The “Bad Husband” Chronicles

Just another day for you and me in Paradise

Posts Tagged ‘wit’

Broken toes mend a broken heart

Posted by mozziestarlet on September 8, 2012

It has always amused me that the more things change, the more they stay the same. I’ve climbed the proverbial corporate ladder for nearly twenty years now and the adventure in hysteria and ultimately, amusement, continues to unfold before me with each new professional adventure. I’ve discovered that there will always be ‘characters’ in each office with their inevitable stereotypes, quirkiness, and overall clueless existence, just sitting there…waiting and needing to be written about. And that, I’m certain, is my calling.

I recently visited Denver for the first time to attend a conference sponsored by my current company. Like most conferences and trade shows, all sorts of personalities attend and put on their best ‘game face’ to meet customers, prospects and network with partners. The networking and nurturing of those partner relationships is what facilitated my attendance at the conference in the first place. You see, I am often the invisible marketing ‘Wiz’ behind the corporate curtain, crafting the brand message, and spoon-feeding the blind B2B masses much like feeding broccoli to a seven year-old. And if the truth be told, I’ve discovered that if you cover anything with enough cheese, someone will ultimately eat it. 

The majority of those in attendance were men in their 40s and 50s, sporting their receding hairlines and stuffing their beer-bellied midriffs into the required, company-branded golf shirt. To put it bluntly, these men are starved for female attention. The overwhelming majority are married with either teenage or college-bound children, and operate their personal lives with the same boring, predictable precision they present in the workplace. Unimaginative, robotic clones who somehow believe that the story of how they caught the prize-winning trout in their local fishing competition will bring women hopelessly to their knees. And it never fails that these men are utterly captivated by the bubbly and otherwise vacant blonde whose actual purpose is to flirt mindlessly with these men and somehow help assuage their own personal shortcomings. This conference was no exception to the rule and that blonde….and come on, we all know who she is at every company….was there in all her flighty magnificence. 

Ironically, despite my ability to see these women for who they actually are rather than what they pretend to be, I am inherently a nice person and get along with nearly everyone. And at my company, this blonde to which I am referring, I will hereby call The Flight Attendant. Bless her sweet soul, she is dripping in Southern accolades as well as physical beauty, and her syrupy accent is all that’s required to lure men under her spell.

After the conference closes on the last afternoon, a handful of co-workers decide to let off some steam and meet up at a local Denver bar and club for some drinks. I receive a call around 5pm in my hotel room from The Flight Attendant: “Mozzie, are you up for it? Come on and go out with us, girl!” Despite my feet aching worse than an Irish clogger, I reluctantly agree to join them. I arrive at the bar around 9pm and the festivities are well underway. The strobe light is flashing, the hip hop is blasting, and The Flight Attendant is on the dance floor, surrounded by an overwhelming group of male admirers, most still dressed to the nines in their company golf shirt. Bless their hearts.

I make my way to the bar, order a double vodka tonic and scan the room for cohorts and partners in crime. I feel the overwhelming sense of relief when I spot a great buddy of mine who is nursing his third or fourth drink, and wave him over to my direction. We chit chat, share some laughs and begin what turns out to be one of the most hilariously funny nights I’ve experienced in quite some time. Before too long, we’re throwing back shots of Grey Goose and cackling at the quasi-American Bandstand maneuvers we’re witnessing on the dance floor. The Flight Attendant is in her element…shaking her money maker and batting her eyelashes in every direction. By the end of the night, I’m fairly certain she will need not only an interpreter from her advanced state of intoxication, but also an escort to find her way back to her hotel room. Naturally, I help her back safely to the hotel, politely say good night and that I will see her the next morning around 8am.

7am arrives and I can’t pretend that it doesn’t kick my nearly 40 year-old ass. But, I shower, get my act together and head over for the last morning of the conference. It’s 8:30am and there’s no sign of The Flight Attendant. I excuse myself, step outside, and call her mobile number and then her hotel room. No answer. Yikes. 

I quickly make my way back to the hotel and begin knocking on her door. I hear groaning on the other side and then the door swings open with the naked Flight Attendant peeking around the corner. She’s hungover. She’s completely overslept and she’s limping. She wails in pain only to look down and discover bruised and bloody toes. “Mozzie, what the hell happened? OMG, my foot kills! I was dancing with some guy last night and he kept stomping on my toes. Help me…I can’t walk!” I do my best to contain the uncontrollable laughter swelling up inside me and tell her to get her act together, clean up and head over to the conference if she wants to keep her job. Tough love…sometimes, we all need it. 

Later that afternoon, we all depart for the airport, most of us on separate flights, and I don’t see The Flight Attendant until the following day at the office. She arrives, late as usual, on crutches with apparently two broken toes from her late night Denver escapade. Upon seeing her, I race for the bathroom or anywhere private because I know I am going to lose it. I laugh for at least half an hour at the sheer comic gold that is unfolding before me. Like I’ve said many times before, often real life is funnier and more entertaining than fiction.

Several days pass and The Flight Attendant receives flowers in the office from the Toe Stomper. She is touched and agrees to a dinner date with him. I can’t help but chuckle at the irony of the entire situation. Later, she sends me a text on my mobile: “Mozzie, you won’t believe how nice of a guy he is! After my divorce, I was convinced there were no nice guys left out there for me. I really like him and think he might be the one.”

So there you have it, my friends. A possible answer to the age-old question: How do you mend a broken heart? Answer: Go dancing and have someone break your toes. You might just fall in love.

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An honest mistake?

Posted by mozziestarlet on February 18, 2009

mistakes-funding

Do you ever find yourself looking back at a situation or relationship and asking, “How did I ever fall for that?”  Lord knows, if I had a dime for every time I’ve thought this way, I’d be living off my millions on a tropical oasis by now.  The worst part about it is the realization that you’ve allowed yourself to be ‘snookered’ once again by someone close to you.  You bought into the ideal that they would always be there for you, always be helpful and supportive, and most of all, that they would always love you.  It seemed such an easy thing to hear and accept at the time, but later you realize that this is a much more difficult task for some and not others.

I’ve said it so many times before:  ‘Love’ is a verb, not an adjective.  Love is represented in our daily actions, however small and insignificant they may appear at the time.  Loving someone is knowing how to be a partner in every aspect of the word, not just when it’s convenient or easy.  It’s being the missing puzzle piece to another person’s soul and existence.  Through truly loving another person, we are not only fulfilled but provide fulfillment as well.  At its best, love is entirely a two-way street.  Given this, why is this ideal such a diminishing notion in today’s world?  Have people become so self-absorbed that they’ve lost that loving feeling?

Perhaps I’m the wrong person to consult on matters of the heart, given my poor track record.  Yes, I’ve made two terrible mistakes in the span of my adult life where love and marriage were concerned, and quite frankly, I have become jaded by the ideal of ‘true love.’  Does it still exist?  Can someone actually say what they mean and mean what they say…forever?  I really don’t know anymore, but I’d certainly like to think so.  Without that possibility, where is joy to be found?

I suppose I am not only seeking closure and answers to my questionable mistakes, but I’m also hoping that true love can and does still exist out there.  I want to believe in it, but through the process of ‘raking up my mistakes,’ it is a terribly difficult dream to hold on to.

“Honestly” by Annie Lennox

“The beauty that you gave
Has turned upon itself
And all the things you said
Evaporated
Evaporated …
Was I blind
Deaf and dumb
To the words slipped from your tongue?

