Real, live letters to Santa

Don't ask me how I got these. I'm sure that I'll get fired for posting them. (Which means you didn't have to ask me at all. You just had to wait for me to say I GOT THEM AT WORK.)







Piggy Smalls. Come on, that's good stuff right there.

12

An unimpressive list on a most impressive day. Sorta.

I couldn't possibly let such a significant milestone go by with only a short tweet to commemorate. And, yes, "short tweet" is redundant.

Today, peeps, is 12/12/12. And not only that! It's my 12th anniversary. At work, that is. We all know I won't be seeing a 12th wedding anniversary any time soon.

A lot has happened in the last 12 years. Since I was a wee babe of just 18. With my whole life ahead of me. And with that lead in, I present to you 12 Significant and Not-So-Significant Moments From the Last 12 Years on My 12th Anniversary on the 12th Day of the 12th Month of the 12th Year.

(2012th year just didn't sound as good.)

1. Started a job. My first real, adult job.

2. Met a guy and lost my V card. (Yes, I just used the term "V card." How mature am I?)

3. Moved. And not just out of my parents house (but, yeah, that too) (God, those were the days) but away away. Like 8 hour drive away.

4. Got a tattoo.

5. Got married.

6. Moved again, this time back to my home town, and had cats.

7. Started a blog. (Moved blogs. Stopped blogging. Started again. Moved again. And again. Blah blah blah.)

8. Read Twilight and was never the same.

9. Got divorced. (This could easily be significant moments 6-12 all on its own.)

10. Joined Goodreads and read some books. And read some more. And spent way too much money on said books. I freaking love to read.

11. Started a list of 12 significant moments of my adult life and realized I couldn't come up with that many significant moments. And was sad.

12. Contemplated the meaning of life and the meaning of me being in a job, that was not and still is not supposed to be my career, for such a long period of time.

13. Realized I have no interest in delving into such a deep, potentially (likely) depressing topic that would require me to look at myself and all the things I've done wrong over the last 12 years and The End.

Still... 12 on 12/12/12. It's worth buying a lotto ticket on the way home.

Undeniable by Madeline Sheehan

Not really a review 'cause I don't really say anything nice about it except that it's really, really good.



I have a problem. And, no, this isn't, thank goodness, another post about blogging. (Although it might turn into a post about comma abuse.) (Which can be a serious problem.) No, I have a problem with poorly designed book covers. All that swirly text... and in all caps no less. It's painful to look at. (I'm an e-book reader, hence no covers. Still.)

So, I did something kind of embarrassing and, well, just fixed it a little. IT'S NOT A BIG DEAL.



I mean, it's still practically the same! It's just... well, it's better, okay? There. I said it. Of course, one person's "better" is another person's "not so much," but to them I say YOU'RE WRONG.

Anyway, I just finished reading this book. And I wanted to write some sort of something about it, but I just kept getting stuck on all that ugly. (Yeah, the crazy really has taken over.)

This book, though... holy fuck, was it ever hard to read. Entertaining as hell, but painful. Heartbreaking. Gross. Infuriating. And a whole bunch of other adjectives. I should have known better. The reviews all told me how gritty and dark and disturbing it was, but did I listen? Of course not.

And I gotta admit it. I thoroughly enjoyed myself. Then again, I'm not easily offended by cursing, name-calling, cheating, rape, etc... in books, that is. Real life? Well, I'm still not offended by the cursing, but those other things? Yeah, I could probably get my panties in quite a twist over most of it. Especially the rape. Yes, rape. (Did I mention this book was painful to read at times?)

It's a love story... just a really fucked up one. And, like, the hero and heroine? They're both totally fucked up, too. And so is their lifestyle. And all their friends. And the whole time you're thinking about how fucked up everyone is! But you can't stop reading 'cause it's just so good.

Dumbest quote of the book that I actually highlighted so I'd remember to share 'cause it made me scoff and roll my eyes: "Watching Deuce orgasm was absolutely beautiful. Aurora Borealis kind of beautiful." To which I say, chick, no man's "o" face is that awesome.

Pitch Perfect

I went to see Pitch Perfect last night at the dollar theater. Again. (Even though it was kinda late and the dollar theater is kinda ghetto and I'm kinda nervous about being mugged or worse there.) Leaving, I had an idea to make a list of all the best worst movies I love. I think I was confused by all the singing and dancing which tends to be prime "best worst movie" material, but then I caught myself thinking again about how much I freaking loved it and finally realized that the most awesome movie ever doesn't belong on a "best worst" list. It belongs on the best movie ever list which wouldn't even be a list 'cause it'd just have this one movie. I tend to be a bit of a sucker for singing and dancing. Throw a love story into the mix and I'm sold. Yeah. I know. I'm easy. That's when my all consuming love of this movie just plain ruined the best worst movie list idea. The end.

