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Things I’m Wicked Bad At (Shocking, right?)

7 Dec

I know, I know. You’d think I would be good at everything and anything I attempt. Truth is, there are a few things I’m simply AWFUL at. Ladies and gentleman, the things I suck at:

Hiding My Emotions

While I am a killer poker player (for real), you’d never know it by my complete inability to keep what I’m thinking/feeling from showing up written all over my face. The guys at work bust on me frequently because I struggle to hide my thoughts when a customer is being stupid/disrespectful/a jagoff/a pain in my ass/whatever. Smiling through it all is one of my biggest challenges, especially when my inner monologue is going off on a wicked diatribe. I cannot tell you how many times a day I have to smile through gritted teeth while thinking “You’re a fucking asshole, please go directly to hell.”  I’ve gotten better at this while at work, but in general, it isn’t pretty.  I scoured my photos on Facebook and on my computer to try and find some candid examples, and didn’t seem to have any. You’ll have to take my word on it.

Being Patient

That’s right, I just linked a GnR video. You’re welcome.
 
Anyway… Patience may be a virtue, but it’s one I don’t possess. Waiting is something I’m awful at. I get irritable and cranky, and GOD FORBID I have to wait for something I’ve been looking forward to. I become a rammy, ornery, obstinate five-year-old when having patience is required. This probably classifies me as an asshole, but I think I’m okay with it. This is partially because I know, try as I might, this is a character trait that is unlikely to change. Leopards don’t change their spots, and I don’t wait if I don’t have to.
 

Peeing in a Cup

Yeah, this one’s probably TMI

Okay, so… if you’re a female, and you’ve ever been to the ER for any reason, you know they will inevitably make you pee in a cup to make sure you’re not pregnant. They do this even if you tell them you’re NOT and that there is NO WAY you’re pregnant. If you’ve ever worked for corporate America, you’ve probably had to pee in a cup for a drug test. If you’ve ever suspected you may have a UTI, you’ve had to pee in a cup. Everyone has had to do this at least once in their life. Given my propensity for injury and my job, I’ve probably had to do this more than most. Here’s the thing, kids… I’m awful at it. Here’s how:

 
- The inevitable missing of the cup. Without fail, I cannot seem to hit the cup first try. This usually results in a wet hand, which is fucking gross.
-Dropping the cup. I have done this more than once… the cup lands in the toilet – also fucking gross.
-PEE BOMB. This is my most recent peeing-in-a-cup mishap. I was at the ER to have my dislocated knee checked out. I managed to NOT miss the cup, and feeling rather accomplished, I hobbled to set the cup on the sink so I could put the lid on it and wash my hands. Fate, elegant, cold-hearted whore that she is, decided there was NO way I was getting off easy. I lost my grip on the cup, and in what can only be described in a slow-motion moment of catastrophe, it dropped to the ground like a brick. Needless to say, a huge mess and my endless mortification followed.
 
Now that you all know far more about me than you’d ever care to, I’ll move it right along…
 
 
Doing Any Sort of Household Chore in a Timely Manner
I’m aware this is not a picture of housework. It’s a picture of a hot maid. You’re welcome. Again.

Okay, so check it out. If there is a way for me to put off laundry, dishes, vacuuming, etc without my house looking like a mess, I will find it. Housework is something I loathe. If I know I am having company, I generally wait until the last possible minute to get any general straightening done -you know, pillow fluffing, spot-dusting, blah blah. This fact probably leads you all to believe I live in  squalor, but this is the farthest thing from the truth – my place is clean. I just HATE cleaning it. I’m great at cleaning… I just prefer to procrastinate in doing so. I need a housekeeper.

 
 
Okay, so I know there is a shit ton more I could put on this list… I just don’t feel like it. I don’t need to give any of you lovely fuckers more of my shortcomings.
 
XOXO
 

Being Grown Isn’t Half as Fun as Growing Up. (Random Musings from The Walking Mishap)

12 Oct

It’s been awhile since I’ve done a random musings post, so here it is.