Honestly … honestly … honestly
Alone in my bed
The things that you said
Go round in my head … still
It seems to be true
That nothin’ I do
Can influence you …

I tried and tried again
(Don’t you know I tried and tried again
to make you listen to me
But everything I said it always seemed to go right through you)
To make you notice me
(I turned myself into a person that I didn’t like
But please believe me when I say I know it wasn’t right)
But talking to myself
(I never thought that things would
get to be so complicated
I never thought that you and me would end up o frustrated)
Won’t catch you attention I see …
(You’d think that something had to come from all those good intentions
But in the end I needed something more than intervention)

Was I mad?
Was I mad?
Foolish me
Foolish me
To succumb so easily
To succumb
Easily
So easily
So easily

Honestly… honestly… honestly…
(Alone in my bed
The things that you said
Go round in my head … still
It seems to be true
That nothin’ I do
Can influence you… still)

Fools like me get so easily taken
And fools like me can be so mistaken

Honestly… Honestly… Honestly

The promise that you gave
(Don’t you know the promise that you
gave just turned it’s back upon me
I stopped believing but you couldn’t take the whole thing from me)
Has turned it’s back
(I never thought I’d have to pay the price to set you free)
And all you represented
Was just my projection you see…
(You know I never thought I’d ever
live a day without you
And that’s the reason why
it makes me sad to think about you
and you know I never thought
I’d make it if you wasn’t there
And now I’m tryin’ to eject myself
from this despair)

People come
People go…
Never say I “told you so”
Honestly

Everything I know you said
Goin’ round inside my head

Never thought I’d see the day
Always got a price to pay

Nothin’ that I ever do
Ever seems to get to you”

5cphoto5cmistakes

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The power of good-bye

Posted by mozziestarlet on January 26, 2009

As the old Southern saying goes, I am dreading this week “with a purple passion.” Thursday is the first court hearing scheduled for the husband and me in our divorce case. Mind you, this has been a long time coming and even though the husband has had months to prepare, you would think that I just sprung this on him in the last few days. As the hearing date approached, the husband’s phone calls, text messages and never-ending email tirades have increased ten-fold. It undoubtedly frustrates him a great deal not having me as his ‘beck and call girl’ to rant, vent and make culinary requests of me 24/7. Additionally, being relinquished of the power to wake me at 3am to “talk” when I have to rise for work at 5:30am is, by all accounts, really getting under his skin. Those of you who have been faithful readers since the blog’s launch in September of last year know that I always believe in trying to keep a positive attitude and a sense of humor amidst life’s trials and tribulations. However, even the brightest of stars can creep beneath a lackluster shadow after months of treading water on dark, turbulent seas. I have tried to keep my eye on the end goal, and continue to do so, but navigating a process like this is just about the most difficult thing in the world.

 I’ve read many times that a divorce is very much like experiencing the death of a loved one, and having been through this before, I can definitely attest to that. When husband #1 decided to walk the wide road of infidelity and end our marriage, it was the most painfully heart-wrenching experience of my life. Even though it’s been nearly ten years now, the memory of that loss still haunts my dreams far too frequently than it should. And now, facing yet another loss in the marriage arena, I can only imagine how much Xanax and therapy it will take to put Mozziestar back together again.

When you are going through a divorce, despite whether you desire it or not, you feel almost as if you cannot breathe or think clearly at times. It’s very much like being a passenger on a volatile roller coaster ride, with the rises and falls representative of your personal ability to be strong and endure. Some days, you’re at the top of the coaster, feeling strong and certain in your path and what is facing you ahead. And then other days, you can actually feel the wind knocked out of you as the coaster plummets below, with you holding tightly and squarely to the railings. Occasionally, you’re able to catch your breath when the coaster is gliding between destinations, but you always know that the unexpected is right around the corner and that fear grips you every day until it’s finally over. So, those of you who are inclined to think, “Just kick ‘em out and divorce ‘em! You’ll be better off without that loser!” should think before you speak. It’s always easier to give advice and comment on someone else’s life when you’re watching from a safe distance.

Never assume that things for others are as easy as they appear and always be mindful of another person’s situation and circumstances before you open your mouth to speak or offer unsolicited advice. Chances are, the recipient already knows what you are going to say. They are already aware of what and how they should handle things without you giving them a blow-by-blow debriefing. The best thing you can do as a friend or loved one is to support them and give them time to think, grieve, and sort through all the mental clutter that is trapping them. When all is said and done, I (and countless others) will survive and will learn to stand on my own two feet again, even if it takes training wheels at first. Eventually, the roller coaster will stop and we will all finally be able to step off, catch our breath, acclimatize, and most importantly, take that first step forward.

 

“The Power of Good-bye” by Madonna

“Your heart is not open, so I must go
The spell has been broken, I loved you so
Freedom comes when you learn to let go
Creation comes when you learn to say no
Walk away…
You were my lesson I had to learn
I was your fortress you had to burn
Pain is a warning that something’s wrong
I pray to God that it won’t be long
Walk away…

There’s nothing left to try
There’s no place left to hide
There’s no greater power than the power of good-bye
Your heart is not open, so I must go
The spell has been broken, I loved you so
You were my lesson I had to learn
I was your fortress…


There’s nothing left to try
There’s no place left to hide
There’s no greater power than the power of good-bye
There’s nothing left to lose
There’s no more heart to bruise
There’s no greater power than the power of good-bye
Learn to say good-bye
I yearn to say good-bye”

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TGIF funnies

Posted by mozziestarlet on January 23, 2009

These are too adorable and funny not to share.  Enjoy!

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The best Moz song in years

Posted by mozziestarlet on January 23, 2009

As many of you know, Morrissey’s new album, ‘Years of Refusual’ is due to be released next month.  Thanks to fellow fans, I was fortunate enough to be able to download the album two months early.  Needless to say, there’s nothing in the world like new Moz material.  For the diehard fan, it’s like having an indescribable drug administered intravenously.

Below is the video for my favorite track on the album, “All you need is me.”  And Morrissey, you couldn’t have hit the nail more squarely on the head when you sing, “You bang your head against the wall and say you’re sick of it all – except for me.  All you need is me.”

Enjoy!

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How long does a tear take to dry?

Posted by mozziestarlet on January 13, 2009

Despite being busy and preoccupied with my new job, I spend so much of my time internalizing and contemplating my personal situation.  I think about my bad husband, the heartbreak of divorce, and the task of starting my life over again on my own.  If I am truly honest with myself, I’ve been alone even in my marriages.  I enjoyed several blissful years with Husband #1 before he became a slave to his pocket compass and travelled the road of infidelity.  So, I know the beauty of a truly fruitful relationship, even though the memory has become faded over the years and through the natural progression of time.  Do you ever find yourself wondering why some people ‘get lucky’ and find their ideal match in life while others fall into peril?  I in no way mean to appear flippant as if I do not take any responsibility for my poor decisions, but I can’t help but ponder how there appears to be no rhyme or reason to it.  I’ve known others, like myself, who carefully dated their spouse for years before taking the walk down the plank, only to discover an intricate web of deception once they were married.  Then, on the other hand, there are those who are swept into a whirlwind romance of only a few months before marriage and are STILL happily married many years later.  This just proves to me that there is truly no magic formula involved.

Despite the hardship the husband has caused me over the years, I do care for him and wish for his happiness.  As I’ve mentioned before, he still doesn’t ‘get it’ and grieves over the loss of me and our marriage.  He emails or texts me lamenting messages of how he is miserable without me and general tales of ‘Oh Woe is me’ on a daily basis.  How do you deal with a situation like this?  It seems responding to his repeated cries only makes things worse and perhaps the best route is avoidance.  I am not the one who can ease his pain and comfort him.  That can only be something that he must learn to find within himself.

