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terribleturnip

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Friday Notes [Aug. 7th, 2009|08:44 am]
terribleturnip
In August, Fridays here are known as Denim Days. Normally we have one day a month where we're allowed to "buy" the right to wear jeans by donating a minimum of $5 to a chosen charity. I, of course, being the terminable fashion-loser that I am, struggle one Friday a month, since I only own, you know, actual blue jeans -- Levi's, etc, not the fasionable kind so every month, right before the day arrives, I think "damn, I really have to go out there and buy some jeans that don't look like I'm dressing for a day mending fences." But it's too late by then. And then I struggle with what to wear on top, since I'm the t-shirt queen and that's not appropriate and I really need to get my butt out there and get some short-sleeve non-t-shirt shirts. That are kind to my current "oh, hey, ten extra pounds, THERE you are. You're back. Like a shiftless son who can't keep a job and wants to live in my basement" state. A shirt that doesn't have a grease stain on it. A shirt that, while it fit beautifully when I first got it, after one or two washings, has shortened itself to expose the aforementioned shiftless ten pound son, who's taken up residence on my belly and hips.

So really, I would be just as happy wearing what I usually wear to work -- some variation on Chico's Blackwear. Which is easy to match and feels like I'm wearing sweatpants, but actually makes people think I've lost weight.

So, stressing out over what to wear and then wearing it...and it's less comfortable. This is so NOT a treat for me. BUT, I am familiar enough with corporate life to know that it's vital to be a TEAM PLAYER. And I buck enough here, so I quietly saddle up with the denim once a month.

But in August, they're FREE days, which means there's no charity involved -- which is supposed to be even more of a treat for us. Except for me, who's sitting here in jeans that are creasing and folding at my waist, binding around my bad knee, a shirt that I don't think I look good in, sandals that expose my self-applied kindergarten skill level pedicure and to make it EVEN worse...because they are FREE days, the social committee has decided to liven things up by making each Friday a THEME. (Uh, that nails on blackboard sound? Sorry, that was my brain.)

This week's theme is "cultural heritage/diversity". You have no idea how close I came to wearing lederhosen. What the hell, how am I supposed to wear jeans, a not-t-shirt, and show cultural heritage? Pearls for the WASP in me? Carry a tankard of Beer for the German and the Dane?

Thank goodness, I actually found that I own a white porcelain pin depicting a longship, that says "Denmark". Ha!



A study shows that when women are eating at the same table as men, they eat less. Less than when they sit with one man. Even less when they sit with a group of men. So, I need volunteers so that for each food opportunity in my day, I've got a stable full of them.

Nah, who am I kidding? I did that once, in high school, on a double date (blind for me), at the Ground Round, although truthfully it was as much peer pressure, since the other girl ordered a salad. And I sat there and watched those two guys dig into big, juicy delicious burgers and fries and I ate a freaking bowl of lettuce. Screw it. I'm a woman of hearty appetite. In all things. If a guy can't handle that, right out of the gate, then he can't handle it and there's no sense in prolonging things.

However, there are other merits in having a table full of men to eat with. Note to self: explore.

A co-worker asked the other day "do baby cows come out of the same hole on a cow as our babies on us?" Which floored me in so many ways. I mean, college-educated, over 25 years old and really, do you REALLY not know this? I know she's a little pampered and fairly urban, and not an animal person in any way shape or form...but really? Do you not know that with a few odd exceptions, mammals all have the same...er, holes, used for the same purpose? I restrained my inner crabby old lady and did not say "what the hell are they teaching you in school?"

"uh, yeah, same "hole" as us. Unlike birds, who only have a cloaca, which is one hole for everything, incoming and outgoing." Wow, why would I know that, she asked? I swallowed all my smart-ass and answered "Farm girl." Because really, as much fun as I'm poking at her, I do have respect for people who, upon realizing they don't know the answer to something, will just ask.

Speaking of holes, one of my favorite bloggers, Andrew Bernardin wrote an interesting post on eating/survival: http://evolvingmind.info/blog/

And he coined a phrase that I am in love with: "Stuff your pie-hole or die" and I think I may have to open up a restaurant, just so that THAT can be my tagline. And Andrew could always eat free.

I treasure his blog because he's so good at writing short posts that leave you thinking. Thoughtful posts. An antidote to my addiction to blogs that are all about the mean.

And it's funny, because I have no idea who this guy is. Never met him, know nothing except what he's written, and yet in my head I have a fondness for him. A total stranger. I would gladly have him over for dinner, this total stranger, invite him into my home, because, based on reading some blog posts, I think he must be a cool, thoughtful, interesting, and gentle man.

And I, as an amateur actor, part-time BS artist, full-time which-role-am-I-playing-today person should KNOW that I could well wind up chopped into bits and stuffed into my own freezer. Just because I'm WISYWIG, doesn't mean everyone else is.

But filled with pessimism, suspicion about everything, I seem to jauntily lack it at times. I mean, we all (don't we?) have grasped that the word "friend" on the intrawebs has come to mean "person who knows me and perhaps I know them". And yes, some of you would tell me, well, don't "friend them back" if you don't actually know them. Except really, I may WELL know them. Hell, I can barely remember my own name. Sometimes everyone looks familiar to me. Other times, no one does. And I'm too much of a WASP to risk offending someone just because I was halfway through a keg of hard cider when I met them -- and at my most social, and probably memorable to them, but with my brain input totally devoted to "manage gravity, don't slur."

What is it about blogging that makes you feel that you're actually friends with the writer? Is it their skill, or our need? Wil Wheaton, http://wilwheaton.typepad.com/, is another blogger I follow and again, I don't KNOW him. But reading his posts, I think, "gee, he'd totally fit in with my cadre." Another "hey, I'm flying my geek flag proudly." Yet, obviously a caring individual and someone who will share his mistakes, his inner dorkiness. A soulbrother. Again, this strange fondness, protectiveness I feel for a total stranger. Andrew, Wil -- I know these guys only through their writings and I would get in a bar fight for them.

Of course, you guys know me enough to know...hey, any excuse for a bar fight!
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Comments:
[User Picture]From: thatliardiego
2009-08-07 02:50 pm (UTC)
I like the fact that where you finished is a completely different place from where this post began.
(Reply) (Thread)
[User Picture]From: macdobhran
2009-08-07 02:58 pm (UTC)
I'm still looking at a map of Wyoming and trying to figure out which way is Albuquerque.
(Reply) (Parent) (Thread)
[User Picture]From: skivee
2009-08-07 04:53 pm (UTC)
Albuquerque is right over there. Next to the hole that baby cows come from.
(Reply) (Parent) (Thread)
[User Picture]From: ferlonda
2009-08-07 10:46 pm (UTC)
Hey, let's go out for steak!
(Reply) (Thread)