It's been seriously way to long since I've written on this thing. It's pretty much over.
I'm not even quite sure what the motivation is behind me writing right now anyway. This used to be my place to vent, let loose, and let it all be exposed. Then i think I let people in... the real me.
Not the Dolce part, but the "hi, my name is XXX" part. Bloggers become friends and before you know it, there's no longer animosity. I'm not really sure I care regardless.
You know what's on my mind?
Fucking.
I've been to scared of writing on this blog because I'm reluctant to talk about my life because it seems all too consumed with entertaining (duh, it's a blog) and more concerned with how it comes across (me changed and now a mom, blah, blah, blah) that I've completely failed to be true to myself.
And not just the blog.
In life.
I've failed my self in life.
I've put myself lower on my own fucking priority list. Of course, the people who I care about are going to do the same thing!
What the hell was I expecting???
Where am I on the priority list?
It isn't number one. That's for damn sure. I don't even know if i'm in the top three.
I wish I was joking. But truthfully, I might now be in my own top three. I fucking accommodate too much! I try and make everyone else have lovey feelings for themselves before myself. I fucking sacrifice EVERYTHING for the happiness of others.
You know what I get in return at the times when I do stand up for what I want or just go ahead and do what I want to do?
Backlash and a crushing bag guilt laid over me. I'm tired of it.
I'm just fucking tired...
I am NOT a selfish person. Fuck, i'm not even shallow in real life. I give money to charity, go to church, work full time, mother a child, wife to a husband, cook dinner, do laundry, bread winner, and a hot piece of ass.
I am tired of putting myself on the back burner. I am exhausted of thinking that if I put everyone else's needs before mine, that it will somehow come back to me. I keep thinking the better I am to you, the more I give you, the better you will want to treat me.
I am tired of thinking that because you are a good person that you don't do things that are wrong.
YOU DO.
I am tired of my parents being all fucking flaky and non committal. YOU made the decisions. You ASKED me to do this for you. Don't flake out on me! I don't deserve it. Next time, I'm going to tell you to go to hell. I'm not going to be "nice". I don't care that you're my parents. You falling through on me, doesn't help me. And frankly, i'm an adult with my own family. It'd be nice to have you in my family, but at this point, your guilt and "wanting to spend more time with me" needs to start with you committing the time you've already agreed to.
Work. I don't enjoy starting over from scratch. Where's the fun in that? Its hard work for literally pennies of what I used to make. PENNIES. I don't want to work this hard and i'm never going to let work be a priority before myself again.
And do you know what I really want?
I want to be fucked.
I don't want sex.
I sure as hell don't think there is any love involved in what some idiots refer to as "love making". I want to be taken to a rent by the hour hotel room. I want to ride your ginormous penis like a midget at a donkey show. I want you to devour me like Christmas morning. I want you to want me more than air. I want it to hurt. I want it for one night like it was the last night.
I don't want to be able to walk in the morning.
I think about it.
All the time.
Monday, April 5, 2010
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Out of sight. Out of mind.
It's incredible what a few months can do to change some one's life. The past seven months have turned my world completely upside down.
For starters, my life is now...boring.
Okay, its not real life boring, it's Blog-Boring. There is NO WAY in the world my life is at all blog worthy anymore.
I can't remember the last time someone peed on my face...or my coffee table. Or the time when I fell off my bike drunk...wearing a dress...with no underwear...in front of a wine bar...window...crowded with people.
Or the last time I went out and actually socialized with people my own age and the night leading to me doing inappropriate things with my friend's boobs.
I think you all understand what I'm saying.
Regardless, a TON has changed.
Somethings you know about. Tiger is almost 7 months old.
Yeah, SEVEN months. The little dude is crawling!
He can only go in reverse, but he's still getting around.
AND...
I GOT A NEW JOB!
A GOOD job!
I quit the old company two weeks before Christmas. It felt so fucking good to leave. You have no idea. I liked my immediate boss a lot, but she was the only one of my authorities I actually enjoyed being around. I miss two of my co-workers and Emily's crazy ass stories.
Because I finally can...here is a picture of Emily. You are going to lose your shit!
Admit it. You thought I was fucking screwing with you when I told you stories about Emily.
Hahaha... Not so much, right?
It's god damn priceless. I almost miss her money green car. And the stories of her getting pulled over in it.
Beautiful.
Anyway, I have a new job that would never ever hire someone like Emily. They administer background checks and drug testing. I'm pretty sure drug dealing is also against company policy.
Yet, I do sometimes miss the drama. I turned in Emily for a new co-worker who is sweet, beautiful, and good hearted. So good hearted that her sister is currently working in Israel to save Jews (convert them to Christianity) and help them find heaven (make sure they are not eternally damned to Hell for not believing in the baby Jesus). Ironically, Jews don't believe in Hell.
