You Will Not Win, Betty Crocker

It started like any other day. Well, no, not really. It's not just any 'ole Saturday that I wake up and feel adventurous enough to attempt my hand at Christmas candy making, so this was no ordinary Saturday.

I'm up and Adam before 9:00 a.m. and feel that now is as good as time as any to follow my Grandma's advice and make "Easy Divinity." Yes, it's called Easy Divinity. Here's where my story begins.

First of all, whoever named this concoction EASY divinity can bend over, pucker up, and plant one right ... we all know how that age-old saying goes. I begin by mixing all of the wet ingredients. For this task I get out my mixer, which sees daylight approximately 1.25 times a year. Trust me, I did the math. So I begin mixing and all is well. "See, this really IS Easy Divinity." Next up, gradually add 16 ounces of confectioners sugar. Excuse me? Gradually? How gradually, because gradually adding a pound of sugar can be quite a timely process. In my fit of mixing and gradually adding in way more sugar than anyone human being should consume, I realize I need a spatula. I turn off my mixer and open up my utensil drawer only to find I own a whopping one spatula, but not just any spatula. No, have just any plain jane spatula would not made this process entertaining.

I am the proud owner of the tiniest spatula in North America, second only to spatulas found in a barbie cooking set. My spatula is approximately 5 inches long and .75 inches wide. I resume the mixing only to find that it is quite hard to spatulate (a process in which you are using your tiny spatula) the growing glob of glue that has become the pound of sugar. I try and try with my spatula, and Lord knows it was a beautiful rendition of The Little Engine that Could, but bless its heart it just wasn't cut out for a task of monumental proportions. I turn off the mixer and reevaluate my options. Let's pause there.

In all of this stopping and starting of the mixer, have I mentioned that my dog hates, and I mean hates, household appliances that make any sort of loud noise? So imagine if you will, that with each flick of the power switch to my GE hand mixer, my 75lb "puppy" is sent into attack mode. Attack mode in my kitchen. Attack mode in my TINY kitchen, in which said attack mode can lead one's ears to ringing. Let's continue.

After reevaluating my options, and my utensil drawer, I choose a long handled spoon. It's longer than 5 inches, so improvement for sure! This is where things take a turn for the worse. If you're curious as to what happens when you put a spoon into a sticky glob of goop that weighs at least a pound, let me enlighten you. It forms a ball, perfectly molded to the shape of the spoon, which cannot be altered unless the mixer is turned off and you're hands become involved. Once your hands become involved it's all downhill. Yes, "downhill" but only if the hill is covered in fire ants and you've just entered a three-legged race. I now have said sticky goop all over my hands. It's not budging. This goop is in it for the long hall.

I manage to scrape enough of it off of myself and back into the mixer to finish the task. Of course now there is goop on me, the mixer, and the spoon that I gave up on paragraphs ago. I continue my mixing, when I realize that my beautiful mixer that has only been used 1.25 times a year is not quite up to the challenge. The noise coming out of this pitiful machine is making my already ringing ears sad. I've resorted to a method of mixing that involves continuously lifting the beaters out of the bowl every 20 seconds to give them some relief. It's the only way this story is going to have a successful outcome. I'm on the last leg of the mixing; I can just feel it. The noise has gotten more pathetic, but I trudge on. That's when I notice it. Tiny wisps of smoke coming from the mixer. And then? Nothing. The mixer has died. The oh so easy divinity has killed it.

I scrape what I can from the blender into the ball, put on a brave face, and declare that Betty Crocker will not break me! After dropping three dainty little teaspoons of the mixture onto a cookie sheet, I think screw you Betty Crocker and begin to drop heaping tablespoons, cupfulls, whatever on the cookie sheet just to be done with it all.

In the end, the Easy Divinity recipe that was supposed to make me 36 candies yielded around 15. I'm taking them home this weekend and you better believe that my family will say they're the best darn Christmas candy ever. If not, bodily harm will be inflicted; that and they'll be forced to buy me a mixer.

