Taco Bell, Temp Work and Cat Addicts Anonymous

1.

1. Today I went to Taco Bell for lunch. Even though it kind of makes me hate myself, this has still been the highlight of my day so far. I love how they combine the same four ingredients to make  a myriad of nacho cheese enrobed seasoned beef tortilla with reduced fat sour cream delights. I’ve been reading a lot of junk food reviews lately (can I recommend theimpulsivebuy.com if you’re into food porn?) and it sort of makes me want to try my hand at it, but on the other hand, writing anymore about Taco Bell’s food-esque products than I already have is sort of depressing.

2. Maybe instead I’ll write about the “toasted” (i.e. deep fried) ravioli Dane is allegedly making for dinner tonight. We were allegedly going to have them last night, but instead we had frozen pizza at 10:30 at night. Our dining schedule is so European! (i.e. bread out of procrastination.) I’ll keep you posted on their deliciousness, but I won’t write anymore right now because Dane thinks I write about him in this blog ALL THE TIME WHICH IS SO WEIRD even though I think I’ve barely mentioned him and I’m pretty sure what I’ve said here so far qualifies as writing about him. Woops. (And anyway, he’s like my favorite person, why wouldn’t I write about him?)

3. I’m doing temp work right now at a silicone manufacturing company in beautiful Carpinteria, CA and it is sooooo boring. I file ALL DAY LONG. I’m getting really good at putting stuff in numerical order. And even when I’m not filing, I’m doing work that is not hard, and requires no creativity or critical thinking. Well, at least it isn’t stressful (it could actually stand to be a little more so) and I get paid on time, and even if I don’t get paid very much, I get paid something. It certainly beats unemployment. Still, I’ve never worked at a big company where a. our work email is only internal, so I can’t send email to people who aren’t in the company. B. It is completely dead silent almost all the time. This is a room full of women and none of them seem to speak to one another. It’s not an icy silence, but it’s pretty damn quiet. c. We have restricted Internet access which we’re not really supposed to use at all. I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to be doing this either, but since I don’t have anything else to do at this moment and it at least looks like I’m doing something productive, I think I should be okay.

4. Every morning I wake up and want to go back to sleep. Every. Morning. I’ve never been much of a morning person and on weekends I sleep until I can’t sleep anymore (last Saturday, I napped on and off for most of the day), but having an uninspiring job really compounds the problem. Right now, it’s 8:15 and the day is just stretching ahead of me with no sign of anything to look forward to. I wish I was curled up in my warm bed for the foreseeable future. If I’m lucky, today I might get some interesting filing. Just kidding, there’s no such thing as interesting filing.

5. To stay awake at my boring job, I now drink a whole lot of caffeine. I went from drinking no caffeine at all to drinking an energy drink, a coffee or two, a giant iced coffee at lunch, and a soda sometime late afternoon. I’m surprised I sleep at all. I’m sure it’s not very good for me, but it beats falling asleep at my desk which I am doing right now. On the days I take an hour lunch break, I like to nap in the car.

6. Update: those “toasted” raviolis did get made last night and they were quite delicious. The only drawback is that you can only eat like two of them in a sitting because they’re very rich…which I imagine should be predictable given that they’re deep fried raviolis. The best part about them was that I didn’t help make them AT ALL (not even a little bit) and instead sat on the couch rewatching the first season of Game of Thrones. And then I didn’t even offer to clean up. To be fair, I wasn’t feeling very good. Normally I’m not such an asshole.

7. I recently joined a group on Facebook called Cat Addicts Anonymous. (And yes, I realize this is a pretty good indicator that I will die alone and my many cats will then eat my face off, though I’ve read it’s much more likely for a dog to eat your face off than a cat. Another unfair cat-related stereotype.) People mostly post pictures of their cats and amusing cat related memes, but yesterday someone posted the following question: “For dumb reasons, CPS is involved and the guy is complaining about cat odor. What’s the best litter for cat smell?” Now, it doesn’t seem like CPS is involved primarily BECAUSE of the cat odor, but still, I can’t help but wonder how bad does it have to smell for CPS to think that cat odor is a child welfare issue? Pretty bad, I would think. There was also a picture posted a couple days ago of a cat strapped into a child’s car seat with some comment about the owner needing a boyfriend. Personally, I think the owner of this cat probably needs a mental health professional more than she needs a boyfriend.