It reminds me of one of my favorite scenes from the movie ‘The Way We Were.’  Katie, a headstrong and opinionated gal, has lost her true love, Hubbel, and he moves out to stay with a friend.  He’s gone for only a few hours and she picks up the phone, out of sheer torture and habit, and pleads for him to come home and stay with her until she can fall asleep.  She says, “You see, Hubbel.  You are my best friend and I need to talk to my best friend about someone we both know.  So, will you, Hubbel?  Will you come and see me through tonight?  I promise I won’t touch you or beg you or embarrass you.  So Hubbel, could you come over right away?  Please…please?”  This scene has always touched me, but I truly understand the meaning of it now in my own life.  As Morrissey says, “I’ve seen this happen in other peoples’ lives, but now it’s happening in mine.”

So, how long does a tear take to dry?  I think, for some, it takes an eternity.

 

Below is the movie clip referenced above.  Enjoy.

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Take a bite out of The Big Apple

Posted by mozziestarlet on January 12, 2009

Well, today was the first day of ‘official’ business for me in The Big Apple.  So, I put on my game face this morning as I am here representing my company at a large tradeshow.  I am by far in the minority here on two levels: 1.)  80% of the attendees are male and 2.) .001% are from the South!  Nevertheless, I am managing to hold my own, keep my head up high and shine my hospitable nature to everyone.  In case you’re just tuning in, I am a hardcore supporter of ‘The Golden Rule.’  And no, not the one that says, “he who has the gold makes the rules,” but rather, “Always treat others how you want to be treated.”  Trust me folks, you can never go wrong with this approach.  Like frowning, it takes much more energy to be negative or rude to someone than to be kind to them.  Both of you feel better in the long run and you’re much more likely to make a lasting impression on someone by practicing this approach.  If you don’t believe me, give it a try.  It will put an immediate pep in your step, pinky swear.

Of course, being a young woman traveling alone always causes the parental units to shift into code orange on the worry and concern scale.  Even though I’ve been doing this for years now, my sweet yet sheltered Mom is constantly thinking that I’m either going to be abducted by a cab driver or will get lost and not be able to find my way back to my hotel.  Seriously, am I the only one who sees the humor in this?  You would think I am a 12 year-old who got lost from their parents in a store or kidnapped at the bus stop!  Ma, if you are reading…relax.  Nothing is going to happen to me.  And if a sketchy situation presents itself, remember that I am a trained master in all of Mr. Miyagi’s best karate moves from watching ‘The Karate Kid’ so many times.  If danger approaches….HIII-YAAA!!!  That will teach ’em to mess with Mozziestar!  🙂

As far as the husband goes, he still in clueless land of trying to figure out why we are getting divorced.  Even though I have explained it to him countless times, it’s a bit like talking to a brick wall.  You talk and talk, but nothing gets through.  So, I stopped trying to explain in futility and hope that eventually, down the road, he will realize why our marriage failed.  If not, he will spend the rest of his life wondering what went wrong and how he played the starring role in it.  I do hope for his sake that this isn’t the case for him, but knowing his clueless and eternally blameless nature, I doubt he will ever figure it out.  

So friends, thank you sincerely for your continued support, faithful readership, and thoughtful comments and emails.  It means more to me than I could possibly express in words.  For me, inspiration is a two-way street.  I hope to inspire each of you to live your life to the fullest, but in the process, you inspire me as well.  Stay golden and keep shining. 

Mozziestar

apple460

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Happy New Year?

Posted by mozziestarlet on January 5, 2009

While I was awaiting my turn in the nail salon this afternoon, I started to space out and think about how it’s 2009 and another year has come and gone before my eyes.  I began to recollect the day when I was 22 that my parental units told me how life would really start to fly for me now.  They explained how once you graduate from college, get married and settle down, secure your first professional job, etc., everything begins to zoom past you at lightening speed.  I remember shrugging at this notion, feeling invincible and forever young at 22.  Now, nearly 36, I completely understand what they meant by this.  I mean, wasn’t it just yesterday that we had this conversation?  Wasn’t it just last week that I graduated from college, degree in hand, ready to put that first foot out in front of me?  Where in the world has all the time gone and what do I have to show for it? 

Being pegged quite frequently as the eternal pessimist, naturally asking these sorts of questions usually lands me in a depressive stupor.  So, I choose to take an objective look in retrospect.  Yes, professionally I have done very well for myself in the past decade, despite the whirlwind storms of layoffs and rehires.  I’ve climbed the corporate ladder, one painful step at a time, and finally it seems, have a real opportunity with a dynamic and stable company.  I can only be thankful and grateful for that.  Personally, however, I’ve managed to do a bang-up job at marrying the wrong person (twice) and making a royal mess of things.  As Morrissey says, “It’s my life to wreck my own way.”  

When I look back on my relationships, yes, there were signs and things I did notice before saying ‘I do,’ but I chose to overlook them, even if it was often done on a subconscious level.  I thought that love could conquer all and that if I worked hard enough at the relationships, they would survive and endure.  After years of living this way, I finally owned up to the fact that it takes two to tango.  If you both aren’t equally committed to making one another happy, you will spin your wheels until there simply isn’t any steam left in your little engine.  I certainly have.

So, what now?  Well, I choose to close the chapter of 2008, and for once in my life, look forward to the new chapter ahead:  the chapter of 2009 and new beginnings.  A chapter where I will learn to stand on my own again, let go of the hurt and blame for my own and others’ failures, learn from my mistakes and endeavor not to repeat them, strive to be a better judge of character, and hope to always be a better friend and person.  But, most of all, to learn to forgive and forget.  I truly believe that it isn’t until we let go of the past that we can begin to embrace our future.

Happy New Year, friends.

Keep shining,  🙂

Mozziestar

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Frolicking puppy

Posted by mozziestarlet on December 22, 2008

I just received this adorable link and had to share it with everyone.  There is nothing that touches me more than the innocent and loving spirit of animals and children.  Enjoy!


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The lights are on, but no one’s home

Posted by mozziestarlet on December 22, 2008

Firstly, let me apologize for the delay between Thursday’s blog entry and today’s.  I realize that I left so many of you hanging and I was stunned by the number of email inquiries jamming my inbox once I returned online.  To answer your burning questions…yes, I am still alive and kicking and yes, I had the third interview for the rockstar job opportunity on Friday.

To preface, I am a seasoned professional when it comes to being laid off in the corporate arena and then forced into the hell phase of endless interviewing for a new job.  Given this fact, I’ve become a bit convoluted in my judgment when it boils down to whether or not I feel I’ve got a job in the bag once I’ve completed the final interview process.  I’ve left many interviews with the gut feeling that I would receive an employment offer because of positive comments the potential employer made to me during the interview.  I would wait with baited breath for the offer to come and for some unknown reason, it never would.  So, I eventually got to the point where I stopped trying to ‘guesstimate’ whether or not I felt I would get the job.   I know this may seem like a negative way to think, but I’ve found that if you don’t expect anything, you’re not as deeply disappointed if it doesn’t pan out for you.  Nevertheless, my point in all of this is to say that the final interview went fantastic and I’m very hopeful that an offer will be made before the holiday break.  Do I expect one?  Yes and no.  Yes, because there is absolutely NO reason why they shouldn’t pick me for this position given how tailored my experience fits the niche they require.  And no, because of the expectation bit that I just explained in the prior sentences.  But, let’s just say that I hope to be pleasantly surprised for a change.