  • I believe that owning a dog is a better antidepressant than any pharmaceutical company could ever manufacture. There is nothing like coming home to Dexter, my 9lb Maltipoo, after a bad day and seeing that little tail wagging, knowing he’s happy to have me home.
  • I am fairly certain I’m part psychic. Okay, so that may be a load of horseshit, but my intuition is creepily accurate, and I often go to pick up the phone to call someone just before it rings, with them calling me. This is probably coincidence, but it happens all the damn time.
  • I think Occupy Wall Street is a hypocritical clusterfuck. Let’s all protest America while tweeting from our iPhones and drinking Starbucks Venti Mocha Triple-Shot Vanilla Swill Lattes while mommy and daddy foot the bill for our educations and living expenses. I may be in the “99%” they speak of, but they don’t speak for me.
  • My car is named Bruce. I’m really not going to elaborate here, but it’s got something to do with the fact that some people seem to think it’s a Transformer and that it, being an inanimate object, actually has a sexual orientation. I’m leaving this one alone.
  • I seem to be migrating hardcore from Facebook onto Twitter. Since Facebook is trying to be what MySpace was, Twitter seems to be the new cool-kid hangout. Sure, it has its trolls and twatwaffles that you don’t want to associate with, but it’s pretty nifty.  Follow me… @walkingmishap
  • People have a penchant for calling me Sunshine. I cannot tell you how many people have called me this at one point or another, fairly consistently. I’d like to think it most often has to do with my sunny disposition, but have a feeling it is more related in a smart-assed way to my cynicism and loathing of mornings. I’ve been called this by many, but it holds special meaning for only one of them.
  • I have an addictive personality. Whether it comes to listening to the same album over and over again, my ever-growing coffee/Diet Coke dependency, food (by now you should have read my “I Refuse to Be a Fatty Ever Again” post), booze (not so much these days… moreso when I was younger), I get fixated. Some of these may classify as an actual addiction (my dependency on caffeine is a physical one at this point), while others may not, but I get very single-minded at times. A therapist once described this as having “addictive tendencies” and occasionally being “single-minded to the point of recklessness.”  I prefer the term “focused.” Considering parts of my family history, none of this is surprising.
  • I have this nagging, insatiable need to get another tattoo. The only thing holding me back is a lack of funds and my indecision on what I want/where I want to put it. I’ve got more than one idea, and I don’t know which I want to go for first.
  • Adele and The Horrible Crowes have both been on constant playlist repeat. If you haven’t listened to either of them, you need to. Now.
  • People don’t rock out nearly enough. One of my biggest cathartic activities is blasting angry boy rock at full volume and simply rocking the fuck out and singing along at the top of my lungs, no matter how off key I am. It may not fix my problems, but it sure as shit lets me get some aggression out. If more people did this, maybe there wouldn’t be so many angry motherfuckers out there.
  • As much as people think I play fast and loose with relationships and emotions, I really do believe in life-changing, heart-breaking, gut-wrenching love.  I’ve been there. I’ve felt it. I know it exists. Part of the reason I occasionally get ribbed for “dating like a guy” (this does not mean slut – this means I am not one to really get caught up in the games) is because I refuse to settle, and I’m not going to waste time on someone I’m not interested in.
  • I suffer from a touch of hypochondria. I used to suffer from more than just a touch – my family and friends had to ban me from WebMd a while back. All I can say about this is that it runs in the family, the hypochondria thing. Also, I’ve gotten much better… seeing as I haven’t diagnosed myself with a brain tumor in at least two years.

That’s all you’re getting for now… more to come soon, I’m sure.

Laid Up, and it BLOWS.

2 Oct

Warning, kids. This one’s probably going to be boring since I’m hopped up on pain meds and can barely feel my face.

It wouldn’t be a day in the life of the Walking Mishap if I didn’t somehow get bumped or bruised… however, this morning, I took it to a whole new level and dislocated my knee, doing nothing more than getting out of the shower. I have a history of knee problems with my left knee, and the last time it did this, it was at 2am when I was getting out of bed to go to the bathroom. Anyway… I got out of the shower this morning, and POP! My knee made a sound that could potentially wake the dead, and I crumpled to the ground. After a trip to the ER, lots of pain, and meds that have me feeling all warm and fuzzy like I should be stroking the furry walls, I’m home and trying to figure out my week. I’m off tomorrow, but I have work Tues-Thurs, Sat, and Sun… and I drive stick. Having a huge immobilizer on my leg isn’t exactly conducive to using the clutch. Basically, it looks as though I’ll be depending on others for rides this week, and I’ll be needing to figure out how the hell I’m going to be able to do 10hr shifts on my feet at work. Le sigh.

For your viewing pleasure, my fashion statement of the year:

Here’s hoping the orthopedic surgeon I have an appointment with tomorrow tells me there’s no meniscus damage.

 

I Refuse to Be a Fatty Ever Again.

29 Jun

Disclaimer: This post is not meant to disparage people who struggle with their weight, or who are heavy. I am writing about ME, about MY experiences, and my views about MYSELF when I was overweight – aka FAT. It’s obnoxious that I even feel compelled to add a disclaimer to this post, but lord knows how sensitive society can be. Additionally, I’ll try hard not to make this some triumphant feel good kind of post – that’s not what it’s supposed to be, but who knows the direction it may take.

