Lump of coal

Yesterday morning my bitch manager came into my office and essentially told me that i could leave whenever i wanted, and could stay home today, too.

WTF??!!

I hate it when an enemy does something nice. Damn, it totally throws me for a loop. Mind you, she did say that if anyone found out, she would sell me down the river and deny ever having talked to me.

So i didn't go in today. Part of my suspicious, little, beady mind thinks it's a set-up. Oh well, what are they going to do, fire me? Oh that's riiiiiight, my job's already gone. Hah! Too bad, so sad.

Nah, i'm not bitter. But i tell you one thing, if i hear one more freaking Christmas song on the radio i'm going to bash someone's head in with a bough of holly.

This is my kind of Christmas song.

Eric Idle's Christmas Song

Ghosts of Christmas past

What could possibly possess an ex-boyfriend (of a gazillion years ago) to send me a message on Facebook?

“Hi JJ, just wanted to say hi. I bought a condo in ****** and move in in two days! Hope you’re good and have a fun Christmas- Richard”.

Now, we're not talking a recent ex--this is someone i stopped dating 6 years ago and have had no contact with since.

Why the fuck do I need to know he bought a condo?? Seriously. I haven’t talked to the dude in 6 years. And all of a sudden; “Hi!”?? Is this something that is common on Facebook or is it just me? Pretty much every guy I’ve dated in the past 10 years or so has sent me a message out of the blue. The creepy thing is it means that they were specifically searching for you.

Ok, ok, so yeah, I admit, I search exes too (I’m such a hypocrite). The above mentioned Richard? Yeah, I searched him. Which brings me to another weird thing about Facebook. Back when i looked at Richard's profile (before he set it to private), I saw that he had a girlfriend. So, of course, I browsed her profile (I’m horrible). In her photo albums, she had a picture of Richard, with a caption saying something like “There’s my baby! Love you!”. The weird thing is that I took the picture. I felt like a trademark violation had occurred. A photo that I had taken of my (then) boyfriend was now being used by another woman to show-off her (current) boyfriend. I know I don’t have any claims to a photo, and i certainly have no claim to the man (nor do i want to--ewww). It’s just another weird thing about this strange plane of existence called the internet.

Oh—and I should mention--when I search exes? I don’t message them!! I really don't give a rat’s about what they are doing, and i certainly don't have any need to inform them of what i'm up to. I'm likely just being a bored voyeur.

So i really want to know...what DOES possess someone to contact an ex out of the blue, just to say "hi"? Is it just an inherent side-effect of social networking?

Tis the season...

Ahhhhhh, Christmas (or "the Holidays"). A time of love, family, magic, joy and celebration.

**snort**

I'm sitting here, the Yuletide log roaring on my TV, a couple of strings of Christmas lights wound around my lamp and the (fake) fireplace mantel. I actually went to hang a wreath my mom made for me a few years back, but i can't find it. I don't think i would have thrown it out, but who knows anymore? I used to have a fake Christmas tree, but i sold it on Craigslist. I'm all about the Season.

I think the number one question at this time of year is "Have you done all your Christmas shopping?" If i hear that one more time, my head's going to pop off and roll down the street. I don't Christmas shop. Well, i buy stuff for myself, but not for anyone else. That's ok, because i hate getting presents. As long as i don't get any gifts, it's all good. I think that this might be a weird thing about myself, but i'm not sure. I know that when my mom took me to see Santa when i was little, i could never ask for anything. I'd be sitting on Joe Blow's bony,velvet lap, as he chortled "What do you want for Christmas? Ho ho ho!" --- and i was mute. I couldn't say what i wanted. Even at that young age, i knew that if you never wanted anything, you could never be disappointed (yeah right).

Don't get me wrong, i've enjoyed some Christmases. A few years ago some sisters came out West and it was great. Another time, my mom and i went back East, and it was cold. Last year, my sister, her husband and daughter, and one of my other sisters were going to spend Christmas at my place. It went without saying that there would be no turkey dinner (the closest i have gotten to having a turkey dinner here is the Safeway roast chicken carcass i have in my fridge right now). But things didn't go as planned. My mom and i got stranded in LA due to the snow storms, my sisters' flights kept getting cancelled and by the time mom and i arrived home at 3:30am Christmas day, we were spent. Christmas dinner last year was pasta. And it actually suited me just fine.

This year will be a non-event too. Mom and i are headed for a cruise on the 27th, so she won't travel to my place until Boxing Day. Which means i am on my own. That's another question that's going to implode my head, "So what are you doing for Christmas dinner?" I can't tell the truth because then i get the "face", that awkward mix of pity and confusion, the mental battle being fought in the person's head as to whether to offer up their home on a sacifricial platter. Umm, yeah, no thanks. Truth be told, i am ok with it. My Christmas dinner will be lobster on a cruise ship in Mexico. What's to complain about?