Once more with feeling.

I believe everyone is in possession of some obsessive-compulsive tendencies. Some worse than others. Some padded cell worse than others. I'm not sure where on the severity scale mine fall, but I do know that they all seem to come out through my blog. The name, the appearance, the posts themselves. It's something that's gotten progressively worse the longer I blog.

It's the reason for all the moves, all the changes. It's the reason I quit blogging. It's the reason I decided to not quit blogging. It's the reason I decided to start over. Hence the deletion of all content. (Yes. Deleted.) It's pretty much the cause of of all my angst. Okay, not all (I have a lot), but most. I've let what was supposed to be fun completely ruin my life. (And apparently cause me to be completely over-dramatic.)

So, I'm starting over. This is post one. This is me throwing caution to the wind. This is me holding both middle fingers up in the air with a sneer to rival Johnny Cash and saying "fuck you, world!" Although I'm not sure why it calls for the double-finger salute. Or the F word. But trust me. It does.

I want to have fun blogging like I did when I first started. I want to not care if my posts are perfect (which they're not) or if people will love them (which they may or may not). I just want to have fun. (And be repetitive at will.) (And abuse parenthesis.)

This is the one and only time I'm going to talk about blogging. As soon as I hit publish, I'm letting go of all the angst. (Well, not all. I live at home with my folks after all.) I'm going to loosen up, have fun, and just write. Silly stuff. Serious stuff. Stuff about books (of which I read dirty nasty ones) and weight loss (of which I need to participate) and whatever else strikes my fancy (of which I'm not even sure what a "fancy" is).

I'm going to take my own advice and Just. Fucking. Relax. And maybe pop a Xanax to help me do so.

About

My name is Stephanie. Welcome to my blog. Or welcome back. I started blogging back in 2008. Back then I was at a little piece of the internet called "chocolate and whine." Cute, huh? My BFF thinks so, too. I believe his exact words were "that's way better than Stephanie Harsh." Asshole. I moved a few times for various reasons, but mostly because I'm never happy, and here it is, 2012, and I'm still not happy.

But that has little to do with where I blog and more to do with where I live. Which is at home. With my parents. Which is horrifying at any age, but at 30? I'm crying myself to sleep and popping Xanax like something you pop frequently.

I live with my parents because I'm divorced. Yes, I'm 30 and divorced and bitter to boot. And I'm broke. Hella broke. (Do people still say "hella?") Mostly I'm broke because of credit cards the devil made me use. And also I'm broke because I'm saving every. fucking. penny. to move out. This doesn't stop me from going out too often with my best pal.

I like vodka tonics and lemon drop martinis and I like to snack when I'm drinking which means I spend too much money at the bars and I'm, well, fat. Yes, I'm a fatty. I wasn't always fat. I was fat and then I was thin for a little while and now I'm fat again. Which means weight loss blog posts are in both our futures. And let's admit it. We need another weight loss blog like we need another... blog.

I have a positive outlook on life while being incredibly negative at the same time. I use the F word too often. I drink Starbucks daily. I read terribly nasty novels. But also some very sweet young adult novels which totally cancels out the dirty nasty. I'm a Twihard. I procrastinate like a champ. And I spend most of my time working for a company that is so not in my career plans. I've been there for twelve years.

I hate black licorice, candy corn and believe the only good that comes from olives is the fun one can have when one puts them on their fingertips and pretends one is an alien. Also, I abuse parenthesis, quotation marks, and exclamation points. Let's have some fun.

Creeper.

I went to the library tonight. I even checked out a few books. (A habit my wallet only hopes I'll maintain.) I've been to this particular library before. Once. I wrote the post "how to start a novel" while I was there. Walking in, I was totally taken aback to that first visit. You see, I'm the kind of person who hates not knowing what I'm doing or where I'm going. It took me a long time to understand this about myself, but now I know. I rely on the buddy system. Unfortunately I didn't have a buddy the first time I went to this particular library. But it's a library! What could go wrong? Not wanting to look like a complete newb, I walked in and made an immediate right. I just wanted a place to sit, settle, and blend in. I quickly found a table and did just that. Twenty minutes later, after settling and, you know, taking in my surroundings, I realized my mistake. I was sitting in the children's section. Suddenly it all made sense why the desks and chairs seemed so small. I sat there for several more minutes... just so it would appear that I meant to sit there all along. Then I fake looked at my wrist like I was checking the time and made like I was late for ANYTHING. (FYI, I don't wear a watch.) Tonight I walked straight to the information desk. I asked the nice librarians, "could you please point me in the right direction?" and they did just that. Sometimes I'm amazed by what acting like a mature adult can accomplish.

Bombs.

