The Mystery of the Disappearing TP

Yup. You SO read that correctly.

And it is a mystery...not exactly like trying to figure out the Sphinx, but still....

Disappearing. Toilet. Paper??

So here is the deal, or rather, the question: How much TP do seven adults use in one day?

The answer is two of these bad boys:

 

So we aren't talking single ply super cheap nasty toilet paper (like you would find in most gas stations or employer bathrooms, actually now that I think about it...). This is cooshy two ply..with ridges! (I don't get it, but feel free to try to explain why my toilet paper needs ridges? Ruffles need ridges...paper for my bum does not.)

And you know what else is going to blow your mind? There are only TWO ladies that work in this ENTIRE building (and YES, smart ass, I am one of them). So...men are using this much? Wait. I thought boys didn't care about this stuff as much as girls do? Trust me..I've dated enough to have experienced it all...everything from stolen gas station toilet paper to Taco Bell napkins...and please--feel free to let your skin crawl here.

So. Does age have something to do with this? Older men have realized hygiene and comfort are not just things for women?

Huh.

Well...if that's true, I guess I understand why all these 20 year old girls want to date men old enough to be their fathers. There's not a chance you'll have to scrounge around under the sink looking for something, anything, to take care of business in a strange man's house (is there anything worse?) I bet once they hit 40, fellas even have extra rolls stored under their sinks.

Just like a good boy should.

Letter to myself...

Do you ever stumble across something that is sort of an epiphany of sorts? Something that makes you sit up and take notice and pay attention?

I've had one of those moments. Not anything super deep---just horrifying.

So I wrote myself a letter to read five years down the road. Why am I sharing it with you? Because I want it to stick! I'm not sharing all of it (you would die of boredom--and you aren't my therapist), just the bits and pieces I like the best. So..here you go--enjoy:


Health:

Are you going to the dentist twice a year? I know those bastards at the ADA are trying to say once a year is enough, but I cry bullshit. Clean teeth are happy teeth. Especially since you are probably still paying for dental insurance out of pocket. Unless you are married to some nice man who is willing to share his insurance with you. (If that's not a definition of true love, I don't know what is.)

Speaking of teeth--kitties need clean teeth, too. Don't be cheap. Take them to vet! Your nose will thank you for this.

And please, please tell me you are finally scooping the litter box every day? (Hey! I can dream, can't I?)

Same goes with the annual exam. I'm totally cool with you skipping out on a mammogram until 40--but downstairs? Well..it needs to be inspected every year--American Cancer Society be damned.

Relationships

Well--the most important one is with yourself...so....are you happy? (Remember--you shouldn't lie to yourself!)

If not? Do something about it. NOW.

Are you co-habitating yet? If not--whatever. I know it's a hard idea for you to wrap your head around, but if you are--be nice. Don't mock or make fun. Unless it's totally called for. Men have egos that need to be pampered. (Big effing babies.) But if you are? He better be putting away the laundry. If he doesn't do this simple task? Kick him to the curb--he's worthless. You can do better.

Okay--babies. Are there babies? If there are--well--sister how far you've come. Just remember the cardinal rule: ONE and done. There are enough unwanted, undertaken care of welfare babies out there to make having more than one child a terrfying thought. Want a bigger family? Adopt. Save a kid from a horrible situation (IE crappy parents) and make the world a little bit of a better place : )

Also--you are not your child's friend. They don't earn that privilege with you until they 1) have a high school diploma 2) pay taxes 3) pay rent, bills, buy their own food 4) have moved OUT of your house and have NO financial dependence on you what so ever. Once all these obligations have been met--then--you may begin to establish your new role in this fully functioning adult's life...but not before. It's bad news bears if you do. Look around. *Shudder* You know this is the right thing to do.

Job
A precious lesson--life is too short to be treated like crap. Work is what you love to do--so if you aren't happy where you work? Find someplace new. You spend too much time there to hang around to be miserable. Playing it safe isn't always the best thing for your health....


It does go on from here...but that's really all that's cool to share for now. I think it's relatively sound advice--don't you?

