Category Archives: misc rantings

My mood at the beginning of the evening would have fit in better at a 2 Live Crew show instead of a Rick Springfield show.

Well, I just finished my homework, so let’s see if I can downshift and talk about this weekend. I know there are some curious minds out there. Now, it’s entirely possible that this will make sense to no one else but me. And I will not be in the least offended if you run screaming from this post. LOL

Last Friday is the Rick Springfield concert in Wendover. The show starts at 8pm and the trip takes 2 hrs from our house(especially going down Bangerter). I plan to leave home around 5 pm to allow time for motel check-in and maybe food (big maybe). The husband leaves work at Noon to take our daughter to stay with his mother. Even with travel time, he has plenty of time to get ready. I leave work at 4pm, like I planned, cuz I can’t take the day off or leave much earlier than that. I plan to dress casual, cuz it’s not Vegas people. It’s just Wendover. But I want to fix my hair and makeup a little, though. Anyone who really knows me knows that I didn’t already have my hair and makeup done for work. And I still need to pack a few things. I get home to find the husband dressing up. And I’m all, “You don’t need to dress up. I’m not.” He says he wants to dress a little nicer. Fine. Whatever. I pack my stuff in the suitcase and all that’s left is to change my top and fix my hair/makeup. Husband says he thought about going to the bank, but didn’t actually do it cuz we can stop by on the way out of town. That makes no sense to me since he left work more than 4 hours ago, but fine. Whatever. He then remarks that he didn’t realize this was a dress rehearsal. And I’m all, “Dress rehearsal? WTH is that supposed to mean?” And he says nevermind, which of course pisses me off. So when he does finally answer me, it’s a derogatory remark about me wanting to make myself look a little nicer. And I’m all, WTF? You’re dressing up and you can’t understand why I wanna do my hair and put on some makeup? You left work when? And you couldn’t bother to stop by the bank to save us some time? Seriously? Ok, so that was all in my head, but still. I was pissed. So I go into the bathroom (slamming the door for the desired effect) and realize that there’s no time to do my hair or makeup. That’s just great. Thankyouverymuch. I throw my hair up in a ponytail and come out of the bathroom to start throwing my last few things together. Maybe I’ll have some time once we get there to put some makeup on. I tell the husband that I’m upset about not doing anything wrong, but yet being made to feel really small for needing to do a few things. The husband then decides to tell me to go by myself and to have a good time. I NEED to have a good time by myself, he says. And I’m all, “Absolutely not! I’m not going to give you an opportunity to throw it back in my face later that I was a bitch who kept you from going to this concert! You’re going!” I may not speak to you for the entire trip, but you are FUCKING GOING! Ok, so that last part was an exaggeration. I grab everything except his CPAP and stomp down the stairs. The husband is behind me mumbling how I’m stubborn for not letting him carry anything. And I’m thinking, Dood, you just need to shut the hell up and get in the damn car before I change my mind! I throw everything in the car. And realize I’m starving. I know I won’t be eating before the show and I WILL be drinking. A LOT. That’s a given at this point. So I search the pantry for something to eat and the husband asks if I want yogurt. And I’m all, “Yogurt? And exactly how am I supposed to eat that?” He says with a spoon. And I’m all, “Seriously? While I’m driving?” Cuz I’ll be damned if I’m gonna let YOU drive! We get on the road and he doesn’t say a word. Not one. For like 30 minutes. And I’m thinking, Dood, you are SO not helping your case. He finally apologizes, and for once it actually sounded sincere (Long story. Really REALLY long story.). And he offers to drive so I can get ready. No way I’m letting him drive when we’re in a time crunch. HELL no. So we settle into a slightly less awkward silence for a while, which is just fine by me.

The rest of the drive was uneventful until the last 30 miles or so, which is where we encounter a bunch of drivers that are freakin’ STOOPID. They have no idea of how to drive on a two-lane highway (hint: YOU DON’T CAMP YOUR ASS IN THE LEFT LANE! I’m just sayin.). My tolerance on the road is…oohh…zero. Zilch. Nada. Especially now. So, to get away from them, I end up doing 100 the rest of the way to Wendover. The husband looks over at one point, and I’m all, “Yes, I AM doing a hundred!” Just stay on your side of the car. You’re still on my shitlist! Ok, so I only really said that first part. But the rest was on the tip of my tongue, I promise you.

Capping off the night? The motel. I have a reservation, but there’s a delay checking in. The desk clerk goes to get someone’s help. Oh shit. This other person comes out and says that the reservation was cancelled. Ummmmm, I didn’t cancel my reservation. The new clerk says they have one room available (a suite) that’s $129.95. Ummmm, I STILL didn’t cancel my reservation that was booked at $60. She says they’ll get it fixed. She calls customer service who tells her they cancelled the reservation per a phone call on 9/6/09. Ummmm, oooook. I supposedly called to cancel my reservation that I made ONLINE and no one thought to send me a confirmation ONLINE that it was cancelled? Sure, I totally get that. I do it all the time. Amazingly, I stay calm (I have NO idea how at this point). The clerk says they’ll fix it and gets us a room. I’m all, Didn’t you just say that you only had one room? Sweet, we’re gettin the suite? Niiiice! Oh, we’re getting a regular room? Fine. I’ll take it. We’re running out of time before the show starts, so I don’t fucking care anymore. I just want a place to sleep tonight. Wait! Didn’t you just say that you only had one room left?

