Hey Ma! Where's the soap? I need to wash out my mouth!

I have always gotten in trouble for talking.

ALWAYS!

In trouble for talking when I'm not supposed to. Talking too loud. Talking out of turn. Talking. Talking. Talking.

It's probably a good thing I have a job that requires me to talk.

But one thing I have gotten in trouble with before is bad talking. NOT bad talking people, but saying bad words.

I mean, come on! Fuck is one of the best words out there. It was SO many extraordinary uses, how can it not be used???

I know, I know... It makes me sound like a white trash, clASSless, uneducated idiot, but I assure you that is not the case. It's my blog and I more freely express myself here than I ever would in, let's say:

a professional environment: no I will not swear or cuss at work, but believe me I'm thinking it or mumbling it under my breath.
Example: "I work with a bunch of fucking mindless ass monkeys"

in front of the in-laws: Okay, they NEVER say the 7 sinful words. EVER. But I've lost control and said the f-bomb in front of my FIL...maybe more than twice.


But I've haven't gotten in trouble from any one for my choice of language since I graduated from High School. My mom wasn't the best example of using "proper" language and by the age of 8 I knew all the swear words in German from my grandmother. Of course I just went around saying them because I had no idea what I was telling people.

Trust me when I say that was a HUGE hit at Christmas. My ass was sore for weeks.

But it wasn't until recently I got in trouble for my less than squeaky clean mouth.

Let me preface...

Last week I was folding laundry before bed and flipping through channels on TV when I came across HBO's Real Sex. Has anyone seen this show??? Seriously, I thought I was up for anything when it came to sex.

Role Play? I'm in.

Bondage? Can the safe word be "cotton candy?"

Ass slapping? Yes, please.

C-shots? Maybe not. I'm not willing to sacrifice an eye.

But honestly, after watching 30 seconds of the show I realized there are more things I am NOT willing to do than I am.

The episode was about Sploshing. It's supposedly a big fetish in Britian (why are Brits so strange?) and it's people who get all turned on by having pies, chocolate syrup, and baked beans thrown on them.

Yes. I said baked beans.

I'm watching this scene where a girl's bare ass is the entire TV screen and she standing with her hands on the wall in the "fuck me from behind" position and then all of a sudden a ginormous bowl of baked beans gets dumped all over her butt!

It was disgusting.

And it was happening just as PH was walking into the room. His reaction?

"That's disgusting. It looks like that girl is pooping. What is sexually exciting about that?"

Well, I can cross off that fetish from the list.

A couple days later I get this e-mail from PH:

-----Original Message-----
From:PH
Sent: Friday, April 17, 2009 10:21 AM
To: Dolce
Subject: pancakes

..were amazing. That was probably the best pancake that I have ever
had.

Way to go. Now I'm going to pour baked beans on your butt.

PH

>>> "Dolce" 4/17/2009 10:25 AM >>>

AAAAAAAAAHAHAHHAAAAAAAAAAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHA!!!!


I'm SO glad you liked the pancakes. I thought they were amazing too!
Seriously, I think they'd be good with ice cream.

D

P.S. You are sick.

-----Original Message-----
From: PH
Sent: Friday, April 17, 2009 10:33 AM
To: Dolce
Subject: pancakes

You know deep down you are a slosher and you like weird guys with f'ed up noses.

The idea of sitting on a pie makes you go wild.

pervert.

PH

-----Original Message-----
From: Dolce
Sent: Friday, April 17, 2009 10:51 AM
To: PH
Subject: pancakes

Mmm...my pussy filled with pie. Sweet, sticky, custard, pie.

I'll even sit in the banana cream for you.

You love the idea of licking frosting out of my labia majora.

D

From: postmaster@XXX.com [mailto:postmaster@XXX.com]
Sent: Fri 4/17/2009 12:04 PM
Subject: Delivery Notification - RE: pancakes


The message or an attachment did not reach the intended recipient(s).

Subject: RE: pancakes
From: PH
To: Dolce
Date: Fri, 17 Apr 2009 10:04:10 -0600

Reason: content policy violation
Action: quarantine

>>> "Dolce" 4/17/2009 11:06 AM >>>

Did you get my response e-mail about the pie?

I just got a notice that an e-mail I sent was quarantined.

BOO! That's all I have to say to your job's "no bad language" policy.