Damnit.
It's late.
8:32pm.
I suck.
Seriously.
That's what getting up at 5:30am every morning will do to a person.
It will make them old and fucking boring.
I might have more to share. Tiger is going to the babysitters (read: Grandma & Grandpa) all night Saturday. Bad decisions might be mad.
Resulting in me hating life and myself Sunday.
For starters, my life is now...boring.
Okay, its not real life boring, it's Blog-Boring. There is NO WAY in the world my life is at all blog worthy anymore.
I can't remember the last time someone peed on my face...or my coffee table. Or the time when I fell off my bike drunk...wearing a dress...with no underwear...in front of a wine bar...window...crowded with people.
Or the last time I went out and actually socialized with people my own age and the night leading to me doing inappropriate things with my friend's boobs.
I think you all understand what I'm saying.
Regardless, a TON has changed.
Somethings you know about. Tiger is almost 7 months old.
Yeah, SEVEN months. The little dude is crawling!
He can only go in reverse, but he's still getting around.
AND...
I GOT A NEW JOB!
A GOOD job!
I quit the old company two weeks before Christmas. It felt so fucking good to leave. You have no idea. I liked my immediate boss a lot, but she was the only one of my authorities I actually enjoyed being around. I miss two of my co-workers and Emily's crazy ass stories.
Because I finally can...here is a picture of Emily. You are going to lose your shit!
Admit it. You thought I was fucking screwing with you when I told you stories about Emily.
Hahaha... Not so much, right?
It's god damn priceless. I almost miss her money green car. And the stories of her getting pulled over in it.
Beautiful.
Anyway, I have a new job that would never ever hire someone like Emily. They administer background checks and drug testing. I'm pretty sure drug dealing is also against company policy.
Yet, I do sometimes miss the drama. I turned in Emily for a new co-worker who is sweet, beautiful, and good hearted. So good hearted that her sister is currently working in Israel to save Jews (convert them to Christianity) and help them find heaven (make sure they are not eternally damned to Hell for not believing in the baby Jesus). Ironically, Jews don't believe in Hell.
Damnit.
It's late.
8:32pm.
I suck.
Seriously.
That's what getting up at 5:30am every morning will do to a person.
It will make them old and fucking boring.
I might have more to share. Tiger is going to the babysitters (read: Grandma & Grandpa) all night Saturday. Bad decisions might be mad.
Resulting in me hating life and myself Sunday.
Friday, December 18, 2009
letting is all out
Three more days of this place... I'm just going to let it all out. There is only one person in the world who knows me in real life (with the exception of PH) and also reads this blog. She happens to be my coworker. And although she would provide a great main character to some of the shenanigans that go on here, I'll refrain from getting her involved.
With that being said, I'm not hold back anything. Including the stuff she doesn't know about.
So let's start with the most insane story I have ever witnessed in my life. This is going to be choppy...so bare with me.
Emily.
I talked about her before, but just to freshen up: Emily has/had a boyfriend whose nickname is one of the colors in the rainbow. He showed up at my office a year ago with a gun looking for Emily. She stole her car back (a car he lovingly painted "money green") when she decided she didn't want to continue dating him.
Even though they have two kids together...would have been three if she didn't decided to terminate the pregnancy because at the time she was mad at him.
I kid you not. I'm all about choices...Emily just never makes a good one.
This is honestly the worst story she ever told me in my life.
Seriously.
If you don't remember, Emily is a trust fund baby. She has money put into her account every month. If she was smart about her money there would be no reason for her to work. Unfortunately, she spends EVERY SINGLE DIME on clothes, her hair, nails, more clothes, her kid's clothes... she has bragged about the fact that she hasn't done laundry for 6 weeks and everyone still has clean clothes to wear.
She's also a suburban raised white girl who is the most ghetto fabulous woman I have ever met. Just this week she got yelled at my a black woman at McDonald's calling Emily "Hood".
Damnit...I'm getting off topic.
Okay. Back to story.
One day Emily walks into the office late...like an hour and a half late. She stops into her boss' office and said "Something happened last night with my son at the park. I had to talk to the school counselor this morning. If he needs me, I have to leave early today."
So of course, we all jump to our worst conclusions... Fight in the park between two adults, saw a robbery, he got mugged, he got assaulted... a million different scenarios when through our minds.
A week later, it's just me and Emily working late. But I'm talking to her when her phone rings. She answers and starts screaming some shit over the phone to someone about how "she ain't trusting dat bitch no more" and a going on a fucking tangent. She slams the phone and says, "I was fucking set up by that bitch and she keeps trying to fucking call me."
I'm staring at her blank faced wondering if I really want to know what is going on or would prefer not know. Emily answers this for me.