We head straight to the concert hall after that and I’m so close to spewing forth the slew of 4-letter words I’ve been bottling up for the past 2 hours. Ask Twitter. I’ve got just enough time to throw on some mascara before the concert. And with a wave of that magic wand, I’m transformed into Princess Cinderella who gets swept off her feet by Prince Charming. Ok, so maybe it wasn’t quite that magical. Rick never got anywhere near me. But I got to see a great show.

And I can’t believe it just took me 3 hours to write this. I was reliving it…..in real-time. Great.

Picture Day is an evil plot to destroy parenthood as we know it.

Today is Picture Day and I’m ready to scream and commit murder/death/kill. Over hair. Seriously.

My daughter is no girlie-girl. She is definitely more of a tomboy. But I’m usually fairly successful in making a compromise with her so that she at least looks somewhat like a girl. Except with her hair. I can barely get her to comb her hair, let alone *do* anything with it. If she had her way, she would always wear a hat. But she doesn’t always get her way. I win on occasion, picking my battles carefully. I’m sorry, but I want to have *some* pictures/memories where I can say “There’s my beautiful little GIRRRRRRRLLLLLLLLL!”

So this morning the husband tells Ashley to get ready for school so that I can do her hair. And we get the bi-annual *tongue click-foot stomp-sigh-“Noooooo!”*. We’ll see/hear it again in the spring when it comes time for those pictures. Can’t wait. Her response always helps our mood *so* much and at that point we’re all GETREADYFORSCHOOLRIGHTNOW!

Have I told you that I’ve always wanted to be a motivational speaker? No? Well, that’s good, cuz I don’t.

After Ashley gets dressed, she comes in my bathroom. And it begins. I’m having a mental discussion with her hair begging it to help me find an appropriate style that won’t be too difficult to do. Ok, let’s see. I know…I’ll comb this part down. Yes. Wet it a little so it lays right. That’s good. Ashley, will you please stand up straight and stop tilting your head. Thank you. Now I’ll take this small part and wave it back. Hmmm… Maybe. Maybe if I put in a clip to hold it in place? Ye…no. That clip won’t hold. Ashley…PLEASE. *sigh* I don’t have another clip. The few small clips I have won’t match her outfit! WHY DON’T I HAVE ANY OTHER CLIPS? Oh, wait, I found one. Whew! Ok, so let me grab that piece again and wave it back. Slide in the clip. Crap! There’s a piece sticking up. Ok, take the clip back out. Comb it back down. Let’s try this again. Wave that piece back. And slide in the clip. Almost there. And check her wispy bangs. And ohmyfuckingGODAshley! Can you PLEASE just hold still for 5 minutes so I can make you look like you weren’t rolling around in the planter this morning?

These few and far between styling sessions ALWAYS end the same way. I’m pissed off and she’s in tears. Over hair. Seriously. Can I tell you how much I’m looking forward to puberty?

And so *I* end up late for work looking like the walking dead. Cuz after all that? I don’t give a flyingfartinspace what *I* look like today.

P.S. I’ll have to ask my Mom if she had to go through this crap with me on Picture Days. I’m thinking no, but that could be early dementia setting in (I have CRS – Can’t Remember Shit) or from the bender I (think I) was on last night.

Timing is everything.

I just know I’m being tested. Tested to see if I can take care of things without the husband. So, of course the check engine light came on in my car when the husband is out of town. And I started to freak out…..a little. I was on the phone with the husband and he told me to take it to the Checker Auto near home to have them pull the code from the computer. I was told at Checker that they weren’t allowed to actually do it for me, but gave me the tool & showed me how to use it. The scan tool wouldn’t establish a link with my car & no it was NOT operator error. Next stop, Auto Zone. By then, I was comfortable enough to ask to use their scan tool, but the employee was nice enough to do it for me. The result was that my car won’t blow up in the near future, but it does need to go to the dealer. Which means I better go to sleep early so I can get it to the dealer in the morning. Bumper-to-bumper warranties are the best.

Ok, world, I passed this part of the test. I’m ready for round 2.

I had to do it to make the voices go away.


I just couldn’t help it. Not one bit. While taking my daughter to return her library books (b cuz she told me *tonight* that the books were due back *today* – of course they were), I heard a voice quietly calling my name “staaaaacey”. Then I heard it again a little louder “Staaaaaaaaaaacey”. Well, I guess the voice wanted to make sure it wasn’t ignored, cuz the next thing I heard was “STACEY GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE AND BUY ME ALREADY, OK?????” What could I do? Sure, I could have resisted temptation, but who needs a waistline anyway? I hear they’re overrated.