Now excuse me, i have to go put another log on the TV fire.

Trimming the fat

This morning my employer voted to approve proposed budget cuts for next year. Last month I was told (on Friday the 13th no less) that the elimination of my position was part of that proposal. So now it's official. The party line is that lay-off letters will go out in January. I'm in a union, so that means I have "bumping rights"--the right to take someone's job if i have more seniority than them.

Yippee!

Nah, I'm kidding, I have no qualms about taking someone's job, it's kill or be killed at this point. The problem is that even though my current job sucks, it's looking mighty fine compared to what else is available. I don't want to be stuck working at some counter. I should come with a disclaimer to potential supervisors "Caution, do not let JJ deal with the public". It's hard enough to hold my tongue with the idiots I work with, let alone the great unwashed.

The whole situation is just such a piss off. After my job and the jobs of the other lucky people in my department are gone, there will be four managers for 18 people. A little top heavy maybe?? And that's not including "assistant managers" and "supervisors". Christ, once I'm gone, there will be a manager and a supervisor for the 3 remaining staff in my work group. What is that ratio?? And you know what really frosts my ass? My manager never even graduated high school. She has said her greatest accomplishment in her life is getting her GED. She's a 3 x 3---three kids by three different men--although, to her credit, she did marry the last one, in a resplendent ceremony in the middle of a field, complete with white cowboys hats, boots and white, plastic-framed sunglasses. Oh, and the bride's sister lovingly threw her into a 'crick'. Thank god I wasn't invited.

So why don't I get another job? Well, somewhat like my acting career, I can't get a job interview to save my life. When I first moved to BC at the tender age of 22, I couldn't even get an interview at Superstore (my roommate got the job by the way). By some stroke of luck, I finally got a job at Safeway (take THAT Superstore!) but I could only get about 8-10 hours work per week. Nearly all my paycheque went to rent. Luckily enough, I had access to the expired junk food staff were allowed to take (it was all going to be trashed anyway). I swear, I lived off stale Pork Rinds alone for one week.Another time, walking home from work, I stopped at Wendy's and bought a single piece of cheese for $0.25 cause that's all I could afford. Good times.

And so, I am crippled by the belief that I am un-hireable, that I need to hang on to steady employment, no matter how unpalatable it might be. It's a conundrum. I'm so focused on keeping my shitty job that I have no energy to look for a new one, and no confidence that I could get something better in any case. I wish i could be like those happy idiots I work with, content to put in my time until paroled into retirement.

Someone needs to shoot me. Now.

My s*** don't sink.

WOW! I'm sure glad the pity train I was on has left the station. Yikes. Thankfully it was a short ride and I'm back and ready for action. And now, on to a few questions.....

At work, why do people from other floors come to the bathroom on our floor just to take a dump? Are they afraid their immediate coworkers might discover they have bowel movements? Why does it not matter that we know? Are they like cats, not wanting to shit where they eat (work)? All I know is that I’ve never even been in a bathroom on another floor. I proudly lay where I stay.

Why is it that we put air freshener in the bathroom, but no one uses it? Are people afraid of being caught in the act of spritzing, because it’s an implied admission of having a stinky poo? And why would that be so bad anyway? You go into a smelly bathroom and there will be 3 people in there trying to look innocent and not one will grab the spray. It’s like a social more that is not to be broken. I was once in a video store and turned down an aisle to be confronted with the stench of a putrid fart. One man stood alone in the aisle. He must have seen the wrinkling of my nose, because he said "It wasn't me". He actually verbalized his denial. I wanted to yell "How could it not have been you, buddy? There isn't anyone else in the store!!". Instead, I smiled gamely and sauntered nonchalantly to the New Releases section.

Why is it that no matter when I go to the bathroom at work, I always run into the same people? And why are those people always the ones taking the most rancid shits? One time, I went into a stall and was unexpectedly walloped by the foulest of odors. I nearly gagged. I held my breath as best I could, quickly washed my hands and was outta there. But first, I noticed a very distinct coffee cup on the sink counter. It had to belong to the one person who was in a stall when I got there and still hadn’t emerged when I left. I must have filed this information in the small recesses of my brain, because I didn’t think of it again until the same thing happened a few days later. Horrific smell = coffee cup. I actually had to go on a covert mission of desk surveillance to track down the offender. Now when I enter the bathroom and the cup is there, I turn around and skedaddle. Thank god for small favors!