She continues her tangent about how 6 years ago she used to be dealer.
Yeah. Trust fund little princess is dealing weed. She stopped when she started dating her gun toting boyfriend because he sold enough for both of them and he didn't want his babies' mama dealing anymore. But her other child's godfather called her weeks prior wondering if she had any connections to score weed. Apparently he had 70 lbs of weed (pre-paid for) confiscated on a truck en route to him. Out of tens of thousands of dollars (how much is weed?) he was trying to get some from another dealer to make up his lost money.
So, Emily volunteered to call a few old friends and find out if they could help her out. Of course she has a "friend" who has about 50 lbs of weed he wants to get rid of. So she sets up a time for her baby's godfather to meet with the dudes.
BUT
Emily is going too.
Emily and the godfather drive down to one of the most dangerous places in the city to arrange this drug deal. She's sitting in the car watching the godfather and her friend of a friend negotiate the deal.
While Emily is telling me this story she is fighting in her seat. I can't tell at this point if she's lying to or debating telling me the truth.
As she's watching the deal go down, she notices immediately that the godfather is starting to get tense...the conversation is getting tense and he's slowly backing away toward the car until he makes takes off in a dead sprint for the car. Emily sees 5 dudes pull out guns.
He screams, "HIT THE FUCKING GAS!!!" as he jumps into the car.
They started shooting immediately at the car!!!
Emily races off to avoid getting shot. She still has bullet holes in her car. In the back fender and in the back passenger side door.
The worst part of this story... I mean the very WORST part of the story is that her 1 year old daughter and 11 year old son were in the backseat.
Emily brought two of her three children to a fucking DRUG DEAL!
THEN
GOT THEM SHOT AT!!!
And do you want to know why? Because her child's godfather promised to pay her $1000 if she it up and came along.
This woman, who has hundreds of thousands of dollars hidden away in a trust fund, exposed her kids to a drug deal and them got them shot at for $1000.
I shake my head in regret and sympathy for her children. What a terrible mother.
With that being said, I'm not hold back anything. Including the stuff she doesn't know about.
So let's start with the most insane story I have ever witnessed in my life. This is going to be choppy...so bare with me.
Emily.
I talked about her before, but just to freshen up: Emily has/had a boyfriend whose nickname is one of the colors in the rainbow. He showed up at my office a year ago with a gun looking for Emily. She stole her car back (a car he lovingly painted "money green") when she decided she didn't want to continue dating him.
Even though they have two kids together...would have been three if she didn't decided to terminate the pregnancy because at the time she was mad at him.
I kid you not. I'm all about choices...Emily just never makes a good one.
This is honestly the worst story she ever told me in my life.
Seriously.
If you don't remember, Emily is a trust fund baby. She has money put into her account every month. If she was smart about her money there would be no reason for her to work. Unfortunately, she spends EVERY SINGLE DIME on clothes, her hair, nails, more clothes, her kid's clothes... she has bragged about the fact that she hasn't done laundry for 6 weeks and everyone still has clean clothes to wear.
She's also a suburban raised white girl who is the most ghetto fabulous woman I have ever met. Just this week she got yelled at my a black woman at McDonald's calling Emily "Hood".
Damnit...I'm getting off topic.
Okay. Back to story.
One day Emily walks into the office late...like an hour and a half late. She stops into her boss' office and said "Something happened last night with my son at the park. I had to talk to the school counselor this morning. If he needs me, I have to leave early today."
So of course, we all jump to our worst conclusions... Fight in the park between two adults, saw a robbery, he got mugged, he got assaulted... a million different scenarios when through our minds.
A week later, it's just me and Emily working late. But I'm talking to her when her phone rings. She answers and starts screaming some shit over the phone to someone about how "she ain't trusting dat bitch no more" and a going on a fucking tangent. She slams the phone and says, "I was fucking set up by that bitch and she keeps trying to fucking call me."
I'm staring at her blank faced wondering if I really want to know what is going on or would prefer not know. Emily answers this for me.
She continues her tangent about how 6 years ago she used to be dealer.
Yeah. Trust fund little princess is dealing weed. She stopped when she started dating her gun toting boyfriend because he sold enough for both of them and he didn't want his babies' mama dealing anymore. But her other child's godfather called her weeks prior wondering if she had any connections to score weed. Apparently he had 70 lbs of weed (pre-paid for) confiscated on a truck en route to him. Out of tens of thousands of dollars (how much is weed?) he was trying to get some from another dealer to make up his lost money.
So, Emily volunteered to call a few old friends and find out if they could help her out. Of course she has a "friend" who has about 50 lbs of weed he wants to get rid of. So she sets up a time for her baby's godfather to meet with the dudes.
BUT
Emily is going too.