Having been fat in the past (seriously, I was chunky… maybe someday I’ll post pictures – for now, you’ll have to take my word for it), I’m determined to not let myself get there again. I’ve had people tell me that saying I was fat in the past is offensive – that I should say I was “very overweight” or that I was “carrying extra pounds,” but fuck that. I was fat. I had no medical condition that made me that way (in a moment of denial and self-delusion, I had blood panels run to check my metabolism and thyroid function and a bunch of other stuff), and I can make all the excuses I’d like, but there IS no excuse. I worked a job where I sat on my ass all day, paid no mind to the food I ate, and avoided exercise like the black plague. I’ve got a fairly petite frame, so it’s not like I was born built to carry extra weight. I was never heavy as a child – if anything, I was underweight. Plainly and simply, I let myself get fat.

To cut a rather long and painful story short, I’ve dropped well over 60 lbs in about a year and a half. Some of it was through hard work and exercise, some weight loss was through meticulously watching what I ate. Some of it can be attributed to getting back into a field where work requires being on my feet for 8+ hours per day, and some can most definitely be credited to a short stint in the hospital for mysterious abdominal issues that turned out to be gall bladder related.

Anyway, over the winter, I seem to have gained about 15 lbs back. I know why – I’ve paid less attention to what I eat (I order out at work waaaaay too much), and my workout habits are awful (Is hating exercise genetic or something? Seriously, I LOATHE the gym). Having learned from past experience, I know I need to get this under control before it snowballs and I’m buying clothes in sizes I’m ashamed to even admit I ever owned.

Here’s the thing about being fat that people who have never been fat may not know. It’s uncomfortable. It’s embarrassing. At least, for me it was. It took me a while to even acknowledge how big I had gotten. If I acknowledged it, it meant it was true… and if it was true, it meant I had to either do something about it, or be okay with it. Once I did acknowledge it and decided to do something about it, I became obsessed. I weighed myself two to three times a day, and tried every fad diet that came down the pike. Nutri-System tasted like dead ass (no, I’ve never tasted dead ass – it’s called a simile, people), but it worked. Well, it worked as long as I was on the program. As soon as I started eating real food again, I started gaining again. Jenny Craig was expensive and gross. South Beach made me cranky and bitchy and wretched – woman cannot subsist without carbs, as far as I’m concerned. The harder I tried, it seemed, the more I set myself up for failure.

After beating my head against the figurative wall for months, I came to a realization. The more obsessed I was, the unhappier I became. The vicious cycle I was trapped in influenced my eating habits… or triggered what I like to call “eating my feelings.” I’m not sure what opened my eyes to this fact, but thank God for whatever it was. From that point on, the obsession began to fade. What I learned was that making healthy, common sense decisions was what would help me shed the bulk of my weight. Once I stopped trying so damn hard – trying TOO damn hard, it became more about becoming healthy and happy than it did becoming thin again. Once that happened, the weight started to almost fall off.

After gradually yet almost completely altering the food and portion choices I make and integrating exercise here and there, I lost 20% of my body weight. And then I lost some more. I successfully shed, in essence, a SMALL CHILD worth of weight. As the weight started to come off, I started to feel like ME again. I was more inclined to go out with my friends without feeling like I was the fat one in the group. I was more confident at work, and I was more confident in general. When more and more people began mentioning my weight loss, I embraced it, thank them for their compliments instead of shying away from them like I used to. It feels damn good to be told how great you look, how happy you look. Losing weight changed my mindset, and the positive feedback I was getting kept me going.

Even though I gained some weight back of the winter/spring, I can say I’m still comfortable with the way I look. At a healthy weight, I’m hour-glass shaped, and I’m happy with that. I love having curves… lord knows it took them long enough to show up (I was built like a 12 yr old boy up until about my senior year of high school). I think there is something inherently feminine about having an hour-glass figure, and don’t quite understand women who want to shed ALL body fat. Most men I know openly admit they like a girl with at least a little meat on her bones – no one wants to cuddle up to a skeleton.

Getting back to the title of this post, I refuse to be a fatty ever again. Being aware that I’ve gained 15 lbs, my ass is now on Weight Watchers (started today – I’m doing it online because group meetings where everyone shares their feelings are totally not my thing). WW seems to be a solidly built program that won’t force me to give up foods I love, but will help hold me accountable for what I put in my mouth (insert pithy oral sex joke here). I’ve done pretty well on my own in the past, but I know how slippery a slope weight gain can be. I think, right now, I need the food journaling and weekly weigh-in to get back into the habit of being aware of what I’m eating and when.  Starting tomorrow, I’m getting back into the gym I loathe so much, armed with a playlist that embarrasses me (shitty pop music is great for keeping cardio pace – so is punk rock – makes for a very… eclectic mix) and the strong desire to shed some lbs. What I need to watch is the obsession end of things. Since WW online will only accept one weigh-in per week, on the same day every week, I need to try to make sure I only weigh myself once a week. Gone are the days when I kept my scale in the kitchen next to the fridge… it only made me step on at every opportunity.