It's Been A While, but, Oh B&N, I Still Love You

I went to Barnes and Noble last night all by my lonesome, and remembered why I freaking love that place. And by love, I mean LOVE. My intentions for said shopping trip, was to hit up their fantastic magazine section and snag a few magazines that might inspire me in the upcoming crafting season. Here’s where the love comes in. By the time I had finally quit detouring, I had so many books in my hands that I was concerned, yes concerned, about the additional cost that a magazine would run me; Sad, but oh so very true. I ended up buying two books that I’m pretty darn excited about and making a list of books that I’ll have to buy in the very near future. All in all it was a fantastic trip with the exception of one very noisy patron, no not patron because she left without buying anything, whose image is forever burned in my mind. That’s right, next time I see you lady wearing a faded black blouse and whose hair is black and frizzy, I will ruin the ambiance of whatever store you might be shopping at! Oh yes, vengeance will be mine!

I Know a Thing or Two About Duck Tape

I walk into Hobby Lobby, not really knowing what it is that I’m looking for. My Halloween costume needs some altering and I once heard of a fantastic invention, a tape of sorts, that allows you to adhere clothing straight to your skin. I thought this sounded much better than the alternative, which consisted of a hot glue gun and a considerable amount of pain, so I struck off on my mission. I aimlessly walk around the store until I stumble across an aisle that has tape smack dab on the end. How convenient! I begin looking. Scotch tape? No. Gift wrap tape? Funny, but no. Ah….Double Sided tape. There’s the answer, but as I start walking around, clutching my new find, I begin having second thoughts. Is this truly safe? Sure, its yellow packaging looks friendly enough, but will it feel so friendly after I peel it off of my chest? I find a surely well educated Hobby Lobby employee and proceed to begin my interrogation. “I’m looking for something that’s referred to as fabric tape.” A blank stare in return. I continue, “Basically, I need to tape a piece of clothing to my body. Have any ideas?” She hesitates. “You would probably need to use something heavier. Try Masking Tape or Duck Tape. One of those would work.” I try to hide the look that I know is creeping all over my face. “Thanks that’s a really good idea.” I turn and walk away.

I may not be a freaking Martha Stewart, but I sure as heck know better than to stick a piece of duck tape on my body.

By the way, it’s called “Fashion Tape” and you can find it at your friendly neighborhood fabric store.

Sunday Night Surprise

Two things our society has embraced: Elvis and Viagra. Hence my excitement when I saw a TV commercial with an attractive older couple dancing to a rendition of “Viva Viagra.” Yes, in some land far away, where geniuses run amuck, someone coined the phrase Viva Viagra. But the fun doesn’t stop there. I noticed on the bottom of the screen, that the makers of Viagra warn about the complications that can occur if you take Viagra while taking nitrates for chest pains. Naturally that made me laugh, because of course I was reminiscing about the first time I saw Something’s Gotta Give. (Geez, what else would it have me reminiscing about?) And as an added bonus, the last words you see on the screen say “See our ad in Golf Magazine.” All in all, I give it four stars out of however many stars are used to rate ridiculous TV. commercials.

Don't Give Up Five Minutes Before the Miracle

This morning The Today Show aired one of the most feel good stories that I have seen in a long time.

A family’s father had just past away, when at the funeral the elderly widow begin to feel terribly ill. After the burial they rushed her to the emergency room, where one of her sons removed all of her jewelry, which happened to be of great sentimental value, and tied the belongings up in a plastic glove as to safeguard them for the duration of her hospital stay. The next day when others in the family asked about the jewelry, the glove was nowhere to be found. Realizing that not only had it been left at the hospital, but that it had also been thrown away, they met a custodian who was more than willing to go above and beyond. After contacting the waste management company responsible for the hospital’s garbage, the family and their newly found friend, Frank, set out to dig through the endless bags of waste. After six hours of digging through the vile trash, the family wanted to give up, but it was Frank who insisted they push on, saying, “Don’t give up five minutes before the miracle.” It was also Frank who pulled the glove out of the trash containing this family’s valuables.

During his interview on the Today Show, Frank was asked why he would go to such extreme links to help this family, whom he had no obligation. He simply responded that he, too, had lost his parents and wanted to help them in a time he knew was already so difficult. He wanted to do for them, what he would have wanted others to do for himself.

