Admission Is Theraputic

We all do things we're not proud of, because it makes us feel good.  Typically, these acts are referred to as "guilty pleasures".  I happen to have a lot of them. 

The worst is when the guilty pleasure is attainable in a public forum, and you forget to be sneaky about it.  

My office has packets of hot chocolate mix, available in both regular and sugar-free.  Holy crap, sugar-free!  Its like a guiltless pleasure that you bet your britches I'll find a way to guilt-ify!  

I discovered that if you put a packet of the mix in the bottom of your mug and add the coffee or hot water on top of it, it kinda turns into a sludge when you take care to stir just above it, very gingerly.  After the liquid is consumed, you're left with about a teaspoon of what resembles brownie mix at the bottom of your mug.  You can then use your tiny plastic straw stirrer thing to nibble at the sludge and my GOD is it yumaroo. 

I do the brownie sludge thing every few weeks, its definitely not something I could handle on a daily basis.  I realized in secret that Kate does it too.  

Its all well and good until you're uber focused on a task, and you take your last swig of hot chocolate, with Derek the unseen ninja standing behind you.  

His face is washed over with a look of horror  and he loudly exclaims "Oh my God, Jojo!  What is that in your cup?"

Me:  "What?  You startled me, why do you sneak up like that?"  (grabs cup and attempts to hide it)  "What cup?  Its nothing!  It's just, I had hot chocolate.  And sometimes it gathers at the bottom, that powder stuff, I guess I didnt stir well enough.  Don't worry about it!"

Derek:  "Wow, you must have forgotten to stir it completely, thats disgusting!"

Me:  (Turns red and feels forced to, so she discard her unconsumed sludge, admitting that she agrees its disgusting.)

I wanted so desperately to tell him that Kate does it too, but I thought it wouldnt be fair.  I would like to think that other people wouldn't rat me out on my weird.  

I was just dumb enough to get caught. 

I dont like ninjas. 

A Blog Response to Was's Blog

Recently, my friend Was posted an opinion-poll type blog. The question posed was:

"Yea or neigh?

I've found that lot's of people will get irate if you poop at their house. So what i'm trying to figure out is whether or not i'm being rude if I shit at somone's house, or if these people are rude for being mad.

I can see both sides of the story."

My response below is something that I decided to post here as well, because I think it'll be useful to those of you who are fellow 'Foriegn Toilet Phobia' (FTP) sufferers. I used to be one myself, and still practice the exercises which allows me to be "Free to Flush", as we say.

"The trick to pooping at someones house, pooping at work, or pooping anywhere besides your own domicile, is: Wait until you have to go so bad that its knocking at the door. Dogs are barking, and there's a turtle coming out of it's shell. Drink coffee if available to enhance effect.

Next, announce that you have to pee. Go, sit, you do your thing, and you do it quick. As soon as it kisses the water, you flush. This minimizes the smell and the chance that you will get caught. The flush will last long enough for you to finish evacuating your bowels - and maybe get in one good wipe, and the water take the evidence with it. If more than one wipe is required, do it. And then make a spectacle about "blowing your nose" and flush the remainder of your "used nose tissues".

If you're worried about "signing the bowl", or "skid marks", I find that applying a layer of TP to the top of the water before you begin will act as a barrier betwixt your poo and the porcelain - thus, eliminating worry. "

I suggest you practice at home to get this down to a science before debuting at work, friends houses, or movie theatres. Good luck.

Hypothesis? Fail.

Let's say that I used to see someone who might be a quasi-famous-person now.

Let's say he got married a few years ago, and I attempted to congratulate him through email but received no response. Twice.

Let's say that I had some free time during lunch today and was shopping for books and DVDs to keep me entertained during surgery recovery.

Let's say that I stumbled across one of the things this guy is famous for is available for inexpensive purchase on the internet.

Let's say that I was intrigued enough by the actual product to order it. No really, it looks good.

Let's say that I didn't do my research, and now realize that the site I ordered it from is a 3rd party broker, and the actual product is shipped from the product owner.