Since I’ve been temporarily taking refuge at the home of my parental units, I’ve purposely tried to distance myself from the husband so that he can familarize himself with the idea of not having me around.  I know that getting used to not having your spouse there is not entirely possible when you’ve spent years with them as the center of your universe.  When that center falls out, it completely disorients your entire reality.  Having been the one who was abandoned in my first marriage, I thought about why distancing myself from the husband is ultimately the best course of action for us both as we are going through this process.  When I reflect on my first marriage, I recall all too well what it felt like when my ex-husband told me he didn’t want to be married to me anymore, yet still hung around the house as if the declaration of his intent to bail shouldn’t affect my daily living pattern.  How can anybody think this way?!  This is the epitome of being a self-centered bastard who is thinking only of himself and his own comfort.  Telling your spouse that you desire to end your marriage, but staying in your residence with them during the process is the proverbial cherry on top of the cruel and unusual punishment cake.  If you have any love or compassion for your spouse and desire to inflict the least amount of collateral damage possible, then living in separate residences while you are getting divorced should be the only option.  It is the fastest route to self-reliance for both of you.

The ironic part about me purposely distancing myself from the husband is that he actually thinks that I’m being selfish by not calling him and keeping him company in his lonely state.  I mean, “I obviously don’t care (and have never cared)  about him if I am able to be remove myself so easily from our marriage.”  And yes, that’s a direct quote from the husband’s mouth.  He actually is dense enough to think that I’m allowing him to live in my home with my dog while I live with my parents because I “don’t care about him.”  After all, doesn’t everyone want to live with their parents when they are in their mid-30s and they’ve been independent for years?! 

So, when the husband makes these and other ridiculous and unfounded comments, I choose the path of least resistance and ignore them rather than respond to them.  When push comes to shove, what good comes from banging your head against a brick wall that can’t comprehend any measure of reasoning?  And this, in a nutshell, is the husband.  Yes, the lights are on, but no one’s home.

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Hump day haha

Posted by mozziestarlet on November 26, 2008

jackass

For all of you who occasionally have a really bad day when you just need to take it out on someone: Don’t take that bad day out on someone you know, take it out on someone you *don’t* know! Now get this.  I was sitting at my desk, when I remembered a phone call I had to make. I found the number and dialed it.

A man answered nicely saying, ”Hello?’ ‘

I politely said, ”This is Patrick Hanifin and could I please speak to Robin Carter?”

Suddenly the phone was slammed down on me! I couldn’t believe that anyone could be that rude. I tracked down Robin’s correct number and called her. She had transposed the last two digits incorrectly. After I hung up with Robin, I spotted the wrong number still lying there on my desk. I decided to call it again.

When the same person once more answered, I yelled, ”You’re a jackass!” and hung up.

Next to his phone number I wrote the word ”jackass,” and put it in my desk drawer.

Every couple of weeks, when I was paying bills, or had a really bad day, I’d call him up.

He’d answer, and I’d yell, ”You’re a jackass!”

It would always cheer me up.

Later in the year the Phone Company introduced caller ID. This was a real disappointment for me, I would have to stop calling the jackass.  Then one day I had an idea.

I dialed his number, then heard his voice say, ”Hello.” I made up a name. ”Hi. This is the sales office of the Telephone Company and I’m just calling to see if you’re familiar with our caller ID program?”

He went, ”No!” and slammed the phone down.

I quickly called him back and said, ”That’s because you’re a jackass!”

The reason I took the time to tell you this story, is to show you how if there’s ever anything really bothering you, you can do something about it. Just dial 823-4863.

The old lady at the mall really took her time pulling out of the parking space. I didn’t think she was ever going to leave.  Finally, her car began to move and she started to very slowly back out of the slot. I backed up a little more to give her plenty of room to pull out. ” Great,” I thought, she’s finally leaving. All of a sudden this black Camaro comes flying up the parking isle in the wrong direction and pulls into her space.

I started honking my horn and yelling, ”You can’t just do that, Buddy. I was here first!” The guy climbed out of his Camaro completely ignoring me. He walked toward the mall as if he didn’t even hear me. I thought to myself, “This guy’s a jackass. There sure a lot of jackasses in this world.”

I noticed he had a ”For Sale” sign in the back window of his car. I wrote down the number. Then I hunted for another place to park.

A couple of days later, I’m at home sitting at my desk. I had just gotten off the phone after calling 823-4863 and yelling, ”You’re a jackass!” (It’s really easy to call him now since I have his number on speed dial.) I noticed the phone number of the guy with the black Camaro lying on my desk and thought I’d better call this guy, too.

After a couple rings someone answered the phone and said, ”Hello.”

I said, ”Is this the man with the black Camaro for sale?”
”Yes, it is.”

”Can you tell me where I can see it?”

”Yes, I live at 1802 West 34th street. It’s a yellow house and the car’s parked right out front.”

I said, ”What’s your name?”

”My name is Don Hansen.”

”When’s a good time to catch you, Don?”

”I’m home in the evenings.”

”Listen Don, can I tell you something?”

”Yes.”

”Don, you’re a jackass!” And I slammed the phone down.

After I hung up I added Don Hansen’s number to my speed dialer. For a while things seemed to be going better for me. Now when I had a problem I had two jackasses to call. Then, after several months of calling the jackasses and hanging up on them, it just wasn’t as enjoyable as it used to be. I gave the problem some serious thought and came up with a solution:

First, I had my phone dial Jackass #1.

A man answered nicely saying, ”Hello.”

I yelled ”You’re a jackass!” but I didn’t hang up.

The jackass said, ”Are you still there?”

I said, ”Yeah.”

He said, ”Stop calling me.”

I said, ”No.”

He said, ”What’s you name, pal?”

I said, ”Don Hansen.”

He said, ”Where do you live?”

”1802 West 34th Street. It’s a yellow house and my black Camaro’s parked out front.”

”I’m coming over right now, Don. You’d better start saying your prayers.”

”Yeah, like I’m really scared, Jackass!” and I hung up.

Then I called Jackass #2. He answered, ”Hello.”

I said, ”Hello, Jackass!”

He said, ”If I ever find out who you are…”

”You’ll what?”

”I’ll kick your butt.”

”Well, here’s your chance. I’m coming over right now Jackass!” And I hung up.

Then I picked up the phone and called the police. I told them I was at 1802 West 34th Street and that I was going to kill my gay lover as soon as he got home.

Another quick call to Channel 13 about the gang war going on down W. 34th Street.

After that, I climbed into my car and headed over to 34th Street to watch the whole thing. Glorious watching two Jackasses kicking the crap out of each other in front of six squad cars and a police helicopter was one of the greatest experiences of my life!

 

The best prank call ever….

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Slip slidin’ away

Posted by mozziestarlet on November 20, 2008

9am:  I am stirred into consciousness by the sound of my dog tapping his paws and performing the ‘Curly Shuffle’ around the bed.  Poor little peach has to potty and Mama has overslept for the first time in weeks, perhaps months.  I drag one foot from the bed unto the floor, and then the other, rub my tired eyes, and make my way downstairs.  I can hear the husband’s congested snore emanating from the guest bedroom, as I imagine he’s dreaming about either the approaching of Armageddon or Woody Woodpecker.  Chances are, probably both. 

9:30am:  I sit down at my laptop, still painfully groggy, and begin to recall last night’s dream.  As you are well aware by now, dreaming is an activity I unknowingly participate in nightly, despite the fact that I’m rarely able to make any sense of it.  So, I frequently turn to the ‘experts’ for their professional guidance and opinion.  Last night’s dream was a doozie and I am still reeling in confusion.  I dreamt that I was a child again, in a large water park, surrounded by children with whom I spent my elementary school days.  Mind you, these are friends and faces that I have not seen or thought of in twenty-five years.  How they emerged in my dream, so vividly captured and recalled, beats the heck out of me.  The mind is an amazing sponge, indeed, and the irony of its power lies in its ability to ‘squeeze out’ memories from so long ago.

In my dream, I was an adult, as I am now.  My friends, however, were still children, perfectly captured in my mind’s eye as I still recall them.  We were slipping and sliding down a large waterslide, laughing and giggling throughout every twist and turn.  Given that I am far from a psychiatrist or therapist, I decide to consult the Dream Dictionary Doctors at www.dreammoods.com to hopefully gain some insight.

