Call Me Whorey

Sometimes, I think I live in an alternate universe. This usually happens when I see people use ‘your’ in place of ‘you’re’, whenever I think about Even Stevens and the tragic day it went off air, whenever I see people on LinkedIn with legal  names like Shanequian, Summer, Ginger, and Bunny, and  when people with no front teeth somehow hold supervisory positions in the corporate world.  But today was the icing on the cake. My coworker decided to give me a little gift from the bottom of his heart.

My name isn’t any of the names listed above. It’s Corey. That’s an upstanding, non stripper name. So who wants to tell me why he threw his over sized head over my cubicle and said seriously, ” this is for you”.  Not sexual harassment. SEXUAL TEMPTATION.

Someone tell me right effing now why this was on my desk.  If you do, I’ll give you a tiny peep show. What? That’s not sexual temptation or anything.

Call me, maybe.

Tags: Bridget Jones, coworkers, random, strange matter, work

15 Logical Reasons Ryan Gosling Should Date Me

Okay, not really my 15 logical reasons–but 15 logical reasons in general. The bottom link is this: Eva doesn’t deserve him. She has weird crinkles in her forehead and designs homeware.  I don’t. But I do deserve him. I lived with my mother for 18 years–that counts for some serious deserving right there. So I do. No really, Ryan. I DO.. And as a bonus, I have two cats. Way better than designing homeware.

Hey Boy, You know I want you. And her shirt is stupid.

Tags: dating, hot men, lovers, my bed, secret boyfriends

You Can Actually Die in Office Meetings

Everyone complains about meetings, but since I’m the Amelia Earhart of meetings(smart, brave, cheeky, and able to disappear (to the bathroom to braid my hair or go dump out the pot of coffee and take 23 minutes making a new pot), I feel I need to weigh in on this issue. Meetings take survival skills. It should be put on your resume and you should be taught at a young age how to survive. Who cares about learning not to pee in your pants–this is way more important.  I don’t mean survival like oh, stay awake and participate. I mean survival like don’t get stabbed with a knife, or contract a rare disease from the rabid Darth Vader breather sitting next to you.

Anyway, the other day I was sitting in a meeting– also commonly referred to as a Torture Device.(The Spanish inquisition had nothing on these.)  The facilitator stood up to talk. Torture device number one. I’d rather be scalped.  Imagine his sausage fingers stabbing the air with false confidence while his face turned red with exertion from swinging his large massive belly left to right every time he disagreed. I guess no one ever taught him that a simple head shake from East to West would work just fine too. Sentences like “It is well ample to do that” and “This information pertains to pertinent information” were thrown around–each sentence more useless than the next– and every time a new person called in he wanted to “recap”. Each recap took 23 minutes. I know because I had my stopwatch out. 

At this point in the meeting it was obviously time for me to make fun of people by sketching them and/or pulling out my vanilla pudding stored in a mayo jar and eating it. But it was Friday  so I decided just staring at people till they looked and winking required less effort.

But then I realized the guy next to me was looking at me and smiling. Freak. Can’t he see I’m in the middle of something? I ignore him.

Next thing I know there’s some movement to my right and Smiley is playing with something in his lap. Great, we’ve got a pervert in the room. But no, I was wrong. What we had was a killer. Why would I think this? Because he had a Joker grin on his face and had a effing knife out.

I’m sorry, but does this happen in YOUR meetings? Am I wearing the wrong colors right now? Crips? Bloods? Holy shit. My mother. She’s finally done it–she’s finally sent out a hit man because she found out that I know how to makeout and drink beer. I’m going to die. That was my last thought…before I saw he was actually cutting off strings from his uniform. Oh. Whatever, he’s still a murderous freak in my head.

Why so serious? Oh, because you’re in a meeting.

Then to my right something catches my eye. I mean, ear. I mean, gag reflex. Is that Darth Vader over there? No, just another meeting member breathing like  Vader as he exerts himself to…pick his eczema scab. Enter gag reflex. Pick.Pick.Pick. Actually to the tick of the second hand on the clock. Does he practice this at home? Did I do something to offend the meeting gods?  Murderous killer and former third grade scab and booger eater. Give me cancer now, god.

It suddenly got all too real. I’m going to die in here and I don’t even have berries like Katniss. There are no tracker jackers, but there’s a contestant who is going to stab  me in the leg after he finishes hemming the bottom of his uniform. Or I’m going to die because we’re only on slide number 23 or 765 slides. I mean, is there a slide for every word in each sentence he’s reading? Oh god. Did someone just ask a question when he was about to close? I.will.effing.kill.you. Watch your back in the parking lot, my good man.