So, guys, please be patient if you see a weight loss post pop up here and there on occasion – motivation is something I’ve always struggled with, and putting it on here where I know at least a few people I know are reading helps me set my mind to it.

An Open Letter to Sallie Mae

7 May

Dear Sallie Mae,

I wish I could be kind, but that is simply not an option here. You have effectively and efficiently secured your place in my life as “bane of my existence.” There is no bill I loathe paying more every month than yours. Your exorbitantly high payments are painful and cut me to the core. While I appreciate you financing my education (you know, for that Advertising degree I’m not really using), I did not realize it was simply a ploy to fuck me over in the long run.

On more than one occasion, you have screwed up my account – sending me notices that I am past due, when in reality, I made my payment early and for more than what was due. You keep me from squirreling away a substantial amount of money into my savings account, hindering me from saving for my future. When I call to discuss my account, I am met with speakers of a foreign language. They do not understand me, nor do I understand them. Your customer service is atrocious. When I call in with questions, it is generally because I need help with something so I do not further wreck my already recovering credit score. I certainly understand that outsourcing your customer support saves you money… however, I do not feel that you NEED to save money, considering the filthy amount you bleed myself and hundred of thousands of other college students for every single month.

Many of us went to college in hopes of not only bettering ourselves and learning, but to ensure that we could someday achieve financial stability. We got degrees because it’s been proven that people who have them make more in a year than people who don’t. What we didn’t expect, however, was to be up to our ears in debt the minute we moved our tassels to the other side of our cap. Your high interest rates and unwillingness to bend or work with your borrowers can be financially crippling for many of us, making us wonder why it is we went to college in the first place.

Rarely can I log into Facebook or Twitter without seeing a friend lamenting on their wall about your lack of concern for their financial health. You rape and pillage us for our hard-earned wages, while shipping our calls for help to India to force us to face a language barrier that is thicker than the Great Wall of China. It saddens me that the bulk of my educational debt is owed to you, because American Education Services (who hold a third of my loans) is always a pleasure to work with. They are helpful and friendly, and they speak my language (that would be English, in case it isn’t clear).

Your practices are unethical and cruel, and frankly, I can only hope you somehow get taken out. Other major financial institutions have collapsed in recent years. You’ll have to forgive me for hoping that you’re next.

With Disgust and Mistrust,

The Walking Mishap

PS – GO FUCK YOURSELF.

With Age, Comes Wisdom (and all that other shit they say to make you feel better about getting older)

8 Jan

For those of you who aren’t my friend on Facebook (because, let’s face it, that’s how we all remember birthdays these days) or who don’t know me personally enough to know I make my birthday a big deal, I turned 26 on January 6th. Another year older, I figure I should share some wisdom with you all, whether you be older, the same age, or younger than myself. This is stuff everyone should know.

The Older You Get, The More Your Friends Suck

They don’t do it on purpose. They really don’t. As we all get older, we find more and more excuses to not meet a friend at a bar or restaurant for their birthday, or to not show up for a social gathering at their home, or to not show up, period. We can’t afford it, we have work the next day, we’re too tired, we don’t feel good, we didn’t want to drive that far, etc. The excuses are innumerable. When we were younger, not a single one of these things would have stood in our way. As we enter our mid to late twenties and beyond, something as minor as sneezing the wrong way equate to reason enough to stay home. It sucks, but let’s face it, it’s the truth. Canceled plans aren’t personal these days, folks. They’re a sign of aging.

Hangovers After Age 25 = HELL ON EARTH

I always thought this one to be nothing but myth… but goddamn was I wrong. Last year, I remember wondering why my headaches were lasting much longer into my days, why my body ached worse than ever before, and why my stomach did the goddamn tango the day after drinking. In my early twenties, I could party with the best of them at wake up at 9 am, refreshed and ready to start a new day, without repercussions from the night prior. After turning 25? BAM! Hangover city. I have discussed this phenomenon with more than one close friend of mine, and they all agree… Hitting the quarter century mark means getting the worst hangovers of your life. Either quit drinking or learn to deal with it, because this is a fact of life.

You Learn Who Your Real Friends Are

Shockingly enough, the older you get, the more you begin to align your priorities with your lifestyle. Instead of getting a thrill out of booking Spring Break in Cancun, loose funds are put into savings. Days off are spent cleaning the house or doing laundry or running errands you always thought to be boring and trite. Even more shockingly, you realize the people you have spent years partying your ass off with aren’t necessarily the people you have the most in common with. Sometimes, you find that you have moved on from the days of raging all night, instead landing yourself in bed most evenings by the end of the 11 o’clock news, and some of the people you were close with are still focused on intoxication rather than moving forward in life. It hurts to let go and acknowledge that you’ve perhaps outgrown their companionship, but it’s even more damaging to pretend nothing’s changed. The people who show up for you on special occasions, listen to your tales of stress and adulthood worries and actually relate, and who still recognize the occasional need for youthful debauchery are the ones you’ll end up keeping around – even if you all need to commiserate about that post-25 hangover the next day.