-----Original Message-----
From: PH
Sent: Friday, April 17, 2009 11:13 AM
To: Dolce
Subject: RE: ice cream idea

Yeah, we should probably limit that talk. It quickly went from baked
beans to dirty.

PH

>>> "Dolce" 4/17/2009 11:15 AM >>>

Who knew "baked beans" and "dirty" would fit together in an sexually
inappropriate sentence?

I'll still sit in the pie for you.

D

-----Original Message-----
From: PH
Sent: Friday, April 17, 2009 11:18 AM
To: Dolce
Subject: RE: ice cream idea

really, stop. Email this stuff to me on hotmail.
PH

From: Dolce
Sent: Fri 4/17/2009 12:21 PM
To: PH
Subject: RE: ice cream idea


Oops. Sorry.

An interesting past

I think I've talked about my grandparents before.

My grandmother for sure.

She left Germany after WWI when all of her family's money became worthless and she couldn't find work in Germany. There were 12 children in her family and three of them came to the US in hopes of a better life. She spent 21 days on a rat and flea infested boat hanging on to all of her possessions only to have most of them taken away once she arrived in New York.

I've only heard second and third hand stories from different relatives as to what happened to my great uncles who stayed behind.

One of the stories I heard was from my mom. She told me German police came to the house and recruited all the men (but not my great grandfather; he was too old) to join the army. Those who did not join would be sent to jail.

They all joined.

My grandmother used to own pictures of them in their military suits.

I have never seen them. I don't believe she kept them either. After she died all of her most private and personal items were released out of a large lock box she owned at the bank. She had one wedding picture, her German passport, family photos, but none of them in Nazi uniforms. The woman was so ashamed of her past that she never spoke German and refused to teach my mother and her brother the language because of the bad stigma she felt toward her county.

I'm sitting in a hotel room watching Schindler's List for the second time in my life. The one time I saw it was in the movie theaters. I think I was 12 or 13. My dad, who has always been a history buff, thought it was smart to educate me on how the holocaust really went down.

I don't think a movie will ever really be able to show how it really was. A couple summers ago I went to the holocaust museum in DC and the images and videos they had made me physically ill.

I was ill not just because of the brutality but also because I know I had family fighting with "bad guys". It's a hard pill to swallow knowing my family history is associated with the largest act of genocide this world has ever seen.

But the thing is --and I have to remind myself of this occasionally-- is there is nothing I can do about it.

It's history.

What's done is done. I can only be the best person I know how to be. To stand up for what I believe is right and know to stop if what I am doing is wrong. I don't know the position I would had taken if police showed up on my front door and said "join or die". I don't think I'll ever be able to predict my choice until the day I have to.

It's not burnout, bitch. It's boredom.

I'm not calling anyone out being a bitch.

I just had to clarify before someone took it personally. It's not personal. Sometimes, I just think I'm Britney.

Back to topic.

It's been brought to my attention there are bloggers out there who are suffering from "Burnout". I say this with love, but aren't most 20 somethings "burned out"? For the most part we were forced to leave the best four years of our lives (read: college) and jump into a fiery pit we call the professional work force.

I think we can all agree with this statement: It sucks balls.

However, burnout is a real thing and I think most of us bloggers have felt demands of blogging (need I remind you, we did do this to ourselves). There is one blogger out there trying to cure the blogsphere of "burnout".

RS27 at Your Beard is Good

He wrote and interesting post this week discussing topics which could help alleviate burnout.

It was comical.

High-five, RS.

It was pretty much a list telling the blogsphere what he finds entertaining to read and what you should write about...you know, to help with the burnout.

I'll put these suggestions to the test. Let's see, RS, if your suggestions are legit.

1. Homeless People - Um...do those people who stand at highway exit ramps count? I see them holding signs, but I never give them my money.

Why?

Because it's 2009 and I don't carry fucking cash. WHO CARRIES CASH THESE DAYS UNDER THE AGE OF 45?

No one. I'd feel like a total piece of shit if I rolled down the window and handed some poor homeless person a personal check (Oh, wait...I don't have those either. Direct withdrawal). Okay, change...again I'm not handing some homeless person 1 nickel and 13 pennies. They'd probably beat my ass. If I do have cash I give it to them, but then as soon as the light turns Green, peace out.