8. Speaking of cats, because he’s retired and has too much time on his hands, my dad has taught my cat (who now lives with his grandparents) how to shake paws, sit, and lie down on command. Because he’s not desperate to please like your average dog, he only does this if he is incentivized with treats, but still, how cool is that? Maybe he can join the cat circus which is a real thing and involves a cat band. I haven’t seen them perform (though obviously I desperately want to) so I couldn’t tell you if they’re any good or not, but I’m also pretty sure it doesn’t matter. Really, how can you go wrong with a banjo playing cat?

9. I’ve been writing this on and off again all day long, so here I am 15 minutes before I get to go home to visit my parents and my cat. I’m pretty thrilled at the prospect. When work is this boring, it’s all the more exciting when you get to leave it.

10. I don’t really have a number 10, but I couldn’t bring myself to leave it at 9. I’m not at all obsessive compulsive (I could stand to be a little more so) but still.

Not too Proud Throwback-- 2005

This is a diary entry I wrote about the idea of being "Not Too Proud" nine years ago. My life is considerably more prideful these days, but the spirit of it remains the same.
4-04-05

When we were little, my dad and brother used to play a game called, “Not too proud.” First, you make a proclamation: "I'm not too proud to steal quarters out of the wishing well!" "I am not too proud to root through those rich people's trash!" “I am not too proud to go dumpster diving behind the bookstore for old copies of MAD magazine!” And then, you go out and do it. I realize that in many ways my life has become one game of “Not too proud” after another. I am not too proud to abscond with a mattress left out on the street as trash by the neighbors. I am not too proud to wear shoes the dog chewed up. I am not too proud to wait until T-mobile turns off my cell phone to pay the bill. I am not too proud to go to a Dolly Parton concert with my mother. I am not too proud to wash off last night’s makeup in Dargan’s bathroom over 9:00 am cocktails. When we lived in Los Angeles last year, frequently broke, we were often not too proud to write a check at the ghetto Ralph’s two days before payday that may or may not successfully clear so that we could buy groceries and cigarettes. I am not too proud to fill my broken radiator with urine I found in plastic water bottles amongst roadside litter (filled and then discarded by field workers and truck drivers, I presume) and fix the radiator hose with a clipboard. (I really did this, and not only was I not too proud to do it, it got us home and made me feel like frickin’ MacGyver.) Part of me kind of delights in these not too prouds, and certainly this game, whether consciously played or otherwise, is the source of a lot of adventure in my life, as it is impossible to do a lot of fun things if you have too much pride. I encourage anyone who worries a little too much of what other people think of them to embrace it: say it loud and say it proud (because this is the last thing you’ll be doing with any amount of pride for a while): “I AM NOT TOO PROUD.”

That being said, part of me really hankers for a lifestyle where I could maintain a little more pride. Sometimes I’m proud of being not too proud, sometimes I wish I didn’t have to be. I wish I didn’t live in a house where we do laundry only once a month, that perpetually smells of dog, and where our wine corker has been lost upstairs for weeks so that when I buy wine I buy a box of it instead of bothering to locate the aforementioned wine corker. I’d like to get my finances in order and become more organized and spend more time training our embarrassingly ill-behaved Rottweiler puppy, because right now he’s like a crystal ball of how fucked up my children are going to be. I’d like to swim every day, make more friends, read more books, write every day, and depend less on Tivo, marijuana, and alcohol as my main sources of entertainment. I want to be able to remember what I did to have fun when it wasn’t one of those three things, and do them.

