Will Work For Smile?

What happens when you’re exiting the freeway and what appears to be a destitute wanderer is asking for spare change and a smile via a crumpled square of a previously discarded Pabst Blue Ribbon box? You may examine his ripped jeans and trucker hat with quick glances and conceive what his life story must be. You may ask yourself questions like, “how could this have happened? Or “I wonder where he is from?” “Where is his family?” And then when you inadvertently make that uncomfortable eye contact, you feel like you owe him an explanation as to why your window isn’t descending and your hand isn’t filled with the 37 cents you scraped from your car’s sticky cup holder.

And that’s when we all do it (I thought it was just me until I was driving with my friend Julia last week and she did it too. So if the both of us do it, obviously everyone does.). We offer him an apology and answer by speaking out loud to ourselves. “I’m sorry Sir, but I can barely afford my own rent.” While it is usually obvious that the drifter is struggling with life’s strains much more than us, as indicated by the fact we even have rent to pay, we still feel guilty if we can’t offer him an inaudible explanation. “Sorry sir, I only have a few bucks for the necessities; laundry detergent, shampoo and a cold beer.”

Recently I saw a travelling man holding a sign that said, “If nothing else…SMILE!” I’m sorry, but I don’t feel comfortable offering you an empty, cheerful smile knowing life has you in a really low place right now because if the tables were turned and you smiled at my dilapidated soul, I’d be pretty f’ing irritated. So until I can come up with a better alternative, I will stick with the verbal explanation to myself.

Pothole Ponderments

This morning I find myself pondering…What’s worse? Minor potholes in the road or the uneven, car-quaking, tar/cement blend that gets poured over them? Can’t these city workers at least attempt to flatten the “improvement” and merge it with the rest of the road? So instead of my front wheels dipping into a road crevice, they chaotically lift one side of my car and then violently plummet it back to earth as if I’m suddenly part of the Universal Studios King Kong ride. My current means of transportation, The Taurus, is eligible for discounted meals at Denny’s, meaning it’s old (and could show up in its pajamas at 2pm to order the SuperBird and nobody would care) and very vulnerable to damage and I’m pretty sure these pot hole manipulations aren’t helping its joints and muscles. These annoyances are “fixed” but the outcome isn’t an improvement. Pothole Fillers…is it too much to ask that when you fill a pot hole to maybe take a bit more pride in your work and level it off so that we aren’t trading a pit for a peak? Even if you used a tree branch that another city worker cut down and left on the nearby grassy median...that branch was only going to cause destruction to a car avoiding a Pothole or Potheap anyways.

Will Work For Nothing

Question: Would you like to know which life theory is a giant slice of bullshit?
Answer: The one about relationships being hard work.

“If you want this relationship to work out, it’s gonna take a lot of hard work”. How many times has some seemingly well-informed soul unleashed this piece of mendacity onto your struggling self? We are taught to invest in this sordid lie and then we waste our time “working” at making our doomed relationships something we have dreamed up in our mind as amazing that the other party, or possibly even our own self, is not capable of. If two beings can’t be rational and understanding, all the work in the world is a hopeless effort at making these relationships something they will never be.

Question: How do I know this?
Answer: Because we participate in functional relationships every day. They are called friendships and they are easy.

If a relationship with a significant other takes so much work, why are relationships with friends so easy, and uncomplicated, and fun and filled with love and acceptance? Is it because we aren’t banging our friends? Are we supposed to believe that sex is the originating source for all the hard work? I don’t believe it.

When we love someone we are willing to put in hard work, we actually want to work, because we want the relationship to work. But love is not enough to sustain a healthy relationship. You can genuinely love someone endlessly and it still does not mean a partnership will ever be successful.

I don’t want to “work” at a relationship, I’m not going to and why should anyone have to? Relationships of love should be as easy as relationships of friendship. The right relationships should be easy and natural and shouldn’t require any more work than it does to maintain a friendship. I don’t have the time, the emotional threshold, the patience, or the telepathic power to make something difficult into a lifetime of struggle. It should be the ease of your best friend with the bonus of sexual desire.

“The WRONG relationships take hard work.” This is the piece of wisdom we should be sharing with eachother.

Energy Stink

Two weeks ago I applied for a part-time job handing out samples of a new energy drink to the masses who shop at Costco on Saturday mornings. I had to include a photo of myself, so naturally I picked one where I thought I looked good. They never contacted me. Fuck my life.