I’ll gladly sit in this if it means I can skip the meeting, sir.

Oh. We’re closing the meeting-yes!yes!yes! No.No.No.NO. “So let’s just wrap it up and talk about when to schedule another meeting for the decision”. Oh, lets. You are so right, Mr. Facilitator, there’s really no need to make a decision now. We couldn’t have possibly done that in the three hours that just passed.

You know, I don’t want a lot in life. I don’t ask for much. Just Mark Consuelos & Ryan Gosling and Heidi Klum’s body. That’s not a lot. So I don’t think it would be too much for me to ask to not ever have to go to another meeting ever again in my life. Unless it’s like THIS and that stud is at the end of my table.

Tags: coworkers, death, survival 101, work

The Sex Appeal of Crimped Hair

Sometimes I like to think of myself as a decent catch. I’m no Giselle, but I can give Ugly Betty a run for her money. Until this morning, that is. For some odd reason, I woke up thinking I was going to put some effort in on this fine Friday. Not that I usually don’t, but my go-to is a chic bun. Or at least that’s what they call in on Pinterest. To me, it’s a magical five second way to hide dirty hair. It’s magic, I tell you. Once I had dirty hair that I threw up into a top knot and people kept asking how I did it because it was so darling. Oh, I’ll teach you how to do it. It’s called dirty two day hair. Don’t judge me, I had more important things to do that included watching 4 straight episodes of Mad Men and consuming a bottle of wine.

Anyway, I decided this effort was going to be funky. I was going to step outside of the proverbial fashion box. I was going to give those fashion bloggers what they wanted. They were going to be pinning ME, okay? Visions of my adorable outfit floating around on Pinterest with comments like “Love! how did she do that? I wish I could be her. She’s so cute.” Which OF COURSE, would catch the eye of someone on Twitter, leading to a couple thousand Retweets, which would somehow make it’s way to Ryan Gosling’s account, leading him to tweet about how sexy I looked and would I go out on a date with him. And I’d respond with a “Oh, isn’t he just a joker?”(you have to play coy, here people) and then DM him and say “eat me.”. Whatever, a good plan right?

Hey girl. They said you were the bomb on Pinterest and Twitter. Let's date.

So of course, I wake up 25 minutes late and scramble around the house, all the while thinking of this awesomeness sure to ensue. Look in my closet and what do I see? Ugly clothes. **Well, this won’t do. How am I going to be a start with all of this? Think outside the box, bitch. Think outside the box. Aha! It’s jeans’ day at work! Hmm, jeans, jeans, no, no, blue won’t work…White are dirty, Black were worn last week…YES. LIGHT WASH JEANS. (This is the point in which my fashion fairy god mother was supposed to slip in and help me. She didn’t. I don’t even think I have one. Which step mother do I need to piss off to get one? )And I’m all like yeah, yeah, yeah, fistpump, light wash skinny jeans. Not appropriate for work but we’re about to make that happen because I’m like the Rachel Zoe of life and everyone at work wears the same pair of stone wash jeans they had since 1999-so I’ll show them how it’s done. Hello, spot on E! Channel. Host maybe? **

Note: People, drink coffee before you make decisions when getting dressed. Trust me.

So with those light wash jeans I found a silk button down flung in the back of the closet by my cats. Okay, doable. Except the button down was wrinkly. Fine, fixable. Except my iron is at manfriend’s house(he thought he would save money by ironing all his shirts. That lasted for 2 seconds and ended in manic screaming about how irons were a plot by the government or something. I think he plopped himself down on the piano and sang about it)

So what do I do? Throw a silk shirt in the dryer. Mind you this dryer is from 1945 and smells like wrinkled skin and cheese puffs. You gotta do what you gotta do. After about 3 seconds, I feel the wrinkles are gone and throw it on and deem myself red carpet ready. (side note: They weren’t gone. I didn’t realize that until I got to work. Who wants to hire this upstanding employee.)

Now for my crowing glory. What hairstyle would make Ken Paves cry with pleasure? No time for curling waves, straightening is boring, and the top knot is out. Braids like Brandy? God, no. Side braid? What am I, four? Think, think. Ah, what’s that there? A CRIMPER left over from Halloween? BY GEORGE, I’ll be the sexiest at work yet! (Oh, I made Ken Paves cry alright. ) And then within the next 10 minutes I proceeded to make myself the most undatable woman on the face of the earth.

