Friday, November 27, 2009

Oh, the places you'll go!

Sometimes I think I’m being too hard on people and maybe they aren’t nearly as irritating and stupid as I assume they are.

Then I leave my house and all that logic goes down the shitter.

On the way to work today, some guy rolls up to me in one of those stupid monster trucks that’s really just a regular truck with HUGE tires, and shouts out his window, “Nice cigarette butt, lady!”

What the fuck, buddy?? I didn’t throw a damn cigarette butt out the window. I don’t even have any cigarettes in my car though people like this make me wish I did. Anyway, we were at a stoplight and once I manually rolled down my car window (which makes me look much less hardcore about everything), that’s exactly what I said to this asshole. Yeah. That probably wasn’t the smartest thing to do so I drove away really fast.

Then I get to work and this dumb broad that sits next to the woman who’s been coughing for two weeks straight, comes over to me while I’m taking a big bite out of an apple and says, “Wow. You like apples too? I LOVE THEM.”

OMG! We should be besties!

Seriously, I know very few people who hate apples so I’m thinking this one of the dumbest common denominators ever.

Once we got bast that INCREDIBLE coincidence, she says to me, “Am I the reason you’re bringing in your iPod now?”

Well dudes. I could nothing else but lay my head down on my desk and laugh.

I should’ve just said, “Yeah you are.” Because who would ask someone that? And like I’d really tell her?

Since coughing lady isn’t here today I decided to just lay it on the line. I said, “No. You’re not. Your neighbor is. The one who’s been coughing for two weeks. The coughing that makes me want to stab my own face.”

She said, “Ohhhhhh.” And walked away.

I’m pretty sure that was another case of “not the smartest thing to do.”

In other news, I want someone to buy me something fancy and expect something in return.

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

Mirror, Mirror, On The Wall...

For the past 1.5 weeks, the same coworker has been asking me if I have a “handheld mirror” she can use. She asks me this daily. And then asks everyone else around me.

WE ALL GIVE HER THE SAME ANSWERS. Because nothing has changed. There is no way in hell I am buying a fucking mirror just so I can tell her something other than, “NO I DON’T.”

Anyway, she’s here today and I’m pretty much the only one in the department. Apparently most people enjoy spending time with their extended families around the holidays? So, I’m just waiting patiently to be asked this same weird shit again. I’m going to pretend like I’ve never been asked before and then search all around in my desk for one before saying “No.”

I think if this continues, I WILL buy a mirror. I’ll still tell her I don’t have one, but then when she’s walking by, I’ll whip it out and use it quick. Maybe that’ll take care of it.

In other news, I need a vacation.

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

Well, my mailman must think I’ve really got problems.

And I suppose he’s right.

When I lived by myself in my little shitty apartment on Galloway Street, once upon a time, I had this very moody mailman. By moody, I mean, he used to leave notes in my mailbox (which I thought was against the law but anyway) that said shit like: “WHY DON’T YOU CLIP YOUR TREES. THEY ARE GETTING IN MY WAY.”

So I’m sure I made his day when I moved to the cool Putnam Apartments with Brad. He was still my mailman but at least there weren’t tree issues anymore. Or the “your sidewalk is full of snow and I won’t deliver your mail tomorrow” issues. Yeah. I didn’t shovel much back then. I was fat and lazy. Whatever.

Then I changed my last name when we got married and that apparently annoyed him. It made it “difficult” for him to keep it straight. Dude. If the first name is still “Jodie” and the address is the same, then maybe you can assume the mail is mine.

That’s just my crazy logic talking, I guess.

Even after all of this, I still left him a “USPS-approved” Christmas gift, and that asshole didn’t take it!

Well eventually we bought a house and moved the hell out of his “zone.” THANK GOD. I enjoyed uh….several months of postal bliss.

And now I’m baaaaaaaaaaack. With my maiden name. Plus mail still coming with my married name. From two forwarded addresses.

I’m pretty sure if Christmas cards never make it to me this year, it won’t be because they “got lost in the mail.” So if you don’t get one from me in return, it’s either because I never got yours or because I’m not sending them at all.

Friday, November 20, 2009

Yeah. So I have a few problems.

Well, most of my friends know I’ve got some OCD issues. But my OCD issues are largely of the “must have a plan for everything and do weird routine shit at certain times” variety. I’d call this the “regular garden variety” of OCD but that’s not true. I discovered back in my group therapy days that indeed. My problems are really fucking weird and not at all average.

Anyway. I’ve never had a problem with germs and the whole stereotypical “washing my hands a million times a day” thing. Which most people with “real” OCD don’t have anyway. But dudes. Guess what? I think I’ve developed a real problem with this after all. Now I can be a normal weirdo. Yippee.

It started while I was living with Mike. Straight-up; the health department would’ve shut that house done had they gone inside. It was not clean. And gross food sat on the counter for way too long. After awhile, I just stopped caring outwardly. But inside, I wanted to soak my entire person in hand sanitizer while I slept at night.

I hoped that once I removed myself from that situation things would go back to “Jodie eating stuff off the floor” but no. It hasn’t. Now I’ve got this dog to deal with. Twice I’ve caught him either grabbing food off my plate or licking the plate, and while I didn’t eat it, I’m sure some people would’ve. The one time he BARELY got to the plate before I yelled a string of obscenities in his direction. And then I threw it all away, minus the plate.

To compound the issue, his owner lets him lick his fingers. I find this distressing.

AND THEN, I’m pretty sure 90% of my coworkers are sick right now. The combination of germs floating around mixed with the gross noises has just become too much. I cannot take one more fucking uncovered-mouth cough or nose-sniff. GET A DAMN TISSUE.

I asked one of my co-workers if they needed a tissue. Because they were sniffing uncontrollably for about five minutes during a meeting. And they just said, “No. Why?”


Well, you're not going to believe this...

but yes you will.

I had to run into Mega Foods on a break earlier today. Associated Bank happens to have an office there and this happens to be the branch I’ve used for things like…oh. Updating my marital status, name-change, and recent move. Of course, as I’ve mentioned, the same broad has helped me with all of this bullshit. Which has gotten on my nerves because now she apparently knows me as “divorced lady.”

Today, I walked into the grocery store and the bank is doing some lame promotion where you spin the wheel and win a “prize.” Yeah. Right.

Anyway, as I walked past this same broad who’s helped me in the past, she says, “Hi, Jodie! Are things working out okay for you?”

Seriously. At what point can we move past the whole “divorced thing”, at least far as she’s concerned? This is just like losing a bunch of weight and forever being the “girl who lost a bunch of weight.” At some point it’s nice to just be some random girl of average weight and height. LET ME BE THAT GIRL.

Which reminds me. I was at an administrative meeting for work a few weeks ago and this old lady that’s been there since my employer has been an employer, says to me, “Do you remember when you were heavier than you are now? Man. You sure were a lot heavier then.”

Yeah. I do remember that. Thanks. I wanted to ask her, “Do you remember when you tried losing weight too but instead gained another 20 lbs? Man. You can’t hide much when you’re 4’10.”

In other news, my grandparents called to tell me they’re moving. Again. They call me every few months and tell me this same bullshit. Nothing ever comes of it so I finally just said, “No. You aren’t.” My grandma hung up on me.