Holy Fucking Ouch!!!

Sweet Screaming Jabeezus!  I have no idea what I did to my back but I have managed to fuck it up in such a way that I don’t think I will ever recover and am now doomed to go through life hunched over like some freak who should be living in a bell tower at Notre Dame. 

Last night I was sitting on my bed then I got up to go get some water and all of the sudden the mind searing pain shot up my back followed by much screaming and swearing.  I’m still trying to figure out exactly what the hell happened, because one minute I was fine and the next I was begging for serious narcotics. 

Oh…and for the record…whatever marketing genius came up with Excedrin Back Pain Relief and those little heating thingies that you stick to your back that are supposed to be like some kind of mobile heating pad can totally suck my ass because neither of these products work for shit.  Yeah….I’m a little bitter about wasting $23 on stuff that is no help whatsoever. 

At this point the only thing that is going to make me feel even remotely better is sweatpants, an actual heating pad and my whirlpool tub…obviously not all at once because I’m not a big fan of electrocution (at least not when it’s happening to me).  Oh yeah…and wine…much wine.

Untitled – For Lack of a Better Title

OUCH!  Yeah…the Fucking Marlon Regimen is back on, full freaking force, and pretty much every muscle in my body hurts.  Actually, I can’t bitch too much because it felt really good to be back in the gym.  No, not because I missed the creepy sweating frat boys or the weird grunting Chinese guy…I missed being in the gym because it’s the one damn place in the world where NO ONE BOTHERS ME!!! 

It really is kind of amazing.  I put on my iPod, go about my workout and I don’t have to talk to a single person for at least an hour.  No one asks me anything, no one tells me anything, my phone isn’t ringing, no one can email me…I can just shut my brain off.  I can’t tell you how much I love that.  Who would have thought that the key to my sanity is going to the gym…oh yeah…and it makes my ass look hot, so…ya know…BONUS! 

Honestly, things have been so crazy/busy/completely insane that I’m getting to that point where everything goes a little wonky and I kind of freak out.  It’s not as bad as that time I had the nervous breakdown and had to go on the Crazy Pills, and at least I’m getting to the point where I can start to recognize when it’s happing, but still…not fun.  

It’s strange.  I run and run and run and work and work and work and basically just go all out at a hundred miles an hour in every aspect of my life for weeks and it doesn’t seem to bother me and then all of the sudden I just, well, crash for lack of a better word.   

I have a friend who keeps telling me not to spread myself so thin and that this is why I freak out from time to time.  Yeah…that’s great in theory, but I truly don’t know how to do that.  I don’t know how to say “Sorry, no, I just don’t have time to do that”.  I don’t know how to not feel compelled to keep everything clean and organized.  I have no idea how not to check my work email at midnight because there might be something that needs to be handled right then and there. 

The concept of just sitting still and doing nothing is completely alien to me. I’m sure if I could figure out how to do that I would be a much calmer, less stressed out person.  I really don’t see that happening anytime in the future, though, so for the time being I’ll cherish that hour in the gym where no one talks to me, no one expects anything from me and I can just shut my brain off.

REVENGE!!! Well, Sort of.

If you’ve been reading this blog for any amount of time you’ll probably recall the night that I was cooking dinner one night and Nick came and set the whole dinner on fire, threw it onto the kitchen floor and jumped up and down on it.
It may have taken 10 years, but I finally got revenge. 

Okay…maybe what I did was a tad bit worse, but really…he kind of had it coming to him. 

So, last night I made spaghetti and homemade red sauce and turkey meatballs for dinner.  Let me just say for the record…it was amazingly yummy.  At any rate…I was cleaning up and putting everything away and just generally being some kind of psychotically domestic type person (and we all know that NEVER happens, so be impressed with me) when disaster struck. 

I had already put the pot of molten hot lava spaghetti sauce into the refrigerator and was opening that little cheese/meat drawer when (and I’m still not sure how this happened) the goddamn pot full of Satan’s own magma sauce fell off the self and spilled all over my feet and pretty much the entire kitchen floor, much to Max the wonder puppy’s delight, because apparently his new favorite thing to do is chase escaping meatballs across the house. 

Much screaming and hoping onto kitchen counters in order to stick my burnt and blistered feet into the kitchen sink was taking place when my mom walked into the kitchen.  Well, of course, since I’m screaming and the kitchen is covered in red stuff, my mother naturally assumed, given my somewhat accident prone nature, that either I had seriously injured myself or that I had finally snapped and killed someone. 

Once I had assured her that the kitchen was not covered in blood, but rather coated in spaghetti sauce, the laughing commenced.  Honestly, I had to admit it was rather funny in this kind of I Love Lucy sort of way. 

