Beauty and the Beasts

I've mentioned in my notes before how I'm the only woman in a department of men. Fact is, in my building there are only 7 women and a little more than 100 men. Some optimists may think those are incredible odds for a woman looking to get a little lucky.
Not.

I'll be the first to admit there are some lookers (well, maybe 4 or 5) and I do my share of flirting but the majority are funk-E and/or neurotic. Let me share an example of each demonstrated to me just today.

The first example is that of funk-E. This guy comes in my office today and wants to ask me a few questions about some work I do. He pulls up a chair beside mine so that I can show him some examples and suddenly I feel that he is much too close and within my personal comfort zone. I take a deep breath and decide to tough it out. It's close to lunch time and he shouldn't be around very long.
As I'm explaining a process he starts to dig in his ear. I'm used to these men burping and making odd noises with their bodies so this digging didn't really take too much of my attention.....UNTIL he took whatever it was he was digging for and flicked it on my floor. I just looked at him. No, I'm pretty sure I was looking thru him. He just kept on talking as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened.
It's one thing to do that in the privacy of your own office but to do that in front of someone else, and to flick the evidence on the floor is funk-E.

The second example happened this afternoon when the most neurotic person I know came to my office. He too pulled up a chair right beside me, invading my comfort zone. The difference with this man and the other is this guy smells really nice and dresses really sharp. However, scent and fashion cannot help those that suffer from this disorder.
He asked me the most simple question. I gave him the most simple answer, one that I had been answering the same way for the past 10 years. He stood up, put his chair back, and WENT OFF. I'm sure there was pure disbelief on my face but my mind was rapping a Will Smith song....swallow your pride, don't let your lip react, you don't want to see my hand where my hip be at.....

He continued to rant for about two minutes when he made the most incredible statement. "I looked for that for four hours today!" Keep in mind his voice is loud and rising. If I wasn't already aware of his neurosis condition I would have sworn he was yelling at me, but I know better. Let me rephrase...HE KNOWS BETTER.
I asked him why he didn't come ask me this question when he first started his search and he responded by yelling and shaking his fist, "There is nothing I hate worse than asking for help!"

My previous look of disbelief was overtaken by a smile. A very large smile. Actually, it was probably a smirk that he wanted to slap the sh*t out. I then calmly stated, "You are such a man."
And as a man would do, he stood there and fed me a line of crap about how he intends to make my job easier.
I wanted to let him know that there is help available, whether it is in the form of a licensed professional or by simply asking me before wasting half his day on his ego.
Men....

Peace my peeps

Changing The Drapes And Ripping Out The Carpet

Warning: This note may embarrass.

Drapes.....the hair on our head.
So many of us color our hair. I've been highlighting mine for years and recently decided I wanted to go back to my natural brown color. I had it changed back to brown a couple weeks ago and absolutely love it! I was very unsure at first because I've heard so much over the years how good highlights look on me. I have to say that I feel as if I look younger with just the brown color and have had just as many compliments in this short time as I did with my highlights. Shout out to Leslie, my beautician.

That is me changing the drapes. Now it's time to rip out my carpet.

Carpet....hair below the belt.
I've taken on an ideal that I can't write about the things I don't know anything about so I have to experience them first. The sad thing is, the things I actually know about....I can't write anyway due to who my readers are. But I will continue to push the envelope!

So many of my friends have had bikini waxes. I grew up in Florida so it was nothing to hear of girls having waxes to accommodate the cute swimsuits. I've never had one and never really thought of getting one. I figured I could manage trimming my own stuff.

That changed a couple of months ago when I decided I wanted a wax. Not just any wax, and not a bikini wax. If I was doing it, I was doing it big......a Brazilian Wax.
Let me save you from having to go Google it. It's the removal of all hair in the pelvic area, front and back.
Needless to say, it took me a bit to get up the nerve to even call and make an appointment. I hemmed and hawed for nearly two months. I asked around for places that would do this type of thing. In my mind it was wealthy, skinny women who had this procedure done. Some of my friends were joking, telling me it was probably more common in the stripper community. Well, I do like to be naked.....