Emily and the godfather drive down to one of the most dangerous places in the city to arrange this drug deal. She's sitting in the car watching the godfather and her friend of a friend negotiate the deal.
While Emily is telling me this story she is fighting in her seat. I can't tell at this point if she's lying to or debating telling me the truth.
As she's watching the deal go down, she notices immediately that the godfather is starting to get tense...the conversation is getting tense and he's slowly backing away toward the car until he makes takes off in a dead sprint for the car. Emily sees 5 dudes pull out guns.
He screams, "HIT THE FUCKING GAS!!!" as he jumps into the car.
They started shooting immediately at the car!!!
Emily races off to avoid getting shot. She still has bullet holes in her car. In the back fender and in the back passenger side door.
The worst part of this story... I mean the very WORST part of the story is that her 1 year old daughter and 11 year old son were in the backseat.
Emily brought two of her three children to a fucking DRUG DEAL!
THEN
GOT THEM SHOT AT!!!
And do you want to know why? Because her child's godfather promised to pay her $1000 if she it up and came along.
This woman, who has hundreds of thousands of dollars hidden away in a trust fund, exposed her kids to a drug deal and them got them shot at for $1000.
I shake my head in regret and sympathy for her children. What a terrible mother.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Don't touch the boob bag
I have fucking amazing news!!!
I GOT A NEW JOB!!!
Yes, if you are wondering how I got a new job in this economy, it is because I am a fucking rock star.
Yeah, I am. I can rock an interview like you couldn't imagine. But enough of me blowing my own horn (why does that sound dirty?).
Even MORE exciting, is now that I'm no longer going to be working for this fucked up racket of a job, I can finally...and seriously, I mean finally reveal all of the fucking craziness I have experienced here in the last three years.
The stories I have to share are unbelievable. Honestly, unless it was me, I wouldn't believe them they are so fucking far fetched.
Case in point:
Yesterday -if you didn't know this I'm a breastfeeding mom. Love it. Anyway, yesterday I had finished pumping the girls and placed all the accessories in a steam bag to be cleaned. When I opened my office door on the way to the bathroom my VP of sales casually walked into my office to small talk.
He saw me place the bag on my desk, He leaned over and proceeded to open up my breastpump accessory bag asking, "Oh, what's in this? Popcorn?"
FUCKING POPCORN??? DO YOU SMELL POPCORN YOU FUCKING WEIRDO???
Immediately embarrassed I rip the the breast pump bag out of his greedy smoke smelling hands, give him an shocked and sceptical look and exclaimed, "That bag is not for you".
Nearly falling over backwards, dumbfounded and embarrassed, (the dude looked like a cartoon character who was just hit in the face with an cast iron frying pan) my VP flushes red and apologizes profusely for going through my bad...which was on my DESK, while he tries to explain himself.
"I thought it was a popcorn bag. Popcorn!"
My response to my (soon to be VP of Sales)?
"Well, that will teach you not to go through a person's desk." As I roll my eyes and glare.
Idiot.
I GOT A NEW JOB!!!
Yes, if you are wondering how I got a new job in this economy, it is because I am a fucking rock star.
Yeah, I am. I can rock an interview like you couldn't imagine. But enough of me blowing my own horn (why does that sound dirty?).
Even MORE exciting, is now that I'm no longer going to be working for this fucked up racket of a job, I can finally...and seriously, I mean finally reveal all of the fucking craziness I have experienced here in the last three years.
The stories I have to share are unbelievable. Honestly, unless it was me, I wouldn't believe them they are so fucking far fetched.
Case in point:
Yesterday -if you didn't know this I'm a breastfeeding mom. Love it. Anyway, yesterday I had finished pumping the girls and placed all the accessories in a steam bag to be cleaned. When I opened my office door on the way to the bathroom my VP of sales casually walked into my office to small talk.
He saw me place the bag on my desk, He leaned over and proceeded to open up my breastpump accessory bag asking, "Oh, what's in this? Popcorn?"
FUCKING POPCORN??? DO YOU SMELL POPCORN YOU FUCKING WEIRDO???
Immediately embarrassed I rip the the breast pump bag out of his greedy smoke smelling hands, give him an shocked and sceptical look and exclaimed, "That bag is not for you".
Nearly falling over backwards, dumbfounded and embarrassed, (the dude looked like a cartoon character who was just hit in the face with an cast iron frying pan) my VP flushes red and apologizes profusely for going through my bad...which was on my DESK, while he tries to explain himself.
"I thought it was a popcorn bag. Popcorn!"
My response to my (soon to be VP of Sales)?
"Well, that will teach you not to go through a person's desk." As I roll my eyes and glare.
Idiot.
