledge that he doesn't do a great job.  He has been asking me for an allowance.  He wants weekly money so he can, buy stuff.  By stuff, I know he means candy and other miscellaneous junk.  I don't know what he needs more junk for anyway.  My kids are not without snacks around here.  Hello, do I have the ass of a woman who doesn't keep snacks around the house?  The kids expect some sort of dessert every night, thank you ex husband for starting THAT horrible tradition.  There is no lack of chips, soda, and cookies around here.  We have pizza at least once a week, every week.

I started out giving him an allowance when he took on having chores, but that deal was quickly rescinded when he had to be reminded to do his chore constantly.  He would do whatever he could to get out of it.  Complain of being too tired, or not feeling well, or whatever dumb excuses an 11 year old can come up with.  Sometimes I would give in, sometimes not.  Then, when I noticed the piss poor quality of his work, I said I wasn't going to pay him for it, and YES he still has to do it.

I got an allowance when I was a kid.  I think the intention is to teach kids the value of a dollar and how to save their money etc.  Didn't do me any good at all.  My allowance was always blown the same day I got it and to this day still tend to shop within a few days of payday and have little to no savings.
He asked me again last week about getting an allowance again, since the complaining and angling for ways out has lessened.  At the time, I was cleaning some dishes I had used for baking.  I said. "No and here's why."  I opened the dishwasher and showed him bowl upon bowl of "clean" dishes that were in fact NOT clean.  I told him how often I have to rewash things before I use them.  I pointed out the mini crock pot that had water soaking in it for 4 days now.  Gross.  I told him that when he actually starts doing a good job, perhaps there will be rewards, but no promises of gold.

His efforts to improve lasted about two days before is started to slack off again.  I have asked SR numerous times if we can pay someone to come in and clean the house.  Not daily, but maybe once a week.  Have someone come in and do the floors, the counters, the bathrooms, vaccuum, wash the sheets and remake the beds.  Three hours tops.  How much could that possibly cost.  Personally I think it's worth it.  A few hundred dollars for me to have a clean house AND a big ass is a win/win for me.

So today I gave Jerkface a simple task of throwing out the cat box and sweeping the floor.  No not, cleaning the cat box, but putting the whole think in the bag- and out to the trash because I got her a new one.  First he complained about why HE should have to do it.  Then he tried to get me to do part of it.  Then he whined and said "Ok Ok." 
Can you see where this is going??

Seriously- this is a pretty easy job.  Take offensive box and slide it into a garbage bag.  So I go into the room where he is doing this task, and I see him trying to dump the box into a bag, and then half of it spilling on to the floor.  Ack!!  At least it's a tile floor and not carpeting.  He looks at me and attempts to BLAME ME for this because I should have helped him.

Ho there- cowboy!!!  If you has LISTENED to me in the first place you would know that I instructed you to throw the whole thing in the trash.  Not dump it.  I made it as easy as possible for you.  So this is not MY fault.  This is your fault for being a jerk, you asshole. 

Ok, I didn't say that last part- but he's telepathic.  He knew what I meant. 


Pink boxes

I stopped on my way home from work for cronuts. 

At 3:35 in the afternoon I exited the freeway because I know two things about this street. 
1) There's a gas station and I am dangerously low on gas.
2) The donut place on this street sells cronuts.

I have not been to this particular donut place before, but it's been spoken of and I've had the cronuts from there and they are fantastic.

Cronuts are my new guilty pleasure.  They are an East Coast creation, I think- a hybrid between a croissant and a donut.  They are sweet and crispy and flaky and to DIE FOR.

I had cronuts on Tuesday after my meeting.  So this is twice in one week.  I can't help myself.  They are delicious and I am a shameless fat girl who recently discovered that some donut places have drive thru's.