CRIMPED HAIR? CRIMPED EFFING HAIR.Really? You know who had crimped hair? ZAC EFRON WHEN HE WAS 8.And to add in the mix, I have ombre hair–Just go ahead and dub me dirty Drew Barrymore. To make matters worse, I searched for crimped hair on Pinterest after the initial shock received from the full length mirror at work. I knew when a picture of Tyra Banks and a 4th grader from 1994 popped up, I was in grave, grave danger. Bye, bye Ryan. Bye, bye dignity. Bye, bye any friends that I have. Hello,spot on E! News worst dressed.

At least he was smart enough to never go back to this look. Me? Not so much.

To be fair, she WAS the best selling Barbie of the 90s.

Tags: Bridget Jones, fashion no, not that funny, Pinterest fail, singleton, slip ups, strange matter

The Most Woeful Time of the Year: Jorts Season

I’m no fashion editor, friends. In fact, I’m wearing no bra right now. That right there should tell you how much I know about fashion. Granted, I do know a few things but mostly because I troll blogs with fashion advice like Dean Street Society. I might even go as far to say that I’d probably still be wearing my jean overalls with the Tweety Bird shirt from 5th grade if it fit. Kidding. Maybe. It just depends on the day.

But I know enough to know that there are some things a person should never toy with. One: Hot oil, popcorn kernels, and no shirt. Don’t ask. Just know–It hurts. You will have scars. And you will never look at homemade popcorn the same way. Two: Turtlenecks. Oh, baby Jesus why. But I covered that here. Three: JORTS.

It hurts to even type that. It does. It hurts me even more to say that they are worse than turtlenecks. And it almost hurts as bad as scalding popcorn kernels searing your bare chest. But what hurts the most is to know next month is about to bring jorts season: the most woeful time of the year. Even the proofreader in WordPress rejects the word jorts by underlining it in red. It too, knows that jorts should never ever ever be worn and the person who came up with them should be sent into a Hunger Games arena with nothing to defend themselves but a pair of acid wash black jorts 3 sizes too small.

Wearing jorts? Oh, how fashion forward you must be. Please tell me all the details of how you cut these from your old jeans.

Google jorts and you will come up with horrifying images. Find jorts in urban dictionary and you will get “worn mostly by children and douchebags”. And I’d like to add to that: Worn mostly by children, douchebags, and women who have temporarily gone insane and/or sold their soul to Satan. Because that’s the only conclusion I can come up with for those who like to pull on jorts. Especially frayed, cutoff jorts. 1989 is gone. It’s not coming back. Neither is your sex appeal and neither should those jorts. But do you know what WILL keep coming back? The UTI you’re probably going to get from those jorts being too tight and riding up your crotch.

Jorts lovers–They’re tragic(both the jorts and the lovers). No, they aren’t casual enough for a BBQ and dressy enough for a family reunion. No, they don’t suddenly get cuter when you pull on cowboy boots in the dead of summer with temperatures of 101 degrees. By the way, by doing that you’re killing two body parts in one go-your feet and your crotch. Death by heat stroke. Have fun with that.

No, they aren’t comfortable for a hot summer day. They’re insulators and sausage casings– ultimately unforgiving and squeezing your body to reveal unrecognizable limbs. I know once upon a time Jessica Simpson might have looked good(key word is might and it’s not a definite) in them but I can almost promise that most people won’t. And if you do, out of respect for all those that don’t, please just don’t wear them. You’re encouraging the less unfortunate and offending the jorts boycotters.

I see jorts? I think: Camp counselors via 1995.

Salute your jorts has been of the air for years. So take off the jorts.

Flannel.

Is this how you want your future children to remember you?

Twilight werewolves.

The stylist should've been immediately fired.

Bandannas. Mullets. Ass cheeks. People…Just say no to drugs–I mean jorts. It’s not worth the price of your soul.

Tags: slip ups, sweaty, strange matter, turtlenecks, fashion no

The best of Valentime’s mockery

Here’s the deal with Valentine’s Day. It’s cliché–on both ends. You can be super sappy, spend money on chocolates(I like Turtles-mail them to West Main Street Rva), and eat a not so great meal at a crowded restaurant. OR you can be super sad, weepy, whiny, call it Single Awareness Day, and complain that you have no Valentine(probably because you’re such a whiner). OR you can be sarcastic, laugh at the desperate man in CVS with the wild look in his eye who gets tangled in the balloons while looking for a card and wait for the day after when all the chocolate goes on sale. I prefer the latter. But either way they are all cliché–you know everyone is going to fall into one of those categories. You may all blame Hallmark. But this year, I’ve decided I’m indifferent. And with indifference comes mockery and laughter. And I’m never indifferent to mockery and laughter–I LOVE it. So are some here things that actually make Valentine’s Day worthwhile and better– because mockery can do that.

