Gossip

A conversation I had at last night’s Mary Kay party:

Her: It’s not happening in September.

Me: I’m lost. What’s not happening?

Her: You know… the wedding.

Me: Still lost. What wedding?

Her: You know

Me: Ok. I need a little more info here.

Her: Between “name” and “name”.

Me: Ohhh… wait, I thought they had gotten married in June or July.

Her: This will be the third postponement.

Me: Did she finally tell him she’s been married five times already?

Her: Yes. Among a whole bunch of other stuff.

Me: Really? Like what?

Her: I’d rather not say. I’ve taken a vow to stop gossiping... but they aren’t living together anymore.

Me: Are you serious? You've stopped gossiping?

Her: Yes

Me: So, what is THIS? Only half gossiping? At what point would this turn into real gossip?

Her: I’m just sayin’…

Me: Well, start this stupid vow tomorrow and finish the gossip you’ve already started.”

And, of course, she did.

Leathol Weapon

It’s no secret.

I’m in love with chocolate. I openly admit it to anyone who will listen. I consider chocolate my one food group and everything else as just an appetizer.

I’m not a chocolate snob. I’ll eat any kind of chocolate. Chocolate snobs only eat high priced chocolate, where as I am an equal rights for all chocolate kind of gal. I do not judge the average Snickers bar. I will not push aside a Twix. I will not roll my eyes at a generic chocolate Easter Bunny. No. They are all the same in my eyes. Chocolate.

The other day at work I was hankerin’ for something chocolate. Anything. It was like a wave of emotion that consumed me and no matter how hard I concentrated at my work, it would not go away. I’ve even been known to steal a chocolate bar from Mr. Boss Man’s office. His secretary accidentally let it slip that he keeps a stash of the good stuff hidden. I haven’t confessed to Mr. Boss Man my sins of stealing – and I don’t plan on it. I don’t plan on telling anyone. The thought of knowing his sweet secret somehow makes me feel like I have one up on him. Ok, plus I’m afraid that he’ll find a new hiding place.

So the other day I’m dying for some chocolate and I can’t seem to shake it. I’m at my desk desperately trying to self-hypnotize with my computer monitor when I overwhelmingly belt out from the bottom of my lungs, “I NEED CHOCOLATE!!!” …no reply. No words coming back to me. It was as if I was the only one who cared about my body entering the starvation mode. Ok, so maybe I was the only one who cared. I at least expected a “Shut Up”, but nooooo.

Ten minutes later I’m still sitting there daydreaming about chocolate. Thinking silently “If I could have any chocolate in the whole world, what would it be?” I made mental plans of fulfilling my chocolate fantasy just as soon as I was able to break free from work. And I was excited.

And then SHE walks into my office.

A co-worker. A woman who not only heard my loud chocolate plea, but knew the seriousness behind it. Someone who I think would be on my side. Helping me fight the battle. Cheering me on. Understanding my God-given womanly chocolate desires, as well as knowing the consequences if they didn’t get fulfilled.

SHE slithers into my office, makes direct eye contact with me and slowly exposes her evil weapon. SHE has the unmitigated nerve to enter my jail cell with a Wendy’s Frosty in one hand and a taunting spoon in the other. SHE advances towards me in a smooth calculating way… while taking big seductive bites of her chocolate ploy. I wanted to smack that Cheshire grin right off her freakin face. I now feel like we are two lionesses with one freshly killed animal between us and absolutely nothing stopping one of us from winning. I took on this challenge.

“You’re such a bitch.”

I meant it with every chocolate-starving-fiber in me. Her eyes widened and then she suddenly bursts into laughter. What? I ain’t playing, missy. I meant it. Now hand over the Frosty nice and easy before things start to get ugly.

She’s laughing uncontrollably.

Just before she became another co-worker death statistic, I realize that I’ve been had. I was the object of a down right mean joke. Turns out someone brought Frosties for all the “office gals”. All of them. Me included. She said she heard my loud chocolate plea and just wanted to play a joke by trying to piss me off.

Well, ain’t she stinkin hilarious...

The Exorcism of Wal-Mart

I went to Wal-Mart yesterday for my weekly social outing. It’s a sad life when you’ve been reduced down to putting lipstick on for a trip to Wal-Mart. It’s not like I find myself having conversations with strangers. In fact, they usually piss me off. I have found that I become so incredibly self-centered while pushing my cart through this biggie sized convenient store. I always feel that people are in my way.

These are actually thoughts that ran through my mind just yesterday at Wal-Mart:

“I think I had the right-of-way there, mister.”

“No she DIDN’T just cross in front of me!!”

“Can’t he scoot that cart over instead of taking up the whole freaking aisle? Sheesh. How rude.”

“Hey, Ms. I-shouldn’t-be-wearing-a-tube-top… get your twelve fatherless kids out of my way.”

I’m not even sure why I insist on putting myself through such hell. It must be self-punishment for some reason. I keep going back for more. It’s like a bad boyfriend. He irritates the snot out of you, but you stick around because he’s convenient and there’s really no where else to go.