“Waterslide”

To dream that you are on or see a waterslide, suggests that you are being swept away by your emotions. You are slowly exploring the realm of your unconscious. Alternatively, the dream suggests that you are going with the flow of things without any objections or resistance.

“Children”

To see children in your dream, signifies your own childlike qualities or a retreat back to a childlike state. It is an extension of your inner child during a time of innocence, purity, simplicity, and a carefree attitude. You may be longing for the past and the chance to satisfy repressed desires and unfulfilled hopes. Take some time off and cater to the inner child within. Perhaps there is something that you need to see grow and nurtured. 

Wowzers.  Do these folks work for Dionne Warwick and her Psychic Friends Network or is it just me?  Despite these explanations hitting the proverbial nail on the head, I still ponder what my personalized response would be from The Dream Dictionary Doctors…

“Dear Mozzie, thank you once AGAIN for consulting The Dream Dictionary to identify the meaning of your childish, waterslide adventure.  Upon further analysis, it is our professional opinion that you are hopelessly trapped in 1983.  We recommend that you enter your nearest bathroom, take a look in the mirror, and reach the realization that you are thirty five years-old and are too big to go watersliding.  Youth may be wasted on the young, but you waste our time when the answers you seek are clearly in front of you.  Dry off, bid your childhood friends farewell, and take a step forward for a change.  If this effort fails, we have an immediate refferral on file on your behalf to the nearest mental health facility.  Just sayin’.  Best wishes for your eventual recovery, The Dream Dictionary Doctors.”

So, given this subliminal advice, I choose to step forward rather than backward and begin a new journey.  I may trip and stumble, and frequently lose my way, but the key is in staying the course.  What’s at the end of my journey?  Only time will tell.  Hopefully, acceptance, and most importantly, discovery.

“The past is not dead. In fact, it’s not even past.”

 

– William Faulkner, US novelist (1897-1962)

 

“If any one faculty of our nature may be called more wonderful than the rest, I do think it is memory. There seems something more speakingly incomprehensible in the powers, the failures, the inequalities of memory, than in any other of our intelligences. The memory is sometimes so retentive, so serviceable, so obedient; at others, so bewildered and so weak; and at others again, so tyrannic, so beyond control! We are, to be sure, a miracle every way; but our powers of recollecting and of forgetting do seem peculiarly past finding out.”

 

– Jane Austen, English novelist (1775 – 1817)

 

And today, only one song will do.  Enjoy…

  

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I ain’t no “Jenny from the block”…just a Mozzie among the flock

Posted by mozziestarlet on October 28, 2008

9am:  Double doo doo.  I slept through my alarm so the 3am writing session was delayed.  But, sleep is a welcomed event for me…a rare commodity of sorts.  I just checked my email and my prayer list is growing by leaps and bounds.  So many of you have reached out to me through this blog, sharing your thoughts and burdens, looking for a life preserver or, at the very least, a life guard.  Unfortunately, I am neither of those.  I only have one life preserver and it’s holding its own right now and keeping me afloat.  I do not have a direct line to the Big JC, however, I do ring him on a daily basis.  I love that he always takes my calls, despite his busy schedule and ‘To do’ list.  Like family, he is always there to lend his hand.  I continue to take his in mine.

 

9:15am:  Good heavens, this coffee is like jet fuel!  I should launch at any moment.  I’m out of artificial sweetener, so it’s back to basics with a spoonful of sugar.  “Just a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down…the medicine go down.”  Don’t you just love Julie Andrews?  I wish I had her magic umbrella so I could drift over the trees and enjoy the view from above.  It’s funny how adjusting your view can allow you to see the world in a different light.  That, in and of itself, is such a beautiful thing.

 

10am:  ‘The Wiz’ phones me and we decide to attend a Career Fair together tomorrow.  I discussed the idea of offering ourselves as a package deal to potential employers:  Two for the price of one?  Besides, half a salary is more than sufficient to stay ahead in today’s economy.  Hey, Great and Powerful Oz, I could kick the husband to the curb, boil the guest bedroom sheets and fumigate the room for you to move in?  I’ll even let you sleep beneath my Barbie comforter from my college days.  Like me, it is pink and cheerful and soft.  I know you’re a city gal though, and life in suburban bliss isn’t your gig.  You know that living Sex and the City style isn’t mine, so a slumber party will have to suffice.  You bring the Jiffy Pop and I’ll provide our movie entertainment.  “Office Space” is first on the lineup followed by “Better off Dead.”  You know me, Wiz Master, if it came from the 80s it’s in my DVD home library!

 

11am:  ‘The Countess of Wedgewood’ phones me from the hair salon where she is waiting for her appointment. 

 

Hey Countess, remember when I frosted your hair and you emerged with that awesome punk rock streak right in the front?  I know you loved me for that.  All hail the power of ‘Nice and Easy’ who corrected my mistake!  My senior year in high school, when we lived together, wasn’t that the best of times?  Let’s recount the memories as they light the corners of my mind:  Me, parking in your space in the garage when you arrived home and it was raining, cranking your A/C in the house below 60 degrees and napping in your bed while you were at work, charging up your Lerner’s and The Limited credit cards, our midnight runs to Sonic drive-in and loving those fried Pickle-Os only served in Mississippi.  Gosh, we had fun.  That year was probably the best of my life (so far).  I have you to thank for it, Countess.

 

Sorry for the digression, readers, what I was beginning to say before I got caught up in nostalgia was that ‘The Countess’ visited today’s blog and saw her dancing video on display to the world.  After viewing the video, she says that she expects Jenny Craig to call her at any moment to offer her an endorsement and commercial contract.  Well Anigo, my beloved ‘Countess of Wedgewood,’ give Jenny my number when she calls.  We aren’t known celebrities outside of this blog, but maybe Anigo² is what Jenny needs to boost her first quarter revenue goals for 2009.  Sometimes truth is stranger than fiction!

Kirstie “during” Jenny…

      

Kirstie “after” Jenny…

    

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The best movie I’ve seen all year…

Posted by mozziestarlet on October 25, 2008

The most hilarious clips from the movie, “Forgetting Sarah Marshall.” 

To preface, Peter, the main character, has just lost his girlfriend of five years, his job as a studio musician for a TV show…and maybe even, his mind.

In the second clip, Peter is taking a stab at surfing on vacation in Hawaii.  The cute, dark haired fella (Paul Rudd) is his surf instructor.  Enjoy! 

P.S.  Mom, I know you are reading.  Don’t get mad because they use the ‘F’ word.  It is still funny, ok? 🙂

 

 

 

 

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Time stands still

Posted by mozziestarlet on October 24, 2008

7am:  My first day of unemployment wakes me at dawn with a splitting headache.  I meander downstairs, put the coffee on and say, “Good morning, dirty dishes from last night’s supper.  Ever get that not-so-fresh feeling?” I’ve always believed in the notion that Mom taught me when I was a little girl. ‘If I cook, you clean.’  In my home, the notion is: ‘If you cook, you clean and I lean.’

8am:  I check my email and professional profile on www.linkedin.com.  I am completely floored that in less than 24 hours of getting the proverbial ax at the office, I’ve received ten recommendations from prior managers, co-workers and clients.  And just when I was certain that kindness was a dead art form, along with chivalry and fidelity, KA BLAM!, I am touched by the genuine sincerity and concern of others.  This puts a remarkable pep in my step as I face the day.