“Happy ValenTIMES!”

Billy Dee you rock my world.

Nothing like a little MJ to make you feel loved.

YES.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, NO ONE.” Liz Lemon is my hero.

Tags: valentine's day

The Problem With Pinterest

I love Pinterest. I really, do. In fact, I’m pretty sure I was one of the early adopters and was making the rest of you feel bad about your lives with my sudden increased knowledge of crockpot recipes, workout regimines, and hot men. Except none of you knew where it came from, so I was just a general bad*ss and you were not. It was a high time in my life, to say the least.

Then the rest of you found out about it. Men really don’t know what Pinterest is or why women like it. (let’s face it–it’s geared toward those with uteruses). To make it simple, Pinterest is to women as Fantasy Football is to men. (See what I did there? Used some of my education. 27K in student loan debts has now been justified.) And in my opinion, men shouldn’t be complaining. Go play video games or light the grill. It’s like a get out of free jail card.

But it’s MY turn to complain.

Here’s the problem with Pinterest. It makes broads think they can actually DO things. No matter the time, place, faceshape,ugly craft, cup size, whatever, women think they can do it ALL. Well guess what? YOU CAN’T. Just because you see a picture pinned of the perfect 19 year old rocking a lacy white skirt and a tucked in jean shirt with boots doesn’t mean it’s going to look good on you. In fact, I’m TELLING YOU it will not. Unless your name is Kendall Jenner(why are her legs so long?)

This is effing creepy. Next thing you know there's going to be a sip the kool-aid pin.

And that bow tie made out of old t-shirts? Stop it. Don’t even double click to get to the link. You shouldn’t be wearing anything made out of old t-shirts unless you’re dead and they’re preparing your body for the casket. The do-it-yourself dip dye ribbons? NO. What are you going to do with dip dye ribbons? And if you need some colored ribbons, take your Pinteresting self over to the craft store.

But maybe I wouldn’t even be writing this post if I haven’t seen what Pinterest is doing to women. I’ve seen cute, normal women turn into grown up versions of Pippi Longstocking and happily post pictures on Facebook saying “Look at what I did from Pinterest! Isn’t it cute?” No. No, it’s not. I’m sorry, it’s not. And they don’t even know what they’re doing.

It’s like the effects of alcohol-they’re at the point in the night where dancing on the table is completely normal and appropriate and no one has made the move to stop them. I’M HERE TO STOP YOU. I’ll be that friend. Here, have some wine, sit down, and let me crush your Pinteresting dreams before you end up penniless and friendless with nothing but crafts and paper animals surrounding you.

Oh this old hair style? I found it on Pinterest, girl! Cute, right? I also found this posh pose I'm sitting in on Pinterest. Bedspread? MADE IT FROM PINTEREST.

If you’re going to craft on Pinterest(what are we 4?) stick to desk organizers, not dresses made from boyfriend’s shirts and makeup made from old potatoes. If you’re going to find “hair-spiration”, stay away from the hair tied into a large bow. Yeah, I said it..a freaken BOW. That’s real. Search it. Don’t think that covering a plastic bottle with ribbons and lace makes it amazing and worthy of slowing down my Facebook stalking just because you found it on Pinterest. And that romantic updo you found and are now sharing with the world? Not to bust your bubble but…It’s just a messy bun.

And I know you’re tempted–I get it. I too, have been sucked in. All those pictures of long hair and middle parts in the Beauty tab really DOES make one think that the world should run on middle parts. But they shouldn’t–because there’s this crazy thing called face shape and it determines where you may or may not part your hair. I’m sorry. I know you wanted it really, really badly.

Why, why, WHY is this happening. Somewhere in America there is a woman rocking this & decreasing the credibitlity of women everywhere.

So can we all agree to agree that we should tone down our Pinteresting craze? Maybe stick to the delicious food and drink recipes? Maybe not make neon pants because they looked good on Pinterest? Maybe shy away from those high waisted cutoffs made from horse hair? I don’t know..I think it could really be good for the women of America.

Tags: lady secrets, Pinterest fail, slip ups