Me

Life Lesson: Morning People Will Probably Eventually Rule the Whole World

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Life Lesson #6,120: Do not get dressed in the dark. Even if it’s only dark because it’s cloudy outside and you’re too lazy to turn on the light.

That is how you discover your shirt is inside out. At work. At 10:00 in the morning. After two meetings. With the C-level executives* in your office.
*CEO. COO. CFO. C-More-Important-Than-I-Will-Ever-Be-O.

I am not a morning person. I have never been a morning person. I was not a bright, chipper small child up with the sun. I was not even a person before noon during my teen years. In my 20s, I continue to bodily drag myself out of bed before the hour of 9:00 in the morning. Maybe by the time I’m 50, I’ll have a healthy relationship with dawn, but right now, we’re mortal enemies.

BAD SUN! SHOO!

Closing the curtains doesn’t even help. I still know it’s there.

But every now and then**, I have to drag myself out of bed on a cloudy, rainy or snowy morning. This is a strange blessing and curse all rolled into one. For one thing, the sun is forced to refrain from taunting me, due to being locked behind the shelter of clouds. But, on the other hand, it’s still blissfully dim and all I want to do is stay in bed. So getting ready becomes even more difficult.
**Sporadically and spontaneously and generally on the most inconvenient days, because I live in the South.

As has been mentioned previously, I work in a proper corporate business office, where I am expected to wear proper corporate business attire. There are skirts and heels and fancy shirts and dressy sweaters and other things I have had to spend a bunch of money on to ensure that I look appropriate and good at my job.

Hurray!

Of course stars and sparkles appear when I successfully get dressed in the morning. Does this not happen for you?

I am successfully good at accomplishing other morning activities (showering, hair brushing, makeup) in a lit bathroom that has bribed me into awareness with promises of hot water. But no amount of wardrobe budget and steamy showers can spare me the horrors that come with getting dressed in the dark.

Grumblemumblebitchwhine

Selecting the proper attire in a dark closet clearly requires a lot of finesse.

I have a tendency to select items at random and fling them out of the closet onto my bed, signifying that they are destined to be part of the day’s outfit. Lots of these items are black, because I am a champion at color-coordinating. After other preparations are complete, I tend to hurl these clothing options onto myself, achieving a successful dressed state.

Grrrrrgrumblemumble

It’s hard to see the stars and sparkles in the dark.

However, some mornings***, I am not quite so successful. Apparently.
***Like THIS morning.

Some mornings, not all of the clothes go on the right way. And without the supervision of the blindingly bright, evil dawn sun, there’s no chance to catch the devious, inside-out shirt until well after I’ve left the apartment.

You know, until after I’ve finished my second meeting of the morning.

I need more coffee for this nonsense

It was not subtly inside out either, guys. There were tags and seams and possibly the opposite side of shirt-decorations visible.

So in other words, guys: Happy Tuesday. I hope your clothes are on the right way.

My Cat Does Not Understand Going to Bed Early

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Or: The Story of the Adorable Demon That Lives with Me

This weekend I was very busy and adventurous*, which resulted in a remarkable number of hijinks, but a very minimal amount of sleep.
*preening and flash-dancing because my blog got Freshly Pressed and that makes me so happy it was distracting.

So by the time Sunday night rolled around, it was time to throw on my onsie pajamas and hit the sack. At 8:00 o’clock at night. Because I am practicing for senior citizenship.**
**I just want to be really, really good at it already when the time comes. You know, already have all the early bird specials memorized at restaurants and be outraged by those meddlesome kids who won’t get off my lawn? I like to set attainable life goals.

They are so warm and so comfy and I love them so much.

Yes, I did perform my flash-dances in these pajamas.

My cat did not agree with this life choice.

This is the only stick figure cat I have ever drawn

I do not know how to draw stick figure cats.

So, at bedtime (still 8:00 o’clock), I scooped up my cat and carted her off to bed with me. Normal people allow their cats to explore and figure out sleeping space on their own. My cat prefers to be specially invited and then hand-carried to bed, or she will sulk on the floor all night.

She is like carrying a fuzzy sack of potatoes. I love her so much.

***Yes. This is what I call my cat. This is not her name.

I snuggled into bed with her at my feet, and started to fall into the blissful slumber of someone who has collectively managed to have less than eight hours of sleep in two and a half days.

At 8:15 p.m., my feline companion became concerned about whether or not I was alive. To express her concern and check my vital signs, she licked my ear, and then stuck her face into my face to check if I was breathing.****
****For those who are curious, cat-faces directly impair breathing.