Seriously…am I not hot enough to hand out Dixie cups filled with some soily tasting, unnaturally fizzy, orange liquid to older couples in matching overalls that travel to Burbank in hopes of finding 62-pound tubs of Folgers? Perhaps in the picture I chose I wasn’t showing a psycho clown smile like I had been downing this particular brand of crack for your heart for the past 72 hours. I mean, I can wear paper gloves, an apron and a hairnet and look pretty attractive, so how was I not chosen?

My photo and resume say that I am pleasant, I have retail experience, I’m intelligent, college-educated, and my hair alone would have sent a decent percentage of these bulk-loving shoppers lunging at inconsumable cases of eight ounce cans of liquid alloy. Not to mention, I am extremely talented at pouring liquid into cups, standing on my two feet, and my diction is absolutely sensational when announcing, “Would you like to try this new energy drink called “Oxidized Jitters”?

If anyone has a Costco membership and would like to scout out the Sample Hander Outers, I would love to go on a Saturday. I’d be very intrigued to see who they picked and how well they can pour 2 ounces of liquid shit with a brainless name like “Grape Illusion Gorilla Lightning” into a tiny cup because I can do it on one foot, blind-folded and still look pretty hot (that's what I was told the last time I was blind-folded and only had the use of one foot) ...I should really also pick up a triple-bottle package of the 64-ounce Heinz ketchup bottles.

5 Things That Make Me Happy:

1. Daylight Savings Time: The extra hours of daylight after 6:00 p.m. make me really happy. The bonus sunshine tricks my mind into thinking I am leaving work early so it inspires me to run errands, enjoy an evening hike, or visit a local happy hour spot with outside seating. It automatically re-energizes me when I leave work and see the sun compared to a night in December when 6 p.m. can feel like midnight.


2. Shoes: I know, I know. It sounds so small-minded and materialistic but I love shoes, I can’t help my love for shoes, and I’ve learned to not feel guilty about this deep and true love. The happiness I feel upon a new purchase is instantaneous and uncontrollable. I love how shoes can either complete a look or be the starting point where you can build an entire outfit around the shoe. Shoes make me so happy that I am currently bouncing up and down in my seat at just the thought of a new gold strappy sandal…what? My closet needs a replacement pair.


3. Live Concerts: In the moments I am witnessing one of my favorite performers sing live, I am so happy. It is amazing to see someone you admire for their talent, perform the songs you choose to listen to everyday. It is also an incredible feeling to see and hear thousands of people sing the same song at once. I can remember last year I saw The Killers at the Hollywood Bowl and during one of their songs, I looked back at the enormous crowd and it was like everyone that was there at that moment forgot about all of their worries and were just singing along and enjoying the moment. It was a very powerful and emotional moment.


4. Cooking for friends: I always enjoy the company of my friends. What in life could make you happier than being surrounded by people you can laugh and identify with? I have recently learned I am a pretty good cook so I often cook dinner for my friends. Cooking for myself isn’t as fun, I view it more as a task, but to prepare a nice meal for a couple of good friends and enjoy it with some good laughs, wine and reality tv…I can’t think of a happier evening.


5. When my favorite sports teams win: I am the happiest person alive when the Cleveland Cavaliers pull out a huge victory, especially during the playoffs. I have been known to stand up in booths at bars with my hands in the air for hours after the winning basket has been made. My smile becomes permanent and my cheeks hurt if the Dayton Flyers or the Cleveland Indians win a crucial game. With that being said, NBA playoffs start this week and that makes me so incredibly happy to know that exciting playoff basketball will be on almost every night for 40 days! Let's go CAVS!

So....what 5 things make you happy?

Women's Worst Enemy = Other Women?

I once read an article about how men in the workplace will frequently hire other men without feeling any sense of competition and then guide them along their career path, support them, teach them and go out of their way to act as a mentor. The article went on to say how often, women won’t hire other women, especially if attractive, because they feel threatened and there is an instant unfriendliness amongst women. Therefore, women aren’t willing to help their own kind which further holds back our gender. I think this is horribly sad. Women, are we holding eachother down?

I recently mentioned this to a girl friend who disagreed. We discussed how we embrace our female friendships and welcome new ones into our lives. We enjoy meeting new women, especially in the work place where this small group of people we see every weekday and share a good amount of our lives with, become like a second family. We welcome women who can enjoy low-maintenance laughs, cold beers, Bachelor premeire nights, and more than one bite of a baked good. But the article said we are the minority.