I pulled up to the donut place and say the sign that said Cash Only.  Having no cash on me, I decided to take it as a sign and go get some gas and get back on the freeway and go home.  I don't need another pastry this week.  I have not received any good news from my big meeting, so I have nothing to celebrate.  I'm working a lot this week so there's been no time to cook, so we've been eating out every night.  No pastries.  Move on, Julie. 

So I leave and stop at the gas station and while my tank is filling in inquire with my chat room friends if they think they even HAVE cronuts this late in the day.  The consensus is probably.  I look to my right and see a bright neon sign marking that there is an ATM inside the store.  An ATM.  Well, that's a sign too.  I could GET cash and then I would have cash on me.  The donut store is one block away.  SR really does love the cronuts as well, so it's not like it's just for me. 

I reason these things out in my head as I am already walking towards the building.  I haven't exactly made up my mind yet, but it never hurts to have cash on me, right?  I withdraw cash and get back in my car.  I know if I don't get them, I will be thinking about it all night.  This is how my food brain works.  When I want something sweet, it's almost impossible for me to focus on anything else until I satisfy that craving.  I have a horrible sweet tooth, the worst I've ever known on an adult.  I am never not in the mood for candy and when there is something sweet in the house, it is really hard to resist eating it, often in the middle of the night.

So without actually deciding to get the cronuts, I am making the left hand turn towards the sweet flaky love cakes.  This place is a walk up window (the other place I go to is a drive thru) and I see only three types of cronuts in the window. 

Vanilla Glaze, Nutella, and Oreo Cookie.  Oh my god, get in my fucking mouth.

The vanilla glaze is completely covered in glaze, and the Nutella and Oreo Cookie are simply topped with Nutella or cream and Oreos, respectively. They are $3.45 each.  Holy hell.  I consider just getting one for SR and I, but for about $10 more I could have kids singing my praises tonight as I'm already ordering pizza for dinner.  I decide it's worth it and get 5.   I opt for three Nutella and two Oreo.  The angel in the window puts the fresh strawberries in the Nutella ones and puts all but one into a pink box. 

Pink boxes are reserved for pastries.  I'm not sure when pink because the official box color for baked goods, but the sight of that pink box always makes me smile like a kid.  It's always a fun surprise to see what is inside any pink box of sweet tasty treats. 

The last Oreo cronut she has put into a clear plastic box, because she didn't want them to get smooshed in the box.  So thoughtful as now I have something to look at and adore for the rest of my drive home.  I stop to take a photo of the cronut in the clear box and post it to my friends in the chat room.  I am less worried about looking like a gluttonous fatty, and more concerned with making my friends envious at my pink boxed treasures. 

My bestie says it looks to die for.  I think to myself that if it kills me, it will be worth it.

I drive home, glad that I only got 5 because if I had gotten 6, I surely would have eaten one on the drive home, and then declared that I only got 5- one for each of us, keeping my drive-time cronut a secret.  I can be horribly immoral when it comes to food. 

When I got home, SR ate his cronut right away, offering me the first bite.  This is one of the many reasons I love this man.  While he has ordered me on the elliptical nightly, he never denies me dessert.  While his love for sweets is not half as strong as mine, he never mocks me, or my big ass. 

Now my mind is on that cronut.  The delectable Oreo with icing, and the sweet flaky cronut is on my mind and I really could care less about the pizza I'm ordering for dinner.  The cronut would be quite enough for me really- but SR would not really let me get away with that. 

Tonight is the last night of take out for at least a week.  On deadline weeks for work, I cannot make time to cook.  If I have the forethought at 5AM, I can throw something in the crockpot, but I haven't done that this week.  Or if I at least have defrosted meat that is at least a start- but I have not done that this week, so it's take out again.  Pizza is the only thing that can be delivered to our neighborhood- so that's what it will be.  They really should deliver more things.  Chinese or burgers would be great.  Mexican food would be AMAZING. 

Although nothing sounds good at the moment because all I want is that damn cronut.

I think this is going to be a problem.


