Suburban Goddess

I admit I get wound up over some pretty dumb stuff sometimes. Later, after I’ve calmed down, I realize that I’ve overreacted and, quite often, said something when I should have kept my big mouth shut. Then I have to do damage control, which is usually embarassing & always humbling. I realize if I don’t get this under control at work, I will never advance to the next stage of the game. I KNOW this.

But I can’t seem to DO IT.

My redneckness will not allow me to pause. It scratches at my insides like a cat in water. Anger management is an oxymoron to me; it just doesn’t make sense. The pure hypocrisy in the office drives me to the liquor cabinet at 5:00pm. I know that my happy place should not contain tequila. At least, not every day. (I kid, I don’t drink every day, but that doesn’t mean I don’t WANT to.)

I wish I could find the “anger-over-stupid-crap” gene and have it removed. I’d have it replaced with the “quick-and-fiery-wit” gene. That way, when I opened my big mouth, at least it would be funny.

I hate when someone muscles their way into your plans. I was recently making plans for my weekend with someone else when a person overheard us talking.

“Really? I’m not doing anything this weekend.”

I ignored Said Person, but it did not work. As I tried to give directions to my home, Said Person chimes in, “Oh, I know how to get there. What time are you going? I’ll just pick you up and we can ride together.”

ACK! Now, it’s not just an inconvenience because it’s turned from “hanging out” to a “party,” but Said Person seems to have no clue that I don’t want to spend ANY of my free time around her. NONE. It’s not that I don’t like her, but Said Person generally irritates the CRAP out of me because she is one of THOSE PEOPLE who know everything about everything, and loves to let the world know that. Said Person is also very, very competitive, and I don’t particularly feel comfortable with her in my home. My safe place. My “No-Said-Person” zone.

This is not the first time Said Person had been this rude. I tried to mentor her in the beginning, but since she already knew everything, she took great offense to that. In fact, the only reason said person is coming this weekend is probably to make sure that someone else doesn’t know more than her. She has to be involved with everything. The level of desparation is staggering.
Perhaps I should show her The Lost Boys. Rule #1; Never walk into a house unless you’re invited. Seriously.

No, really. I have a big dog.

“You’re not supposed to be eating Twix, anyway.”

“I know.”

“Twix makes you fat.”

“I know.”

“I eat popcorn by the handful…”

“I know.”

As I’m meticulously pulling the caramel layer off the top of my Twix bar, my co-worker watches with fascinated disgust. After removing the caramel layer, I nibble all the chocolate off the sides before beginning the difficult task of removing the chocolate from the bottom of the cookie. Finally, she can take it no longer.

“I bet you get pissed off at people who eat popcorn by the handful, don’t you?”

“Yea, totally! How did you know???”

She rolled her eyes and walked away.

What??

So I’m reading the news the other day, and I’m not surprised that the A$$holes up on Capitol Hill have voted to raise their salaries again. Now, I know, there is a stardard of living that must be upheld, and they probably have to compensate for gas for their Mercedes. Okay, I’ll give you that. But in the same session, they vote to uphold the current minimum wage rate because increasing it would be a “burden on the taxpayers.” WTF???

I understand the strain an increase of minimum wage would place on small businesses. But if the little man has to suffer, why do we continue to pour money into the pockets of the pompous politicians who obviously have their own interests at heart?

If I were making minimum wage, I would be waiting for them outside when they left the building. Oh wait, I forget, I’m making minimum wage so I CAN’T AFFORD TO GET THERE!!!

When I start to complain too much at work, my co-worker will jump on CNN.com & find some horrible death story to let me know that my life is cake. It got me thinking; there’s an awful lot of bad luck out there. Last week a woman got run over while sunbathing on a beach. Another woman was driving to her son’s funeral (who died in a car crash) when her other son died in a car wreck on the way to the funeral. Today, a man died when he was struck by lightning on a moving motorcycle. I mean, come on!

I really have absolutely no right to bitch about ANYTHING.