11am:  I arrive early for my first interview now that I am officially ‘on the market.’  I meet with the most fantastic gal, a real peach with a precious personality, and we chat for an hour or so.  If you’re reading, hun, I hope you are smiling as well. 😉

12:15pm:  Since my interview happened to be in the area where I spent my childhood, I decide to visit my old stomping ground.  I drive by my elementary school, which is now abandoned and full of spider webs, and reflect on the golden memories there.  Childish hopes and dreams, days spent in laughter and silliness, the joys of an endless summer where it never rains.  A perfectly suitable lyric pops in my head by Jeff Lynne, a brilliant musician and songwriter:  “Remember the good ‘ole 1980s when things were so uncomplicated?  I wish that I could go back there again and everything could be the same.”

12:30pm:  I drive through my old neighborhood, past the homes of neighbors long since moved, by the pool where I got my first sunburn, and park outside my childhood home.  I am overwhelmed with nostalgia as my heart swells with fifteen years of memories flooding over me.  Morrissey is with me as always and I hum the words, “I would love to go back to the old house, but I never will…I never will.” And with that, I put the car in drive and head on to visit my high school.

1pm:  I am sitting in the parking lot of my high school and I pause and watch the rain trickle down my car window.  I reflect on those years here, days spent in a tormented, misfit stage of adolescence.  I stroll up to the front door, wipe my shoes on the mat, and am greeted by a security guard in the main foyer.  He smiles at me and asks politely if I am a teacher or parent and offers his assistance.  I ask him if by any remote chance, my favorite AP English teacher is still employed there, knowing the odds after twenty years are slim to none.  He replies, “Oh yeah.  She’s in room 2109.  Third period is about to begin, so she should be in there.”  I am completely stunned and at a loss for words.  Twenty years have passed.  She’s taught a thousand students and watched them flow in and out of her classroom through the years.  There is no possibility she will remember an ordinary girl like me. 

Suddenly, the bell rings signaling third period and I shudder at the recollection that seems like yesterday.  “As loud as hell, a ringing bell, behind my smile, it shakes my teeth.”  I slowly stroll down the hallway, past students now tardy and fumbling with their lockers, and marvel at how young they seem.  Did I once look that way…young, impetuous and invincible?  As I approach room 2109, I realize it is the same classroom where I sat, twenty years ago, in her AP English class.  I pause outside of the doorway and hear her voice as she is reciting several stanzas from Macbeth.  I quietly peer inside and see her standing before the class, arms high in the air, re-enacting each line.  She spots me in her peripheral vision and for five seconds looks confused and perplexed.  I cannot repress the smile emerging on my face when I see her, as she is almost unchanged, after twenty years.  Suddenly, her expression lifts and her eyes light up with joy and rays of sunshine.  She rushes over to me in the doorway, takes my hand, and hugs me with such sincerity.  She looks at my face, obviously older and wiser now, and says my name.  I tell her that she is even lovelier than my memory recalls. She introduces me to her class and explains how I was a student of hers years ago, before they were even born.  I bashfully introduce myself, look over to the second row and third seat from the window, and tell the young girl sitting there, “Hey, girl.  You are sitting in my seat!”  The class roars with laughter and I am amazed at how they are so captivated by my presence there.

I explain to them that I was born a writer, however, it was their teacher’s influence, encouragement, and passion that fueled my desire to pursue it and to share my story.  I lean in towards the class and say, “Ya’ll won’t believe this, but I am…(gasp)…35 years old and I have never forgotten this woman.”  I hug her once again, bid farewell to her students and wish them success.  I want to remind them that the world is their oyster.  Carpe Diem, young diamonds in the ruff.  Make your lives extraordinary.

“To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time” by Robert Herrick

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying:
And this same flower that smiles today
To-morrow will be dying.
The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,
The higher he’s a-getting,
The sooner will his race be run,
And nearer he’s to setting.That age is best which is the first,
When youth and blood are warmer;
But being spent, the worse, and worst
Times still succeed the former.

Then be not coy, but use your time,
And while ye may, go marry:
For having lost but once your prime,
You may for ever tarry.”
 

 

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First day back in the office

Posted by mozziestarlet on October 24, 2008

8am:  I shuffle out to the car, running late, and begin to zoom off towards the office.  I gaze down at the gas gauge and I’m on empty.  The husband obviously drove my car while I was on vacation and left me with just enough fumes to make it about two miles.  I decide to push the envelope and see if I can make it to work without stopping for gas.  It’s cool today, so I think I can manage without the A/C, despite the fact that I am full of hot air.

8:30:  I am five minutes from the office and hit a road block on my usual route.  I circle around and begin to feel like I must be on Candid Camera.  No gas, a road block, running late on my first day back from paradise.  Starbucks is the only option, so I pull in for a latte.  Only Venti size will work for me today.

9am:  I arrive to my office, sit my purse down and immediately get a phone call from the HR Manager.  She says, “Hey there, how was your vacation?  Could you come by and see me for a minute?”  Given that I’ve heard this song and dance countless times before, I already know what is coming.  I enter her office, where ‘The Stomping Bean’ is sitting in an adjacent chair.  She begins her speech, obviously from the politically correct Human Resources B.S. manual, and tells me that my position has been eliminated along with ten others.  ‘The Stomping Bean’ pats me on my shoulder and adds, “You were one of the best we had here.  I am sorry and I hope you will not take this as a personal reflection on you.  Please do not take this personally.”  I politely shake hands with them and am comforted by the fact that my hard work and years put into the company during our current recession will land me a great recommendation and opportunity for the first shift at McDonalds.  I think to myself…Don’t take this personally…if anything means anything in this life, shouldn’t it at the very least be personal?

 

10am:  I pack my photos, half-dead plant and my“The Queen is Dead” Smiths poster that once decorated my office wall into a copy paper box and head downstairs.  The heartfelt send-off from none of my co-workers has reaffirmed my faith in the true goodness of people. 

 

1pm:  I arrive home to deliver the news to the husband.  He is so kind to refrain from his current fascination with what is showing on AMC to listen to the news that I’ve just lost my job.  A hug, a word or two of comfort and reassurance is never necessary when it’s time for me to begin networking and surfing the net for new job opportunities.  Before heading upstairs for his afternoon nap, the husband says, “I’m sorry about your job, but we have to have money to live on and you can’t afford to waste any time, k?”

 

5pm:  I wake from a one-hour Lortab induced nap that has assisted in relieving 20% of my physical pain.  I desperately rummage through the bathroom drawers looking for a temporary fix for my mental pain, knowing that a dosage that high will potentially be lethal.

7pm:  I review our financials and bank account and am pleasantly surprised that we will have just enough money to pay the mortgage and bills for two months before facing adversity.  Starvation is a great method of losing weight and finally squeezing into those size 12’s that have been hanging in my closet since college.  Where there’s a will, there’s a ‘weigh,’ right?

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Don’t forget the lyrics: “Ain’t no sunshine”….Mozziestar style. Kick it!

Posted by mozziestarlet on October 16, 2008

The husband has always told me that the song “Ain’t no sunshine” is what plays in his head when his two neurons are firing and I actually pop into his consciousness.  I decided to have a little fun with this notion and wrote my own lyrics to the song which most accurately reflect how it would ‘sound’ if the husband were singing it.  Enjoy!  🙂
 
“Ain’t no dinner when she’s gone,
I am starving every day.
Ain’t no grilled cheese when she’s gone,
and the dog’s paws aren’t so long,
to cook my three meals every day.
Wonder this time where she’s gone,
wonder if she’s gone to stay
Ain’t no dinner when she’s gone,
and I’m forced to answer the phone,
anytime she goes away.
And I know, I know, I know, I know, I know…
Hey, I ought to leave the young thing alone,
but ain’t no ready meals when she’s gone,
Ain’t no dinner when she’s gone,
only peanuts every day.
Ain’t no food for my gut when she’s gone,
and the dog’s paws aren’t so long,
to cook my three meals every day,
Anytime she goes away.”

