Back To Work...For a While Anyway

Well...this vacation sucked. Weather was rainy and cold the first couple of days and by the time the weather got sunny and warm, the kid had an earache and was miserable.

It was spring break and it seems like every other idiot parent also had the bright idea to drag their snot nosed brats to see the fake premise we call Democracy but is really capitalism, theft, bribes and hypocrisy.

Next, Marcos Island and some peace and quiet. Fuck this educational shit.

Since the work fairy neglected to show up and do all my paperwork while I was gone, I don't have time to bitch and moan as much as I would like today. I need to catch up on the staff goings on before I catch up on the Kewl Kids goings on.

68 days until my next planned vacation.

It is great being the boss.

I Am Outta Here for A Few Days

My Washington DC trip is this week. Taking the kid to see all that patriotic bullshit.

I'll bring you all back some samples from the US Mint.

Peace.

Recently, it seems like I have an issue that has friends inquiring as to who pissed in my morning Cheerios.

It is how television commercials portray women. Since I've never been a big public TV watcher, I really never paid any attention to advertising methods. Recently I have been into a few network programs and catch a glimpse of a commercial before I hit the fast forward button.

I have never considered myself a woman's libber.

Mainly because I thought that club had been closed down with the windows boarded up long ago. I am aware that women still are paid less but those gaps are closing. I also realize that the majority of CEOs of Fortune 500 companies are men but that is shifting as well as the good ole boy club is dying out.

So why the fuck is the person pushing the vacuum or spraying the air freshener to hide the dog shit smell always a women? I mean ALWAYS. Find any commercial that involves cleaning or cooking and it will feature someone with breasts.

I am 40 something years old. I have worked my entire life. I have been married twice and I have never done all the housework or been responsible for choosing all the cleaning supplies. Not to mention that if you see my stirring something on a stove, it is either a holiday or someone's birthday. I assumed most other families in the twenty first century are the same.

However, when I mention this outrage, I get deer in the headlight looks as if this is no big deal but worse, it makes perfect sense.

So I ask you, kewl kids, please enlighten me. Are the gals doing all or most of the laundry, polishing and vacuuming and I have just married very liberated men or are these commercials bullshit. I also would like to know if you work full time. I guess I consider it only fair that if one partner works full time, the other should work more in the home. But even then...is that STILL most often the woman and I have been living life as if I had a penis and was too stupid to notice?

What say you?

One of my favorite things is blobbing on the sofa for a couple of hours with my legs tucked under me, pint of ice cream in one hand, big soup spoon in the other, enjoying a great film.

If I like a movie, I will watch it over and over again before I toss it in the cabinet with all the other..tossed aside for now... but will certainly watch again someday..DVDs.

Unfortunately, sometimes it is so hard to find something worthy of spending those two hours on. I have "Movies on Demand" but that consists of mostly films that were made to keep B actors working.

I stumbled upon this. 100 Movie To See Before You Die..

I have seen exactly half of them. I wasn't surprised that there weren't many recent films included. There is so much crap being made. However, I was surprised that Gone With the Wind, Braveheart, Casino, Forest Gump and Close Encounters weren't there.

What are some of your favorites that you think are missing?

First Jobs. Tag You're It.

My first job was at a donut shop. Yes, I was a Dunkin Donuts gal. If any of you are getting up in age like me, you'll remember this ad...Time To Make The Donuts.


That was actually my job. Well, I didn't "make the donuts", I was a donut finisher. That meant that I got to play with all the little pumps that filled the donuts with their processed faux fruitlike substances. I also got to put my hands in big vats of goo to fills up the donut filler machines and pastry bags and no, we weren't provided gloves.

It was a job right up my alley. Even back then I was antisocial and this allowed me to work in the back room safe from fucked up customers and their stupid pointing, hemming and hawing.

Some people treated choosing a dozen donuts like they were deciding what college their precious spoiled brats should attend.

On Saturday morning though, I had to work the dreaded FRONT COUNTER. Man this sucked. The only halfway good part was that even though there was a big obnoxious sign over my head that said "NO TIPPING", most men didn't let any fucking sign deter them from tipping the 16 year old in the pink smock and big boobies a few coins.

God Bless them.

Saturdays were so busy that sometimes I would bring the gentlemen (it was only men who sat at the counter alone in those days) their coffee and donut and was never able to go back and take payment so they would just leave it on the counter. That coinage went right in the ole tip jar.