Friday, November 6, 2009
Rockin a Gaga
For the last week I've been sending out resumes. I kind of feel Monster.com and CareerBuilder are a lost cause, but I'm starting to think I have a kick ass resume because I've got TWO interviews coming up.
T.W.O.
I'm a rock star right now.
I'm not going to go as far to say these are dream jobs, maybe not even the best choices for a career, but jobs. In my field. Which I think at this point with the company closing and all is good enough for the time being.
One of them is actually a part-time sales job...I would be an independent rep (which is fine because all of my health benefits are covered by PH anyway), create my own hours (a plus so I can hang out with my Tiger more), BUT it's less money. 50% less to be exact...HOWEVER...my life has a different set of priorities than it used to. I can't believe I'm saying this, but making less money, but having a higher quality of life (not traveling, more time with Tiger) is worth it to me. I believe it's a fair trade off.
If, however, the part time opportunity is really a waste of time and I won't be making shit for my efforts, and I have to get a full time job, I want it to be a good career move, not just another job.
And we all know the difference between a career and a job.
I've put some long hours in trying to decide what would be the best move for me. Here are some of the options I've come up with:
Chef
Pros
Doing something I love
Get to buy kick ass knives
Excuse to eat all day
necessary visits to local farmers markets
Cons
No experience
no schooling
All nights and weekend
possibility of losing a finger with said knives
Secret Agent
Pros
Make LOTS of money
Have the ability to kill someone with my bare hands
Kick ass weapons
International travel
Cons
work nights
constant lying
guilty conscience
IT Person
Pros
High demand job
solid pay
reasonable hours
spy on other employees Internet use
stare at all the online porn I can imagine without worry about getting caught
Cons
Don't speak java developer, SAP, Oracle, .Net, CSS, etc...
Don't speak Hindi
I'm not a Mac or a PC
no patience for stupid people
Professional Blogger
Pros
Already have a blog with domain name and everything
Cons
Um...that means I would actually have to blog again.
Ugh! I hate looking for a new job. At least I can rock a Lady Gaga.
Maybe she'll hire me as a double.
**which could fit in the category of Spy...maybe secret agent.
T.W.O.
I'm a rock star right now.
I'm not going to go as far to say these are dream jobs, maybe not even the best choices for a career, but jobs. In my field. Which I think at this point with the company closing and all is good enough for the time being.
One of them is actually a part-time sales job...I would be an independent rep (which is fine because all of my health benefits are covered by PH anyway), create my own hours (a plus so I can hang out with my Tiger more), BUT it's less money. 50% less to be exact...HOWEVER...my life has a different set of priorities than it used to. I can't believe I'm saying this, but making less money, but having a higher quality of life (not traveling, more time with Tiger) is worth it to me. I believe it's a fair trade off.
If, however, the part time opportunity is really a waste of time and I won't be making shit for my efforts, and I have to get a full time job, I want it to be a good career move, not just another job.
And we all know the difference between a career and a job.
I've put some long hours in trying to decide what would be the best move for me. Here are some of the options I've come up with:
Chef
Pros
Doing something I love
Get to buy kick ass knives
Excuse to eat all day
necessary visits to local farmers markets
Cons
No experience
no schooling
All nights and weekend
possibility of losing a finger with said knives
Secret Agent
Pros
Make LOTS of money
Have the ability to kill someone with my bare hands
Kick ass weapons
International travel
Cons
work nights
constant lying
guilty conscience
IT Person
Pros
High demand job
solid pay
reasonable hours
spy on other employees Internet use
stare at all the online porn I can imagine without worry about getting caught
Cons
Don't speak java developer, SAP, Oracle, .Net, CSS, etc...
Don't speak Hindi
I'm not a Mac or a PC
no patience for stupid people
Professional Blogger
Pros
Already have a blog with domain name and everything
Cons
Um...that means I would actually have to blog again.
Ugh! I hate looking for a new job. At least I can rock a Lady Gaga.
Maybe she'll hire me as a double.
**which could fit in the category of Spy...maybe secret agent.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Should I stay or should I go now?
I promised myself I would let life go back to normal.
Too bad I don't really know what normal is anymore. Getting up at 6am just to leave the house by 7:45am is a huge fucking adjustment. I used to look all glamorous in 30 minutes (including shower) and now I swear to god it takes 3 damn hours.
Anyway, not the purpose of my post.
I digress.
Alright, let's start from the beginning. If you've ever read my blog before you know I'm not a huge fan of my job. I used to have a boss I couldn't stand (got new boss all is good), but I work with in a circus run by a group of fucking monkeys. It used to surprise me on a daily basis how this organization could stay afloat with the idiots they hired (myself, exempt) and the dumb ass decisions they make.
Well, it is finally catching up with them.
After a very long meeting yesterday I have come to a realization that the business I work for is very likely to shut it's doors in January.