Let's say that I am terrified because aforementened quasi-famous-person is quite likely that lattermentioned private seller, who will recognize me when he receives my name and shipping address and will likely think I am obsessive and stalking him because I've emailed him twice and am apparently "searching for him on the internet".

I'm an idiot. All I wanted were some Roald Dahl books.

Out - Of - My - Mind

Its absolutely IMPOSSIBLE to do any work when there has been God Forsaken JACKHAMMERING going on for 6 hours (and counting...) about 10 yards from my desk:


Jackhammering




Dear Kennett Square,

SERIOUSLY?!

Love,

-Joj

Sausage Casing, $9.08

I bought a new skirt yesterday at Target, upon returning a blazer I bought last weekend. The skirt is super cute, there's a sexytime zipper in the back that goes all the way from the bottom to the top. It was 75% off, I got it for $9.08! I was proud of myself when I bought it because Target sizes are usually small, and I was able to buy the sexy zipper skirt in my regular size. I even tried it on, just to be sure. I should mention that I hadn't eaten all day yesterday at the point when I did the on-trying, and still thought buying a snug, tailored skirt was a good idea.

Developments of the day today show that I should never purchase my true size at Target.

I should have recognized the omen this morning, of how when I went to get in the Beastie, my range of motion was severely impaired by the snug-to-my-knees hem of my sexy zipper skirt. My 4-inch heel did not clear the Beastie's running board, I then fell face first into my center console.

You should never buy your ideal size at Target, especially when you debut your sexy sexy skirt on a coworker/friends birthday. Especially when that coworker/friend is the Cupcake Queen, and brought in Banana Chocolate cupcakes to celebrate said birthday. Especially when you go out for lunch (for said coworkers said birthday, prior to said supcakes) and get an incredibly rich grilled veggie wrap and eat the whole thing, and the fries that came with it. Especially when you go to Starbucks after lunch and get a venti iced tea. Especially when you went to Starbucks on the way to work and got a venti iced coffee.

Death bloat. Even undoing the zipper a little doesnt help. I cant wait to go home and change.

Bloody Pity Party

I like to write about about my meaningless everyday experiences. Like, how I got my blood drawn during my lunch break today:

I get there at 11:45, I had an appointment at 12:00 noon. They didnt take me until 12:15, so I'm annoyed. My Phlebotomist, Allison, was the only staff member over the lunch hour which meant she single-handedly had to do the sticking, checking-in, and the phone answering.

Fortunately, her husband called her and the volume was all the way up so I got to hear him giving her the sexy sexy talk while she prepared my paperwork. She kept giggling and looking at me, and finally says "Baby, I hate to say it like this but I'm about to stick a needle into some lady's arm so can I call you back in a little bit? Yeah, I know - its gross. I'll talk to you soon, I love youuuu... k, bye."

I wanted to punch her, but she had already tied off my punchin' arm and it was rendered Limp Noodle.

She hung up the phone and said "that was mah hunny, sorry bout that. He doesnt understand why I dont call him, but I keep tellin' him I have a job and even though its pretty mindless work, I cant talk all the time."

It was at this point that I started paying attention to make sure she was matching up the right bar codes with the right tubes.

She then comes over with 6 tubes and says that she usually gives people the option of which arm they want to use, but since I needed to have so much drawn, she'd need to draw from my "writin' arm", as the veins were stronger and less likely to collapse. I reminded her that it was already tied off, and getting blue, so she should get to it. She gets started and about 3 tubes into it she said "you're my #2 record for number of tubes". My all time high was 20. TWENTY tubes!" I just looked at her and made a fist. She told me to stay still.

Allison's next statement of brilliance was "Oh God, look at your hand! Haha! Your fingertips are black!" I looked at them (I hadn't looked to my right the whole time) and caught a glimpse of the blood flowing out of my arm and into the 5th tube. I felt my neck catching up to my arm, in terms of Limp Noodle.