This is a beautiful reminder of the good that can be found in one another, even a stranger. A heart like Frank’s is truly touching. This man had no obligation to help these people, and in fact, his helping was probably one of the most selfless things he could have done. Sure, anyone can offer words of encouragement, but not only did this man go and spend six hours digging through garbage for this family, he was the one who encouraged them to push on. Had he not, the family would have forever gone without what they held precious to them and we wouldn’t have such a vivid reminder of what mountains a good person can move.

Don’t give up five minutes before the miracle; it's one of the more inspiring things I've heard in a long time.

A Week has Gone by

And I still don’t have much to report. The best thing about banking is all of the wonderfully celebrated holidays throughout the year, for instance Columbus Day. The banking community’s celebration of Columbus discovering America made for an excellent three day weekend, and fingers crossed, an excellent four day work week.

This weekend was phenomenal. Bailey’s first birthday party was fabulous, and I still stand amazed at how quickly they turn into smart miniature people. My weekend spent with family was just what the Dr. ordered.

Coming back to Lubbock I find myself in somewhat of a funk. I know that there are many things contributing to said funk, a few more heavy than the others, but what to do about it is where I stand perplexed. For one, I am beyond ready to move out of the tiny apartment that I have called home for the past four years. In essence, I just want to move and move away. I’ve outgrown it, and strangely enough, I mean that in a few senses of the word. I was hoping to possibly have a house before fall came upon us, but I don’t think that will be happening. Not to be a party pooper though, there are worse things than spending your favorite season in an apartment you’re so already well accustomed to. Let’s just hope that my crazy downstairs neighbors find a way to get along and cease the yelling that wakes me up in the middle of pleasant slumbers.

Usually I feel most rejuvenated in the fall. Oddly enough, it’s practically the only season that seems to inspire some sort of inner creativity within me. I find myself wanting to bake, decorate, arrange flowers, and why not, even find a way to make homemade potpourri. However, if I don’t find a shovel and dig myself out of the rut I’ve been in, fall will come and go and pay no attention to the one who loves it most. And I absolutely cannot have that. Way too important things are on the line. For instance, the McMillan family jack-o-lantern extravaganza (and I say family here, because at one point or another they’ll be forced to adopt me).

I think part of my funk is due to fall itself. With my favorite season comes good memories, and on most days those memories are like a nice afghan draped across your body as you lounge around. Not right now. Memories sometimes have a way of forcing us to deal with things we’ve been putting off. Ah, the sooner the better right?

So here’s to fall and for this downer of a blog I’ve written. It looks like I had something to say after all.

Only the Most Ingenious Marketing Ploy Ever!

“Eat all you want and lose weight! We couldn’t say it on T.V. if it weren’t true!”

Well, by all means, pass me the phone and my credit card (probably yours, too). And now that I know “it has to be true” if you hear it on an infomercial, don’t expect me to be out socializing, not when from the comfort of my own home I can be shopping for miracle weight loss drugs!

Birthday Smiles

Today my beautiful niece, Bailey, turned one. It was 365 days ago that I left work early and rushed to the Amarillo Hospital for her arrival. I was so excited and seeing my sister and the look on her face is something I will never forget.

That night spent with them in the hospital room was untouchable. As Dusty slept and my sister recuperated, I got to help with things such as burping the new little bundle of joy. She cuddled her red, newborn face into my neck and it was absolutely the perfect way to welcome her into the world. She was so sweet and so tiny, and so unlike anything I had ever seen. So here we are, one year later, and I can truly say that she is a blessing to our lives.

She is smart, so sweet, and absolutely breathtaking. It's amazing to see how fast she is developing. She's already a little person! So here's Happy Birthday to the most beautiful one year old any one has ever laid eyes on! And for the rest of you, a few more pictures that are sure to be a crowd pleaser!

I Kid You Not

My vacation spent in Vegas has left me blank in regards to blogging. Sure, I should have walked away with plenty to blog about, and oddly enough I did. The only problem is that if I don’t immediately write down my ideas, they seemingly vanish just as quickly as they came; I’m talking milliseconds, folks.

So to try and redeem myself for not posting a blog for weeks (apparently a blogger sine to some) I’m going to attempt and hit the highlights.

Things I Liked and Disliked about Vegas:

Seeing Cirque De Soleil’s Beatles Love show (like) – this is amazing, amazing! I highly suggest that anyone and everyone take a special trip out to Vegas just to see this show. My desire to meet and marry Paul McCartney is stronger than ever.

