Well, Chipmunks, I finally finished scrubbing dried dog blood off my bathroom walls, so you know what that means…
…Time to announce this month’s Sun-Staches ‘stache glasses giveaway winner!
Oh fine. I’ll back up.
I’d been pressuring encouraging my BFF, Jenn, and her dog, Shunderson, to come check out the local hiking trails with me. My town recently installed trailheads on my street, and I love exploring west Jersey’s splendor.
On Friday, Jenn agreed to come with me. We ate some Thanksgiving leftovers and headed out.
We made it about, oh, three-quarters of a mile when Shunderson bounded off the trail in search of squirrels. Or deer. Or dead bodies.
Which is when he got caught in a briar patch. He yelped, freed himself and forged ahead, undeterred.
But it was too late.
The cuts on Shunderson’s ear were small, but they bled a lot, and every time he shook his head, the wounds reopened. Witness the Psycho scene in my bathroom:
Anyway. So that happened. And, um, no animals were harmed during the making of this post let’s move on.
P.S. – The ‘stache glasses winner of the century is My Life is the Best Life, for donning her glasses during labor. Yes. Yes, I know. Awe-inspiring. Congratulations, MLISTBL!! You win a lifetime supply of r-e-s-p-e-c-t.
I only have two pairs left from Sun-Staches, but don’t worry – the winner can pick out any from the Sun-Staches website. Because I would never want you to feel like I felt when my mom, Babs, said I couldn’t get that Samantha American Girl doll. (And then she rubs it in 20 years later, telling me they made a Julie doll, who has blonde hair and drives a blue VW bug, just like I used to drive. And maybe Julie has roller-skates, too. And maybe it’s not too late and Christmas is just around the corner, Babs.)
So I had this thing all buttoned up. A plan. I’m a Project Manager by trade – it’s what I do.
Today I was going to republish this post, my one truly somber blog post, in honor of my late boss and mentor, Carol, and in the spirit of Movember, the November ‘moustache’ campaign raising awareness for prostate cancer.
Because today is the second anniversary of her passing. From cancer.
But as we all know, life doesn’t always go as planned, and yesterday I wrote something else. I think Carol would rather see this up here instead.
So thanks for indulging me, and stay tuned for the usual shenanigans resuming later this week… like, say, another ‘stache glasses giveaway?
I was 7 years old
when I said
the color green
reminded me of
Now I know I meant
For many years after that
I said I loved
But I never wanted to wear it.
A few weeks ago,
I took a sip
from a green straw,
and I saw
the girl I left behind,
the one who wanted
than to explore.
So I went and I stood
in the grass,
among the trees,
Feet firmly planted,
my favorite color.
When they contacted me on Halloween, I leapt out of my hard, plastic seat. I was waiting for Chinese take-out with my family, obsessively checking my phone, like any good bloggette who hadn’t had power for a week [thanks to Hurricane Sandy] would do when she realized she had free wi-fi.
I attempted to explain to my parents, sister, niece and nephew why I was so excited.
“It’s WordPress’ blog!”
“They like me! They really like me!” I tried.
A little drool. Eyelids drooping.
I finally resorted to shamelessness: “This is a BIG. DEAL.”
Babs offered a confused smile. The rest of the family was already back to talking about Dancing with the Stars.
Lackluster familial support understanding aside, I eagerly answered all of The Daily Post’s thought-provoking questions – all except one. There was one question I really didn’t want to answer. Because they wanted me to name my top 5 blogs.
Top 5 blogs? Have you seen my Blogroll? Even that’s incomplete.
I could no sooner name a favorite Hot Pocket variety.
I hate knowing I left so many wonderful bloggers and friends off that list, but it got me thinking:
I’d really like to know which bloggers inspire you. Not just the ones you ‘like’ regularly, or the ones who make you laugh, but the ones who move you. Was there a particular post that really spoke to you? Or caused you to take some sort of real-life action?
I hope you’ll share stories and links in the comments section below, and I look forward to hopefully meeting some new bloggers!
Thank you to Michelle and The Daily Post for making my dayweekmonth year, and to you, Chipmunks, a source of never-ending fulfillment and inspiration. I said in the interview that blogging changed my life. And I meant it.
Which is not something I usually get to say. Trust me. I work as a project manager for a pharmaceutical company.