2.5 hours of my life

Yesterday was my big meeting.  Here's how my morning went.
6:00 Alarm goes off
6:06 Alarm goes off again
6:12 Turn alarm off and lay in bed calculating how much time it will take for me to get ready in order to be at meeting on time.
6:30 get out of bed and let Max outside
6:32 shower
6:45 check the time and realize I forgot to buy coffee creamer on my way to turn on my keurig.   Remember that I have some powdered creamer stashed in pantry.
6:50  do my hair
6:52 open my makeup bag to eye that my black eyeshadow had broken and has covered everything inside my bag.
6:53 venture to kitchen to make coffee and get a pair of gloves.
6:54 - 6:58 search for powdered creamer remembering I gave it to SR for the boat. Curse myself for not buying milk.
6:59 apply makeup using gloved hand to reach into bag and not get it all over my hands
7:10 check traffic on Google maps and plan to leave house by 7:40.
7:11-7:15 check email and quickly puruse Facebook
7:15 lock psycho kitty in the bathroom because that bitch will attack while I'll trying to put on my nylons
7:16-7:20 search for cigarette,  forcing me to allow psycho kitty out of the bathroom
7:21 lock psycho kitty back in bathroom
7:22 check traffic again to see if traffic has gotten worse in past 12 minutes. It has. Plan to leave house at 7:35
7:24 put on cute flowy black skirt and green top
7:26 contemplate jewelry,  but the only earring/ necklace set I have is gold and my shirt has silver accents.  Wonder why I don't have more earrings.  I love earrings.
7:28 carefully put on Hanes Queen 2 nylons marveling at how smart I am for thinking to ban the psycho kitty from running my nylons with her claws of doom
7:29 search for shoes maneuvering around the house being sure not to brush my leg up against anything
7:31 find shoes,  purse,  and e-cig. 
7:33, let psycho kitty out of the bathroom by opening the door slightly giving myself time to exit the bedroom before psycho kitty attacks my legs,  and ruins my nylons
7:34 exit house through the garage and walk to car
7:35 re-enter house to find keys,  go back to the car
7:38 re-enter garage for soda, go back to the car
7:39 re-enter bedroom for lipstick,  dodging and waving a t-shirt at the psycho kitty to keep her away from my legs.  GET BACK EVIL FELINE!
7:41 get back in car,  check traffic again.  Travel time has increased by 8 minutes in past 20 minutes. 
7:43 exit my neighborhood wondering why Google maps does not think I know how to navigate out of my own neighborhood. Remember how many times I have, in fact, gotten lost inside this neighborhood.
7:45-8:20 marvel at the fact that there is no traffic going in this direction while I drive and incessantly check, to make sure I'm going in the right direction.   Practically perform fellatio on my Dr Pepper in order not to spill any on my shirt.
8:20-8:22 Arrive at location and double check directions to make sure I'm at the right address and correct building.  Still in the car, finish soda, apply lipstick- snap photo of said lipstick and send to the girls to make sure it's not too much red.
8:23 girl parked in the car next to me reaches into her car on the passenger side.  Flashes me adorable blue and white polka-dot panties.  Facebook the event
8:25 exit car and go into big meeting,  amazed that I have not run my nylons or spilled soda in my shirt.

We'll see if it pays off. I'll let you know.


And they call it.... puppy looooove

So tonight in a conversation I had about Weird Al (no, I do NOT have a Weird Al obsession) and I was saying my favorite song from him is White and Nerdy, cause you know, Donny Osmond....

Which then made me go back and watch the video, and then I looked for others.  Then I spend approximately 4 hours watching Donny Osmond on YouTube.  Interviews, skits, special appearances etc.  I get like that. 