Who knows..five years from now I could be living beach side in Spain because I've won the lottery. This means I will have lots of botox, a super hot Spanish boy-toy, and people to do my laundry AND scoop the cat boxes....

I'm leaving right now to buy tickets. That just sounds too good to be true!

Roll with the Changes, yo!

No worries--I haven't run away with REO Speedwagon...

(Whoa. Who just dated herself. Did I really just reference REO Speedwagon? Crikey.)

I've been in my new job now for almost a month...and?

I LOVE it. Love my morning commute (5 mins), I adore working in an office full of men (Get your mind out of the gutter....these guys don't censor themselves, that's all I mean. Walk by an office and you may hear a veritable bouquet of profanity. People? I'm home.), there are donuts on Friday, conversations about music, literature, cars, and yard care over lunch....just a really nice place to be. I look forward to coming here everyday. I have my office mostly set up, and I'm almost fluent in the accounting system...all in all? A leaving my old life behind? A very good thing indeed.

So that's pretty much it....except I'm trying to garden cheap this year (I bought seeds! And a starter thingy! IF my bluebonnets grow? I'll share pics for sure and will be so excited I won't be able to stand it, I'm sure), revamp the house on the fly, repaint the whole shebang, get sucked back in to TV (Bones is back tonight...and? I don't care how "sqaure" he gets..it would take a whole lot of evil to make me want to break up with Don Draper), and...well. That's it in a nut shell.

Hopefully with the warming of the weather, I will find myself getting into all kinds of shenanigans...because let's be realistic..it is ME after all!

All good things must come to an end, right? Right.

So. Many of you know that I have been pounding the pavement (so to speak) for roughly six years (Let that sink in....Six. Years.) looking for a new kind of job. Going to grad school was supposed to open doors (NOT), putting in my time was supposed to lead to a promotion (again..not), etc, etc, etc.


What DID happen was a lot of hair pulling, cursing, bruised eye-balls (there's only so much job hunting a person can do online before her eyes want to fall out of their sockets), therapy, and the feeling that I was never, ever going to find anything I could do besides what I had done professionally for the past 13 years.

Boy. Was I wrong.

Thank. God.

That said, do not think for one second that I am not grateful to the company who is employing me until March 8th, 2012. I am. Very much so. They provided me with the opportunity to buy my own home, my car, take a smattering of trips and all in all, having not too bad of a life.

Leaving something you know like the back of your hand? Is scary. But it's time for me to step out of my comfort zone and embrace my future.

And that future doesn't include unpacking boxes, being mistaken for a college student (damn!), and a job that has become so monotonous, I don't have to think much anymore.

So, I'm on to learn a whole new world, meet all new people from all walks of life. I'm super excited, but extremely appreciative of the colleagues I've had for the past six years. They have made my job enjoyable, even fun sometimes. I can't say I loved coming to work everyday, but it wasn't because of who I worked with--but rather--what I was doing and how trapped I felt in my life. That, I'm truly hoping, is a feeling I won't have again for a long, long time. (Big thanks to all of you--and you know who you are).

Now. For the funny stuff.

For someone who hadn't had an interview in several years, the past seven months were a slew of meet and greets (And by slew--I mean 3. And that wasn't for lack of effort. I found over 400 cover letters on my thumb drive..that should tell you something right there.) One of the interviews was in a building downtown. It was actually my second interview for a position shockingly similar to what I currently hold, but I was flattered to have the opportunity and was stunned, at myself, when I told them "Thank you--but no thank you." They had me come in for the second interview anyway. I figured, what the hell--why not. It's good practice, right?

Yeah. It's good practice until you walk into the men's room.

But that's not the worst part.

Nope. That would be the fact that I used the men's room.

Yup. I was so out of it, I walked right in, hung my purse on the hook on the stall and took a seat. The outside door opened and I noticed a pair of loafers.

Large. Loafers.

And stupidly then thought "Gawd. That poor woman has HUGE feet. Wait? Why are her feet facing the wall. Is she peeing? How in the hell is she peeing facing the wall?!?!"

Earth to moron. You are the one peeing the wrong room, not the man using the urinal. You have no idea of the horror and mortification that hit me all at once. I was peeing. In the men's room. In a building where I had just had a job interview. I suddenly was cursing myself for not noticing the shoe choices of the men on the panel who had conducted the interview. It's a mistake I will never make again.