With this said, it is not necessarily the result of idiot employees or dumb ass decisions. I can safely say this economy has fucked us in the ass. Harder than Vito Spatafore.
It's not a done deal. As a company we're pulling together to hit our end of the year goals and keep the company going, but it's SO uncertain. If the doors do stay open they'll let go of 3/4 of the office. I don't think I'll be one of the people to be let go because I'm a commission sales rep with no benefits. I don't cost the company money.
On the flip side, I won't make very much money being commission only. I'm making HALF of what I did last year. HALF. I took a 50% pay cut because of this economy. Anyone in their right mind would have left already but keep in mind I was knocked up all year and the job market isn't necessarily desperate trying to hire people right now.
In my mind I have until January to find a new job...if we go under.
Would you stay, or would you go?
Too bad I don't really know what normal is anymore. Getting up at 6am just to leave the house by 7:45am is a huge fucking adjustment. I used to look all glamorous in 30 minutes (including shower) and now I swear to god it takes 3 damn hours.
Anyway, not the purpose of my post.
I digress.
Alright, let's start from the beginning. If you've ever read my blog before you know I'm not a huge fan of my job. I used to have a boss I couldn't stand (got new boss all is good), but I work with in a circus run by a group of fucking monkeys. It used to surprise me on a daily basis how this organization could stay afloat with the idiots they hired (myself, exempt) and the dumb ass decisions they make.
Well, it is finally catching up with them.
After a very long meeting yesterday I have come to a realization that the business I work for is very likely to shut it's doors in January.
With this said, it is not necessarily the result of idiot employees or dumb ass decisions. I can safely say this economy has fucked us in the ass. Harder than Vito Spatafore.
It's not a done deal. As a company we're pulling together to hit our end of the year goals and keep the company going, but it's SO uncertain. If the doors do stay open they'll let go of 3/4 of the office. I don't think I'll be one of the people to be let go because I'm a commission sales rep with no benefits. I don't cost the company money.
On the flip side, I won't make very much money being commission only. I'm making HALF of what I did last year. HALF. I took a 50% pay cut because of this economy. Anyone in their right mind would have left already but keep in mind I was knocked up all year and the job market isn't necessarily desperate trying to hire people right now.
In my mind I have until January to find a new job...if we go under.
Would you stay, or would you go?
Friday, September 25, 2009
Boobs are vengeful [not so] little f*ckers
I love my boobs.
Wait...
I should say I loved my boobs.
If I could show them off like those grass skirt women in 1970's National Geographic photos I would say they were my favorite feature. My boobs were PERFECT.
Round
the same size
proportionately correct to my body size
ideal nipple to breast ratio
You get what I'm saying, right?
Well, now...hhmm...the best way to describe this.
My life is completely ruled by my boobs. They have become the most high maintenance pain the in ass I have ever had to deal with in my life. When I was knocked up my body belonged to the fetus.
Now, my body belongs to my boobs.
PAIN.IN.MY.ASS.
I have to wear a bra during sexy time just in case they might explode.
No, I have to wear a bra ALL.THE.TIME. even to bed!
They have the be drained several times a day in order for me to maintain comfort and clean shirts.
They are swollen up like balloons every morning and I look like I should have my on spread in Playboy. (okay, that doesn't sound so bad but it's hurts).
Wearing nursing pads everyday is more important than wearing deoderant (i do practice deoderant).
And what makes this even worse, is they knooooooow I hate them.
So what do they do?
They fuck me over. They go out.of.their.way to screw with me. I think my boobs get together every morning and think of hateful ways to make me want to break down into an ugly cry.
What everyone fails to mention to you once you have a kid and decide to breastfeed is that your boobs are like over-excited cheerleaders. They've been dormant for the length of their existence and all of a sudden they get the green light to go live.
And boy, do they go live.
I swear my boobs were on a mission to try and feed a small village. Actually, I should take a picture of all the frozen milk I have in my freezer. I think I could seriously feed a family in Africa.
12 days after I had Tiger I was already too small for maternity clothes (thank, God!) but not back into my normal size 6 (BOO!). So, I did the only logical thing I could think of: go shopping. I just wanted a pair of cheap jeans and a skirt I could wear for the next couple of weeks until I was back into my old clothes.
I didn't want to spend a lot of money so I decided to run into Old Navy for jeans and a cute skirt. Just something to tide me over. I started grabbing jeans in various sizes and trying them on. I walked into the changing room wearing a tank top on maternity shorts and I immediately noticed the nursing pads I had shoved into my bra where making my boobs look like they were stuffed with newspaper.
Embarrassed by the crinkly boobs I quickly yanked the fuckers out and stuffed them into my purse. With no baby near me I was positive my boobs wouldn't let loose.