Yes, I do love Donny Osmond.  I admit it.  I'm not ashamed.  Not in a "I have all his albums and I still have the Teen Beat pin ups he did."  Nothing like that.  I have just always enjoyed him as an entertainer and he continues to show up in my life like a favorite cousin from out of state.  Pops in to visit, makes you laugh and smile and then goes away again.  Gone, but not forgotten.
  • I was born the year he recorded "Puppy Love" and "Go Away Little Girl" and I was around 8 or 9 when the Donny and Marie show went off the air.  I remember the Donny and Marie dolls my next door neighbor had.  He was in a pink and purple outfit that matched Marie's dress.  Don't get me started on how I love Marie Osmond.
  • He resurfaced in my life in 1989, with Soldier of Love, which is a song I did love, and then Sacred Emotion.... swoon.  Those were the years of Richard Marx and Michael Bolton, so all the songs sorta sounded like that. 
  • In the late 90's he Marie did another TV show that I used to watch whenever I was home during the day.  He was funny, he made me laugh.  Marie was funny and sassy. 
  • He was on an Episode of Friends, doing Pyramid. 
  • He did Dancing with the Stars a few years back- kicked ass.  Won. 
  • Last week while I was in Vegas I was at Caesars Palace, right across the street from the Flamingo, where there is the Donny and Marie theater and he performs there weekly.
So Donny Osmond has been sort of a recurring presence in my life and I've always adored him. 

Now before you laugh at me, let me explain something.  He's just a decent guy and a good performer.  He's been married for like 35 years.  Since he was 20.  That's impressive for a guy in show business who has had a pretty tough time of it.  Big success, big failure.   No scandalous rumors, no drugs or alcohol problems.  He's squeaky clean and he's still VERY entertaining. 

It's odd that I would find someone like this so appealing to me, you know, with my affinity for drug addicts and bad boys.  However, there is something refreshing about it.  You just don't see it often.  He's a guy who knows how to work a crowd and he can make people laugh and he seems to have a pretty good sense of humor.  He also just has nothing to hide, I mean, he went on the Howard Stern show and admitted that he doesn't have oral sex.  He would do that for his wife if she asked, and that he would never ask his wife for oral sex.  Hmmmm, ok, I find that odd- but who am I to judge what people do or don't do in the privacy of their own bedroom?    I mean, I'm sure what I do in the bedroom might seem odd to people.  Well, then again, what I mostly do in the bedroom is play Facebook games on my phone and fold laundry while trying to stave off attacks from my stupid cat.  I know not everyone does that.

So yes, I do love Donny Osmond- what's not to love??   I think we all hang on to things from our childhood and he was a part of the childhoods of most of us who grew up in the 70's.  I tend to silently hoard the good memories I have of my childhood.  Take them out to relive them when I can and quietly tuck them back away as so not to be marred by anyone else's memories or even harsh realities. 

I like having my childhood crushes and hero's and leaving them in that nice little space.  I decided early on that I HATED MTV's Behind the Music because it made me sad to hear about the drug problems and sex addiction and drunken binges of my favorite artists.  I stopped watching them because I really disliked knowing some of the horrible truths about these people.  I know they are humans and they have problems and addictions, and horrible things that they go thru, and I respect each persons individual journey through life, however, it also somewhat invades the quiet space I hold for these people.  If I don't see it on the daily news, then I don't need to tune in for MTV to come and shatter my perceptions.  What I have managed to do though, is see them in concert as an adult, like Duran Duran and Rick Springfield- allowing me an experience I didn't have as a child, with the ones I loved when I was one.

Next time I go to Vegas, I think I might have to take in that show at the Flamingo, and let the memories live on for a few more years. 


Word crimes, indeed.

Today, I saw a tweet from the well known parody writer, Weird Al apologizing because he didn't know the word spastic was offensive.

I didn't know it was offensive.

I read some of the comments and some of the reasons why people were offended by it.  Apparently the word is sometimes used as a derogatory word for people with cerebral palsy.  In the song, he did say "a spastic," a noun.  As far as my limited memory goes, spastic has been shortened to spaz and is usually reserved for people who are...well, spazzing out.  Acting kind of crazy or uncontrolled.  Danny sometimes acts spazzy.  I tell him to stop spazzing out.  I am not insinuating that he has cerebral palsy, or anything to do with cerebral palsy.  I am not intending to offend anyone by using a word or phrase that SOME PEOPLE use as derogatory to some people with a disease.

