In case you were wondering, I have recovered from my funk of yesterday. I did end up doing all three things on my after work agenda (get ice cream, get drunk, and get laid), though I didn’t get quite drunk, and I added on to the list: make a shitload of cookies.

I had an important meeting to I had to lead this morning, and I wanted to make a good impression, so: homemade chocolate chip (some with walnuts!) cookies. I’ve learned that it’s hard for people to bitch and ask too many questions when their mouth is full. (oh man, I just thought of the dirtiest, most misogynistic response to that.) They loved the cookies and fawned over me, so I got some much-needed ego stroking.

Anyway, back to the story I was going to tell: COOKIES.
So when I mentioned to J that I’d be making some to take to work, he whined about my never making him anything (which is close to the truth), so I doubled the batch so he could take some to work and he could be known as The Guy With The Best Wife Ever, Because He Gets Homemade Cookies And Sex In The Same Night. Anyway, I just decided to double the recipe because it was a new one I’d never tried, and I was not up to the brain function required to do 1 ½ batch. Anyway, I realized too late that this was going to make a LOT of batter, so by the time I was done I had over 8 dozen. That is 100 cookies, y’all. So when I say I was a cookie-making fool last night, belive me. No, really.

So I’ve been pretty popular around here today. Who wants cookies?

My mom and I had a fight over the weekend, and she’s being all sensitive about Mother’s Day, and throwing a pity party for herself that I’m the “oooonly chiiiiild” that she has to see (since my sister’s in Miss.), and that she is “competing” with my MIL for time with us.

Anyway, she’s asked that J and I attend church with her and my dad that morning. I hate my parent’s church – some of it has to do with the fact that I am just So Not Into Church Of Any Kind lately, but mostly because her preacher is of the Yell And Pound The Lectern school of theology, and because it is really embarrassing how she parades me in front of people. I am The Good Daughter, and I’m supposed to smile blandly and make polite small talk and wave like Miss America.

So, without causing a second blowup in less than a weeks’ time (which I just cannot handle right now), what’s the best way for me to politely decline the church invitation? I want to offer making lunch at my house, and we can have game/family togetherness time, but we’re already hosting John’s entire family for dinner that night. But I think the expense would be worth it: I can just get it all over with, and drink discreetly if I need to.

Suggestions?

Allie is the shizz and gave me this award: Aw, thank you! You’re pretty Fuckin A yourself…

It’s one of those days where I just feel like a big fuck-up.
In my long, boring meeting this morning, a coworker of mine got a multi-level award (as in two different levels of management recognized her, so she got plaque-thingies and monetary rewards from both, and of course a big round of applause and gushing from all of us there). I’m not saying she doesn’t deserve it – I know she does good work – but she’s only been here less than a year. I’ve been here for nearly 4, and have gotten little teeny pats on the back, but nothing of that magnitude (I’m a very Give Me A Validating Gold Star For A Job Well Done kind of girl). So it’s not like I want to kick her in the face, I just would like that pat on the head. (Good girl!) But instead of being motivated to do better work, I came back to my desk and pouted and fucked off for a little while.

Then I got my head together, did some work, felt a little better, and then got called out twice in a span of 30 minutes for making minor but careless mistakes on two different things I sent out. And I felt stupid. I still feel stupid. I’m the chastised puppy.

I know that I’m still quite new to my position, and so it’s expected that there will be some growing pains, but still – I hate feeling dumb and Not Knowing Shit I Feel Like I Should Know. The most cruel thing you can do to me is to allude to a secret or tell an inside joke, sans explanation, in front of me, and flaunt it. It makes me feel like an uncool 12 year-old again. It brings up that insecurity I’ve had as long as I can remember: that everyone else is cooler and smarter than I could ever hope to be, and the only reason anyone talks to me is either out of pity or for more fodder to make fun of me behind my back later.

And I know that’s a little ridiculous – it’s just my bruised ego and sleep deprivation talking – but still. So, I’m going to leave now and go do several things, at least one of which should make me feel better: get ice cream, get drunk, and get laid.

Good evening to you.

Fuck you, Tuesday – I am so over you. Get the hell out of here.

Rhetorical Question Tuesday

How is it that I can feel busy all the time, but also feel like I’m fucking off all day?

Oof.
So J and I had had on our calendar for months that Deke Dickerson was playing at the Continental Club last night (yes, a SUNDAY, as in The Day Before Monday). There have been several times where someone we want to see is playing on a Sunday night, but we always chicken out when it comes down to getting ready to leave the house at 9 o’clock.
But Deke only comes to town about once a year, and we really like his music – catchy, eclectic, clever, and best of all, danceable. So we sucked it up and went last night. We had a good time, but it was a pitiful crowd – less than 30 folks there, when on a Saturday night, a Deke show would pack the place. So I felt a little bad that Houston gave such a poor showing, but it was nice to have the dance floor mostly to ourselves.

It was after midnight before we left, and then after the drive home and having a snack, it was 1:30 before lights out. I knew it would be a late night, and set my alarm for 6:45, but J forgot to change his, and it went off at 6, and I was up. Damn.

Luckily, my steady sips of caffeine over the course of the morning have perked me up a bit. But this getting-through-a-work-day-on-4-hours-of-sleep thing…I am too fucking old.

Oy – TFGIG!

Thanks for your kind comments this week. Allie, I haven’t had to punch anyone as you suggested, but I did get a little drunk the other night to make myself feel better. Alcohol: the ultimate salve for your bruised ego and psyche.

Luckily, today is flying by, and I’ve only got 2 ½ hours left – yay flex time!!!

I hope to get a post of some substance up by the end of the day – I’ve been neglecting you lately.

So I was an idiot yesterday and left my wallet here at work, and didn’t realize it until I got all the way home. I was on the phone with customer service about some clothes I’d ordered, and they asked for my credit card number, and even though I could remember the 16-digit number, I wasn’t sure of the expiration, so when I went digging to verify it, I had a bit of a freak-out when it was missing, and this poor lady had to sit there and listen to me say “Oh, SHIT” about 10 times.
Anyway, because J was less than sympathetic about lending me the last of his cash so I could get my expensive-ass coffee as usual, I drove to work broke. (Ass.) “No worries”, I thought; “There’s a Starbucks kiosk in the cafeteria – I’m golden.” So after I purchased my breakfast taco, I calmly walked over to the cart and ordered my grande nonfat no-whip mocha, and a minute later, glided across the caf, down the sidewalk, up the stairs, and to my desk in blissful anticipation of my caffeine fix. Life is good.
WRONG.
After getting settled back in at my desk, I took one sip of the coffee, and instead of the sweet, mocha nectar I was expecting, I got burnt chocolate ass. OH GOD, it was horrible.
I took a drink of water, and then tried another sip, thinking maybe it had just hit my palette wrong. Nope, still ass.
So I had to throw away a full, $3.63 cup of coffee, and I’m grumpy about it, and in an hour I’ll have a headache because I haven’t had my caffeine this morning, but I don’t want to drink a Coke because sodas in the morning give me a stomachache, so GRRRRR. POOP ON EVERYONE.

I’m not the only one that idly Googles ex-boyfriends, right…?