Or maybe I shouldn't make trying to figure the best way to sneak out of the men's room a habit? Then the shoe choices of random men won't be so important. Hmmm.

I had to wait for him to finish (And was pleasantly surprised when he washed his hands. Trust me, if women think they are alone in the bathroom--they don't. Well, I do--but I have found I am not the norm. I don't know why, but I'm very good at hiding in bathrooms.) to sneak out and run in to the ladies across the tiny hallway. I wasn't taking any chances of hand washing in the men's room. I had pressed my luck enough.

The lesson? Be sure to read the sign on the door--your kind may not be welcome inside : )

And new jobs may be scary--but it's all for the best in the end. (And they certainly aren't as scary as potentially being labeled a pervert in the workplace.)

Driving is disgusting...or is it men?

Okay...it takes a lot to gross me out. You're talking to (or reading from, more accurately) a woman who can eat dinner while watching autopsy shows. Enjoy a snack whilst watching how numerous wives/husbands/boyfriends/girlfriends have dismembered their significant others (Why is murder more okay than divorce? No..really. Tell me.)

That said.....there is one thing that can make me gag-a-maggot faster than anything. Snot/Mucus. (Spit comes in a close second due to an unfortunate incident when I was in fourth grade when a bully of a girl spit directly on to each of the lenses of my glasses. I promptly ralphed on her shoes. Payback's a bitch, huh?)

Okay, maybe it's not good for you to know my kryptonite, but there you have it. Why is this such a big deal?

I was minding my own business this morning, driving along in the gloomy mist of the morning (Oooh! Look at me being all fancy...) when I happened to take a look out my driver's side window.

And that...is when it happened.

The disgusting man in the beat down old Ford in front of me stuck his head out of his window...and.....

Hocked. A. Lugey.

No. Shit.

And it landed?

On my driver's side window.

Let that sink in. There was a big wad of another human being's SNOT on my window.

And it wouldn't come off! And I'm driving along trying not vomit as this lugey is wobbling in the wind.

God I hope it rains....I would really prefer NOT to scrape a snot wad off my car this afternoon. But hey--if it is dry, at least it won't jiggle like jello!

Okay, just even thinking about is making me want to throw up again. Blah.

Do me a favor people..don't spit out of a moving vehicle. Please?

Thank you in advance...

Sorta Squeamish

Slacker? Thy name is Rhea...

You want to get good at something? Then you should practice at it...you know--do it over and over and over again.

Well. Clearly someone doesn't plan on being a writer anytime soon. I can give plenty of excuses, but that's just what they are--excuses.

Play time is over children...I'm getting back to work.

Computer issues? Fixed. And look at the super cute new laptop case/bag/cover thingy I bought (this is the back):


Yes. I have the sense of humor of a 12 year old..I know, I know. (Kitty HATES you..bwah, hah, hah..it's an old joke that never doesn't make me laugh). And? If this doesn't get people to talk to me at Starbucks, I don't know what will. Great place to meet boys my ass....

In a mere few weeks, I will have new carpet down in my bedroom and office...which I will then re-design to actually allow me to write in it. Currently my desk is in my bedroom. And it gets used about as much as you think it would in such a poor location..it holds laundry that needs to be folded. And sad, sad socks that have lost their mates. Very, very sad. So sad that I really do think I'm going to make this thing and hang it on the door of my dryer--check it out (I found it on Pinterest...which is like crack for white girls...):

                                              

Clearly--I'm on said website, so you should totally follow me (roo13). I have very interesting things that could and should change your life. Like apple pies made from apples!
                                              

Is your mind blown yet?

It should be.

And when I get my groove back--don't blame me when your brain is shredded to bits.

Oh. Holy, Jesus. When did I become Bridget Jones??

Actually--it's been happening for quite some time. Don't believe me?

Read the book."Get the book here"

Not a reader? You can always watch the movie: "Watch this movie!!"

And you will see what a folly my life has become.

Don't believe me? Well children..I SO have a story for you.