There you have it. I have no homeless stories. The real reason why is because I live in the burbs and the homeless aren't welcome.

2. Dating - Well, I'm fucked. The last first date I went on was November 3, 2001. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, it's been nearly a decade since I went on a first date. I could talk about my date last week with my MIL and SIL, but I'm bored just typing it, so I can't imaging reading it.

3. Sex - Finally, a topic I'm thrilled to write about. But, in RS's words, "Again if you're married this could be an issue." Damn you, RS. (I hate it when other people are right) Too bad I can't remember the last time I had sex.

I know, I know. I wrote about trying to get some ass this week but PH had a track meet and didn't get home until late and I was tired and blah, blah, blah. I took care of it myself.

I used to have a ton of sex stories until I stopped d-ring-king? der-i-n-king? How do you pronounce that word?

4. Drinking - Oh, that's how it's spelled/said! To everyone who is going to enjoy this activity this weekend. Fuck you!

Okay, that was harsh (I didn't say it wasn't true). I miss it.

I really, really miss it.

I miss wine. I miss Schlafly Raspberry hefewiesen, Blue Moon, Guinness, Smithwick's, Three Olives Cherry and Coke, and martiiiiiiiiiiiiiinis.

I do have a couple of stories up my sleeve, which I've never written about because 1) it'd be a 3 part series and 2) I need to protect the innocent (obviously, that's me).

5. America - Seriously? What the hell am I going to write about America? Do you want me to recollect how much Obama spent in taxes in 2008? I can do that for you. Or how about all the pesticide companies harassing Michelle for growing an organic vegetable garden and not using chemicals (you rock, Michelle!)? Or these stupid ass tea parties? I didn't attend tea parties when I was 4 and supposed to like them. I was too busy playing G.I. Joe's with the cute boy across the street to pay attention to tea parties.

6. Doing crappy lists - Mission accomplished.

My blogging isn't suffering because I'm burned out, it's suffering because I'm bored!

Better yet..My life, to me, has become boring.

It's not that it's uneventful, I have a TON of stuff going on, but it's real stuff -not funny stuff. (Not that real isn't entertaining) It's not the typical stories I find entertaining to read or write about. I've become a normal person with normal everyday ordeals, and unless I want to turn this blog into a pregnancy blog (God, I just choked on my own vomit) I don't have as much fun stuff to write about. I don't have the material that I like to write about.

We'll see where this road takes me...

(only three more months until I re-enter into the world on liqueur)

Happy Friday!

Sleeping tigers

I am such a nerd.

Why?

Because I got really excited yesterday when I saw this:



Interpret the word "excited" anyway you want.

I guess for all intends and purposes you could categorize myself as in a draught.

Yes...that kind of draught. How, many of you may ask, is that possible for a knocked up pregnant chick? Especially when a couple months ago the word "insatiable" would be the most appropriate definition of my drive.

Well, I tell you, when your girly bits get ripped clean with smoldering hot wax and your pelvis feels like it's about to tear at the seams, you'd we warding off a penis with crucifixes and garlic too.

Trust me.

But something strange happened this morning. For some unexplained reason when PH kissed me good-bye this morning I had a sudden urge to tackle him back to bed. I have full faith he's unprepared for his greeting home later tonight.

Too much credit

Walked into the office and do you know who I saw lounging in his leather chair this morning?

Drunk Manager.

I was shocked to find out rehab and AA is now only 4 days long.

No?

Well... That's my office integrity for you.

Good times.

I can't explain it right, but this problem bothers me more than anything I have experienced in this job. AND IT DOESN'T EVEN INVOLVE ME!!!

I should let it go. I should stop thinking about it. I should ignore it completely because it doesn't involve me.

But I can't!

I won't talk about it either. I'll just sit in my office and stew over it for the next several weeks (thinking about how this company is barely staying afloat but they are choosing to waste over 100K per/year on a dude's salary who does fucking NOTHING. Or the fact that they are willing to pay him 100% of his salary while he was going to be in rehab but they are only willing to pay me 50% of my salary for only 4 -FOUR- weeks of maternity leave!!!) or until the dude shows up for work again walking into walls demanding to find out where his cell phone is and I'm going to snap like Michael Douglas a la William Foster in Falling Down.