There’s Nothing Like BS’ing Over Breakfast Food at a Diner

Whether it be after a rare night of drinking, or once a week with a good friend, there’s something Seinfeld-esque about sitting in a diner eating sub-par food and catching up with an old friend. Whether it be to blow off steam, to sober up, or simply to get out of the house, reverting to hanging out in diners like you’re back in high school can be oddly cathartic. They call it comfort food for a reason.

Last But Not Least, Tequila Can STILL Go Fuck Itself

I do not know a single person who enjoys the taste of tequila or its inevitable effects. I once had a college roommate who would drink more of the stuff than could ever be recommended, and her nights rarely ended well. I myself find that tequila takes my nights down roads it need not go, and many friends would agree. Just this evening, for my birthday celebration, shots of tequila showed up at our table (Thanks, Tom), and they did not go down easily. All but one of us “took it like a champ”, and I know at least two of us suffered later in the night for pretending like we can still hang. I hate the smell, I hate the taste, and yet, I decided to partake in such shenanigans. Lesson learned. If you are past the age of 21 and are tempted to drink tequila, just remember: it tastes even worse coming back up than it did going down, no one at the bar thinks it’s cool if you lose your clothes, and you’re going to feel like shit in the morning.

 

All of that being said, I would like to thank the people who joined me this evening to celebrate. You are true friends, and I love that fact that even as we get older, we still manage to find the time to stay young.

 

I Am Not Cinderella (Or, Mice are NOT My Friends and They Don’t Help Me With Chores)

2 Jan

If only the real ones were this innocent...

It was a tame Thursday night, and my friend Brandy and I were hanging out at my apartment, eating some Papa John’s and watching shitty reality TV. The temperature outside had angrily dipped into the low 30s, making us acutely aware that winter was upon us. Nice and toasty in my apartment, nothing was out of the ordinary. Until we heard it.

Scratch, scramble, scratch.

Wide eyed, Brandy looked at me. “WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!”

Calmly, I shushed her and listened some more.

Scratch, scramble, scratch. IN MY CEILING.

Trying to remain calm, I explained to Brandy that the tenant upstairs had mice on occasion. We were both thoroughly skeeved, and went back about our business. Brandy went home, and I went to bed, hearing no more from the furry critters living above me. I should have known better than to think that would be the end of it.

Over the course of the following week, the scurrying in my ceiling worsened. One morning, while foraging for breakfast I opened my snack/cereal cabinet to find crumbs and shredded boxes. The little bastards had committed the cardinal sin: they ate my Cap’n Crunch. And my Lucky Charms. Not cool.

Determined to fix the problem myself, I set traps. Lots of traps. The first night after setting them, eight mice met their early demise. EIGHT. In one night. The two empty traps had clearly been encountered by mice that were smarter than the average bear, because they were tripped, with no mouse in sight. I disposed of the deceased furry creatures, feeling a slight pang of guilt for killing them. Notice I said slight – not nearly overwhelming enough to deter me from setting ten more traps.

Before going to bed, I decided to get a glass of water. Upon flicking the light switch on, I locked eyes with a mouse who was clinging for dear life to the corner of one of my cabinets. He looked just as shocked as I, dangling there upside down, like a teenager caught sneaking out in the middle of the night. His grip failed, and he fell, causing me to flee the kitchen like a baby. I went to bed, spending a sleepless night straining to see if I could hear the satisfying “SNAP!” of traps going off.

I called my landlord, who vowed to get the exterminator out the very next day. He sounded sufficiently mortified that the problem had gotten so bad, and sprung into action. In the meantime, I set more traps. And caught more mice. When the exterminator came out, she determined the mice were breeding in between the floor upstairs and my ceiling… and that there were quite a few. She put poison in the drop ceiling in my kitchen, and behind my washer, dryer, and stove.

Before the little critters took that bait, I was lucky enough to open a cabinet one day to find a particularly brazen mouse sitting atop a new box of Cap’n Crunch, eating a single crunch nugget. Had he been able to speak, I’m pretty sure he would have said “Excuse me, bitch, I’m trying to eat.” Not knowing what else to do, I let him go about his business and went to work, thoroughly disgusted and ready to move.

To cut this little tale short, I’ll sum it up here:

Total Trapped Mouse Count: 37

Total Dead, Poisoned Mice Found on My Kitchen Floor: 9

Total Live Mice Found This Week: 0

I think my little problem has been solved… for now. The exterminator is due back in a week, and we’ll see what she finds. I can say, if the issue continues, I’ll be moving.

 

Happy New Year from The Walking Mishap

1 Jan

Happy New Year!

 

Well, kids… Happy 2011!