About ten miles straight to the back of the store, you’ll find the music and video section. They always have these big bins full of discounted DVD’s. I just love digging through these bins. I can spend a very long time burrowing through hundreds of these cheap movies and I get excited when I find one I like. I’m sure I’ve toppled over inside a bin while not knowing my butt was straight up in the air. Oh my. How attractive.

I was obviously in a dark mood yesterday while searching though a bin, because I bought: Red Dragon, Natural Born Killers and The Exorcism of Emily Rose. Ok, the last one wasn’t on sale. Paid a full price of 13 bucks. Three movies about death and evil. Hmmmmm…

I love scary movies. I really really love them. The scarier the better, too. I’m the kind of whacko that likes to be so scared that it makes me afraid to walk to my car. Sick, I know. I get bored easily with the blood-and-guts movies – Freddie, Jason, etc. I like to at least have a plot to challenge me.

So last night about 9pm or so, I turned off all the lights and watched The Exorcism of Emily Rose by myself. Alone. In the dark. Really dark. By myself. The Exorcism of Emily Rose. Yup. And I loved it.

I had never seen the movie before. Someone at work told me that she thought it was really scary – but she’s a weenie, so I wasn’t sure if I trusted her review. Since Wal-Mart brainwashes everyone through some sort of electronic-wave-star-trek-james-bond thing through the air, I bought the movie blindly... and I really liked it.

And that’s all I’ve got to say about this week's Wal-Mart trip.

Like a Virgin

I am about to embark on new territory. In a split second I decided to experience something new… something I never ever have done before… something that millions of people do each and every day.

I bought fabric softener.

Yes, as much as I hate to add to the “she’s pathetic” evidence that I have stupidly exposed already on my blog, I will now admit that I am a Fabric Softener Virgin. Shocking I know. People use this stuff all the time, but I have, until now, remained at arms length away from it.

Does this stuff really work? After one load, will I be convinced that my fabrics are actually softer?

I don’t recall my mother using it when I was a child. When I was 16 or so, I was instructed that I would take on the responsibility for my own laundry, ironing, cleaning and most of my own cooking. Good decision on mom’s part. However, I don’t remember the fabric softener step in our Laundry 101 class. Receiving these responsibilities really only made me figure out shortcuts. So it’s highly possible that I ignored that portion of the lesson. I self admit that I am not a domestic queen, but I do my best. And since I live by myself, there’s no one here to complain.

I’m not anti fabric softener per say. I don’t think it’s from the devil himself. I don’t segregate my friends into two groups – the ones who use and the ones who don’t. I don’t even think it’s been a topic of conversation. That would be a pretty boring conversation. Which raises an eyebrow on why I would even consider blogging about it.

I think I’ve avoided the whole fabric softener matter because there are things that I don’t understand. I mean, why do we even have it? Why doesn’t the laundry detergent just do it all? There are even shampoos that wash and condition in one take. I can’t personally use them because it makes my hair incredibly flat and yucky – but nevertheless, these shampoos still exist. I think the detergent companies should do the same.

I was in Wally World the other night picking up a few odds-n-ends. I love WalMart. It’s got e.v.e.r.y.t.h.i.n.g. I was in the laundry aisle picking up some of that wrinkle release stuff… which is another proof of my life-learned-shortcuts. I grabbed the bottle off the shelf without even slowing down and then suddenly on my right I notice a sea of fabric softeners. I stop. I stood there staring at the bottles and began to ask myself a crap load of questions…

Does it actually work?

Will my new sheets benefit?

Am I the only one in America who hasn’t used it?

Am I missing out on something here?

I decided then and there that life was too short. I needed to step out of my box and live it up. After taking a mental survey of the different products available, I decided to throw my money into Downy with Frebreze. Since I’m a fan of Frebreze, I figured this might be a great way to start. Start with what I know. With what I am familiar. What I trust. Ok, I was overwhelmed with the choices and I just grabbed it.

When I got home, I did the geeky thing and read the label. I love reading labels. I can read the same cereal box label every day as if it was going to tell me something different. As if it would change from “lowers cholesterol” to “lose ten pounds in ten days” over night. I’m too afraid I might miss some important piece of information. So, bottle in hand, I read the label in its entirety. Spanish words and all… I like to see which words I recognize, which is usually very few. When I got to the ingredients, I chuckled out load…

Ingredients: Contains biodegradable fabric softening agents.

What in the hell else would be in there? Why even include the “ingredients” on the freakin label? How vague. Does the label on your hand soap only say “contains crap that makes your hands clean”?

I haven’t used it yet, which brings up another question: Do you people just hang out at the washing machine, waiting for this infamous “final rinse” to occur? Do you have a comfy chair or do you just lean on the washer staring at the dial waiting for it to click over into the next section?

I sure hope my $5 is well invested. This stuff has 52 loads to try and convince me.