FFF - Friday Fun Facts

I'm not particular on bragging, but I don't mind patting myself on the back when someone out in the blogsphere thinks I'm fun enough to crown me with an award. And that's exactly what Mishi at The Rest of My Life So Far... I'm incredibly flattered and of course I have to pass it forward.

According to the rules of receiving this award I have to tell you 7 things that I love, and then tag 7 other deserving bloggers with the award. Well, I'm going to do this a little different than my normal fact giving posts. Typically I embarrass myself with pointless information (wait, maybe it will be the same), but I'm going to try and not give away too many gory details about myself. Possibly more simple tokens that everyone in my real life knows that you may not.

1. I REALLY REALLY wish Halloween was in the summer or I get invited to a costume party sometime soon.

Why?

Because I am DESPERATE to wear this as a costume:


Come on! How perfect of a costume is this? I won't be pregnant forever, I've got to take advantage of this ridiculous outfit while I can!

2. This is more obvious to the blog world that anyone else, but I can't freaking type or write to save my life lately. Seriously people. How can you even read this blog? I write like an idiot sometimes. I use the wrong words in sentences -which sound phonetically the same when pronounced out loud, but the wrong word none-the-less. If there are word Nazis out there, I'm sorry for contributing to your headaches.

3. I try very hard not to complain in real life. I let it all out here because that's why I started a blog, but right now in my life I'm incredibly happy.

The happiest I've ever been. Honestly.

My job isn't the greatest, but I don't get the urge to slit my wrists over it. My personal life has never ever been better. Every stage of my life has been exciting. I don't look back at any part of my life and wish I could go back. When look back it gives me sense of nostalgia, but I'm most excited looking forward to what's to come and I welcome it. I have a sense of peace about the future and I can't wait for the next big adventure.

4. I have never met a fellow blogger. I really wish I could participate in a Lou meet-up (where are you STL bloggers, Liz, Rebekah?) I'm unbelievably jealous of the Windy City, DC, & LA bloggers who seem to meet up on a weekly basis. I nominate someone else to organize it(I have enough on my plate), but let's wait until after July 10th...believe me, I'll be a lot more fun.

5. Because no one here knows me in real life it's easy for me to let everyone into this very small window of what I choose to expose about myself. At times I've whined about how I felt PH has put our relationship on the back-burner to his teaching and coaching, but I've never been more wrong about anything in my life. I am the first to admit ts was horribly unfair and unjustified.

I have never felt more loved by anyone in my entire life. I feel protected and secure and never worry about our relationship and what we have to waver. I don't think I blindly trust him either. He has never (seriously not once) given me a reason not to trust him.

This wasn't the life I wanted for myself. It's better than I ever imagined it could be.

6. I'm really scared of having a stretched out vag. If I have a C-section, I won't be upset.

7. My favorite quote of the week:

Dolce: Babe, if I didn't lather myself down every night it sticky lotion (to prevent stretch marks) would you put the moves on me more often?

PH: No. But I probably won't be putting moves on you later if you don't take care of yourself now.

The seven people I am tagging for this award are:

Matt from A View From 5280: I just kind of like Matt. He always leaves comments on other people's blog and just gives me the impression of being a good person. And his blog is funny. And he likes strawberry lemonade. How you can resist a guy who drinks strawberry lemonade?

Narm at White Collar Redneck: Besides the fact he's a creative blogger I just really want to see him but a pretty lime green and pink award on his blog. And, Narm, I live in Midwest city...we appreciate our white collar rednecks.

Cal at Sidenote: She always has fun stories and writes little tid-bits of her day. And she LOVES dogs. I like dog people.

Lilu at Like It, Love It: Her TMI surpasses us all. The shit she does leaves me speechless...and that, my friends, is saying a lot.

Always a Bridesmaid at 27 Dresses in Cleveland: I don't know what it is about Cleveland girls, but they're always entertaining.

Laurwilk at Rainbows On My Feet: A solid Midwesterner (are we experiencing a pattern?) who has seen the world and currently lives in NY...every Midwest girl's dream come true.

InsomniacLolita at The Insomniac Lolita: From one insomniac to another...glad you're out there!

TMI: Graduation Day

If it happened to Jonah Hill, it could happen to you.

I was that girl once.