And finally, why doesn’t my shit sink? What does that mean? I remember hearing it was a good thing, but I don’t think having to flush 3 times to get rid of the evidence is a sign of good health. This is TMI I know, but I seem to be on a rant about bathroom etiquette so I thought I would just toss that in there. My apologies to all.

No snark

No snarkiness today. Just sadness. I'm gutted.

Just when i allow myself to think that maybe, just maybe, it's all been worth it, that all the pain in my life has prepared me and brought me to this point of impending joy--the universe seems to slap me in the face and say "Silly JJ for thinking that something could work out for you". Yes, Debbie Downer here again. I'm just so tired of this soul loneliness, this ache that's hidden so deep that even i don't know where it lies. And then, a sliver opens a crack, and it all pours out and i feel all the sadness i've ever felt or will feel in my life, all at once, and i'm scared i will never stop crying.

When does the karma happen? The promise that all good things come to those who wait?? The confident assurances that yes, it will happen for me, because i deserve it? How long should i wait?

And yet, i know i'll be fine come Monday. This is, after all, something i am very familiar with. I'll dust myself off and lift my chin and carry on, like i always do. Until the next time....

Sweet jesus....

Time for a post and run....

Latest meaningful email on the internet dating site:

i luv your profile!
im just gettin ready fr anothr crazy day!i rarely check this out but id luv to sta n touch!?i think wed be good fr a nice time!!
hughug
what did you do today?
hughughug



There are no words.

The proof is in the ...

This whole Tiger Woods thing has got me thinking about how a lot of married men are incredibly stupid about covering their tracks when it comes to undercover loving. I can’t count how many times unavailable men have sent me the ubiquitous ‘hard-on in front of the bathroom mirror’ photo, their faces clearly visible above the glare of the reflecting flash. One guy sent a masturbation video of himself to my cell phone. How would you explain that one? ”Look honey, someone stole my phone, taped themselves jacking off, and then randomly sent it to someone on my contacts list!”.

Well, I guess it could happen. That would actually be really funny. Kinda.

I have many emails and MSN chats from hooked-up men describing what they want to do to me, and I don’t mean give me fashion tips. My all-time favourite is the guy who sent me a tracing of his erect penis with a map to his house on the back. The proof is in the penis. See exhibit below.

So--a couple of questions. Why did this Grubbs gal keep over 300 sexts from Tiger? Well, maybe she’s like me. I keep everything, I’m weird that way. I’ve kept every note I passed or received in high school. Sentimental reasons I guess. And while I didn’t keep the random bathroom mirror shots (sent to me by men I e-met on a dating site—like WTF?), I do still have the peen map, the jack-off video and many incriminating emails and chats. Maybe deep down I feel that I might need them, to prove that these men are not innocent victims of blackmail attempts. I don’t know. I don’t keep them for any malicious reason. I have no desire to hurt someone’s wife or girlfriend. Which leads to another question--why do these men leave such a wealth of evidence of their transgressions (as Tiger calls them) lying around?

It all boils down to one thing. Trust. These men trust that the women they are messing around with are not recording every sext, voicemail, and dirty email. They trust that these women won’t spill the beans, that their secret is safe with them. They trust that even if things end badly, the scorned women will slink quietly off into the background. Ironic isn’t it? The one thing that they can’t give to their wives / girlfriends is the one thing they so freely expect from their mistresses.

Moo

This is what my supervisor is wearing to work today (note that this is picture is *not* a photo of my actual supervisor).

The first thing i said to her when i walked in this morning is "You are a cow!"

Oh sweet, sweet irony.

**no cows were harmed in the making of this post**

Shiny happy people

I hate happy people.

Yeah, I went there. I just got an email from a friend with pictures of her new baby. A year and half ago, she was a bitter, single gal like myself. Since then, she met a man, got engaged, got married, got pregnant and had a baby. I haven't even gotten laid in that time frame. Seriously, I was pondering this the other day and I figured out that I have spent more time being single and celibate than I have spent being in a relationship (and allegedly having sex). I actually can’t remember the last time I had sex—I think it was in Oct 2007 but I’m not sure. Does that mean I am a born again virgin? I tell you, a junior tampon would probably send me over the edge right about now. But I digress…

So yeah, back to hating happy people. It seems I am the last one standing in my group of friends to be happily entwined. My other last, single, bitter friend went on eHarmony, met a man, bought a house and is now engaged. I tried eHarmony--all I got were farmers who study the Bible in their spare time and play with their trains. I wish that was a euphemism for something other than actually playing with small, metallic objects, but no. One match, when asked how he likes to spend his leisure time, had this to say (spelling mistakes left as is):

During my leisure time I work on my physical appearence so that I can always be ready when the lucky women steps into my life.


I must have been very, very bad to someone in a past life. That's the only explanation i can come up with.