I don’t know about any of you, but I welcome this year with open arms. After a particularly challenging 2010, I have much to be thankful for:  my health, my family, my friends (who are the family I have chosen for myself), my job, etc. 2010 was a true test of my grit and I can honestly say, without certain individuals (whom I should hope know who they are), I wouldn’t have come out on the other side as unscathed as I did. These people kept me laughing when I didn’t want to, focused when I thought it was impossible, and let me lean on them without question when things got rough. I cannot express my gratitude and love for you guys enough – you saved me this past year.

 

New Year, New Rules

You guessed it. This here’s a New Year’s Resolutions post. A little cliché… get over it. A new year is a great time for a fresh start, to make improvements we’ve all been meaning to make, and to take a look at the big picture. Instead of going with the typical “I want to lose weight” or “I’m going to start working out” BS we know won’t stick (there’s a reason the gym is always packed in January, then empty by March), I’m going in a bit of a different direction this year.

  • Laugh More and Let It Ride – My life is full of laughter, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. However, I do have my moments when I take myself and life and the little things way too seriously. This year (and every year after), I will consider the gravity of a situation or issue before furrowing my brow or getting huffy (yes, the Walking Mishap gets huffy sometimes) or completely stressing myself out. I will be more flexible if things don’t work out in my favor, because in the end, it really will work itself out.  Life’s too short to be spent worrying – 2010 taught me that lesson well.
  • Talk Less and Listen More - I talk a lot. Often times, in talking so much, I don’t hear other people. I get excited in conversation and feel the need to just say what’s on my mind right away. From now on, I resolve to make a conscious effort listening, and stop letting myself jump in with every thought that pops into my head. I’m amazed people put up with my ass sometimes, I really am.
  • Live Like Every Day is My Last – Stop rolling your eyes at me. We’ve all said this, but very few of us have done it. I’m especially guilty of wasting my few days off by not really doing much with them – sleeping later than I should, and generally being lazy. I’m not 86′ing lazy days altogether, just taking the initiative to use my time wisely. I’ve got a bucket list you’ve all seen, and it’s time to get back to work. The items on that list aren’t going to complete themselves.
  • Be Healthy – Mentally and physically. This one works in conjunction with laughing more and letting it ride- less stress will inevitably lead to healthier living.
  • Give Everything I Do My All – Back to giving it 110% all the time. 2010 was tough for me, because my attention was pulled in 4000 directions, and often times I let it stand in my way. It interfered with my professional life, my academic progress, and my personal life, and that is simply unacceptable.
  • Keep It Moving – From now on, I will focus on moving forward, rather than dwelling in the past. No need for elaboration on this.

That’s all I’ve got. I wish you all a happy, healthy 2011.

It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas (a little too early every year)

19 Dec

'Tis the Season...

This post probably should have been written, ohhhhh I don’t know, over a month ago, but forgive me. I work retail. You know, where Christmas starts before Thanksgiving, and continues on through the new year. With the exception of one year, I have worked retail through every holiday season since 1999, in one aspect or another. Through high school, it was at a local pharmacy. After graduation and through college and beyond, it’s been in either a mall or a standalone store, in the same industry (though for various companies). This generally means long hours beginning right after Halloween, and rolling right on through til the new year. This is the profession I  have chosen, and it pays me well, so please don’t mistake this rant for lack of appreciation toward having a job that keeps a roof over my head and food on my table. Most of the time, I enjoy what I do, and I really like my coworkers. What I don’t like, however, is how early the Holiday Season gets jammed down our throats every year. Working retail during this time also means having no real concept of time, other than “What time does my shift start?”, “When is my lunch break?”, and “Is it time to go home yet?”.

Please don’t get me wrong. I’m not one of those people who wants the world over (non-believers included) to “Put the Christ back in Christmas.” The back of my car will never look like this:

Bruce (yes, my car's name is Bruce) wouldn't allow such a thing.

I’m probably one of the least religious people you’ll ever meet. The main reason I go to church on Christmas and Easter? To not disappoint my grandparents who have done so much for me over the years. I guess you could call me an agnostic. Do I think that many years ago a virgin birth took place in a manger, attracting attention from the four corners of the world? I’m not sure. It’s a lot for me to grasp. I do, however believe that Christmas is a time to spend with friends and family, to slow down a bit, and to be appreciative of what we all have. I also believe that it’s a time to find a way to help those less fortunate… maybe by volunteering, or donating canned goods, or just doing something selfless for another person.