There is so much talk about shaming lately.  Offensive words and things that hurt our delicate sensibilities.  I don't really HAVE delicate sensibilities.  If someone calls me a name, a) maybe it's true b) maybe they don't know me very well or c) they are just not very smart or mature.  If someone uses a word in my presence- I acknowledge it for what it is.  It's a word.  Sticks and stones and all.

I know that bullying is real.  I know that saying something hurtful and degrading to someone with cerebral palsy, with the intent to shame or bully that person- that sucks.  Doesn't matter what words they use.  When an attack is personal, it hurts on a personal level.  But when someone is using a word because it also rhymes with "fantastic"- I don't think his intention is to hurt, degrade or offend anyone.

Nobody seemed bothered by the fact that the whole SONG completely rags on people with bad grammar.  Have we looked at test scores in the US?  Are we surprised that people have bad grammar skills?  Should people who can't spell very well also be offended?  What about people with dyslexia?  Grammar snobs are praising the song because there's nothing more offensive than noticing someone misused an apostrophe.  Even though you KNOW what they meant.  A misspelled word does not render the sentence complete gibberish.  Maybe I'm offended that you INSIST on pointing out every fucking mistake I make.  Stop nagging me, bitches.  If you cant hang, dont hang.

Yes I did that on purpose.

The article I read went on to say something about expecting a level of sensitivity from celebrities.  Ok, remember Fat? White and Nerdy? Canadian Idiot?  Oh but those were funny!!!  If you don't like people who get laughs at the expense of another person, you simply can't leave the house, or watch TV, or go on the internet, or listen to the radio, or have friends.

Don't get me wrong.  Hate speech is real.  It is a personal attack on a person, or a group.  Words with the intent to hurt, usually hit their mark.  Words that are said without the intent to hurt anyone, will only hurt people if they are standing around waiting to jump in front of them.  I can be an activists just waiting for someone to oppress me, or I can acknowledge a persons intent.

This is not turning a blind eye to real and true bullying, oppression, or shaming,  This is using my eyes, and my ears and my brain to know that without intent- it's not intended for anything malicious.


What shopping is like for me

I'm not one of those girls who LOVES to shop for clothes.  While walking thru Target I may stop at a rack of v-neck T-shirts for $9 on my way to buy a fan, sure, but when I am looking for something to wear- I hate it.

I enjoy shopping for at places like the .99 store where I can find tin foil, individual pizza crusts, and knick knacks for my cat to knock off my dresser.  Hey look, a cute pair of ankle socks!  And this mango juice is delicious.  My .99 shopping is fun and somewhat carefree.  I pick up whatever is there for .99 and rarely do I have a "list."  Did you know they sell produce there?  Ok it's not always the BEST produce, but if I need something for dinner TONIGHT or tomorrow, it does just fine.  I once found these little misshaped potatoes called "fingerling potatoes."  They do look like the fat fingers of a giant, but they were pretty tasty.  I baked them to death, smashed them open individually and sprinkled them with butter and cheese.  They were a hit.

Anyway, this weekend I needed to shop for something to wear on Tuesday because I have a meeting that I'm not going to discuss until it's over.  I needed business casual.  BUSINESS casual, not just casual but not unsuitable for work.  I pondered the contents of my closet and realized that nothing was sufficient.  Not in a "everything is so old and I hate my wardrobe" kind of way, but that nothing is "important meeting" sufficient.  My work clothes currently consist of scrub pants and a scrub top, or a V-neck tshirt.  Slacks?  Nope. A top made of anything that is not cotton and doesn't give off too much cleavage?  nope.  Anything without some sort of stain?  Nope.