Think of the starving children...

I am the biggest food waster. I am constantly throwing out food--or not throwing it out in some cases. I have a container of yogurt in my fridge that expired Oct 22. Yesterday i threw out about a pound and a half of fruit salad that was given to me at one of my jobs. It had actually fermented. I considered drinking it, but it was too rank even for me. I'm just kidding, i don't drink anymore. I used up my entire lifetime allotment of alcohol by the time i was about 22. Trust me, you do NOT want me to touch anything containing booze.

For the past 3 nights i've had the same "dinner". A sandwich with Buddig sliced meat, and ketchup chips. A real blast from my past. It's funny how some foods retain such powerful memories. When i was about 13, my mom would get me a bag of ketchup chips as a special treat after going to the orthodontist (yeah i know, pretty lame treat, lol). I was in gymnastics then, and kept on a pretty tight leash as far as diet went. Eating something like chips was a small rebellion, and my mom was my partner in crime. It was just the two of us on those appointments and in a small way, it was like a secret we shared. I was also in track, a sprinter and long jumper. When i was at meets, my mom would pack me a lunch with my favorite, a (Buddig) corned beef sandwich. I used to count how many slices of meat she put in my sandwich--each layer meaning more love. A seven slice sandwich was a good day. Today, i put a whole package in a sandwich ( a whole 65 grams!), but my mom can still make one last for 2 or 3 sandwichs. I certainly don't think that means i am more loving than my mom. More like i'm just a pig.

Snort.

Blame it on the woofer

My upstairs neighbours suck, in general. For the past week the sound levels have been really obnoxious. Not even music, but the roar of a surround sound system being cranked to the fullest. It literally sounds like thunder in my apartment, and when they watch tv, i can almost hear the words being said.
I took a risk and went upstairs to tell them turn it down a few decibels. The last time i went up and asked them to bring down the volume to the level of a jet engine, the fat fuck female slammed the door in my face. Things went better this time, cause it was her Jack Sprat boyfriend and his dweeb friend playing VIDEO GAMES. They were quite apologetic and said they would turn things down. We'll see. Now if only i could get them to stop pacing on their squeaky bedroom floor at 4am, all would be good. And hey, they haven't done any nailing (the building kind, not the sex kind) at 2:30am anymore, since i wrote them a letter and asked them not to. But seriously, WTF is wrong with people that i have to ask them not to hammer a nail in their bedroom in the middle of the night?

Gymjuries

Lunges are fun.

Ouch

I just got my ass handed to me at the gym.

A year ago i spent $1200 for 24 personal training sessions. My trainer called last week and told me that the gym is being taken over, and they are cancelling all outstanding personal training sessions that haven't been used within one year of purchase. Apparently i still have 12 sessions left ($600!) and my time expired in October. My trainer (bless him, the little leprechaun) told his boss that i had been injured and unable to come to the gym, so as long as i bring in a doctors note (!) they will consider allowing me an extension. I have a shrink appointment Dec 1 and i think she will write me a note (although i'm not sure whether a 'psychiatric' injury will fly). In the meantime my trainer suggested we use up as many sessions as we can before the kibosh comes.

Hence, my ass on a platter. Of course, me being me, i had to find a way to make things interesting. I wiped out while doing a push-up. OK, so i was on an incline, but my arms just gave out on me. In any case, i face planted--literally. Face hit mat. I've never seen my trainer move so fast, and believe me, the guy is spry. All i wounded was my pride, unless you include my shoulder, which now has a lovely faux sunburn glow from crashing to the floor. I'll also be incubating a large bruise on my knee for the next few days. Apparently i am incapable of doing a lunge without smashing my leg into the floor. Sigh. Exercise is good for you!

And i hate cabbies. 'Nuff said.

Online Catch O' the Day

Ok, so i do online dating. For 15 years or so. Of the past 12 years, i've only had one 'met in the real world' relationship, and that didn't turn out so well obviously. Don't get me wrong, i've met a lot of really nice guys, and had emails from many, many more wankers. Case in point (and this is an actual true email i received in the past week).

Subject: ...too bad

Hi,I make a lot of money but only date athletic women...that is too bad because you are somewhat attractive.

Now, call me crazy, but WTF kind of email is that????

This is from a guy who has this to say in his profile:

I am interested in meeting that something special who, over time, will become my best friend. I do not have any particular ideal in mind right now...but when the bait is right I will bite.

I'm so glad i don't have the stuff to be "that special something" you're looking for. And the thought of you biting anything makes my gorge rise.

Onward and ?

Welcome to my blog!

Here you will find...all sorts of stuff. My thoughts. My rants. My tales of woe.

Hope you enjoy my misery.

J.J.