I’m not going to get all “Save the World” on you here, nor will I be self-righteous about this. All I’m asking is to maybe take a step back for a minute, and NOT jam holiday music and decorations down my throat as soon as Halloween is over. I mean, doesn’t Thanksgiving deserve the spotlight for a few moments before we get all “Santa Claus is Coming to Town”?? The turkeys who so dutifully give their lives to allow me to overeat without needing an excuse should have their time to shine. While my Thanksgiving this year was pretty routine (dinner with one side of the family, not really seeing the other side, receiving the obligatory “you don’t call or visit enough” guilt trip from a grandparent or two, then retreating to my own home where I can have a glass of wine and settle in with a close friend to decompress and just relax before working my ass off for Black Friday), I must say, as I grow older, the more I enjoy it. It’s a time to spend with people you care about (even if you don’t always like them), share in eating a delicious meal, and not worry about who bought who what.

Turkeys Need Love Too

At my place of employment, the Holiday Season started on November 7th. That’s right, folks. Christmas music and sparkly holiday decorations went up, and we went into Christmas mode. The number of customers we’ve had would never give it away, of course, but apparently, we weren’t the only ones. The malls and other retailers in this area either beat us to the punch or were right in line. Were our customers happy about it? No. I cannot tell you how many “Can’t we just get through Thanksgiving?” gripes I heard up until Black Friday. My fellow retail cohorts (damn right we stick together) worked our asses off on Black Friday, pulling long hours with smiles on our faces while people bitched we didn’t have better sales and trampled each others at other retailers all across the country. That’s right, TRAMPLED each other  to get the best sale on Tickle Me Justin Bieber or whatever the fuck this year’s hot toy is. People DIED on Black Friday. Pretty sure many of them were screaming a battle cry of  “Keep Christ in Christmas!” while pulling hair and pushing and elbowing other shoppers to get to the front of the line at the local Wal-Mart.

Gotta Get the Bieber!!!

Christmas makes people cranky. I cannot tell you how many times my parents, my sister, and I have gotten in arguments while all trying to get ready for Christmas Eve dinner and church with my grandparents. Whether it be about one of us taking too long in the shower or someone hogging a mirror or people just being snippy, it’s usually a calamity. We have a silent car ride to my grandparents’ house, and then we get over it. Same goes for Christmas shoppers. Traffic becomes unbearable, store clerks become harried and overworked, and people get downright mean. While shopping the other night, I witnessed at least three arguments over the last items on a shelf. Isn’t this supposed to be a season of good will and happiness? Aren’t we all supposed to be a little kinder, a little gentler? To me, it seems we all get a little meaner, and all start to resemble one of my favorite Dr. Seuss characters, The Grinch (second only to the Cat in the Hat – and not the live-action versions, either. I’m talking the old school animated versions). That green bastard attempted to ruin Christmas not only for himself or one other person, but for the entirety of Whoville. You know, until those little Whos singing their little Who hearts out and recognizing the true spirit of the holiday melted his icy heart and turned him into a softy. That’s right. Post Who sing-along, the Grinch became kind of a pussy.

Don't Fuck With The Grinch

In summary, folks, all I’m asking for is a little consideration for one another and for those of us who bust our asses to make sure you’ve got plenty of material gifts to give to those friends and family you may or may not like. I’m not even asking for you to do it for me. Do it for Whoville.

Sleepy’s and Comcast Can Suck It (or, why I hate moving)

10 Dec

Here’s a shock to those who know me well: I recently moved. Again. In case my sarcasm doesn’t translate, no one is really shocked I moved again. For the past year, I’ve been living the cushy life, slipping my parents a mere $250 every month to cover rent, utilities, food, and laundry. They were gracious enough to let me move home to save some money (Thanks Mom and Dad! The rest of my shit will be out of your house soon!).

Having moved 7 times in the past 5 years (home to college, college to home, home to an apartment, apartment to new apartment, new apartment to a friend’s house, friend’s house to home, home to another apartment), you could say I’m a seasoned pro. By seasoned pro, I mean I have yet to learn the lesson that packing in advance is the best plan- rather than packing as I go and taking my sweet ass time, which pretty much drives my friends and family up a goddamn wall (Sorry Mom!).

Anyway, it wouldn’t be a Walking Mishap kind of move if there weren’t, well, mishaps. And guess what? I’m putting those responsible on blast.

The Great Mattress Debacle

When I moved out of the friend’s house and into my parents’, we tossed my old queen sized mattress. I went back to sleeping in the bed I used in high school – a twin. When it came time to move back out again, it became time to once again buy a big girl bed. My mom and I hopped in the car during the week I took off to get all of my move details squared away, and headed to Sleepy’s. Now, prior to mattress shopping, I had heard mixed reviews about this particular retail chain. Since a friend of mine had recently gotten a great mattress for a steal, I figured I’d be safe. WRONG.

DO NOT WASTE YOUR TIME, MONEY, OR ENERGY purchasing from Sleepy’s. Sure, my in-store experience was fantastic… the sales guy sold me a mattress that was “reduced in price” because it was “overstocked.” It was comfortable and well within my price range, so I went with it. This is where the trouble began.