Sleep is for the weak and the dead

I told you I do not know how to draw stick figure cats.

Once satisfied that I was clearly still alive – a fact established my hacking struggles to breathe around her affection – she decided it was time to go exploring. She quietly explored for a time, and then determined that my apartment was in need of redecoration.

Admit it. Your cat redecorates too

Because all things – most especially palettes full of wet paint – look better on the floor. Most especially beige carpet.

She put all her efforts into redecorating until I finally went and reorganized all of the things capable of being knocked over. This left her frustrated; clearly I was not appreciating all of her hard work.

By this time, it was 10:00 o’clock at night. A strange peace fell over the house as she fell into a sulk and vanished from my sleeping space.

And then, at 11:47 p.m., she began to sing the song of her people.

I mean, this isn't even cute anymore

I’m so serious. Drawing stick figure cats is something I hope to never do again. I wonder if there are specific art classes for this.

In the bathtub. For optimal echoing. Of course.

This continued, despite repeated interruptions by me (picking her up and putting her in bed; staying up and petting her; playing with her with the laser pointer; locking the &%^$! bathroom so tub singing was impossible; unlocking the #%$!@ bathroom so she would stop crying about the closed door) until about 2:13 in the morning.

When I woke up for work at 6:15 this morning, she was fast asleep, on the bed at my feet, purring happily.

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP - you can hear it in your head, can't you?

Yes. I still own an alarm clock that beeps at 100,000,000 decibels. It’s the only one I have not broken.

She protested with annoyance when I moved and woke her up.

And that is why I am never going to bed early again.

It’s Probably Time We Talked about Baby Showers

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Or: It’s Probably Better if My Pregnant Friends Don’t Read This One.*

*But if you do, just remember – your pregnancy is super special and like no one else’s and I love you and you deserve a thousand baby showers.

Guys. Guys.
**Also, ladies. Ladies. Because generally, you’re all a little more involved in this.

We need to sit down and have a rational discussion here. A rational discussion about office baby showers.

Nope. Definitely awkward.

Because this is just a really awkward conference for everyone involved.
Click for source, which I’m sure wasn’t awkward and was amazing and thank you for letting me use your picture.

I think it’s cool when people make babies. Awhile back, we discussed the fact that I clearly love babies because I am a sane***, non-sociopathic human being. And I think we should, in fact, celebrate the fact that women are going to produce entirely new people through the magic of science and reproduction.
***Ish. Sane-ish.

AAAAAHHH-ZEEE-VAIN-YAAAHHH

In my head, all new babies are shown off in Lion King fashion.

That’s cool stuff, guys. That’s science.

And, in the right context, I support the baby shower. Because every woman-in-the-process-of-making-more-people needs stuff. Babies require a lot of stuff. Diapers, blankets, cribs, various carrying devices, clothes…A LOT of stuff.****
****I have not made any people, so I base this list entirely on the gigantic registry lists I have hunted through for baby shower presents. I know I’ve left things out.

Since bankrupting new mothers is usually frowned upon, a baby shower is in order. One baby shower. One baby shower that your friends and family come together to throw.  This should result in a giant present fort of supplies and adorable things for new parents to use to take care of their future tiny person.

Not quite as good as a Christmas present fort

One giant present fort. From one baby shower. From people who love you and do not feel oddly obligated to buy you awkward things when they’ve never even met your family.

But then there is the now-longstanding tradition of the office baby shower. The office baby shower is frequently thrown during the work day – during a lunch break or squashed between meetings when everyone is already frazzled. Sometimes, they are thrown immediately after the work day ends, so you are obligated to stay late or look like a cold, evil baby-hater.

Honestly. I may need spinal surgery

No excuse is acceptable for missing the office baby shower.
(But getting accused of baby hating will apparently make your stick figure body disconnect from your stick figure arms)

Don’t get me wrong. Sometimes, you’re friends with your coworkers. Sometimes you’re even the really good kind of friends that see each other outside of work and actually hang out on weekends. That’s cool. Then you should get an invitation to the real baby shower, which should be an actual event showering love and affection on the expectant mother*****
*****This is my favorite phase. She’s “expecting.” Expecting a baby, but, you know, it really could be anything. “The expectant mother was expecting a human baby, but was really surprised when she had a litter of robots instead.”