I had to mentally prepare for this moment. I was a nervous wreck all week, anxious in a scary and excited way. I couldn't get out of mind what would happen to me and what positions I might be put in in order for this waxing to be successful. I read about it online and the common denominator was pain. I even read that you should take a couple Advil prior to the procedure. I was thinking I may want a pretty stiff drink before going in but I couldn't do that and drive myself there. My only logical solution to dealing with the pain was my iPod and a mouthpiece.
I made sure I had soothing music on my iPod and went to WalMart to buy a football mouthpiece to bite into once the ripping of carpet commenced. You laugh.... but I did. I even put it in boiling water for 30 seconds as was stated in the instructions and then placed it in my mouth to form to my own bite. I had a feeling I was going to be doing some serious biting.

Well, Friday finally presented itself. I gathered my personal comfort items and headed to the office. I wasn't there two or three minutes when my aesthetician angel took me in. Jeanette. How could anyone so sweet cause anyone pain?

I was sweating like a whore in church. I told Jeanette that I was doing this so that I could write about it as an experience. Of course I did want to do it to satisfy my own curiosity, too. I told her how you guys enjoy reading my short little notes and that I was going to share it with you. She thought that was great.

Time for business.....She told me to go ahead and get undressed and pointed out where my rear needed to be on the table. You laugh but it's no big deal to me. It's not the first time I've been naked in front of a woman. Heck, my gynecologist is a woman.
Anyway, it wasn't long and I felt the warm wax being smeared on my pelvic area. We were just chatting away like it was nothing and the next thing you know.....RIP!
It didn't even hurt! I don't want to say I was disappointed, but I felt like a complete moron for all the worrying I did. My eyebrow waxing hurts worse than this!!

Well, I just kept chatting and she kept ripping. She would tell me to move my legs in certain positions and I would, but not once was I put in one of the compromising positions I had imagined over and over in my worries. She was wonderful....almost therapeutic. We talked about marriage, kids, parents, religion, cussing, etc. I could have talked to her all day but there was only so much to rip out. I felt like we were instant friends. Of course, she might have been longing for me to shut up, but I just felt very comfortable with her.

"All done." I couldn't believe it! In no time we were done with my first Brazilian wax and I never felt the first bit of pain. Jeanette asked if I wanted to see and handed me a mirror. "Look at your bald kitty."
Wow! I touched it and it was as soft and smooth as a baby's bottom. I've never felt so free!
This is the perfect look for an "experience" I have planned later in the summer.

I have had a permanent grin on my face since the moment I walked out of that office. I feel as if I am gliding when I walk and I can't hardly wait to have another one done!
I strongly recommend this to any of you who are interested, and for those in/around Nashville, let me know and I will give you the info to get an appointment with Jeanette.

I need to give a shout out to my aesthetician, Jeanette. She was perfect! She made me feel so comfortable and at ease that I never needed to break out my iPod, and made me completely forget about needing something to redistribute the previously imagined pain (my mouthpiece).

Peace my peeps

Mandatory Day Off

Warning: This note contains obscenities, sexual references, and will most likely offend.

I came to the conclusion today that it should be mandatory for women who are experiencing PMS to have the most severe day off, away from work. I wanted to spit fire at everyone who came in my office or called my phone. Well, not everyone. There are a couple that can camp out in my office and I would be oh so happy.
Anyway, I know you women have experienced those days when the smallest thing will set you off. Guys don’t get it. If they did, these idiots I work amongst would stay far, far way.

Let me give you some reasons why I need a mandatory PMS day off.