I work with a lady who Starbucks bombs me on a regular basis. And this wouldn’t be a bad thing (it would be a freaking fantastic thing) if I actually liked her. But I don’t. In fact, I despise her with a passion the likes of which I’ve never in 30 (whole years!) experienced. I hate this woman so much that even when she manages to slither in and sneak a Starbucks my way I DON’T WANT IT. Me! Not want Starbucks! Not want a perfectly made toffee nut latte! CAN YOU IMAGINE!? That is how much I detest this woman.

A Starbucks bomb is a Starbucks drink that appears, almost magically, from out of nowhere. And normally you’d think how amazing is THIS! because when does anything ever just appear? Especially something that you love beyond reason or common sense. (If I had any sense I’d stop spending my hard-earned money- I mean, earned money on frickin’ coffee.) But then you realize where- er, who it came from and suddenly it's the most disgusting thing ever created. You'd rather drink puke beer. (Whatever you do, don't click on that link. It's a horrible, disgusting video, but it was the only way I could make you understand how much I loathe this woman. I'd rather drink puke beer.)

Okay, clearly you need an example. I'll give you two. And then I'll actually get to the point. (You're welcome.)

Example #1. A couple of weeks ago, I get to work, get settled, and start to, well, work. Or, you know, whatever it is I do here. An hour in and it's time for Starbucks. My coffee is delicious! I enjoy it immensely! Then I'm done and I throw it away. A little while later, there's a Starbucks cup sitting near my elbow. I think that's strange. Didn't I throw that away, like, an hour ago? I assume I didn't and I pick up said cup to do just that when, whaddya know! IT'S A WHOLE NEW DRINK! She never said a word. I didn't even know she left the room! I'm pretty sure she's psychotic.

Example #2. Last week we set up a satellite check-in desk in one of our ballrooms. Me and a few other people were out of the office and stationed there for the day. I'm doing my thing, talking to people, offering my expert assistance and generally being a superstar as is the norm when I glance to my left and find a Starbucks gift card. I turn to a coworker and ask, "where did this come from?" To which he replies, "Stephanie brought that a few minutes ago."

(Yes, her name is Stephanie. Just. Like. Mine. The universe is having a good laugh over this. That asshole.)

Peeps, this was no easy feat! Here, I'll show you. The ballroom we were in was approximately 10,000 square feet. (That's not an exaggeration.) It looks like this:



Inside this too-huge-for-what-we-had-planned room, we had six stations set up.



And I was on the far side of the room.



Imagine all these little x's-turned-scribbles-'cause-I-got-lazy are bodies. And that circle at the top of the line? That's a podium that I forgot to finish drawing. Whoops.



Now this Starbucks bomber (I refuse to call her Stephanie) made it through the entire freaking room and back without being seen by me.



She's nuts, I tell you!



She bought me the Starbucks card for my birthday. (Haven't you heard? I'm 30 now.) (When should I start picking out caskets?) Before you call me a complete bitch, who in their right mind buys a gift and DOESN'T SAY ANYTHING?! This is not normal behavior.

Anyway. That's the Starbucks bomb.

Let me tell you about another type of bomb. The e-mail bomb. These come in all sorts of styles. You've all probably received one at some time or another. I received one on my birthday of all days. My 30th birthday. (30. Fuck.) And it came from the father I haven't heard from in ten years. Ten. Years. Since that one day I called and invited him to my wedding and he said he already had plans. And what did his e-mail say?

"Happy Birthday."

First of all, "Birthday" should not be capitalized. By using a period, you've made this a sentence. You Don't Capitalize Every Word In A Sentence. Duh. (Just like you don't use "your" when you mean "you're." And I don't care if that book was only a dollar. I've decided that mistake is unforgivable in a PUBLISHED BOOK.)

Second, THAT'S ALL YOU HAVE TO SAY? After ten years? To be quite honest, I'd rather you say nothing at all. Because, to be quite honest again, the (non-existent) relationship we have now is JUST FINE BY ME. No, really, it is. I'm not just saying that because I'm this sad little (or not so little) (dieting still sucks) girl with daddy issues. I may have daddy issues, but I'll take the issues over the daddy every day of the week. (I really hate the word "daddy.") (And, since we're on the subject, the word "panties.") (And, yes, I just used the words "daddy" and "panties" in the same freaking paragraph. I've lost all control of this post.)

So, here's my public service announcement:

Bombs, any sort of bombs, whether they include Starbucks or not (although, now that I think about it, if you're going to bomb someone, you probably should include their favorite coffee), are not okay. If you have something to say, SAY IT. Be polite and courteous and USE YOUR WORDS. Don't make a person wonder what you mean or why now. We all have enough going on in our lives without the added crazy that comes with an unexpected e-mail from someone you have no interest in hearing from and never expected to hear from in the first place! (Please picture me waving my hands around very dramatically otherwise you're not gonna get the full effect.)

Now I'm stepping off my soap box (is that the right term here?) and saying goodbye forever!

But, you know, not really on the forever part.