Hey, how could I be sure what that money was meant for?? I was busy!

The greatest part about working at the donut shop was that it was opened 24 hours a day. Even though I had a curfew of 11pm, my parents would let me work until 2am when the managers needed me.

It was amazing how often I was desperately needed on Friday and Saturday nights through high school! Fortunately, I borrowed the only car so they could never stop by and visit and personal calls were strictly prohibited. (Or so I told them).

At that time, Dunkin Donuts was a franchise and each store was individually owned. The one that I pillaged was owned by a husband and wife team with the sister in law working as manager. You could just imagine the drama that went on in that place. Voices raised, donuts flying...

One of my most vivid memories is when I met my first husband across the counter. He was kind enough to warn me never to drink the grape or fruit juices as he and his friends routinely reached over, lifted the lids and put their cigarette ashes in it.

How could you not love someone so considerate?


So kiddos, how about doing a blog entry about your first job? I am tagging all of the kewl kids and the rest of you that are still in the initiation period. If you've already blogged about it, send a gal a link please.

Have a great week.

My Son, The Creative Genius.

Come back with me kids to 1995 and my son's tour de force.

If tour means big fat and de force means fucking nightmare.

The big shit was a little shit of around 8 at the time and I had taken him to see the film Toy Story the previous weekend.

For those of you that have been living the past 15 years under a rock, it is a computer animated Disney hugfest where everyone ends up living happily ever after.

Of course along with the release of the film came the merchandising whores who had the shelves lined with dolls, accessories and whatever else they could think of to screw yet another parent out of their hard earned bucks to shUT ThE litTLE BRAT UP SO I CAN PICK UP LIGHTBULBS GOD DAMN IT!

Sorry...

So home we return with the entire cast of Toy Story with cotton blown up their asses. He didn't miss a one, we had Buzz,Woody, Rex, Mr Potato Head and all the other characters that I have managed to block out of my mind..

It just so happened that we were having company that night and my darling sweet 8 year old son wanted to make up a play and be the evening's entertainment. I was so thrilled. Mostly because his practicing and creating "sets" would allow me an hour or so peace to throw chips in a bowl and pour the boxed wine into the expensive wine bottles I keep cleaned under the sink to reuse for such an occasion.

Guests arrived. Comments on the wonderful wine bouquet ensued and it was time for number one son to put on his show.

He called everyone into the den and asked to be introduced.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, For Your Viewing Pleasure, A One Boy Play Written and Directed By Kiddo!"

Obligatory clapping.

Kid began his performance by running into the room with one of his new doll in hand...

"Look everyone, I got a Woody!!!"

I am sure you've heard the old saying....the show must go on....but after the initial look of horror followed by myself and my mature guests rolling on the floor and pissing themselves with laughter...it wasn't possible.

That one moment is going to end up costing me thousands in therapy costs.

Doesn't matter...it was worth it.

Short Blue Creatures and Tall Stupid Creatures.

Question:

Why have a had the theme song to the Smurfs running through my head all day? I haven't seen nor heard a smurf for years. But still, lalalalalala...round and round it goes.



Now you can have it too.

You'll beeeee smurrrrrrrfing sooooooooon. (insert evil laugh here)


SCM and I had a knock out drag out on Friday night.

Apparently in his confused little world, he thinks he actually contributes to the day to day things that need to be done to run a household.

Straightened that shit right out.

I don't mind keeping all the balls up in the air (his included) in order to have no expectations of a man who can barely manage wipe his own ass without assistance. However, I do expect said jerkwad to actually be aware that the only other adult in the household is frantically juggling all day and night.

When he expressed how tired he was after walking the dogs and putting in some laundry all my internal rules for keeping the peace went out the window.

"Blah, blah, rant, rant, didn't even fold the laundry, blah, rant, you don't do ANYTHING around here, rant rant, stay up all night chain smoking and looking at porn, bitch rant bitch, complaining whining piece of dogs shit..blah,rant, bitch.."

Doors slammed, engines revved and out to play with his pothead band buddies he went.

Whew, there must be an easier way to get rid of him. All that bitching was exhausting.

I received a text a few minutes later.....

"I suck".

Hmmmm, was he being sarcastic? Apologetic? Acknowledging his many faults?

Since I have yet to ask what he meant by that, I guess I truly don't give a marshmallow mallomar.

As long as he thinks twice about complaining again how tired he is, my work is done.