The girl who would shamelessly flirt with guys because I loved the attention. I also had little problem with being touchy-feely, warm and snuggly.

Yes, I was that girl...in High School.

But, like all flirty girls, one time it seriously back fired... At my HS graduation party.

Toward the of the school year there was this guy I had my heart set on for about...um...two weeks whose name was Brandon (real name). Brandon was a geeky nerd throughout high school until his senior year when he turned into a "swan". Needless to say girls wanted to jump in his balls. I, however, was the lucky one who he said yes to for the girl-ask-guy dance.

I was cool.

Or so I thought.

So the day of my high school graduation party I had about 50 friends over for food, cake, and presents. I'm thinking how all cute and adorable I am hanging outside in my new sundress, so decide to take a seat at the center of the group right on Brandon's lap.

We're joking around and talking when my mom interrupts the party mom to ask me to come inside and help her with punch or something stupid you have to help moms with.

I stand up and walk over to my mom and I hear a low gasp come from the crowd of guests. Not sure what's going on, I turn around and there is Brandon sitting in the same chair; his jaw loosely hung open with a look of pure disgust on his face.

Staring back at him like a Carrie prom night was a huge blood stain on this pants!!!

This wasn't blood from a finger either.

I had period blood all over his pants! I was so humiliated I immediately ran inside and hid. I didn't know how to go back out there. I mean, seriously, I just BLED all over this dude. A girl friend came looking for me after about 10 minutes of self loathing in my bedroom and told be Brandon and his friends all left and no one else cared.

That was the last time I hung out with Brandon even though we ended up going to the same college.

I think that story was best to remain in high school.

Update: I said no, no, no

Well, Manager was admitted today.

I wish him the best.

Because once was not enough

1. You hold a manager title in the company and have entire portions of the country under your watch.

2. You've been sent to rehab 3 - 4 times at the expense of your company to get sober missing work months at a time.

3. You've been sat down by your boss who explained to you showing up for work drunk is not an option to maintain employment.

4. You show up for work drunk a minimum of 4 times with in the last three weeks.

5. This morning when you showed up for work, you parked your car in a handicapped spot and both of your tires are up on the cement parking block.

6. You stumbled around the office with your eyes half closed mumbling and slurring your speech.

7. You yelled at the receptionist over and over again to call your cell phone because you can't find it.

8. You walked passed me, couldn't pronounce my name, and smelled worse than the Sham-Wow guy after a night with a tongue biting hooker.

9. The entire company knows you show up for work drunk yet you still have a job. A job with authority. A job making more money than the entire staff of hour employees makes combined.

10. You were driven home by your boss who will most likely tell you to sleep it off and come back to work tomorrow.

I've decided I don't blame you anymore for your behaviour.

I blame the people in your life who enable you to continue behaving in this way and acting like it's okay.

Okay, maybe they're not acting like it's okay, but they're not doing anything to make you understand how you are putting yourself and other people in danger (see: driving to work intoxicated).

Your cry for help is definitely being heard. I'm sorry the people who are hearing it aren't doing anything to help you.

Aladdin said it best

It's a whole new world...through non-drinking eyes.

A couple weekends ago PH and I drove across state for a friend's wedding. It's been awhile since his crew of college frat brothers got together...with an open bar.

Let me start by saying, somethings never change.

I'm all about going out. I've never been the type to sit at home and twiddle my fingers - I like socializing, I like hanging out with my friends. As long as the venue isn't too smoky I'm all in.

This wedding was no exception. For the the most part I love PH's friends. Love them! I can't tell you how many times in college I locked my keys in the car, got a flat tire, or simply needed help and his friends were at my side in minutes helping me out.

But with my love of his friends comes an exception: Mellon Mouth.

Mellon Mouth dated one of my best friends for two years. At the time I sort of liked him, he seemed okay enough to pass as a boyfriend. There were definitely some red flags in his behaviour.

1. He shit himself one night. Yep - who knows what kind of "cocktail" he mixed that night, but the dude totally shit his bed. It wasn't in solid form either. It was all over the walls, mattress, shack sheets, etc. Disgusting.

2. He purposely went out of his way to make other people feel bad. He was one of "those" types. I've never had much respect for people who have so little regard for other peoples' feelings.

3. His goal is to be the most outrageous, ridiculous, and inappropriate person at the party. He must be the center of attention at all costs.