The “cougher” across the hall. ALL day long he coughs. He smokes every half hour…clockwork. I realize you can get cancer from breathing certain things but I’ve caught myself hoping I’m not breathing this shit he’s coughing up… ALL day long.
He was behind me at the copier today…..coughing a lung up….and I turned and gave him the look only a woman experiencing PMS can give, and his response was, “I know, I know, I’ve got to quit. They are putting some kind of flame retardant in the cigarettes and I must be allergic to them.”
You think? Without risking not sounding enough like Rush Limbaugh and offending Sarah Palin……nah, I’m not even going there.

The moron next door. He’s like a small child. For example, today he heard our boss in my office and comes in, waves a piece of paper in the boss’ face, and turns around to walk out. I’m surprised he didn’t say “nah-ny nah-ny boo boo”. What grown man does that?
He will send emails, copy me on them, and immediately come to my office, asking if I read it.. He gets to my desk BEFORE the email even shows up in my in-box.
DUDE, come on.
He does so little and is so excited when he accomplishes something, he has to run to my office and display it proudly. You want to know the super, most sad part of it? He is technically considered my supervisor. And don’t you know I’m made fun of because of it.

The “pleasureless” rolly polly. He checked a manual out from my office this morning, marked “Book #1”. He brings it back to return it this afternoon and looks absolutely lost as to what to do with it. I point to the bookshelf behind him. There are nine more books, marked “Book #2, Book #3, etc. He says, “No, I’m pretty sure I got it from that drawer behind you.”
I let him go on as if he possibly knew what he was talking about. He gets to the drawer behind me and is uttering something about needing his mentor across the hall to help him. He then said he couldn’t find the sign out card he used to sign the book out. I said, in only a tone that a woman experiencing PMS could use, “You mean the one there in the open slot of the bookshelf, beside “Book 2”, where “Book 1” would be?”
Geez.

I realized today that it’s been almost a year since I felt the warm touch of a man.
Who am I kidding? I didn’t “realize” it today. Hell, I’ve been counting the days since March 29, 2009. To make it worse, I kicked Buzz off the bed by accident and he broke into pieces.
My friends here at work tell me the obvious…”go get another”. They don’t understand. I don’t need one that runs on batteries. MARCH 29, 2009. I need one that runs off a utility pole!

You know the one other thing that could help me get thru this crisis called PMS? Chocolate.. But my dumb ass gave up sweets for Lent. Lent isn’t practiced in the denomination I grew up in…I’m doing it to support a friend that is practicing this self-deprivation exercise. This is only the first day…..and I want to bed Willy Wonka!!
I can hear my mother now. How can you talk about religion and say all the things you’ve said?
It’s called forgiveness. God knew I was going to be bitter and lyrically uncontrollable the day he made me a woman.

Maybe tomorrow will be better. For the sake of this little humanity I work with….they better hope so.

Peace my peeps.

A Crack House

You know, some of you have said, “Jenny, write a book”, and I often wonder what in the world I would write about. I’ve come up with an idea and I think it’s a pretty good one. My only concern is, if I hit the big time with it, and quit my job to write a sequel, where would I get material without having to show up at my present place of employment?

You’ve read some of the things I’ve said about work. Each day is something completely different. For instance, a new contract person was hired a couple weeks ago. He and another contract person were discussing their wives….in MY office….the day after this guy was hired. I’ve said before, my office is where these men seem to congregate. I’ve wondered if it’s because of my pleasant personality or my boobs, but regardless, they gather. If they only really knew what I was saying under my breath they wouldn’t come anywhere near my office.
Anyway, they were talking about the wives and how each was married to the best cook. The newest one said that he’s got the best wife ever (it’s his third)….she’s a stay at home wife, does whatever for him, and then he states, “but she doesn’t pleasure me anymore…we’re past that”. I could have thrown up.
The other one gets this disgusting grin on his face and says, “We’re not past it”. I could have gone FOREVER without hearing that.

What would possess two men that barely know me to talk about their sex life in front of me? They are both in their late 50’s/ early 60’s and the last thing I want to hear about is their “pleasure” in life. If I’m not gettin’ any then I don’t want to hear about what they get or don’t get.