(FYI: baby cries = boobs turn "on")
I continued walking fruitlessly around the store for what felt like forever when I caught this woman pushing her baby in a stroller staring at me and giving me dirty look. Without hesitation I wanted to slap her in the face and say, "I know I look like hell, but I'm sure I look better than you 12 days after giving birth".
My self esteem already plummeted trying on jeans which were 2 sizes bigger than my pre-pregger size and then I was getting dirty looks from people in the store.
As I was grabbing the last pair of jeans I was going to try on...I saw it.
Both of my boobs were leaking through my tank top all the way down to my BELLY BUTTON!!!
With ninja like reflexes I dove into my purse to find the damn nursing pads I had stuffed in there 20 minutes prior. I was positive some sales associate was going to stop me leaving the store for shoplifting because I was hiding in a sales rack shoving stuff down my shirt.
I was like cartoon character shaking my head from side to side trying to determine if I buy the jeans or leave the store. Imagine me standing in the store and physically turning in my head, fast, side to side from the check out counter to the exit. Finally, after about 20 seconds of this going on I decided it wasn't worth having to come back to the store for the pants!
I slung my bag across my chest like an idiot to hide by boobs' vengeful display and headed to the register.
Three minutes later I was safely hidden away in my car.
I held it together...I didn't ugly cry.
I won that battle, but unfortunately I'm losing the war.
On the upside, Wednesday Tiger turned two months old and I weighted 3 lbs less than I did before I got pregnant.
Incase you were wondering, no, I'm not human.
Wait...
I should say I loved my boobs.
If I could show them off like those grass skirt women in 1970's National Geographic photos I would say they were my favorite feature. My boobs were PERFECT.
Round
the same size
proportionately correct to my body size
ideal nipple to breast ratio
You get what I'm saying, right?
Well, now...hhmm...the best way to describe this.
My life is completely ruled by my boobs. They have become the most high maintenance pain the in ass I have ever had to deal with in my life. When I was knocked up my body belonged to the fetus.
Now, my body belongs to my boobs.
PAIN.IN.MY.ASS.
I have to wear a bra during sexy time just in case they might explode.
No, I have to wear a bra ALL.THE.TIME. even to bed!
They have the be drained several times a day in order for me to maintain comfort and clean shirts.
They are swollen up like balloons every morning and I look like I should have my on spread in Playboy. (okay, that doesn't sound so bad but it's hurts).
Wearing nursing pads everyday is more important than wearing deoderant (i do practice deoderant).
And what makes this even worse, is they knooooooow I hate them.
So what do they do?
They fuck me over. They go out.of.their.way to screw with me. I think my boobs get together every morning and think of hateful ways to make me want to break down into an ugly cry.
What everyone fails to mention to you once you have a kid and decide to breastfeed is that your boobs are like over-excited cheerleaders. They've been dormant for the length of their existence and all of a sudden they get the green light to go live.
And boy, do they go live.
I swear my boobs were on a mission to try and feed a small village. Actually, I should take a picture of all the frozen milk I have in my freezer. I think I could seriously feed a family in Africa.
12 days after I had Tiger I was already too small for maternity clothes (thank, God!) but not back into my normal size 6 (BOO!). So, I did the only logical thing I could think of: go shopping. I just wanted a pair of cheap jeans and a skirt I could wear for the next couple of weeks until I was back into my old clothes.
I didn't want to spend a lot of money so I decided to run into Old Navy for jeans and a cute skirt. Just something to tide me over. I started grabbing jeans in various sizes and trying them on. I walked into the changing room wearing a tank top on maternity shorts and I immediately noticed the nursing pads I had shoved into my bra where making my boobs look like they were stuffed with newspaper.
Embarrassed by the crinkly boobs I quickly yanked the fuckers out and stuffed them into my purse. With no baby near me I was positive my boobs wouldn't let loose.
(FYI: baby cries = boobs turn "on")
I continued walking fruitlessly around the store for what felt like forever when I caught this woman pushing her baby in a stroller staring at me and giving me dirty look. Without hesitation I wanted to slap her in the face and say, "I know I look like hell, but I'm sure I look better than you 12 days after giving birth".
My self esteem already plummeted trying on jeans which were 2 sizes bigger than my pre-pregger size and then I was getting dirty looks from people in the store.
As I was grabbing the last pair of jeans I was going to try on...I saw it.
Both of my boobs were leaking through my tank top all the way down to my BELLY BUTTON!!!
With ninja like reflexes I dove into my purse to find the damn nursing pads I had stuffed in there 20 minutes prior. I was positive some sales associate was going to stop me leaving the store for shoplifting because I was hiding in a sales rack shoving stuff down my shirt.