His behaviour at the wedding hadn't changed at all since college. Except as far as I could tell his pants were clean.

It's an odd feeling being the ONLY sober person at the party, carefully watching the chips fall as the night proceeded. You can see where the trouble lies and exactly where the snowball starts.

Anyway, for the first time I saw a very distinct line between PH's friends who are married and the ones who are single. The married guys hung out with everyone else, drank, danced, had a good time. The single guys had a fucking popularity contest on who could out do the next guy for being more inappropriate.

Who lead this barbaric display of frat boys basically trying to whack each other off?

Mellon Mouth - who I would like to blame for every one's short failings.

The day started off with Mellon Mouth wearing a tuxedo to the wedding. No, he was not in the wedding, he just felt he was too cool for school to wear a suit (really, not a big deal. Stupid, but not worth writing home about). So, of course, the next guy shaved his beard into a fu-manchu like mustache and went to the wedding. (again, not a big, but still stupid).

The reception is where the ridiculousness started. The groom is no idiot. He knew exactly what his friends would act like at a wedding so he strategically placed them in the back of the ballroom away from the majority of the guests.

It was a good thing. I lost count of how many times I heard one them scream: Fuck, pussy, cunt, ass hole, and cock sucker. The context of one of the drunken conversations over dinner did consist of one of our friends getting arrested the night before the wedding for being too drunk.

The police had him handcuffed in the back of the cruiser when our other friends convinced the cops to let him go and they would take him home immediately. So they released my friend and right away he stood in a fake James Bond stance, turned his hands into a fake pistol, and barrel rolled over the hood of the cop car!!! He jumped into the cab with his friends and peeled out of there.

Barrel rolled over the hood of a cop car and just being handcuffed...Idiots.

As the night progressed and conversations with people were starting to turn into helping them maintain balance I looked up and say one of the grooms men walking around the reception with out his shirt on.

The guy looks exactly like Toby McGuire - so imagine Toby McGuire walking around a reception aimlessly in tuxedo pants with out a shirt on.

I just shook my head.

Dancing circles ensued on the dance floor, but the best one of the evening was another guy dancing balls to wall to Beyonce's "Single Ladies". As my gay friend C commented that evening "He will be single until he starts dating a guy." Single Ladies dancer confirmed the statement.

The other popular dance move of the evening was when two of my guy friends danced in the center of a circle and one friend (the guy who barrel rolled over the cop car) pretended to whack off on my other friend who was preforming "Matrix" like moves bending backwards in order to avoid any imaginary money shots.

They have a lot of class.

One of my favorite parts of the evening was when Mellon Mouth decided to start standing on the tables (this is a WEDDING RECEPTION!) and putting is crotch in girls' faces...parents were present.

Personally, I don't want to know where the fuck that penis has been. If it came with in one foot of me I would cut it off with a blunt knife...gladly.

I won't leave out the part where he got up on the bar and started dancing or that he walked around the reception tables and started eating the floral center pieces.

By the time the last song played, my best friend at the party was passing out next to me, my face hurt from the fake smile plastered on it, and called it a night.

If I was enjoying the party with martinis and wine, I'm sure it would have been one the best wedding receptions I have been too, unfortunately, I witnessed in a whole different way.

Less than pleasant

Scrapes, bruises, and stitches have been close friends of mine for as long as I remember. My first memory of going to the hospital was when I was about three and I tripped and fell on glass soda bottles.

Do you remember those from the early 80's?

Anyway, off to the ER for 12 stitches in my elbow. That's a lot of stitches on a three year old.

Then there was the time I broke my foot on a trampoline. My mother thought gymnastics and ballet class would help with my inability to walk in a straight line without falling. Needless to say she was wrong. I was the only 10 year old in the beginner ballet class with a bunch of 6 year olds...I'm not kidding.

However with a lack of coordination, I'm somehow not awkward. High heels are my friend.

I know most of my injuries have occured from pure clumsiness.

Uncoordinated would be the nicest way to describe me. How I played competitive sports (and actually excelled at them) is beyond me. I guess what they say about practicing is true because I am no natural athlete.

This weekend, however, I experienced a entire new level to my clumsiness: Off Balance.

My center of gravity is all screwed up due to the fact I have an abnormal proportion of weight being distributed to the front portion of my abdomen. But, I'm straying away from the point.