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This is an excerpt from the funniest thing I’ve read all day

Posted by mozziestarlet on October 2, 2008

This is too funny not to share. It’s a snippet from an email from my true “Wondertwin” younger brother. Enjoy!

“Hey Sis,

So, I had the most awesome dream ever last night. I dreamed I had everyone that ever did me wrong chained to this giant tilt-o-wheel, like from a fair. Before that though, I invited them all to this huge dinner, super fancy, but they didn’t know it was me. So they all ate and got drunk. I had Hench-men too and we took everyone and chained them to the ride. Then I came out and they saw it was me and I turned on the ride full blast. They all started to puke all over each other and crap on themselves.

Then I had this catapult full of laptops and I started flinging them into the ride at them. They were smashing into a billion pieces off peoples’ face as they were hurling while I was doing my old school, semi-‘Peewee Herman’ laugh…‘Ha-nha- hehehehe!’…oh, it was so awesome.”

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Chapter 15

Posted by mozziestarlet on October 2, 2008

10am:Clueless VP’ phones me to ask if I have a minute to come in his office and “talk.” Given that I am completely aware of his usual game strategy, I know that a “talk” with him usually results in at least ten new projects on my plate. I enter his office, offer a polite greeting and dodge the piles of three-ring binders stacked all over his floor. Apparently, the 21st century has not arrived for him yet, as he still believes printing anything and everything is the best plan of attack and organization. After sitting, I am knocked unconscious by the unmistakable smell of his fish tank. Any minute now, I expect Shamu to come busting through the wall in all her glory to perform. I find it amusing that he has such affection for the fish in his tank, but absolutely none when it comes to the people who are running his business.

11am: I scurry back to my office to begin the new list of projects that have just been assigned to me. Given that everything inevitably falls under the “Marketing” umbrella, it only makes sense that I am now handling Operations, HR and IT. First order of business wearing my new HR hat: push ‘Clueless VP’ off the nearest bridge. Time to do something for my fellow man.

12:15Clueless VP’ calls me to ask if I can email him a report that originally came from him to begin with. This event occurs at least once a week, so much so that I’ve been trying to figure out how to generate an automated reply to this weekly email request. Perhaps having him remove the filter of my messages into the ‘Trash’ folder might be a good start.

2pm:Clueless VP’ has exceeded his allowable phone calls to my office for the day and is now on my “Repeat Offender” list. It’s a total breeze to complete a list of projects by 5pm when your phone is ringing constantly. I do my best to retain my polite composure, but even ‘Clueless VP’ knows that he has overstepped his bounds. After an hour, he pops into my office and says, “I have something for you.” I steadily work to compose the absolute fear that has gripped me, not knowing what he could possibly have in the brown bag in his hands. I open the bag and inside I find a coffee mug with the words “I love you” stamped across them. He chuckles and says, “Don’t get the wrong idea or anything. I just wanted you to know how much I appreciate all you’re doing here.” CLEARLY.

5pm: I leave the office for my trek home with my new coffee mug in tow. I think to myself, “Golly gee. Ain’t it swell to be loved?”

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Reasons why my Cockapoo is my ideal male companion

Posted by mozziestarlet on October 2, 2008

7. He recognizes and understands when I need time for myself and doesn’t make me feel guilty for it.

6. He never goes to bed angry.

5. He’s unselfish and doesn’t insist or demand my constant service or attention.

4. He’s never grumpy and showers me with affection irrespective of what kind of day either of us had.

3. He ALWAYS surprises me with unexpected laughter and silliness.

2. He never strays far from home and doesn’t need my help finding his way back.

1. He exists solely and completely for one reason:  to love someone other than himself.

 

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Chapter 13

Posted by mozziestarlet on September 30, 2008

 

10am:  I’ve managed to ingest four cups of coffee in just under two hours and give myself a ‘thatta girl’ pat on the back.  Caffeine is a healthy and necessary method of counteracting the side effects of Xanax and four hours of restful sleep. 

 

11am:  I enter the copy room to retrieve several documents from the copier and bump into ‘The Stomping Bean’ who has a truly perplexed look on his face.  I inquire politely, “Is everything ok?  Do you need any help?” and he begins to explain that his documents are not coming off the printer as normal.  He spins around in a dizzy twirl to go directly to the IT department.  I reach in to retrieve my documents and notice the ‘Load paper in Tray 1’ error message on the copier panel.  The inability to replenish the paper supply in the copier always requires immediate IT support.

 

5pm:  I’m tiding up my daily activities in the office to prepare for a fun-filled evening at the quarterly Sales & Marketing company dinner.  Sitting next to an intoxicated ‘Deer in Headlights’ for three hours is my ideal way to spend an evening.  Apparently, she is unable to speak or laugh without slapping my arm each and every time, so I’m so happy to be on the receiving end of her welcomed affection.

 

5:30pm:  ‘Clueless VP’ pops into my office because he is having difficulty submitting a proposal online.  I enter his office to assess the problem and after two hours, I determine that the problem is that he neglected to ‘verify’ his submission by clicking on the confirmation link that was sent only to his email account.  Accepting responsibility for your own stupidity and inept nature is never an option, even when you arrive two hours late for the company dinner.

 

7:30pm:  The husband phones me during the company dinner to ask when I will be home.  Given that the duration of a company dinner is always my call, I give him a ball-park figure of an hour or so.  Deer in Headlights’ still has a glass of wine to put away and she won’t be able to consume it without my required attendance and right arm to punch with every unnecessary laugh.

 

9pm:  I arrive home and the husband smells the lingering smell of one glass of wine on my breath.  He naturally assumes that I have been out starring in the latest episode of “Girls Gone Wild” and asks where I have “really been all night.”  Realizing that I have absolutely no energy or mental capacity to hold this conversation, I politely offer that he give a couple of my co-workers a call to confirm my alibi.

 

11:30pm:  I head upstairs to bury myself in sleep.  I dream of Morrissey and hum the following lyrics from a classic tune, “My funny valentine, sweet comic valentine, you make me smile with my heart,” realizing exactly how much he does.  And despite my day and never-ending evening, that is just enough. 

 

“My funny valentine” by Elvis Costello:

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Chapter 9

Posted by mozziestarlet on September 27, 2008

9am:  I’ve decided to break in the 4-cup coffee pot I’ve brought from home for my personal gratification at the office.  I’ve reluctantly passed on my crown of ‘Office Mother and Beck and Call Girl’ to the ‘fresh meat’ in the office.  I wonder how long it will take her before she’s mumbling “Time to make the donuts” each morning.

 

11am:  HR summons everyone to the conference room to review our new benefits package.  The benefits representative giving the presentation is completely under-qualified, holding only a Masters Degree among his few accolades.  This becomes quickly transparent by his inability to keep a poker face when ‘Peace Out’ asks him, “Will my health insurance cover my Mom and cousin too?”

 

12pm:  ‘Deer in Headlights’ has endured a hectic morning running from office to office sharing her weekend tales with clearly interested by-standers.  She will require at least a 2 ½ hour nap at lunch to recharge her batteries for the long haul to 5pm.

 

2pm:  The husband sends me an IM at the office just to say “Hi.”  My husband ‘lingo and behavioral translator’ quickly springs into action and deciphers his true, heartfelt intent:  “I’m bored at home and nothing is on the TV, so I think it’s your place to entertain me for awhile.”  After spending a whopping 40 seconds telling the husband about a conversation I had with a vendor earlier, the husband abruptly terminates our call.  Ten minutes on the hour is the only time that The Weather Channel provides your local forecast, and given that the husband travels frequently from the recliner to the john, he must make sure he is always wearing proper attire.