I was like cartoon character shaking my head from side to side trying to determine if I buy the jeans or leave the store. Imagine me standing in the store and physically turning in my head, fast, side to side from the check out counter to the exit. Finally, after about 20 seconds of this going on I decided it wasn't worth having to come back to the store for the pants!
I slung my bag across my chest like an idiot to hide by boobs' vengeful display and headed to the register.
Three minutes later I was safely hidden away in my car.
I held it together...I didn't ugly cry.
I won that battle, but unfortunately I'm losing the war.
On the upside, Wednesday Tiger turned two months old and I weighted 3 lbs less than I did before I got pregnant.
Incase you were wondering, no, I'm not human.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
e·mer·gence
I can't even begin to tell you how long I have been staring at this blank screen.
Or how many times I've sat down in front of the computer with a million ideas for posts and have written nothing.
Well, if you keep up, you already know the lack of writing taking place in the Dolce world.
It's not for lack of material, trust me.
I have a treasure chest of goodies.
It's not from lack of time; nap time is a wonderful thing.
It's the cocoon I have chosen to live inside for the past several weeks. The four corners of my house I have decided to devote the majority of my attention.
Unfortunately, the real world stops for no one.
This week is my first week back to work after having Tiger and since I have re-entered the real world I might as well go all the way and emerge back into the blogsphere.
Hello, old friends.
Or how many times I've sat down in front of the computer with a million ideas for posts and have written nothing.
Well, if you keep up, you already know the lack of writing taking place in the Dolce world.
It's not for lack of material, trust me.
I have a treasure chest of goodies.
It's not from lack of time; nap time is a wonderful thing.
It's the cocoon I have chosen to live inside for the past several weeks. The four corners of my house I have decided to devote the majority of my attention.
Unfortunately, the real world stops for no one.
This week is my first week back to work after having Tiger and since I have re-entered the real world I might as well go all the way and emerge back into the blogsphere.
Hello, old friends.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Meet the Cupcake
Just like Mufasa presenting Simba for the first time high on the mountains for all his followers to see, here I present is my little cupcake. I never do this, but I felt for the special occasion instead of writing out all the gory details...and yes, they are gory, I will present them to the Internet and freaders.
Getting hooked up to the monitors.
Yeah, still smiling, however that changed pretty quickly. Pitocin is absolutely hell. Within 3 hours I was having contractions one on top of the other one. Most people who go into labor naturally say contractions are like REALLY BAD menstrual cramps. Well, chemically induced contractions feels like your uterus is possessed and is trying to kill you from the inside out. Because I wanted a natural child birth I refused drugs, up until Lucifer the doctor tried to break my water.
Okay, breaking of water doesn't sound like it should be that bad, but this jackass resident went into my girly bits with a fucking pitch fork trying to break the damn thing until he decided it was already broken. I swear to God the it was so freaking gory it looked like Texas Chainsaw Massacre of my vag. It was horrible. At this point I decided getting chemically induced wasn't natural anyway and that an epidural was absolutely mandatory.
Two hours and one push later, my little cupcake.
5 seconds old.
It's amazing how much love you have for someone once you become a parent. The love is instantaneous and nothing in the world will ever be able to break it. It's already been a week since I had him and I love him more already.
PH holding cupcake for the first time ever!
Me and my little man
Chilling in the hospital.
PH and his Mini-Me.
Leaving the hospital.
My little man, Thomas Logan.
From here on out I will lovingly refer to him as Tiger. While I do love the name cupcake, it's only fair I refer to him with a name that will not get him confused with...Hhmm...I don't know, a girl.
Last night I celebrated his birth with one of these:
I haven't had one of these hit my lips since November 2nd, 2008. Sweet Jesus, there is a heaven!!!
Winners of the giveaway will be announced...soon.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Eviction Notice
The little guy is still in there!!!
I have done EVERYTHING humanly possible to get this guy out and NOTHING has worked. I even increased the sex to twice a day to get this bad boy out of there.
PH has been uncharacteristically patient with this delay...even for him.
Jen - I don't think I can do the caster oil. Inducing myself through drinking oil is gross enough, but the thought of inducing diarrhea (I just shuttered) as well makes me think being pregnant for a couple more days won't be that bad.
So today the doctor gave cupcake his eviction notice: Thursday July 23rd.
I have done EVERYTHING humanly possible to get this guy out and NOTHING has worked. I even increased the sex to twice a day to get this bad boy out of there.
PH has been uncharacteristically patient with this delay...even for him.
Jen - I don't think I can do the caster oil. Inducing myself through drinking oil is gross enough, but the thought of inducing diarrhea (I just shuttered) as well makes me think being pregnant for a couple more days won't be that bad.
So today the doctor gave cupcake his eviction notice: Thursday July 23rd.
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