This morning I woke up with a sore back that would rock your world with stiff hips and a bruised ass.

Yesterday, I fell down the stairs...Twice.

TWO TIMES!!!

It takes a lot of effort for one person to accomplish this. (And just so you know, I feel old and decrepit right now).

I'm sitting in my desk at work wondering how many hours I need to spend in the office before I can go home to work on my laptop lying in bed where my back is supported by an embarrassing amount of pillows.

I only have two and a half hours left to go...

My Adventureland

I can't wait to see this movie. The summer after I graduated from high school I worked here:



But more importantly, I worked here:



Yes, I worked at an amusement park.

It was definitely the worst non-professional job I have ever had.

Top Ten Reasons working at an Amusement Park blows:

10. The uniform: Purple lifeguard swimsuit which faded in the chlorine and made the crotch a different color than the boobs

9. It took approximately 15-20 minutes to drive into the parking lot, find a space, and park your car.

8. It took another 30 minutes to walk through the employee entrance, walk to your station (or water park) before you could sign in and start working for the day.

7. Basically you had to get to the park an HOUR before your shift started.

6. The employee cafeteria I swear was trying to poison the staff.

5. Your peer was a 45 year old woman of two whose 17 year old son shared the same job as her and 10 year old son ran around the park wrecking havoc on all those surrounding him.

4. The park was under-staffed, so for a 12 hour shift you were only allowed one 30 minute break...ALL.DAY.

3. You are in the HOT fucking sun all day long, with no water, and no bathroom breaks.

2. Supervisor leaves you at the same spot guarding the lazy river for 6 hours straight without water refills or a break.

1. One month after the water park opened none of the rides had chlorine in the water and the manager blamed it on bad testing chemicals. Yes, my friends, you were swimming in other people's urine.

The best part of the job:

Dolce to supervisor:

"Hey, Matt, I'm taking my lunch break now. And I'm not coming back. EVER."

Have a great weekend!!!

TMI: If you won't listen to my words, listen to my dancing feet

Alright, that title has absolutely nothing to do with my post. It's just the best line I've heard in a long time.

But let's get to the point:

I am no stranger to hot wax.

You know those scented candles that turn into message oil? Yeah, I like that kind of hot wax too, but for today's TMI I'm referring to the Brazilian kind of hot wax.

Hot sticky wax all over my girl bits.

Like I said, I'm no stranger to a little hot wax on the girl. I prefer as as little hair as possible and usually the monthly trip to the spa demands a little manicuring in my nether-regions.

However "a little manicuring" doesn't even begin to express the pure torture I set myself up for.

I remember sitting in a child development psych class watching videos of natural births (i have no idea why) but all I could concentrate on was how a women would allow herself to be video taped with a vag that looks straight out of National Geographic.

Excuse me, but I'm not the National Geographic type. And because my girl is going to be exposed to more eyes than regularly common, there is no way I'm leaving them with the impression that I belong in a grass shirt with a shell necklace rather than my black maxi - a la Angelina style - maxi dress.

So yesterday I had my long over due scheduled appointment with my wax girl.

Believe me when I say that waxing isn't all that bad. It's five minutes of uncomfortable ripping, but nothing to cry about. I've done it before and taken it like a champ.

Oh fuck...

Not yesterday.

Here's the problem. NO ONE WARNED ME that my girly bits would be so freaking sensitive to heat and pulling.

Oh my god.

When the girl first applied the wax I thought she was going to burn the first three layers of skin off.

But the ripping!!!

Holy shit.

I broke out in a solid sweat.

My palms.

My arms.

My forehead.

all sweaty.

I nearly started crying when she started to wax the "under" part. You know, not the top, the bottom...SENSITIVE PARTS.

I actually had to have her stop for a couple of minutes so I could continue. It was like nothing I had ever experienced before.

Pure Pain.

When she was finally done I actually had to lay on the bed for a few minutes and regain composure.

Who knew a waxing you've had several times in the past could change so mercilessly because of a little extra blood being sent to that area of the body (read: pregnancy).

But that's not the worst part...by far.

So at the end of the session she gave me some body oil to apply to the area so it would be slick and not sticky.

Remember, I can't see what's down there anymore. It takes some serious yoga moves to allow me to see my own girl. So when I put my hand down there to apply the oil I couldn't believe what I was feeling.