Nothing sufficient.

So shop I must.  This is an important meeting, so I must be my business casual best.  I do have a few long flowy skirts but they are really bright colors and patterns.  I love them, and they are suitable for the office, but I don't think they will do.

I don't have any straight business skirts.  The size of my midsection often keeps me from buying anything snug.  After two c'sections 15 months apart, my C-section scar is more like the Dead Zone.  And any of the fat that I was carrying before just sort of falls over it.  So my mid section is an ass behind, not much for ACTUAL hips and a smaller, but still noticeable ass shape up front.

So my goal was to find a skirt or pants and a top that was nice, no cleavage and long enough to cover the mid section.  Or nice dress, with sleeves, no cleavage and a solid color.  I realized early that I only have black shoes, so a light color will not do.  So ok a BLACK skirt or pants.

I started at Kohls, because they have great sales and a good selection.  They were having a sale on their clearance stuff.  However, the clearance stuff is all summer clothes.  Bright and sleeveless.  Seriously, whats with the war on sleeves??  The stuff that was not on sale, that was solid colored, no cleavage and had sleeves was far out of my budget.  And pants, oh yeah, pants for short fat people are not easy to find.  Sure a petite section is helpful, but nobody expects someone in a size 16 to only be 5 feet tall.  Even in the petites section.

They really should have a short and fat section.  It's not like we short and fat types are not aware of it.

So I went next door to Target.  Yes, I know it's a long shot.  I found things that would be suitable for the office, passable for business casual with the right skirt or toss a light sweater over it- but not suitable for the important meeting.

The next recommendation I got was Burlington Coat Factory.  I laughed at the absurdity of walking into a COAT factory in the middle of July, in the Inland Empire, but I trust the people who suggested it.  I walked in and saw lots of racks of womens clothes arranged in haphazard rows.  Ah, perfect.  More of a DD's Discounts or Ross type place.  I can work with this.  So I hit the ladies section and-

You know, why is there that assumption that big women are not "ladies"?  There's the ladies section and the plus size is the Women's section.  They should just call it the "socially acceptable size" section and the "you should lost some weight" section.  Fuckers.

I am somewhere between ladies and womens.  (Short and fat?)  So I can find the right XL top and XL skirt if I'm lucky.

Anyway, 10 minutes in and I remember why I asked SR to accompany me (to which he said no).  I have no REAL fashion sense.  I love bright colors and patterns.  I am perfectly happy for my tops to look like a scene out of Where's Waldo or a psychedelic paisley acid trip.  SR hates this.  He hates patterns.  He's all about solid colors, and MAYBE stripes.  I grabbed a light weight polka dotted top with a cute cinchy collar.  A bright green top with navy tubes all over it that reminded me of the TUBES screen saver.  A two piece tank and knit short sleeve top in a greyish color, and a purple wrap top with the silver buckle thing.  I also found a black skirt that was strechy but came just above the knees.  Also I grabbed this light grey top with these ruffly things up front.  Kind of like the 70's tuxedo shirts.  I'm not sure why I loved this top so much, but I really did.  Except it's banded at the bottom.  OK- REALLY??

The purple wrap.  Ohh this is too tight.  WAY too tight.  It was like Barney in spandex.  Is this the right size or am I really just that fat?

The polka dotted top.  It was a snug fit and I knew that if I took too deep a breath it was going to tear at the seams under my arms.  Getting it on was a challenge, but getting it off was much harder.  I was afraid I was going to tear it.  Oh Julie, NEVER put on things that don't stretch.  I imagined myself stuck in the dressing room with my arms in the air trapped in this shirt and needing someone to come help me pull it over my head.

After noticing the NON stretch material on the green and navy tube shirt I opt to not bother trying it on.

The two piece grey.  Passable.  Its long enough, flowy.  Comfortable.  I took a picture and sent it to my girls on standby while I shopped and it got a thumbs up.  I also sent a pic of the grey ruffle one, to with my bestie replied, "I like the other one better." Which I think was her way of saying, "Ummm no stupid!"  So fine.  This one wins by default.