Well, today, the third contract person was in the office across from me with one of the other guys. This one isn’t married and is one of the weirdest people I’ve ever met. In fact, he’s down right creepy. When he first started he was put on second shift and would come in about the time I would head home. I had to start shutting my door because he would come in on nights I would work late and just talk to me….in ways that made me uncomfortable….and it takes a lot to make me uncomfortable.
Anyway, this guy is on days now and hangs out some across the hall. He was telling the other guy about some strip club he went to last night and what the dancer was doing to the pole.
I KID YOU NOT. They were having a conversation about a pole dancer and the way her leg was holding her up, and how amazing her leg strength was.
Where else could I work where that is acceptable talk within earshot of a woman? Don’t get me wrong. I’m NO prude and I do my fair share of smack talking with my friends….but they are my friends. These are grown men, talking with their outside voices about a pole dancer and what they’d like to do with her.
I know what I’d like for her to do to them.
I’d like her to take those long, sexy, strong thighs and wrap them around their heads, squeeze…the way she does that pole….until all the air is out of them. That would render them unable to talk.

In general, it’s funny to hear men talk about women. It can be the grossest, most disgusting guy and he will see a woman, tell his buddies what he would do to her, how he would treat her, etc…when in fact, this said woman doesn’t know he exists, wouldn’t give him the time of day, and would rather find a lesbian lover than even THINK of bumpin’ nasties with him.
They are so funny. They think just because they’re packin’ that any woman would want to hit it. Actually, “hit it” might be the correct term, only in a different context.
Some men think they are just that slick. Oh, to have their confidence.

But then I have one coworker that visits every afternoon who I wish had some of this over the top male confidence.
He travels every weekend, more than 300 miles one way, to visit a woman with 4 children, no job, on food stamps…..and when he gets there, has him watch the kids while she goes out with another man. Wow.
And he says he’d marry her in a heartbeat. Perhaps he needs his heart beat.
I’d like to introduce him to the creep with the pole dancing story. At least he’d get him out to meet a woman with a job.

This place is a bouillabaisse of literary material because it’s festering with the preposterous. Simply stated….a crack house.

Calling on the Holy Ghost

I made a very bad decision today to eat lunch in my office. Here's why....

After finishing a lunch I didn't enjoy, I took my bowl and utensil to the ladies room to rinse in the sink. That's disgusting, I know, but I have no other place to rinse. While rinsing I could hear a man's voice in the men's room thru the wall. Oh, no. It sounded very familiar and again, I had no warning. I tried to finish rinsing as fast as I could, splashing water everywhere and all over the front of my pants, desperately trying to get out of there before he did.

I quietly shut the door behind me and raced back to my office. I have two office doors. One has a security key pad that the few people who know the code can use to access the documents in my office. The other one is a regular door with a regular lock so those that don't know the security code can enter by using a master key....which I find so stupid that it's funny....but that is a different story. I shut the security door and pull the other door to, but not all the way.
Oh...now I need to look busier than ever. If it was him he will surely stop in here and I don't want him to think he has an invitation to hang out. I gather some things I need to make a phone call and dial the number. While I'm on the phone with Wendy, a pleasant employee helping me handle the fraudulent charge against my credit card at the the GameFly she works for, I hear panting outside the door.
Now, I know I've got it going on and men pant at the mere thought of me (sarcasm) but this is ridiculous.
I can only hope dear Wendy doesn't hear what I'm hearing. I look up with disgust and sure enough, it's "sPEEster"

I have yet to disclose this person's occupation or employer, only stating that I met him casually and he shows up here every now and then. Due to the confidential materials I work with I am not at liberty to say what he does here, only that his behavior is NOT what one would think is acceptable of a man in his position.
He continues to stand in the doorway of my office, staring at me, while I stare back, saying all kinds of expletives under my breath. I finish the call with Wendy and say "Hello" to him. He comes in and asks what I'm doing. I respond with what is so obvious and then he pulls up a chair at the end of my desk.
Good grief.