I think I had my 1st drunk blogging experience last nite. How did I do?

You know how after you do something you just have to “talk” about it, so you journal, blog, call your bff, etc. to tell about it? Well, that might not be the best thing for me to do when I’ve been drinkin’. Maybe it is. I dunno. I remember wanting to write about my BlogHer@Home experience last night, but I do not remember anything about actually writing it. And then I read it. LOL I keep going between “Don’t ever fuckin’ do it again!” (which movie?) to “Maybe you should do that more often!”. Obviously, I’m leaning more towards the latter.

I’m honored to have the http://www.blogherathome.com/ crew visit my site, still being a somewhat new blogger. I (soberly) thank you for a laugh-out-loud funny nite and I really look forward to tonite & tomorrow nite.

I do have to say that I totally meant it when I wrote that you bitches are amazing. And I promise that I can be funny even when I’m sober.

*updated* You shouldn’t piss me off in a room full of knives.

Sadly, the husband & I are sitting at the kitchen table…..playing on our respective laptops. Yes, this is our Saturday night entertainment. I have yet to decide if we have no lives, are getting old, or are just too fucking lazy to do something decent on a Saturday nite. It seriously went downhill when the husband opened his mouth & inserted both feet (as he usually does). After a lull in the conversation, he says, “I’m looking on Travis’ page right now.” I asked, “His Facebook page? Are you still on Facebook?” He replied, “Yeah. His oldest daughter? Is really freakin’ cute.” And I’m all, “Dood! I’m sitting right FUCKING here!!!!!!!!!!”

Now I realize that this is pretty much a marriage of convenience (& certainly not the good kind of convenience), but I now keep looking over at the knife block, trying to decide if it’s worth going to jail to make my point. Hmmm…decisions, decisions.

Update – The husband tried to get out of he hole he had dug himself into by saying, “If she were mine, she would be locked up.”

So not helping your case dood.

I never thought I’d see the day when a layoff meeting would be a good thing.

It’s official…..I’m losing my job. There I’ve said it. I knew it was coming, so I wasn’t surprised.

The merger closed June 11th pretty much right on schedule. From the day the merger was announced I knew Payroll would be absorbed. There were lots of rumors and speculation (what a bunch of gossipmongers!), but I tried to take them all with a grain of salt. I would not falter in my resolve that I was going to lose my job. It was easier that way…..no surprises. Well, no bad surprises anyway. If somehow I managed to survive this merger with my job intact, it would be a pleasant surprise. Much better, I think, than to hold out hope that I would be safe only to get the horrible shock that a significant part of my world was gonna come crashing down. That wasn’t a risk I was willing to take, especially since the husband has been laid off twice in the past 6 years.

However, to say that I was okay with losing with losing my job depended on which day you caught me. I’ve been on a pretty interesting emotional roller coaster since the merger was announced. It’s safe to say that I’ve been through all the phases of grief at least 5 times and not in any real particular order. I always came back to “what’s next for me?” In some ways this could be the best way to move forward with the divorce. And then, there’s the inevitable (& frequent) “WTF am I gonna do now?” I think out loud a lot, but have to be careful who I do that around, cuz if they don’t know how I deal, I could inadvertantly burn a lot of bridges. Not good. The stress of all of it felt like a brick sitting on my chest, but it was manageable so I didn’t worry about it much.

Until this week. We were told a rep from corp HR was coming cuz those who were losing their jobs had to be notified within 30 days of the close of the merger. Yesterday morning, I woke up and the brick had morphed into a 2-ton boulder on my chest. It was all I could do to get ready and actually come to work. I didn’t really need to worry, though. My meeting was in the afternoon & I was ready to get it over with when my time came. They confirmed that my layoff date is 2/28/10 (still somewhat tentative) and that I will get a severance, which will be paid out in bi-weekly installments (the only thing I wasn’t expecting). I got the feeling that the people in the meeting thought I would have some sort of breakdown. Hello? You’re not really telling me anything I didn’t already know. Besides, have you WORKED with the Main Sales Floor? They DRIVE you to want to quit drink excessively. My brain liver needs a break. Anyway, I walked out of that meeting with more options than I thought I had going in. I now know that I don’t have to hurry to find a job. I’ve got time to check out ALL my options. I’m doing a lot of thinking outside of the box on this one, which is probably what I’m doing if you catch me muttering to myself.

Life goes on and as long as I stop finding gray eyebrow hairs, it will all be good.

Farkle is the fucking Devil.

I know I’m not alone in this and I’m asking for your help.

I’m recruiting members for a new firing squad which will have a single purpose: to destroy the creator(s) of Farkle. This won’t really be surprising to them. They started this game for their own enjoyment and only turned it on the rest of the world Facebook community when they realized how addicted they had become. This was their revenge against their own Frankenstein monster. We need to put them out of their misery just as much as we need to be released from their curse.

They’ll thank us, trust me.