I was about to start cleaning everything up when it dawned on me that I had pretty much destroyed what Nick was supposed to be having for dinner when he got back from work that night.  Seeing how I was in no mood to go to the store to pick something up and there was no way in hell I was going to cook something else, I did the only thing I could do. 

You can see where this is going, can’t you? 

I totally wrestled the meatballs away from the dog, scooped up the sauce with a ladle and put it back into the fridge like nothing had happened, called Nick and told him that dinner was in the fridge. 

Yeah…I’m pretty much going to hell.   

But in my defense, I did check to make sure that there was no dog hair or glass or weird kitchen floor funk in the sauce before I put it back in the fridge….and I had just washed the kitchen floor a couple of days ago, so it was fairly clean. 

No….I didn’t tell him before he ate. 

Yes…he is just now finding out about this by reading this blog.

No….he is NOT going to be happy

Yes, he is probably going to kill me. 

However, this doesn’t even come CLOSE to setting my dinner on fire, throwing it on the floor and jumping up and down on it, so I’m thinking we’re sorta even now.

I Should not be Permitted to Speak

I think it’s a well established fact that the filter between the brains and mouths of normal people is pretty much non-existent in me.  Honestly…I don’t think people are even all that shocked by the random and totally inappropriate things that come out of my mouth anymore; it’s something everyone has pretty much come to expect. 

That being said, I think that cutting all my hair off has had somehow intensified my tendency to just sort of spew forth with the random and, quite often, vulgar comments.  Apparently, my brain has been subsiding on nothing more than caffeine, nicotine and alcohol up until this point and now that it’s getting oxygen…well…it has sort of run amok.   

Case in point: 

• I told our biggest client that she needed to have a conference with all of the voices in her head and make a damn decision once and for all because it’s getting confusing to figure out which of her personalities I’m speaking to at any given moment.
• When the cashier at Starbucks pointed out the fact that the pen I had in my pocket had leaked black ink all over my pants, I (for some COMPLETELY UNKNOWN reason) informed him that it wasn’t ink and that I had actually peed myself and that I should probably stop eating squid ink pasta.
• My response when a co-worker asked me if I was going to be attending the budgeting meeting?  ”I’d rather be anally violated by a mountain lion, but since there aren’t any mountain lions in the office, I guess I’ll make an appearance”.
• When the guy in the office next to me said “Hey…did you cut your hair?” rather than just saying yes, I had to say “Nope, the bottom half of it just fell right the fuck off from stress”.

 Actually, there’s a lot more…including my telling someone that if I had the option of having children like the two in line in front of us (who were snot-covered and screaming) and having my ovaries shrivel up and fall off I was totally going with Option B.   

Someone please stop me before I speak anymore.

Raoul Said to Evacuate

Okay, while reading this please keep in mind that our IT Department is outsourced to India.  Everyone in that office speaks with an extremely heavy Indian accent.   

So…I just had the following conversation with Raoul, who apparently works in our Indian IT Department. 

Me: Hi this is Claudia 

Raoul: Claudia, are you the HR Manager for your branch? 

Me: Yes, I am. 

Raoul:  Very good.  I am conducting a fire drill and you must evacuate the building immediately. 

Me:  Whaaat? 

Rauol:  This is a fire drill and you must evacuate the building immediately. 

Me:  Hold on a second.  This is a WHAT?  Who are you? 

Raoul:  This is Raoul in the IT Department and I am conducting a fire drill and you must… 

Me: Yes, I get that part; we must evacuate the building immediately.  What I don’t understand is who you are and why you’re calling me from India to tell me that you’re conducting a fire drill.  Isn’t there usually some kind of alarm? 

Raoul:  You must evacuate the building immediately.  I am conducting a fire drill. 

Me:  Raoul, if you say that one more time I’m going to fly to India and smack you.  Now, please explain to me exactly what the hell is going on because we don’t normally conduct fire drills via Trans-Atlantic phone calls. 

Raoul:  I will start the timer when we disconnect, please call me back once you’ve evacuated the building. 

Me:  Hang on a sec.  Are you telling me that if the building ever bursts into flames that you’re going to call me and tell me to evacuate? 

Raoul (who is getting VERY pissed off by now): NO!  If the building catches on fire you have to notify the authorities and then call me.  I will not know if your building catches on fire. 

Me:  Raoul, keep your pants on.  I was just kidding.  Um…so how are you going to know if we actually evacuate? 

Raoul:  Because you must call me once you have evacuated the building. 

Me: But, couldn’t I just call you and say that we’ve evacuated when really we’re just sitting in our office? 