I don't know how it started but he begins to talk about the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost and I was hoping any one of those three would show up and escort him out my door....preferably the Ghost.
He tells me the story of him having to get another tire (refer to Blindsiding Jesus note). He goes on to say something about me having so much money I don't have to work. I let him know that although I'm not there yet, once I finish the book I'm writing (in which he unknowingly is a character), I will have plenty. He responds that he's going to write a book on romance. I somehow wonder if it will include peeing on his woman to mark his spot.

A friend of mine came in to get a book and shook hands with "sPEEster". I gasped inside. They exchanged pleasantries and my friend headed back to his office.
Then, thank goodness "sPEEster" gets a phone call, only he doesn't leave. He says, "It's Hank", his co-worker, and puts him on speaker phone. Like I really want to hear both of them! Anyway, "Hank" is another one who is not at all a shining representative of his company. He used to talk openly in the halls, telling dildo jokes and talking about mating activities of gay men. In any company but the one I work for, this behavior would not be tolerated and he would be told to never step foot on the property again. Again, that's for a different story.
While "sPEEster" is on the phone I send my friend a quick email, reminding him that "sPEEster" shifts his stick without washing his hands....and he just shook it. I won't repeat the response I got back from that one!
Anyway, the two are discussing where they want to meet up once "Hank" arrives and "sPEEster" suggests a spot. He then asks where "sPEEster" is presently and about some other people he refers to as "jerk offs". I look at him and tell him he needs to leave.
He doesn't. Worse. The moron that sits in the office beside me comes in and waits for "sPEEster" to get off the phone. They start talking about what "sPEEster" is doing here and what's going on. They chit chat casually until I've had enough and tell them both they will have to take their conversation somewhere else.
I find it so incredibly rude that people will have a conversation in another's office without any regard to the person trying to work. Or coming up with notes for her next story....

Oh, how I long for the days I used to get the voice mail, "Jenny, Jenny...who can I turn to?" and WARNED that he would be around. At least then I would know to go out at lunch, and to lock the secured and unsecured doors to my office.

I begin to pray....Our Father/Son/Holy Ghost who art in heaven...... Help Me!

Peace my peeps.

Blindsiding Jesus

Note....This is the next chapter to the "Dating Those in Mid-Life Crisis" note. I have a feeling it will become a series.

Friday was to be like any other Friday. I awoke, got ready for work, took the trash to the street, and left for my short 3 mile trek to the office. My mental preparation for my day is a JAM of loud music on this 45 mph drive to the gallows. I pass the same high school kids waiting at the bus stops and make a mental note of the characters they will one day take on in my FB notes. I pass the cemetary where each day I say a prayer for all of those resting in peace. Then I turn down the short street to my side parking lot.

"Sweet Jesus. Mary, Mother of God" were the exact words I uttered this Friday morning. Coming out of the same parking lot I was entering was the white BMW that nearly took me to heaven several months ago. It was "Speester". What the hell was he doing here? I had no advance warning that I would encounter him today. Normally, I will get the annoying text that he will see me or the "Jenny, Jenny...who can I turn to" lyric on a voice mail.
Luckily for me, he was leaving. But it was 630 in the morning. What on earth was he doing there? No matter...he was leaving. And thank God, it appeared he did not see me.

I head to my office, make coffee, settle in and begin reading my email. Suddenly, a familiar scent of a heavy musk preceeds a tall, lurching figure in my doorway. It was him.
"Jenny, Jenny...who can I turn to?" is what I am hearing. My insides cringe, the Kegel exercise I was doing tightened even more, and I'm sure pure disappointment was all over my face.
I could not believe I had been blindsided by him. As much as I hate hearing from him, at least I ususally get a warning that he will be around. Not this time.