Sitting next to a foreigner who refuses to clap during the Beatles Love show (dislike) – How can you not be clapping? Really, no more explanation needed.

Seeing Celine Dion Live in Concert (like) – She ended with “My Heart Will Go On.” It was a beautiful moment for Titanic fans round the world.

Sitting Chairs Down from a Man with a Q-tip stuck behind his Ear during said Performance (like/dislike) – If this doesn’t exuberate class, what does I ask you? Hey, it’s like they say, you never know when you’re going to need a Q-tip in the middle of a Celine Dion concert.

Finding Said Q-tip on the floor as your exiting the theatre (dislike) – no further explanation needed.

Somewhat Grungy People Handing out Flyers for Nudy Women (dislike) – I know, I know, its part of what Vegas is all about. I just hate the clicking thing they do with them right as you pass by! Plus, but if you’ll excuse me Mr., your arm just grazed something of mine as you tried handing that flyer to someone on the other side of the street.

Debating with your Mother as to whether or not a Blue Star Covering the “Nip” can be Considered Nude (like) – No official ruling, but it was entertaining none the less.

Now on to the “I Kid You Not” portion of the blog:

As I had reached a point of my day, that I was so lazy I lacked the energy to channel surf, I flipped on the T.V. Guide channel. I figured that it would be easier for my eyes to tune in to a scrolling list of what was on, rather than muster up the energy required to continually punch the channel up button.

For all of you fellow “I’m too lazy to channel surfers,” you’ll note that the top half of the T.V. guide screen is reserved for bad programming, where has beens and never weres are hired to conduct interviews, etc. Kimberly Clarke (and no, I do not know her name because I watch American Idol) was interviewing would be contestants for the next season of AI. She asked one girl who was waiting in line to sing before the judges what was harder – Being in the army or Trying out for AI. The girl responded, “Oh this, definitely. It’s more never-wracking.”

I KID YOU NOT. (No additional sarcastic comments necessary)

Stay tuned – I’ll be posting a very special blog sometime this evening!

In a Faded Black Shirt

I went to the front of the church and became an official member of FBC! It’s a funny feeling joining a church, standing alone as an adult. The only church I’ve ever been a member of is the Baptist Church in Seminole. And even though I had been thinking about joining FBC for a couple of weeks now, as the invitation began to play I had last minutes jitters about things such as “I’m leaving the church I was baptized at,” and other things of that sort, but I can honestly say I’m happy with my decision. I had needed to find a church home and family for quite some time now, but had never made the plunge. After going to the worship service only for a couple of weeks, I started attending a Sunday school class last week and am really excited about it. I think it will be good for me to have a group of people that I can meet and fellowship with. About 15 of us went bowling last night, and I’m sure that none of you will be surprised to know that I am, without a doubt, the absolute worst bowler. Oh well, humility is one of life’s many good-humored lessons.

They Say it Happens...

But you don’t believe them.

We’ve all played the get to you know your neighbor, coworker, whatever by humiliating yourself and sharing with the world your most embarrassing moment. Time after time, I’ve heard the whole toilet paper stuck to the bottom of your shoe bit and I wasn’t buying it. Until….

It happened to me. I’m exiting the ladies room and happen to look over my shoulder to say hello to a coworker. She motions for me to stop, puts her hand on my shoulder, and points out that I have something stuck to my shoe. I look down and low and behold I do have something stuck to my shoe, but by “something” she meant toilet paper. She is so kind as to help me with the unsticking of my sticky situation, as I look for a trash can to throw away the evidence. Turns out that throwing away the evidence doesn’t really masquerade anything, when you realize that this whole scenario happened in front of the coffee shop windows. That’s right folks, if you’re going to embarrass yourself, you might as well have an audience; which is not a comforting feeling to have seeing as how I’m going on a company sponsored hunting trip this afternoon. Fingers crossed!

I Think it would have been Better had I Said.....

If I tell you something, will you keep it between the two of us? Rather than saying (to my only female coworker) "Can the two of us have a moment that we never tell anyone about?" The problem with me and my mouth is that 73% of the time I don't realize that I've just said something that is likely to haunt me for the rest of my days spent around that particular, tortured listener. No, I don't realize I've said something that could possibly be misconstrued until I see the look on their face. Which in this case was a mix between "I've just outed my coworker and she wants me!" Thursday!