This is how I shop.  It it fits, it wins.

I have a skirt and a top.  So I'm done.  I have an outfit for the important meeting and now I can go home and not think about how if I lost weight I wouldn't have this problem.  I walk towards the nylon section, reminding myself that I cannot wear leggings, when I spot the skirt section.  I rummage through and find a knee length flowy skirt.  I love flowy skirts.  They are perfect for fat girls with their elastic waists and material that lays OVER your body, not on it.  It's my size, it's $9. I grab it.  Make a mental note that the beautiful and bright patterned skirts are in abundance here.  And cheap.

I'm not going to the dressing room again.  It's not very well ventilated in that part of the store.  It's warm and kind of smells like feet.  I use this as the reason I was 10 seconds from breaking a sweat trying on clothes. I select a pair of queen sized Hanes nylons and a second pair, just in case and because I'm ME and will probably run them in the car.  On my way to the counter I spot a green top with little sparklies on the shoulders.  SHINY.  I inspect it.  Just three silver shiny studs on the front of each shoulder.  It's a stretchy material.  My size.  $9.  I grab it too.

I head straight for the checkout counter and look at the gawdy, chunky and FABULOUS bracelets but I opt not to get one, but make another mental note for later.  $56 for two outfits with nylons.  Both suitable for the important meeting.  I feel accomplished and relieved that I didn't have to go to the mall, which was my next stop if I didn't find anything.  I loathe the mall.  I avoid it whenever possible.  I only go there because there isn't a free standing Lane Giant close by.

As I leave the store, I wonder if there really IS a market for a short and fat store.  I think there is.


before the reunion

I asked SR tonight if he would go with me to my 25 year high school reunion.

First, I know what you are thinking, 25 years?  Who has a reunion at 25 years?  Didn't you catty bitches get together at 20 years?  Why, yes we did.  We had a blast.  I suppose that is why they are having another one just 5 years later, because we are so damn special that we have to celebrate our escape from high school every 5 years until more than 50% of the student body is dead.  Then we'll go every 10.

My 20 year reunion was a lot of fun and while I made the HORRIBLE mistake of driving home drunk, that won't happen again.

I didn't MEAN to drive home drunk.  When you have your last drink at 11pm and it's now 2AM, you don't think you are still drunk.  I didn't think I was drunk at 11pm.  Sure I had a good buzz on me, but nothing that should not have worn off in 4 hours.  It wasn't until I got out of the car that I realized I was drunk, because I didn't just get out of the car- I fell out.  I actually FELL and hit the ground.  My first thought was OH SHIT, that was a bad idea.  My next thought was- how am I supposed to actually get into my apartment.

So I won't be driving drunk this year.  If I don't have a designated driver, I will probably only have one drink, if I drink at all- although I suspect the alcohol was part of the reason I was having such a great time having gone alone with no bestie in tow.

The husband is 2 years gone now, and he went to high school with me- so I suspect people may ask me the questions about what happened to him.  It's one of those questions that I always hate to answer for people who knew and remembered him fondly.  It feels shitty to tell the ugly truth to people who knew him in 2nd grade.  That just seems mean.

Part of the reason I want to go is because I actually DO keep in touch with some of these people.  I see them on Facebook on an almost daily basis and if I was a more "get out of the house and meet for drinks" kind of person, I might actually hang out with many of them.  I am fascinated by their lives.  I love seeing vacation pictures and I'm astonished that the girls I thought were so beautiful and fantastic in high school, still seem beautiful and fantastic.  It's not jealousy or envy, it's just a fact.  I know, however, that everyone is fantastic on Facebook.  If people were posting about their shitty job, cheating spouses, or the pile of bills they would be judged as whiners.  So of course we talk about how fantastic life is, because that is what Facebook and reunions are all about.  Looking fantastic and then getting together to prove it, even if it isn't true.