As Allison finished up the 6th and removed the "stick", it happened. I started to get really hot. Then I started to sweat and I couldnt hear anything. I slouched forward into the padding, and told her "I... feeling a little... uhhh. Allison, I d'feel good." She froze and was asked "would you like a moist towel for your neck?" A. I wanted to hit her (for the third time) for choosing the word "moist" during my crucial moment. B. What is this, AirTran? I said uh-huh. But by the time she got back I guess I had already passed out. I woke up with my teeth gnawling into my left hand and Allison moist-towelling my neck. I was sweating like some sort of farm animal, so I took the towel from her and mopped up my mess.

Then she waited for me to come around, and led me to the "lay down room" to recover. The Lay Down Room was in full view of the waiting area, so I got to feel like a total ass while all 20 senior citizens who were waiting to be led to slaughter craned their wrinkley selves to watch me stumble down the hall and flop onto the brown vinyl slab with a dingey-ass pillow. (Maybe this really was AirTran?) She said "this is a daily occurence for us so dont you worry!"

So reassuring!

This is a great kickoff to the beginnings of my medical proactivity!

Oh, Allison. Thank you for being my own personal Vampire on Halloween.

stream of consciousness(2)

Today at work is so deathly quiet, I am taking my 15 minute break (which I rarely do) to jot down a few thoughts running through my brain. SO prepare for lack of theme, organization or creativity in what you're about to read...

There's so much going on and everything seems medical or financial - the two categories I despise most wholeheartedly. I've been catching up on some much needed and ignored doctors visits, getting the dreaded ones out of the way. Now there are a zillion follow-ups I have to do. Blood work for normal crap, blood work for my surgery, physicals, ultrasounds, prescriptions, choosing what antibiotic and pain pills I need (isn't that the doctor's job?!)...

The list goes on and becomes more awkard, so I'll stop there. I'm starting to think that my boss may suspect I'm lying about 'doctors appointments', because I've had so many. Eep. I'm not, I swear it.

My car inspection is coming up and a rough estimate of "probably wont pass" items comes to about $2,0o0. Supah. I have about $250 saved. I'm about 10% of the way there, and have 30 days left.

Good news! My new neighbor, Sean, allowed one of his friends to borrow his truck on Tuesday night. That friend apparently got drunk, and came home wasted; slamming through my front porch and into the back of my Beastie trying to get into his parking spot. Observe:


The damage doesn't look all that terrible, but the total estimate I got yesterday is $998. Yowch. I do feel a little bad, especially since Sean is being cool about it all, and not leaving his insurance information in my mailbox this morning like he said he would. I even made him a folder with the estimates, all clearly divided and labeled with post-it's. I put it in a red folder, because red usually means power, and I want him to know I mean business. Red also makes you hungry, so maybe he'll eat the estimate instead of reading it.

Digging back a little further, I had a great birthday. I didn't get to go to Frightened Rabbit, but its cool. Everything else made up for it. I got all my hair cut off (it took 4 hours and a $26 parking ticket - poop - which i still need to pay...) but you probably already saw or know. I LOVE it. I don't know if everyone is lying, but 95% of the feedback I've gotten on it is positive. Observe:

Being 27 isn't all it's cracked up to be, though. I realized this morning that I have Tennis Elbow/Shoulder from how I steer my car with my left arm, and hold my coffee with my right while I navigate the twists and turns of the Kennett Square Parking Garage. Super pathetic.

Speaking of the Kennett Square Parking Garage, you know how birds fly into glass because they either dont see it, or they're attacking their own likeness because they see it as a threat? Yeah, there was a squashed pigeon on the sidewalk a few weeks ago as I was heading home, a casualty of transparency I'll assume. After I got to the 4th floor, I about peed myself when I discovered the scene of the incident:

Eat that, National Geographic

I guess it's sad, but I ain't no hippie, and I laughed really hard at this, by myself, for about 10 solid minutes. I hope KSqPD picked that up on their video cameras.