I set up for next day delivery, having made sure I was off from work. I got over to my new abode with plenty of time to kill – who doesn’t love the four hour delivery window these places give you?! A friend of mine came over to eat pizza and watch some movies so I didn’t have to wait alone (what can I say, many delivery people can be a bit creepy). As time marched along, I grew anxious. Before we knew it, the pizza was gone, the movies were watched, and I still had no bed. We had just wasted four hours of our lives waiting for a delivery that never came. I called my sales rep, who looked my delivery up in the system to find that my mattress had been “damaged” and was pulled off the truck. Did those mattress bastards think to contact me? To let me know I could go on with my day, find more productive things to do? No. Not a single phone call. We set a new delivery window up for the next day, and I was naively hopeful they wouldn’t fuck it up this time.

Wouldn’t you know, the following day, my mattress showed up. Dirty. There were black marks on the sidewalls of the mattress. Not on the sleeping surface, but it was scuffed.  Upon speaking to my sales guy once again, he said to accept the delivery, and we would get the mattress swapped out (which means another four hour delivery period).

To make this painfully long debacle a little shorter for ya’all… what it came down to is this: the replacement mattress they sent me was NOT the same as what I ordered. It was about ten times firmer, and wasn’t comfortable. I called the sales guy who gave me some song and dance while the delivery guy called the warehouse. I refused delivery. Sleepy’s then informed me I had purchased a discontinued model, and that there were no more. You know, that OVERSTOCKED item? Yeah, not so much. Try no longer available. They refuse to give me back my delivery fee or take back the mattress they delivered. I have since written letters to upper management and have received no response. So, there it is. Don’t buy from Sleepy’s. They’ll bend you over and make you take it like an inmate.

There’s a Reason www.comcastmustdie.com Exists

Okay, so comcastmustdie.com may no longer be titled as such, but the fact that it has a web presence isn’t a compliment to the Cable/Internet/Phone provider. They suck.

Upon getting settled, I called up Comcast and set up my appointment to come have them get me all set up. We went through the motions over the phone, and setup my installation appointment. A little less than a week later, the tech showed up, and I had cable without a hitch. Or so I thought. After a few days of calling in to find out why my DVR wasn’t functioning, we found the culprit. I wasn’t set up with DVR, even though I specifically asked for it. The person I spoke with over the phone said she’d credit me for the cost of the box I was renting for a full month.

Let’s flash forward to two weeks later, after I had gone and exchanged the box myself to get my DVR. My bill arrived and SURPRISE! It was about $80 more than I expected. Why, you ask? Because Comcast failed to inform me there would be install fees. Had they told me up front, I’d have had no issue paying these fees. However, that wasn’t the case.

I called Comcast, and calmly (yes, calmly) explained the situation. The rep on the phone immediately came back with attitude.

Comcast Rep: “Miss, I highly doubt they didn’t tell you about the fee. Are you sure you were paying attention when they were explaining it?”

Me: “Yes, I’m sure. He told me about my services, and what my monthly fee would be, but did not mention anything about installation fees. Though, I’m not sure he was paying attention, seeing as he didn’t set me up with DVR as I requested twice while on that call.”

Comcast Rep: “Well I think he told you about the installation fees. I have to have a supervisor review the call and we’ll get back to you.”

Me: “When will that be?”

Comcast Rep: “When our supervisor gets around to it.”

Me: …..

Comcast Rep: “Thank you for calling in.”

Needless to say, I got off the phone far more heated than was probably necessary. Ten minutes later, I got a call back. Not from a supervisor, but from  the representative who sold me the services. It went a little something like this:

Me: “Hello.”

Comcast Rep: “Is this Danielle?”

Me: “Yes. Who’s calling please?”

Comcast Rep: “This is Marcus. I am the rep who set up your service. I am calling because I was emailed and told you told billing I never told you about the install fees.”

Me: “That’s correct.”

Comcast Rep: “Well, I’m calling to tell you I did tell you. And you shouldn’t have called in to try and get them credited because now my supervisor is angry with me. You should just pay the fees and get over it because I told you about them.”

Me: “Listen, Marcus. I’m not sure why you accessed my account, but I’m sure I was not told about the install fees. I was told a supervisor will be calling me back to discuss this in depth. Could you please tell me when that will be?”

Comcast Rep: “No. He shouldn’t even have to call you back because making him review the tape is wasting his time when I know I told you about those fees.”

Me: Click.

That’s right, I hung up on him. I figured it was better than being recorded by Comcast while going completely ape shit. I promptly called Comcast back and told them I didn’t appreciate their rep calling me to essentially give me a guilt trip. Looks like I should’ve gone with Fios.

Well, friends, that’s just a sampling of why I hate moving (you know, besides the whole packing up all my stuff then schlepping it here and there…). Who else has fun utility/delivery/moving stories?!

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