The Randomness That Is...

A white mouse running across the road. And not just any road, a busy road in Lubbock. On my way home from a much needed Wal-Mart trip, I noticed a very peculiar looking piece of trash moving along the road in a funny manner. (I'm very observant like that - odd, but true) I then notice that this "piece of trash" looks somewhat, no exactly, like a white mouse and seems to be dodging traffic. Hence, the randomness that is a white mouse running across the road. I've seen a lot of things on a lot of roads, but never a white mouse. Oh! Which leads me to my second on-the-road story for the day. While I was in Seminole this weekend, I was driving with my Mom back to my parents house when something (once again) crossed my path. One might guess that it was a chicken, right? Right, because that is something totally normal to see on any 'ole plain-jane residential street. Goodnight all, although I'm nowhere near hitting the sack. I have $135 worth of groceries to put up. Yippee!

It's Not My Job

After my alarm went off for the fourth time and after hitting snooze again, I snuggled up in bed and began to think about my job. I like what I do. At this stage in the game for me, it’s challenging. I’m learning new things and I love it. I work with a great group of people and for the first time in a long time, I’m working towards something I really want to do. I like my job. This leads me to the conclusion, that it’s not my job that causes such disdain for my alarm clock. It’s not my job that makes me loathe having to get up so early and try to look professional. It’s not my job that has taken the fun out of making my coffee. No, my job is not to blame. Plain and simple, it’s my bed, my wonderful, cozy, snuggly, soft bed. It’s an easy diagnosis really – I like my job, I would just rather still be in bed!

Two Things I Feel Must be Discussed

1. The Bank’s elevators are a little less than safe.
2. Somewhere a security guard is laughing at me.

Let me explain.

Elevator doors, typically, are meant to open if something (i.e. a foot, purse, small child) is in their path. This is not a hard concept to follow. The elevator doors begin to close. A last minute would-be rider shoots a leg / arm out, directly in between the already closing doors. In a perfect world, not even so much perfect as it is safe, the doors open and said rider hops on and is whisked away to their desired floor. Not the case when you dare the elevators that I just got done dealing with.

I’m walking past them. Where am I heading? Back to my office, up one floor. The elevator dings, I have an inner-battle with myself and decide to be lazy, and take the elevator up one floor. The doors begin to close, I reassure myself that if I stick my foot in between the closing doors, that my foot’s presence will be detected, the doors will magically open just for me, and I can save myself 16 steps and ride to glory.

It goes more like this. I rush closer to the elevator, put my right foot at great risk and thrust it in between the doors. The doors, seemingly moving at a higher rate of speed, continue closing, resulting in me jerking my foot out of the way and making for one of the most narrow escape attempts ever.

I turn and head towards the stairs, kicking myself for being so lazy, only to notice the camera pointed directly at me that recorded the whole incident. Hence, somewhere a security guard is laughing at me. Both blogger and foot are recovering nicely.

Another Day, Another Dolla'

Dolla’ is gangsta for dollar. Yes, that’s right everyone, I am gangsta. Who am I kidding? The whole two people out there reading this blog knows that it couldn’t be further from the truth.

Today started out like any other Thursday, except I was lucky enough to be afforded the privilege of not attending loan committee. Those privileges come few and far between, so I was ecstatic at the notion of 30 extra minutes of sleep. (Of course 30 turned to 50 when I decided to wear my hair curly, but mentioning that isn’t really all that important)

So 50 extra minutes of sleep, lunch plans with the one and only Kayla McMillan, and the aspirations of what I would do with a three day weekend should have made for a delightful work day, right? This is where the interactive audience yells, “wrong!”

For whatever reason, let’s blame it on this past week’s lunar eclipse, someone totally peed in my cheerios first thing this morning. I was not a happy camper. I came to work and seemed to become aggravated with anyone who crossed my path. Even the sweet looking older lady who works in the vault seemed to burrow right under my skin. My irritability culminated on my lunch date, when I told Kayla to prepare herself – I was about to stab someone with my steak knife. I’m not generally a violent person, but sometimes there’s no better way to release a little bit of tension as just letting your frustrations be known by medium of steak knife.