In most offices, however, the office baby shower is a strange combination of awkward discussions avoiding the topic of how the baby will actually come out, and people milling around waiting for enough time to elapse that they can politely leave. In case you were wondering, the time you have to stay increases exponentially if there’s cake. Cake means you have to stay longer, otherwise you look like a glutton who uses babies as an excuse to cram sugar in your mouth and run away.

People are frustrated with the last-minute panics of remembering to bring gifts, and the mental debates of how much they were required to spend. In general, even the mother feels awkward.

So can we all just agree to cancel these?

…No? Well then can we all just agree that the cake should never, ever, ever look like this?

Nightmares. So many nightmares

This little terror is courtesy of Cake Wrecks. Click for source and hours of entertainment!

Because if not, I’m bringing this cake to your next office baby shower.

“Got” Is a Super Versatile Word

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Or: English Is Weird and Also My Favorite Thing

Since I work in marketing, I have a tendency to avidly watch for interesting campaigns everywhere I go*. Magazine ads, billboards, commercials, graffiti…I’m always peeking at the ways commercialism is invading our lives.**
*This actually has nothing to do with the fact that I work in marketing, and everything to do with the fact that I have the attention span of a gnat.
**Hurray! Job security!

It’s everywhere, y’all.

So when I was driving around the Queen City (the QC if you’re hip, which clearly I am not, since I spell it out), it wasn’t really surprising that a billboard caught my eye.*** Specifically, THIS billboard:
***Distracted me into the horrifying realm of nightmarish possibilities.

This is a regrettable situation

Because having spiders is something people frequently ask others about.
Click for source and to rid your living space of spider infestations!

Got….Spiders?

NO NO NO NO NO. Is that even a thing that can happen?!**** But that brings up the whole idea of context clues and English.
****Of course it is. And of course I Googled it to make sure. And of course I will never sleep again.

Take, for example, the Got Milk ads for comparison:

Everything is so...so...blue

Because who needs the sweet nourishment of Earth’s yellow sun when you can instead binge on milkshakes?!
Click for source.

Let’s break it down, here. “Got milk?” is asking if you’ve got something you may lack, something you desire.

“Hey, got milk?”
“Actually, no, but I DO have cookies and so now I really want some. Gimmie!”

But only because I've had cookies.

All things worth desiring are on fancy columns or pedestals. Is that not how your life works?

“Got spiders?” is asking you if you’ve somehow ended up in the exact situation frequently illustrated by my nightmares.

“Hey, got spiders?”
“YES AND PLEASE BY ALL THAT IS HOLY COME AND SAVE ME.”

NONONONONONONONO

Science has taught me that if it can pop up in your most awful dreams, it’s probably also a real thing. So, flying spiders.

This applies to more things than actual ads. See if you can identify the positive usage and the negative usage!

“Got doubloons?”

I had to google how to spell doubloons, because words

Doubloon mountain is probably guarded by flying spiders.

“Got monsters?”

Grrrr. Arrrgh.

This is less scary than flying spiders.

I know, I know, this has been a very challenging quiz. But if you said the doubloon pile was the negative usage, you’re right! Because it’s guarded by flying spiders, which are more awful than monsters!

English. It’s all about the context.

I Am Not Even a Little Bit Country

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No matter what y’all think.

Today’s Blog Post Is Brought to You By How Late I Was Stuck at Work on Tuesday

A few years ago, my brother was living in Texas with his family.

Texas was never my favorite state. I don’t listen to country music. I don’t drive a big truck. I don’t know how to line dance. I have exactly zero understanding of how cattle are herded.*
*But I am super good at making sweeping, inaccurate assumptions about things people like in Texas.

But I really wanted to go visit. And so I went. And you know what?

I found something I really, truly love.

MAH BOOTS

They do, in fact, look this stylish in real life.

Forget glass slippers. Cinderella was clearly clueless about footwear. Cowboy boots are the most magical shoes. For one thing, they let you swagger with every step. For another, you automatically pose like a gunslinger when wearing them – even in normal, everyday, non-gun-slinging situations!**
**Which is every day of my life, because I am the worst at being southern and don’t own a gun. All southern friends are responsible for my survival in a zombie apocalypse. Hi friends!

Yee haw!

Ahem. Yee-haw?

For another thing, they are more comfortable than slippers.

Mmm...comfy

Bye bye bunnies…Oh come on guys. They’re slippers. Don’t call PETA.

But best of all, I can wear them to work under my fancy pants, and no one knows but me.

Ok, maybe i should rephrase that

And that’s all a girl ever wants. Secret boots. And fancy pants.