Thankfully, he only talks to me for a couple minutes and moves on to his next victim. Now I'm left to wonder how long I'll be free from his annoying presence. I go ahead and get busy, trying to take my mind off my invasion. But not for long....
He's back, and now has me blocked in the file office across the hall. He talks to me about Christmas and asks about mine. He tells me he's thinking of trading in his death chariot. Turns out he's paying over $1100 a month for it. If I'm paying that much for a car, it better come as a pair and have drivers. He then tells me how he had to pay $800 for two tires. When questioned why he already needed new tires (less than 9k miles) he adequately stated that it was due to his constant acceleration and his frequent visits to the150 mph mark.

He tells me after a drunken trip with a buddy to see the Opryland Hotel christmas lights, where he jumped a fence and topped a camel for a picture, he stopped drinking. He said he realizes that '09 was his mid-life crisis year and he's a changed man.
"I even went forward in church."
I didn't hear anything else after that comment. I almost couldn't control my inside laughter. Don't get me wrong.... I grew up in church and watched many people go to alter calls and turn their life from pure outright sin to just secretly sinning. I ain't mad at ya! It's just that all I could picture was Jesus being blindsided by "Speester" coming to the alter.
I remembered uttering "Sweet Jesus" when I was coming in the parking lot. I can only imagine Jesus now saying, "Sweet Me. What is this cat doing, fist pumping me and asking Me into his heart?"

Peace my peeps.

Dancing With Myself....and Billy Idol

Dancing With Myself....and Billy IdolShare
Today at 9:40am | Edit Note | Delete
After a great day of bowl games I settled into bed last night watching NPT, Nashville Public Television (....and yes, I was....). They have some pretty cool stuff on that channel. I'm usually spending an evening watching David Foster specials with various artists, or Josh Groban and Michael Buble, Bette Midler or Barbra Streisand. Last night was especially surprising and entertaining. Billy Idol.
I grew up in the 80s a HUGE rock/pop fan. I adorned my walls with lots of posters torn from my TigerBeat magazines and was always playing records or cassesttes. MJ, Culture Club, Duran Duran, Billy Idol, and many many more. I was far from normal as a kid but pretty normal in this part of being a "tween" and teenager.
Anyway, I was amazed at what I was watching last night. Billy Idol, probably 55 or 60 years old was HOT! He still has the punked up white hair and a body to compliment his punky "do". At times he was not wearing a shirt and probably looked even better than back in the 80s. I found myself desiring this older man. I began humming "Flesh for Fantasy"! He had six-pack abs, nice pecs, and that dent in the man's body that shows the pelvic muscles. Oh.... His voice didn't sound at all bad, either. Oh to be in my 50s and throwing my underwear on stage at this man!
The camera would do close-ups on Billy's long time guitarist, Steve Stevens, but I was not so impressed with him. When they would show his hands playing the guitar it reminded me of my mom's hands. Truly...they looked like a woman's hands. Then they would pan up his body and to his face. Ewww! He looked like Phylis Diller with black hair, only she was wearing tight leather pants and a faux snake skin shirt. Scary.
But back to Billy Idol. I suddenly remembered only months ago when I went on the date with the 53 yr old man. Why couldn't I have picked a fella that age that looked like Billy Idol, not one with incontinent issus?! We would have been rockin' the "Cradle of Love" instead of me avoiding annoying texts and phone calls.
It's a new year and I have 363 more days to date in 2010. Sometimes I find myself as a "cougar". Those young men lifeguards at the Y make my tummy feel funny. ;o) Yet some of these older men I see make me want to be more mature and sophisticated. I should probably stick to finding someone my age so we can grow old rocking each other's worlds.
Anyway, after the Billy Idol concert special was over I went on to flip thru channels. I came a across a story on MSNBC about the porn industry. It was focusing quite a bit of attention on how there are so many women CEOs in that industry and how successful they are. Hmmmm. I'm thinking there is an opportunity there for me to find the young, middle, and older man. Hmmmm
Don't worry, Fro. I'm just thinking out loud.
Chances are I won't find a man to date today since there are more bowl games on, so I'll just keep re-living those Bily Idol moments from last night.
I wonder if he pees in public.

Peace my Peeps