That being said, everyone (again, all 2 of you) will be happy to know that I am in a much better mood. It’s 3:27 and in an hour and a half I will be well on my way to enjoying my Thursday evening. Cheers to all of you1

Why I Love Apartment Life

There is really nothing, and I mean nothing, like having your eyes peak open at 7a.m. on a Saturday morning to find that is it cloudy outside and the absolute perfect weather to sleep in. You snuggle back deep under your covers, roll over, and prepare for a couple of more hours of glorious, hard to come by sleep. And then it happens. At promptly 8a.m. the insane, orchestrated sound of every lawn care machinery known to man strike up their irritating chords. Why, oh why, is it absolutely necessary to weed eat, mow, leaf blow, whatever at 8a.m. on a Saturday morning? It's cruel. Just cruel.

And All Other Things of Nuisance to Women

Yes, I stole this blog and its entirety from Kayla, but once you read it I'm sure you'll see why. Enjoy a little peak into how we spend our work days...

The following dialogue took place between Jessica and I via email earlier this week:(*disclaimer… this is not G-rated, and possibly contains false information as well as sexist notions, please read (or don’t) accordingly)

Jessica: Hello Darling! I’m wearing my new scent of choice, but I can’t tell if it smells good or if it wears well throughout the day. Care to take a whiff?

Kayla: Well, I would love to help but my *sniffer is completely blocked. Perhaps if it is in better condition tomorrow?*This is in reference to me having a stuffy nose…

Jessica: Haha. I’m an idiot. =) Yes, perhaps another day that your little guy isn’t under the weather. Did I just say your nose was of the opposite sex?

Kayla: You did just refer to my nose as a boy. I will have to agree with that seeing as only something with a penis would cause a girl as much trouble as this sniffer of mine has.

Jessica: I would try and comment back to that, but what you just said was brilliant – pure genius!

Kayla: Don’t you know that this is why I call our *monthly visitor* George, rather than Aunt Flo like so many others do? It is because I feel that periods must have a penis. Nothing of female origin would dare cause another female that sort of agony. I mean, it was men who invented the bra, and pantyhose (I’m sure) and all other things of nuisance to women.

Jessica: High hells – oops, I mean high heels…Hmm. What else? There are tons of things I feel. And you are oh so right about calling *him* George. In fact, I think from now on I will do the same.

Kayla: I am SURE that a human with a penis was behind the concept of women shaving legs/underarms and the like. I mean, I do not like to have hair in those places, no doubt. However, I’m sure it didn’t bother women of generations past until some a-hole man decided we looked better without it. And now here we are, spending countless hours ridding ourselves of it. Never you mind that men don’t worry about it. They just go through life – day in and day out – letting leg and underarm hair grow and grow; and they sure as hell don’t ever have to worry about a bikini line. I mean, even the metrosexuals who trim *down there* don’t have to be concerned about going to the beach if they’ve gone a few days without grooming. Those huge, oversized board shorts cover it all up. Which leads me to another man-invented thing. Bikini’s – but that’s for another day.

Jessica: You are on a roll darling! And don’t even get me started pm everything else. Why is it that women must be obsessed with our hair? Products! Coloring! Cuts! New style after new style! All the while, guys were intended to look absolutely heavenly with nothing more than bed head? Why? It takes me hours to look the way I do, but I’m supposed to swoon over something that put no more thought into what he looked like than “which ball cap am I wearing today?” I could look hot with bed head too, but like you said, some a-hole man decided that it would be unacceptable to run around in this fashion.

Kayla: and make up, REALLY? Why must I paint on a face every day (well.. who am I kidding; I only wear makeup on the weekends) to impress a man who probably never even washes his? I must go through layers upon layers of foundation, powder, shadows and blushes, lipsticks and lipglosses, eyeliner, mascara; on and on and on and on – plus spend insane amounts of money on the crap. Meanwhile boys simply run a razor over the 4square inches of their beardline and call it done. I quit. I will become a man. It is as simple as that.

Jessica: Not to mention jewelry and nails?! Colored toenails, really? Yes, because that’s going to get me farther in life. Me man too!