Monday traffic and meeting madness aside, things were looking pretty perky by 9am. Because by 9am, I was staring at someone’s boobs.
Let me back that thing up.
I was meeting a brand spanking (ahem) new colleague to explain how great the department was, what kinds of things she could work on, and the dress code what to expect in the coming months.
The woman was in her 30s, attractive and friendly. The conversation started in the usual way: “How long were you without power [because of Hurricane Sandy]?”
Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I saw something unusual. Something not quite right. No, no, it can’t be, I thought to myself. I let my eyes dart down.
Yup. Yup. Oh my god. Black. Lace. Push-up bra. Cleavage many would pay to see. I felt my ears turn as crimson as her blouse. Of all the buttons to pop when she sat down…
I had known this woman for five minutes. How could I tell her we’d already taken things to the next level? But could I make it through the rest of the meeting without saying something, and then hope she’d use the restroom? No, that was just cruel.
“I’m sorry I’d want someone to say something if it was me,” I blurted in one breath, “I think one of your buttons came undone.”
“Oh no, it’s just this shirt,” she said, swinging the droopy silk collar that dangled over her va-va-voom.
I said nothing and waited for her to look down.
“Oh jeez,” she cringed once she realized what I talking about, and quickly fastened the rogue button. She thanked me for telling her and carried on with her earlier point.
Just like that. I had to give her credit. A little while later, she bid goodbye,
“I’m off to meet with [Mr. Big Boss] now.”
“Great – it was wonderful meeting you!” I replied smoothly, wondering how disappointed the Big Boss would have been if he’d known what he missed out on.
Later that morning, I had time to giggle reflect. I gasped, remembering: This wasn’t the first time I’d seen someone’s bra at work!
My very first year on the job, a middle-aged woman I’d only just met grabbed me and pulled me into the ladies room.
“I need help! My bra!” she whispered, eyes wild.
I watched, stunned, as she freed one arm from her forest green turtleneck. I tried to figure out what was going on. Everything seemed normal. Except for all the parts that were totally fudged up.
I soon realized what she needed me to do. I reached down her shirt, grazing her moist, freckled back, fished out the dangling shoulder strap and re-hooked it to the front of her bra.
I left the bathroom in a daze. Twitter didn’t exist yet, so I saved the story for my sister-in-law-slash-coworker, who still fondly recalls Bra Lady.
You probably think this is the end of it. Oh-ho no. Peppermeister (Husband #1) read this draft post and reminded me of the crème de la crème.
A couple years ago, a coworker in her mid-30s returned from vacation in the Bahamas, eager to show me pictures from her trip. Call me crazy, but I’ve always been fond of vacation photos. Anything to escape the drab, gray cubicle walls.
I walked over to her desk and she pulled out a manila envelope.
“I hired someone to take these pictures while we were there,” she said, shy yet excited. “He said I could be a model.”
Each 8 x 10 photo featured her bikini-clad bod on the beach.
“You look amazing!” I gushed, admiring her toned figure.
She looked up and down the hall and then whispered, “I have to be careful about some of these.”
She flipped to the next few photographs.
And there she was.
It’s been two years, and I still don’t have the words.
Anyway. Today I’m bringing a wallet full of singles to work. Just in case.
Have you ever felt like a boob at work? Any good wardrobe malfunction stories?
***Hurricane Sandy Update: We finally got power back on Sunday night! My mood’s as boosted my coworkers’ chests! Thank you again for all of your well wishes! …Annnnd just kidding. Power went out again at 5am today (Tuesday).***
After all, Marlene’s directed music videos for the likes of Amy Winehouse and Tupac.
To my delight, she took me up on the offer, and for two days in October, I got to call myself a Production Assistant. Shortly before the shoot, Marlene sent the script for the pilot episode. Reading it, I got chills.
For those of you unfamiliar with MPACTY, Marlene lost her job a while ago and had to move back in with -you guessed it- her parents. At 40. Feeling hopeless, she turned to blogging, and captivated readers with hilariously horrifying tales of her misfortune.
Her pilot webisode takes us back to where it all started.
My main job was handling the canine talent, “Vito.”
The days were very long, took us all over Manhattan and to Long Island, and I’d do it again in a heartbeat. The whole crew was lovely and beyond professional.