I have more than once been the victim of girl-on-girl work crime. At my first job out of college, an older woman tried to tell HR I was dressing inappropriately. My work clothes at that time consisted of mostly black and grey pants, button down shirts, sweaters, and a few skirts- boring, but colorful. I was living in Cleveland where it is Winter eight months out of the year, where even if I wanted to wear revealing clothing, I couldn’t because my body would be covered in mini icicles. Furthermore, I was too insecure about my post-college body to ever dress inappropriately. Perhaps it was my wardrobe’s lack of taupe trousers and charcoal-colored wool that made it seem too unsophisticated. There was an incident where this female co-worker pulled up my sweater closer to my neck and tried to tell me my bra straps were showing and warned me as if I was a child “we don’t dress like this at an office.” I told her it was a camisole and I’d never have my bra straps showing at the office. Additionally, this sweater was from The Limited, where they are hardly known for their raunchy clothing.

In an office of seven people, she went to our HR/Office Manager who didn’t agree with her claim but said she would bring it up with our president. He also found her claim unjustified. I later found out this woman had inner struggles with her appearance since childhood and always hid behind a tough, “I’m smart, I don’t have to be pretty” hard, exterior. I never once viewed her as unattractive or judged her by her appearance. She was quite humorous, she had good stories, she was smart, she was independent, she was athletic, she did her job well, and she did volunteer work on the side.

So were her personal issues of self hate just manifesting themselves into a bogus outrage at my appearance because I was young with long, amazing hair? Was this a true case of girl-on-girl work crime?

In recent years, although completely unconfirmed, I heard she had some minor procedures done, i.e. botox injections, and she got breast implants. So what is my response to that? More power to her. I never judged her on the size of her breasts to begin with so as long as she feels better about herself, she should walk tall and proud…in a strapless, bright fuchsia halter top…and all the other women of the world should cheer her on.

unWANTED: SERRANO CHILES

Beware of the Serrano Chile. If at all possible, avoid ever touching these small, shiny, green pieces of flaming hell.

Last night as I was preparing a tasty pineapple salsa to garnish these delicious teriyaki porkchops I was grilling, I needed to dice just one of these fiery devils to add to the salsa. I chopped one, added it to the mix, and continued on to chop a red bell pepper, my pepper ally in this unfortunate incident. I then started chopping some cilantro when it felt as if I may have slightly sliced my index finger, but i looked down to see no knife damage. Thirty seconds later my thumb started feeling the same symptoms yet there wasn’t even a slight abrasion. I then realized that the Serrano chiles are fierce. More fierce than Tyra Banks making fierce faces to demonstrate to a non-fierce America’s Next Top Model contestant how to be fierce. I washed my hands multiple times but the burn was quite established at this point and it became apparent that Mr. Serrano is to be dealt with like the possible pregnant frogs you dissected in 9th grade- carefully, with rubber gloves, goggles, a knife, and a possible partner.

Five hours later after my smoldering finger-tips were starting to feel relief, I got ready to retire for the evening, which always includes removing my contacts. I had no issues last night but this morning as I attempted to insert these floppy discs into my eyeballs, it was as if I inserted a flaming hot cheeto instead. My eyeballs have never felt such an intense burn. I rushed to remove the contacts but the sensation just got worse, as if now someone was squirting Tapatio into my iris. Those stupid peppers, that should come with a Surgeon General’s warning, somehow attached their hellish heat rays to my contacts! So much for that new pair of contacts I just opened three days ago. I washed my hands another 22 times and tried again with a new pair…and HOW is it possible my one eyeball is still slightly feeling the wrath? Serrano chile…you can go back to hell…where you apparently came from.

Egg-strordinary

I don't understand the rule behind the splitting of a carton of eggs in half and only purchasing six eggs. Is this an unspoken but legal grocery store action? Because I don't need a dozen eggs, I am only one person (if we were talking mini twix bars, then yes, I may need a dozen). I often see a half carton of eggs just sitting there and figure someone only needed six eggs so they split the carton in half with their pocket knife and only purchased half. But you're allowed to do this? Where is this rule written down? And how does the check-out person ring up a half dozen eggs if they are priced for twelve?

It's not like you can just do this with any food. Cue Steve Martin in 'Father Of The Bride' where he wants to buy just eight hot dog buns to go with his eight hot dogs but the buns are only sold in packs of twelve so he decides to remove four buns from the package so he doesn't have to pay for them, but we all know this isn't how it works. So why does it work with eggs? Can someone please egg-splain?