My hope is that they will not ask me too many questions or make stupid remarks about my alternative lifestyle.  Although I'm sure it will come up at one point or another.  I'm ok with that.  I knew putting my life out there that people may ask questions about it.  If I was ashamed of it, I wouldn't have put it on facebook.  Facebook is no place for shame.

Oh, I had a point with this.

I asked SR if he wanted to come with me and he said, "ummmm maybe."  Which is closer to "yes" than "we'll see" which means no.  In truth, I don't care if he comes with me or not.  I am used to going to social things alone and I do well at socializing and slipping out when nobody is paying attention.    That way I don't get the "ohhh are you leaving already?" question even though we have long run out of things to talk about.

I am trying not to have too high of expectations because the 20 was so great, the 25 could be a horrible bust.  I suspect less people will travel if they were here just 5 years ago.  No matter, I plan to show up, have a fabulous time, and slip out when nobody is paying attention.  That's how I roll, and also how I don't feel weird leaving alone.  It's odd to walk out of a loud room filled with people who are so happy to see you, and then be out in the parking lot by myself.  There's something weird and sad feeling about it, and I'd rather not make the rounds of goodbyes- only to end up in the parking lot alone.

However SR may come with me, and when I'm out with him I always feel like a million bucks.  He makes me feel comfortable and our mixed anxiety about the noise and the crowd brings us together.  Also, it's nice to have someone to grab onto in case I trip in my heels.  If I go alone, I will not be wearing heels.

The tickets are a bit pricey, but I don't think they are any more than they were 5 years ago.  It's nice that inflation has not effected the reunion market.  I already have the perfect dress to wear and this is a good excuse to get my nails done again.  I will have to color the gray out of my hair, but I'm proud of myself for not giving a damn about this to kill myself losing weight before this thing.  It's been 25 years, if anyone is going to judge me for the size of my ass- well they can kiss it in the process.

Bring it on reunion!


Random things about me- because I am done working for the night.

I hate working, although I love my job. 

I am a jealous woman, by nature, but I am also totally aware of it, and take responsibility for my own ridiculous-ness, so it doesn't control my life.

I tend to love people forever, even if I decide I can't stand your face or that you need to be as far away from me as possible.  I am nostalgic about "the good times."

I'm optimistic about most things, except love.

I truly believe that happy endings are stories that just haven't finished yet. 

Being around my friends is one of the only true ways I can "get my mind off of things" but usually the last thing I think of.

I lose my keys daily,  Seriously, every day at some point I am looking for my keys.

Unless they are on my feet, I'm never quite sure where my shoes are.

I don't wear a watch, because if I did I would be obsessed with the time.

I drink alcohol very sparingly.

I smoke an e-cig, and probably ingest more nicotine than I ever did when I actually smoked cigarettes.

I think I'm a pretty lovely person and I never understand when people don't like me.  What's not to like about me? 

I ate deer once when I was a kid.  I thought it was delicious, but people now tell me that deer is very gamey.  I have no idea what that means. 

I know at least three people who would, without question, drive me to the airport.

I wish my boobs were bigger.  Not just perkier, but actually bigger. 

As long as I have space to move my keyboard and mouse around, I really don't care if my desk is a mess.

I have never met an ice cream flavor I didn't like.

I am certain that if I die in my sleep, my cat will try to eat me.

I once ate something that my dad said was octopus, I still have no idea if it really was or not.

I don't ride rollercoasters, because if I wanted to throw up, I'd just drink more often.

Because I am a female, ethnic, a single mother AND a widow, I think that puts me at a pretty high level of "disadvantaged" and I think I should pay less taxes because of it, even though I don't.

I am not good at my usage of apostrophes.

I don't always correct my typos because I don't care enough about not hurting the grammar and spelling nazis.

I just wrote 23 writing queues without even trying....  hey, would you look at that!!!