I hate code. I really, really, really hate code. But I can’t get around the fact that CSS is the coolest thing ever invented. With a few strokes of the keypad, I can radically change my website. Repeatedly. So instead of spending a month designing a site, then deciding I hate it, then spending a month on a new site, then deciding I hate it and want the old site back but with the new changes in my HTML code, I CAN JUST SWITCH IT with CSS.

As a designer, I can’t believe I’ve been so mule-headed for so long. Duh. Flash sites are cool, but whose got time for all that crap?

CSS. Instant gratification. Just the way I like it.

I’m trying out some new themes over the next few days… bear with me.

I stayed up past my bedtime last night just to watch Angelina’s interview w/Anderson Cooper last night. I’ve been trying to stay in tune with world events more these days, & I was very interested in hearing about the type of work she was doing with refugees.

I’ve always been a huge Angelina fan anyway; she’s her own person, brutally honest, a little quirky, independent & beautiful. All traits I admire. My co-worker likes to refer to her as a “home-wrecking dirty whore,” which may or may not be the case, but after last night, I don’t blame Brad for dumping shallow-little-money-grubbing Aniston for Angelina. The woman pays her own way on UN missions, shells out millions of dollars in aid, brings the starving children into her home, and goes head-to-head with Washington legislators without regard to partisan lines. “Friends” seems like small potatoes in comparison.

Angelina’s focus is the right to LIFE, in the purest sense of the word. You, as a human, have certain rights that NO ONE should be allowed to take, and as a human, you have an obligation to keep these injustices from happening to another human being. How profound. I cannot imagine the injustices she has witnessed. I cannot fathom how people can be so cruel and barbaric to one another, but especially to the vunerable & the helpless. Why are these monsters allowed to continue? How is a 16-month old a threat to a man with a machete? How, in your right mind, could you possible swing a knife at a child who stands in front of you crying & begging for their life? How, after gang-raping a woman for days, can you put a knife between her legs & rip her open? How does that still happen in this day & age? Why aren’t we focusing on these things???

I was amazed that she still looks at the world the way that she does, without bitterness, without anger. She just pushes forward trying to bring awareness. Can you imagine if all mega stars did the same thing? Forgive me, P. Diddy, but when you talk about “your people,” why aren’t you standing next to the white woman in Africa with your checkbook? (Okay, so maybe that’s not fair. I’m sure the Diddy has charitable causes, too)

I heard a story this morning about some group that’s pissed off because of the country lockdown during the birth of the her child. With as much time, effort & money that Angelina has brought to that country, they owe her that much. Hell, they should change the name of Namibia to Angelinaland. Proof that there will always be someone unhappy with every situation out there. Hey, thanks for getting me clean water to drink, but you really should have let those annoying journalists take your picture. Who do you think you are? (Whatever happened to THANK YOU???)

Like her or not, you have to respect the woman. She’s trying to change the world. And if it makes it a little safer for my daughter, then I will be eternally grateful.

My husband used to work for a company that sold industrial-strength vibrators. NO, NOT THAT KIND. As he explained it to me, it is a device used in grain silos that keeps the grain from building up on the walls. So, in a clever marketing ploy, he had a bunch of stickers made that said “I love my vibrator.” Shortly after we began dating, one ended up on my vehicle, and there has been one on every vehicle I have owned since, whether I want it there or not. Over the years, I tend to forget about it until I meet someone new, and then I feel obliged to share the story. It takes a strong (or nosy) personality to approach the subject; the rest just look at me with a “shame-on-you” face. No, shame on YOU for assuming the worst. Anyway, I was filling up my truck yesterday when I noticed the Beer Man eyeing me.

“What year is that truck?”

“2005,” I replied. Guys like the truck, but generally hate the color. No surprises yet.

“Something wrong with it?”

I looked it over from front to back. “Um, no. Why?”

“Does it vibrate?”

Oh, I see. “No, not generally.”

Silence for a moment. “So, you like your vibrator?”

At this point it usually gets uncomfortable. I felt the need to explain, so I rattled off the whole story. He got a laugh out of it and tipped his hat with a parting remark. “Well, that’s quite a conversation piece you got there.”

Indeed it is. How could I possibly have trouble making friends?