What summed it up for me was last Thursday evening. I had a meeting of sorts to go to. I volunteer my time doing PR/Marketing for a smallish local not-for-profit. (Bridget? Works in "Publicity"..the much cuter sounding English equivalent.) So, I leave work..and it's a blizzard out. (In November? Really?) The snow follows me downtown, and I drive round the block of a fancy schmancy hotel (in which we are having said meeting) for ten minutes. Giving up, I park it in the mall and get myself across the street. The e-mail said we were to meet in the bar.

Not the lobby. The BAR.

Now. Let me just say. I am more than a tad under dressed for this place in my slip on, worn completely out work shoes (from Payless), my chocolate colored chinos and green corduroy coat (both from Target). While I have some makeup on..I am far from "made up". Oh! And my hair was in a jaunty pony tail. Mainly because I was too lazy to wash my hair that morning, but that's neither here nor there. (Washing your hair too much? Makes it dull and lifeless. It took my 31 years to figure this one out.) So..let's just say...all these ladies coming in from a convention in 4 inch heels and pencil skirts and exquisite scarves? Yes. They blew me out of the water.

I walked in to the bar and the hostess was helpful enough to point me in the direction of a couple by the window. Considering it was a man with a girl young enough to be his daughter I thought, "Probably not my group..". And no. She was not his daughter. How do I know? Because his hand was so far up her thigh that it made ME blush.

So, I go around the bar again, and there is a very handsome older man, maybe in his 50's, sitting at a large table by himself. He's in a suit that costs more than I make in a month, I'm sure. Drinking scotch, or bourbon, on the rocks. Did I mention he was nice looking? Cause he was. Very. Yowza. "Bingo" I thought to myself. Since I was looking for an academic, I figured this was my guy. I walk up to the man, and the first thing out of his mouth was "You look familiar. Have I seen you before?"

Silly me. I was flattered. Maybe he had seen me on the website or something. I sit down and start to pull my things out. He asks me what I'm drinking. I politely decline and get out my notes and notebook and pen. He looks confused. I am confused by his look of confusion. I ask him if he wasn't Mr. X, and he says no. "So you're not with the committee from the museum?"

Nope.

That's right. I just plopped myself down in front of a very attractive man, obviously a "Somebody", like I knew what in the hell I was doing in a coat from Target and in Payless shoes. And he? Was just another in my very long line of Daniel Cleavers throwing out a cheesy pick up line. And it worked. Oh. Dear. Lord. If the earth could have swallowed me whole in that moment, I would have been ecstatic.

I grab my things, apologize for idiocy and bolt from the bar to wait in the lobby.

Just wait. It gets better.

The concierge kept asking if he could "help" me. I told him I was waiting for someone. I'm pretty sure he thought I was the cheapest hooker he'd seen in a long while. A step up from streetwalker, sure, but not exactly what I would call a fantasy come to life.

I blame the cheap shoes.

So, I do what I should have done before I came to the stupid meeting. I googled the person I was meeting.

And guess who had been sitting in the lobby for the entire time?

You guessed it.

Oh. And it gets worse.

Rhea is not an expert on the topic at hand. Rhea has been brought in to "fanny about with the press releases". I know nothing about these teaching methods (I'm so NOT a teacher...and I have the utmost respect for those of you that are), nor have I read everything a certain author has written.

The guys in my meeting. Are. And Have.

I HATE feeling like the stupidest person in the room. Hate, hate, hate, hate it. But jokes were told that I didn't get. Books dissected that I hadn't read. I had the overwhelming urge to ask "Do you know....where...the toilets are??", but I bit my tongue. I was there for PR and Marketing. I left with no idea how to do either for this project. (Don't fret, it WILL come to me. But I was blindsided by all the academic brilliance and super smart author talk I had been exposed to.)

It made me kind of sad. I so very much want to be one of those super brilliant people who wows people with her smarts. Instead, I got lopsided grins of "Aww..isn't she cute? Trying so hard! It's adorable."

Sigh.

My only saving grace right now is that if I die "fat and alone", I won't be found three weeks later half eaten by wild dogs.

Nope. It will be cats.

And I better not be fat.