Thursday, December 30, 2010
Has Anyone Used...
The Furminator? For 60 bucks I need some honest reviews before I buy this thing. I'm neck deep in Cardi hair. Oh yeah... and Heeler hair.
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
I Skipped the Marshmallow Dream Bar
Most days I really like my job, and they say you shouldn't put anything on the internet that you wouldn't want to see plastered on a billboard the next day, so thank goodness my blog is blocked from Google search.
Today I skipped the Marshmallow Dream Bar on my trip to Starbucks. This is a big step for me, as I am more addicted to the Dream Bar than I am to the ventifatfreeskinnyvanillalatte that turns my tongue yellow because of it's radioactive sugar substitute. Why did I skip the Dream Bar, you ask? Because my boss said I am fat.
Yes, fat. Packing on the extra pounds. Thick around the middle. Climbing the charts in jeans sizes. Obsese, my friends. I would love to argue with her, but I can see the scale quake as I walk towards it, and sometimes the toilet shakes when I sit down. I'm a bonafide chunky monkey, weighing in at (dare I say it publicly?) 203 pounds. Gasp.
I like my sweets and it's written in my genetic code. My grandma used to lock herself in her bedroom and eat truffles while she read romance novels. I like Dream Bars, truffles, cookies, candies, cakes... I actually eat about half sweets and half real food in a regular day. It's a huge stress reliever, and it tastes good!
Back to the boss, though. We're in my review talking about my expanding role with the firm and the raise I am about to get, and everything is going swimmingly until we get to the areas for improvement part. Boss says she would like me to work on being healthier. What?!?!?!??! "You give good phone," she says. You give good phone. You give good phone. I'm still going to be hearing that in my head when I'm 80. Then she went on to say that if I was "healthier" and "fit" I would exude confidence and happiness and then they would have me meet with clients... but at this point I "cannot be presented."
I guess I could cry, or look for a new job, or eat some damned truffles while I rot behind my desk. It's the sick unspoken law that my mother always told me: certain jobs require certain looks, employers do discriminate, and you have to play the game. I'm drawn to "sexy" industries and client facing roles, so I have to look the part. I learned it at 21 years old when the brokerage firm where I worked was interviewing for a new broker. "Too old," "too fat," "too ugly," I heard as one after another paraded through the door. Maybe I should thank my current boss for giving me the reminder, however rude, obnoxious and inappropriate it was to say. I'm also not too proud to say that I would like to be a little healthier so I can run around after Matilda without getting winded and not feel so uncomfortable in my expanding skin.
So, my "things to work on" for the next 90 days (at which point I actually get another review) are:
1. Being as "healthy" as possible
2. Buying the most expensive suit I can afford (after completion of goal #1)
3. Writing (even though most of her emails are incomprehensible *I* have to work on *MY* writing... but THAT is another blog).
Today I skipped the Marshmallow Dream Bar on my trip to Starbucks. This is a big step for me, as I am more addicted to the Dream Bar than I am to the ventifatfreeskinnyvanillalatte that turns my tongue yellow because of it's radioactive sugar substitute. Why did I skip the Dream Bar, you ask? Because my boss said I am fat.
Yes, fat. Packing on the extra pounds. Thick around the middle. Climbing the charts in jeans sizes. Obsese, my friends. I would love to argue with her, but I can see the scale quake as I walk towards it, and sometimes the toilet shakes when I sit down. I'm a bonafide chunky monkey, weighing in at (dare I say it publicly?) 203 pounds. Gasp.
I like my sweets and it's written in my genetic code. My grandma used to lock herself in her bedroom and eat truffles while she read romance novels. I like Dream Bars, truffles, cookies, candies, cakes... I actually eat about half sweets and half real food in a regular day. It's a huge stress reliever, and it tastes good!
Back to the boss, though. We're in my review talking about my expanding role with the firm and the raise I am about to get, and everything is going swimmingly until we get to the areas for improvement part. Boss says she would like me to work on being healthier. What?!?!?!??! "You give good phone," she says. You give good phone. You give good phone. I'm still going to be hearing that in my head when I'm 80. Then she went on to say that if I was "healthier" and "fit" I would exude confidence and happiness and then they would have me meet with clients... but at this point I "cannot be presented."
I guess I could cry, or look for a new job, or eat some damned truffles while I rot behind my desk. It's the sick unspoken law that my mother always told me: certain jobs require certain looks, employers do discriminate, and you have to play the game. I'm drawn to "sexy" industries and client facing roles, so I have to look the part. I learned it at 21 years old when the brokerage firm where I worked was interviewing for a new broker. "Too old," "too fat," "too ugly," I heard as one after another paraded through the door. Maybe I should thank my current boss for giving me the reminder, however rude, obnoxious and inappropriate it was to say. I'm also not too proud to say that I would like to be a little healthier so I can run around after Matilda without getting winded and not feel so uncomfortable in my expanding skin.
So, my "things to work on" for the next 90 days (at which point I actually get another review) are:
1. Being as "healthy" as possible
2. Buying the most expensive suit I can afford (after completion of goal #1)
3. Writing (even though most of her emails are incomprehensible *I* have to work on *MY* writing... but THAT is another blog).
Blog, How I've Missed Thee
Life the past few months has swallowed me whole. I work from 9-6 and my commute starts at 7:30am taking Matilda to Grandma's. Often Jeff is out of town and I go back to Grandma's to pick her up after work, and wind up getting home at 8pm. If Jeff is in town I get home at 6:30 (except during the toll tag debacle, which is another blog entirely) and we try to piece together some semblance of a family evening before bed time.
No, this is not a New Year's resolution to get back into blogging. I just miss you guys! I've managed to negotiate two days a week working from home beginning January 1 (for sanity's sake) so I hope to get back to blogging with some of my extra time. The blog is so theraputic, as an outlet and a way to connect with my friends far away. Faebook helps some, but nothing can replace the blog.
No, this is not a New Year's resolution to get back into blogging. I just miss you guys! I've managed to negotiate two days a week working from home beginning January 1 (for sanity's sake) so I hope to get back to blogging with some of my extra time. The blog is so theraputic, as an outlet and a way to connect with my friends far away. Faebook helps some, but nothing can replace the blog.
Monday, September 6, 2010
Vacation- Auntie Gail's
With friend Theresa outside Auntie Gail's house
With my best friend from high school, Beth, and her son Linus
3 generations... just before we dumped my mom out in the forest along the Clackamas river. Sick, I know :)
Matilda with her great, great Auntie... also while dumping mom
Matilda asleep on the couch that's been in the party room since I was her age
Vacation- La Center
Watching football practice with the girls
At the park
How does this work?
Got it!
Quinn golfing with Andre
Janiene came down to meet us for lunch at the casino!
Golfing with Donna
Golfing with Mama
Vacation Pics- Beach
Cheese!
Tillamook Cheese Factory and Rockaway Beach
Matilda devouring her Tilamook ice cream. Caramel was her favorite.
Auntie Gail, me, Matilda and cousin Carolyn
In front of the Tillamook cow
Feet in the sand at Rockaway (outside Dave & Norma's beach house)
Headed to the beach
Walking to the beach
Baby on the beach!
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