My girl was all SWOLLEN!

Like I had freaking bee stings in my crotch. It was a horrible feeling. When I got home I couldn't help but ask what it actually looked like.

Yes, in case your wondering. I got home last night, pulled down my pants, and asked PH to look at my vag to make sure it was okay.

What?

I was freaking panicking and praying I didn't permanently damage my vag.

Do you know how much sympathy I got from the guy?

Nada.

So of course I had to see for myself what it looked like. I mean, fuck! It hurt to walk. So in an intense panic I grabbed a mirror to see for myself. The lighting was so bad I could see right so I had to lay on my bathroom floor with my ass in the air holding on to mirror to make sure I didn't damage any delicate tissue.

What I saw, I was not prepared for.

My girly bits used to be a nice delicate pink color.

No longer.

I thought it was the bad lighting in the bathroom that made me think I couldn't see my area correctly. No, it was my girl.

She turned to a bluish-purply color!!!!

My intense panic turned to a near hyperventilation. My wax-girl bruised and damaged my girly bits!!!

I did what any smart girl would do.

I went to Google.

"vagina changes color during pregnancy"

Thank you WikiAnswers.

And fuck you too.

Dear girly bits,

When this is all said and done, please, please, please go back to being a sweet pretty pink color. I can't take this.

Love,

Dolce

Monsters on Ladders who are Linked In

A couple days ago I was discussing my job with a friend of mine who left a very prestigious job selling medical equipment for a lesser paying not as prestigious pharmaceutical job. Her reasoning was quality of life.

I completely understand and agree with her decision. She finally realized it was time to leave after she read a quote in a book. I don't know it verbatim, but it was something like:

If your personal integrity does not match the integrity of your company, it's time to start looking for a new job.

Since she said this to me, my mind has been swirling in doubt. My co-worker (who's dad used to own the company I work for) said she's scared the doors won't remain open to see Christmas.

That's scary.

But what bothers me even more...MORE than ANYTHING else -which isn't the 10% pay decrease or the fact that the hourly employees who work here (who make freaking pennies) are forced to take 2 non-paid days off a month is that the people who are failing to do their jobs in this company continue to be employed.

I'm not whining. I know all of us screw around at work occasionally. Hell, I'm a blogger. I can't even bring myself to say how much time I could waste writing and reading all day, but in this one instance I am completely floored and disgusted.

A manager in my company who makes a very nice living (too good for the amount of work he does) has consistently been showing up to work drunk.

It's not gone unnoticed.

Last week I was sitting in a company meeting with Drunk Manager and I couldn't tell what the fuck he was doing when he started flapping his hands behind his head like he was trying to give himself antlers or bunny ears. Then he nearly fell asleep during the meeting and his shirt was untucked and his stomach was hanging out a good 4 inches.

Do you know what happened to him?

My COO sent him home.

That's it.

Sent the dude home and he came back to work Wednesday morning like nothing had happened. Yesterday he was drunk again telling vulgar jokes to the employees and driving around picking up donuts and snacks in the morning instead of WORKING.

What happened?

Nothing.

People in my office are LOSING THEIR JOBS and TAKING PAY CUTS and this fucker is allowed to not work when he's in the office but show up for work DRUNK!

DRUNK!!!

Any other freaking company on the planet would fire his ass.

Believe me, I don't want to see anyone lose their job, but his salary alone would at least give everyone back 5% of the loss they took. Our company is hanging on my a thread yet they choose to keep employees hired who are clearly NOT preforming.

When did this become okay? Is it okay?

Even WORSE than that the COO clearly told us not to tell the CEO because the CEO would fire him on the spot.

WHAT?????

YES! That's what you're supposed to do! The employing you are paying is NOT working and DRINKING VODKA OUT OF WATER BOTTLES AT WORK!

Clearly there is a problem. Unfortunately, since I have been with the company (a little over 2 years) Drunk Manager has already been sent to rebab for 30 days -I believe the company paid for it.

So obviously this is a problem which hasn't been resolved. There are too many good people, who work hard, who are unemployed right now who would love an opportunity to work, yet my place of employment feels loyalty to keep drunk people in positions of power employed.

I don't believe my personal integrity is matching that of the company I work for.