Kayla: My only concern with being a man is the fascination that all males seem to have with their genitalia; and it’s from birth. Smallish men things play with their “junk” even before they know what it’s used for. All of this leads me to believe that because this equipment would be new to me, I would do absolutely nothing but play with myself for months on end, and I refuse to have that much contact with a penis. Refuse.

Jessica: Speaking of males, one just burped disturbingly loud in my office. Why is this acceptable? Why must we be prim, proper and polished when men remain to be piggish, pouty and pungent?

Kayla: Precisely. If I were to just belch right out loud here in the office I would be looked upon as trashy, low-class, rude, etc, while I’m sure whichever of the boy species burped in your office is being congratulated by the other boys for such a wonderful display of gas-release.

Like They have it Hard

Let me start by saying, I'm grateful that my coworkers thus far are in the dark as to the fact that this blog exists. Why? Not because I'm terrified of the pointing and laughter (Ok, that too), but because I fear that the title of this blog could spark some very inappropriate comments. That being said, I trust that everyone reading this is mature enough to stifle their laughter.

So I’m standing at the register of my friendly neighborhood EZ Mart purchasing some very unneeded delights, when a police officer walks in and heads straight to the men’s room. The cashier, complete with mullet, looks/glares at him and asks, “How’s it going?” The officer, unfriendly as he may have seemed, let out a partial sigh and said, “Oh, another 12 hour day.” After the cop was out of sight, the cashier looked back in his direction and then at me and scoffed, “Yeah, like he has it hard, riding around in an air-conditioned car all day.” Let me get this straight. He doesn’t have it hard, but you do? Last time I checked the EZ Mart was air-conditioned, semi-clean, and comes complete with gadgets of all sorts to pass the time. It’s not quite the dire conditions of a rice field that some people are grateful enough to work in. Or what about the guy who has to stand out on the road with a sign that says “Construction Next 10 Miles.” Have you ever thought about that guy? I know you’ve seen them before. I usually see them when I’m on the tail end of a road trip and seem to be in the middle of nowhere. Man, think about that. Having nothing to do for 8 hours, but making sure that you’re holding up a sign? Geez, talk about having it rough.

But back to the point of this blog. Yes, I know that there are “bad” cops. We’ve all seen the cinematic brilliancy of Training Day (and for those of you who think that I’m being serious with the term brilliancy will eventually get to know me better). But to make a comment like, “Yeah, like he has it hard” just seems so completely unfair to me. These men work crazy shifts, deal with crazy people, and are expected to come save your behind at the drop of a dime, yet, you’re going to throw attitude because he’s not thrilled about the thought of another 12 hour work day?

I don’t work 12 hours a day. The bank couldn’t afford me for that long. Ok, yes they could, but neither I, nor them would want me there for that long. Why? Because it makes for an insanely long work day and few people on God’s green Earth would want to do it. All I’m saying is that yes, working at a the EZ Mart may not be the most glamorous job, but it doesn’t necessarily give you a free pass to harass the local law enforcement – only a night of heavy drinking or an undeserved speeding tickets gives you that right.

There is no Rhyme or Reason

Let’s get down to the nitty gritty of my blog’s title. Yes, I am at this very moment sitting in a cubicle. However, said cubicle is much appreciated seeing as how it allows me to look at the blue sky and the home depot parking lot, in which I saw someone rolling a “j” (it was my first time – it’s imperative to share things like this) during my work day. I used to work in a basement, but that story will be told when I have another work day I need to kill. Conundrums? Not so much at this point in time, but when naming my blog it seemed to fit. Mainly because between the hours of 8-5 is when I spend obsessing about things that are going on in my life. Kayla, who convinced me to come to the “dark side” and start a blog, can attest to my obsessing, seeing as how 6 hours out of my 8 hours at work are spent emailing her about said conundrums. Wow. My first blog and I have managed to make myself seem obsessive and lazy? That takes talent, folks. For those of you reading this and who are possibly affiliated with a certain buffalo-oriented bank, rest assured that I do actually work (not that you should monitor my Internet usage to prove it); I just can’t help the fact that life behind a cubicle causes your mind to wander from time to time. So there you have it. Cubicle conundrums and beyond. God be with all of you who will now be subject to my random thoughts. Starting with: Conundrum is defined as a riddle in which a fanciful question is answered by a pun. Cheese and Rice – what have I gotten myself into?