Raoul: NO!  Absolutely not….you must evacuate the building.  I AM CONDUCTING A FIRE DRILL. 

Me:  Raoul, I think that perhaps there is a flaw in the system. 

Raoul:  Just please evacuate the building and call me once you’ve done so.   

Me:  Fuck it…I could use a cigarette anyway. Okay…everyone out of the building….Raoul said we must evacuate immediately. 

So, I round up my staff, who are all looking at me like I’m insane and we evacuate the building immediately so that Raoul’s head doesn’t explode all over Calcutta. 

We get downstairs and I call Raoul.  The first thing he asks me?  “Did you bring your fire extinguisher?”  What the hell?  Why would I bring a fire extinguisher with me?  I brought my purse…I brought my iPod…hell…I even brought my staff with me…what the hell else does Raoul want from me?!?! 

Let’s just say that Raoul was none too pleased by my response.   

Vile Wretched Mood

Really?  There is not enough iced coffee in the world to make this day better.  Under normal circumstances if you throw a giant iced coffee at me, I’m just about guaranteed to be in a better mood.  Today?  Not so much. 

Here’s the thing.  I can’t tell you exactly why I’m having such a bad day. It’s not one specific thing; it’s the culmination of a bunch of little things.  

Since I’m not feeling especially creative or humorous today, I’ll just do a total bullshit blog and attempt to explain my vile mood in bullet points. 

 ·        It took me approximately eleventy billion hours to get to work today because apparently if there is even the tiniest drop of water on the highway, everyone in Houston must come to a grinding halt.

·        I have been told in no uncertain terms that people don’t so much find me intimidating as I ”Scare the Crap out of people”.  Nice.  Thanks for that.

·        My hair, that was all cute and flippy and perfectly layered yesterday has decided to make me look like Don King today.  Apparently, I have angered it somehow.

·        It’s exactly 4 degrees in my office and I’m being mocked for sitting at my desk wrapped up in a blanket.

·        I do not have enough hours in the day to get everything accomplished here at work, get to the gym, clean my damn house, go to the grocery store, actually cook something for dinner and generally live like a normal person.

·        I have a raging sinus infection which is making my eyes water and my nose bright red and generally making me look like some kind of crazy meth-head. 

Sorry about the lack of funnies today, but really, I’m just in no freaking mood to be funny or even mildly entertaining.  I promise to at least be somewhat amusing tomorrow.  

So…here’s the challenge internet land….I dare you to try and get me in a better mood….you will be graded on originality and promptness.   

Really Mad at My Boobs

Let me just say this now…about half of you are NOT going to want to read this.  That would be the half of you who happen to have a penis.  Reason being?  This blog is totally all about my boobs.

 

Yes, I hear you all collectively saying to yourselves “But we’re GUYS.  We LIKE boobs.  We are their biggest fans”.  To that I say…this is REALLY not one of those entries.  I have PMS….you really don’t want to read this.  Consider yourself warned.

 

Supposedly there are women out there who get PMS for all of two freaking seconds and the only way they can tell is because they feel a little tired?  Who the hell are these mythical beings and what bargain did they strike with Satan to get this deal?

 

Oh yeah…and can you please provide me with Satan’s contact information because I totally want in on this.

 

Wanna know how I know when I have PMS?  Oddly enough, the scary breaky-outy skin, massive backache, tendency to throw staplers at people, the fact that I’m retaining enough water to actually be declared my own island and the odd hysterical bursts of crying at random television commercials isn’t the clue.  The clue?  My boobs are huge.  By huge I mean E-FREAKING-NORMOUS.

 

Here’s the thing.  I’m not a big fan of the boobs to start with.  Sure…they make my t-shirts look pretty and occasionally their very presence is enough for strange guys in bars to buy me drinks, but they are annoying.  They get in the way, they make running a dangerous activity and really….all upper body machines at the gym were invented by men.  Men without boobs.

 

Yet once a month my boobs get some kind of inferiority complex and decide to go all psychotic and grow like crazy.   I don’t mean they get slightly swollen….I mean I have people asking me for the name of my plastic surgeon because “your boobs weren’t that size yesterday”.   I’m actually afraid they might attack someone once they discover their Godzilla like growth spurt and ability to think independently from the rest of my body.

 

To add insult to injury…they hurt like hell, too.

 

Okay…done bitching about my boobs.  Off to take Midol and search out chocolate.  Oh yeah…and to change the dress code at work from Business Casual to I’m totally wearing sweatpants and an Ohio State t-shirt that has stains on it to the staff meeting.

 

And I really think consuming wine while at work should be acceptable today.  Cause…ya know…its medicinal and all.