6pm:  I arrive home and step foot into an artic zone.  Either the world’s first home blizzard has occurred, or the husband has once again turned the thermostat below 65 degrees and pressed the ‘hold’ button.  No problem.  I mean, hey, a $400 monthly electric bill is a ‘breeze’ when money grows on trees!

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“Why I am convinced that Morrissey should marry me”

Posted by mozziestarlet on September 26, 2008

Right. So, I’ve spent 20 years pondering this and I’m fairly certain (like all heterosexual women in the free world) that Morrissey should marry me, immediately, if at all possible.

5. We have identical tastes in music…him, him and well, him.

4. We both think Oscar Wilde was a brilliant lad even if he liked to play with the other boys’ ding dongs.

3. Like every American, I have surrendered my political views and have decided to vote ‘none of the above’ in the upcoming election. Therefore, Morrissey can feel comfy in wearing the political pants in the family.

2. We both adore animals and find humor in the smallest of things.

1. Since marriage ultimately turns into friendship when all is said and done, why not ‘walk the plank’ with a Georgia peach?

   

“Will never marry” by Morrissey

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Chapter 8

Posted by mozziestarlet on September 26, 2008

7am: I enter the husband’s sleeping quarters to arouse him from peaceful slumber. I find myself pondering how long a person can keep their mouth completely open without their jaw becoming unhinged. My bet is about 5 hours.


7:15am: The husband is finally up and about and stumbling around upstairs. Realizing that he has overslept once again, I am completely caught by surprise when I do not hear the sound of the shower running upstairs. The husband quickly delivers his predictable “I just don’t have time to shower today” speech, which I could recite standing on one foot and tapping my head at the same time.

7:30am: The husband packs his body odor and halitosis into the car and heads off to make another stellar impression at work. I quickly realize the significance of recently purchasing the family size SUV to allow adequate room for the husband and his impeccable personal hygiene.

8am: I hit the shower and become a knock-out in less than 30 minutes. Hopefully, no one will notice that I’ve made it out of the house wearing two different shoes. After all, the husband always says, “Oh babe, nobody notices STUFF like that. Seriously, babe!”

8:30am: The husband has once again neglected to roll the trash out for garbage pickup this morning. Given that there are now two weeks of rotten trash sitting on the back porch and I am rapidly moving up the ranks on the ‘Favorite Neighbor’ list, I perform my usual ‘‘Don’t worry. I’ll handle it, dear” duties and put the trash out on the curb before leaving for the office. Arriving to the office wearing ‘Eau de Egg Salad Sandwich’ is a lovely, feminine fragrance that is sweeping the nation.

9am: I’m ready to face another daily adventure in stupidity at the office. Of course, the coffee pot in the break room is below the red line and all that remains is the sludgy grime at the bottom of the pot. I eye it closely and weigh my level of desperation and obvious need for caffeine before pouring a cup.

10:30am: My second favorite co-worker, ‘Peace Out’ arrives promptly two hours after the office opens for business. She lets out her usual *sigh* because let’s face it, having time to pick up a bagel and make it to the office on time is simply asking TOO much. After her mandatory two hour lunch and nap in the car, she works a full hour before giving me her trademark ‘Peace Out’ hand salute before she slinks out the back door to face another grueling, ten minute drive home.

3pm: The husband phones me at the office to ask me the $24,000 question:“What’s for dinner, Babe?” He selflessly offers to defrost the hamburger meat so it will be thawed and ready for me to cook by the time I arrive home. His thoughtfulness has no conceivable limitations.

8pm: After dinner, the husband requires my immediate attention to assist in removing his socks and shoes. His ‘belly to foot ratio’ causes him a great deal of difficulty, so it would be “really nice of me if I could lend him a hand, ok?” I silently think to myself, “I can lend you a swift kick in the jimmy JUST as nicely.”

1am: The husband decides to enjoy a late-night snack to enhance his all-night movie marathon experience ahead. His compassionate nature extends to the dog as he decides to share his chicken nuggets with our furry friend. Suddenly and without warning, I jolt into consciousness by the unmistakable and horrific sound of the dog hurling all over the carpet downstairs. I guess it’s a good thing that I purchased the VIP membership with Stanley Steemer. I figure that between the husband and the dog, we more than account for 75% of their annual revenues!

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Chapter 7

Posted by mozziestarlet on September 25, 2008

9am: It’s Saturday morning and I am looking forward to a quiet and peaceful morning spent in recovery from managing the Goat Ropers’ Rodeo in my office. The husband meanders downstairs and brightens my early morning routine by proclaiming: “Babe, check it out! Look what I found!” My curiosity is naturally peeked so I glance over to see what hidden treasure he has undoubtedly unearthed from the clutter of his living quarters. “It’s my high school class ring! Isn’t that SO cool?” I smile and give him my ‘Aww, isn’t that SPECIAL?’ look when I notice that not only has he found his high school class ring from 1982, but is now also WEARING it. Given that we are all the exact same size as we were during our high school years, this makes complete sense that he has squeezed his 1982 high school class ring onto his chubby finger.

10:30am: The husband is beginning to show signs of loss of circulation in the finger now sporting his 1982 high school class ring. He’s trying to remain cool and collected like every man does, but I detect the panicked look in his eyes. In my peripheral vision, I notice that he is now twiddling and maneuvering the ring in a desperate attempt to get it off his finger and with no such luck.

11am: The husband is now in the bathroom trying to locate any and every possible form of household lubricant to remove the high school class ring. I give myself a ‘thatta girl’ pat on the back for purchasing the family size container of liquid soap a few days earlier that is now a dire necessity. The husband begins groaning and moaning because the class ring simply will not budge. His finger has now completely swollen over the entire circumference of the ring and is a lovely shade of burgundy.

11:30am: The husband has begun to employ desperate measures to remove the class ring and restore proper circulation to his right hand. He has now made his way outside to rummage through his survival kit of random tools and necessities that clearly includes a tool labeled as ‘What to use when you are a complete imbecile and nothing else is working.’ He makes his way back into the den with a tiny, thread-like survival saw in his hand. He then proceeds to loop the thin thread beneath the space between his class ring and now swollen finger and begins to saw back and forth. I temporarily excuse myself to the bathroom where I proceed to pee in my pants from the absolute comedy unfolding.

12:30pm: After an hour of employing the ‘What to use when you are a complete imbecile and nothing else is working’ survival saw, I recommend to the husband that we call 911 before the situation gets any more serious. Within 10 minutes, the paramedics arrive to assess the dire situation involving the husband and his newfound appreciation for his 1982 high school class ring. Given that paramedics are trained in truly unpredictable events and to ‘Never underestimate the power of stupid people in large groups,’ I know that they will be able to immediately rectify the problem.

1pm: After 30 minutes of trying to remove the class ring, the paramedics concur that the husband will need to be taken to the hospital where appropriate removal measures will be taken. The husband reluctantly climbs aboard the ambulance and begins sharing the truly nostalgic notion that led him to try on his 1982 high school class ring in the first place. All of the paramedics are completely moved and touched by the husband’s heartwarming tale and total grasp of good judgment.

1:15pm: I stand at the front door and wave goodbye to the husband, his swollen finger, and his 1982 high school class ring as they head off to the hospital. It’s always good to know that your family has helped the local medical community reach their daily imbecile quotient.

5pm: The husband arrives back home from the hospital with his finger in a splint. Apparently, during all of his desperate maneuvering earlier in the day, he managed to break the finger that sported his 1982 class ring. I take one look at the broken finger, now supported by a metal splint, and completely lose all composure as I break into a hysterical laughing spell. Between the class ring, the liquid soap, the survival saw, the paramedics, and now the splint…it’s just too much, even for me!


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