I think I may have forgotten how to try. I must have known once. (In seventh grade, I even got an award at school for “Most Enthusiastic.” Where is that girl now?) If genius is 90% perspiration, I am sitting here on a paltry 5%. My chances of success with those types of odds are about as good as the accuracy of a 99 cent pregnancy test (which they do offer at the “Only 99 cents Store”, along with all sorts of other items I feel they have no right to sell for a dollar-condoms, douches, hair dye, and hemorrhoid ointment; call me extravagant, but I think that there are certain things you should pay full price for, and pregnancy tests are right up there at the top of the list.).

In David Rakoff’s acknowledgements for “Fraud” he writes at the very end: “And to David Sedaris, who reminds me, both in word and action, that I could still, at least, try.” Sedaris did not publish work until his late 30’s, spending his earlier years in a mess of self-destructive behavior, crystal methamphetamine, appallingly bad performance art, and menial jobs, all the while sitting on this gold mine of hilarious unspent talent. I see their success stories through the turmoil, turmoil easily matching mine, if not surpassing it purely on the basis of time wasted thus far—and I hear the echo of a Judd’s song, “Why not me?” If they can overcome such flakiness, why shouldn’t I be able to? However, I want nothing less than to look at Sedaris’ life as an excuse for myself, as a consolation that I have a lot of time to waste before I have to really hit the books and make something of myself (KD Oslin, was after all, over 40 by the time she made her first hit record.) because if I do fuck around for another fifteen years procrastinating success, I will be unhappy for the next fifteen years. I want to spend that time, instead, working to become something, and if I don’t become something, I will know that I have, at least, tried.

Unemployment, Giardia, and Christian Drug Dealers

1. I saw Michael Bolton in concert a couple weeks ago and it was magical. Magical, I tell you! His voice sounded exactly like it does on CD's (IF NOT BETTER) and he is dreamy. DREAMY, I SAY!  He changed clothes three times and even though none of his ensembles involved bedazzlement, I still appreciated the effort. To commemorate the event, I got an enormous black t-shirt with his face on it. I plan to wear it non-ironically, the same way I wear my Hanson t-shirt. Beckie and I (yes, I found someone to go with me, completely voluntarily) were probably the youngest audience members there, but what we lacked in age and oxygen tanks, we made up for with enthusiasm. To be honest, before going, I wasn't aware of how many Michael Bolton songs I knew. A lot, that's how many.

2. Today, I got fired from my brand new job at a Christian medical marijuana dispensary (there were bible quotes on the receipts, just like at In and Out) . I've never been fired before, and I got to tell you, it doesn't feel good.  A week after I started working there, I came down with what I thought was probably the flu, but turned out to be giardia. I decided to tell my new employer that I had a bacterial infection (instead of a highly contagious intestinal parasite) because they had been really cautious about me getting a doctor's note to return even when they thought it was just the flu and I was worried if I told them it was giardia, it would be another week before I'd be allowed to return, but instead, today, when I was still sick, and called in to the tell them that I would come in but was still sick, they fired me. Is there a German word for disappointed relief? Because if there is, that's what I have. Disappointed because I really (really) can't afford not to have a job as I have rent to pay and what not, but I also wasn't all that wild about my new job (I listened to six hours of Christian rock on my last day there, which was just as excruciating as it sounds, not because I have anything against Christianity per se, but I do have something against that particular musical genre. I will concede that I may have questionable taste in music (see #1), but it's not so bad that it includes Christian rock. Anyway, so now I'm unemployed and also still sick, which means that I'm making frequent trips to the bathroom while at the same time dealing with intermittent crying jags.

3. On a related note, why are admin and customer service jobs so poorly paying in this town? I have like 15 years of client services experience and am really good at it and yet, apparently my skills are worth almost nothing. I have a job interview tomorrow, which is promising (did I mention I really need a job?) but given the job description, DOE probably means $15 an hour which is demonstrably lower than the job I left to go work for Christian drug dealers, a job I left because I thought I wasn't making enough. (Christian drug dealing makes pretty decent money, btw, in case you were interested.) There are a couple really awesome looking writing jobs on Craigslist right now that I know I would be just super at, but I don't think I even have any writing samples anymore. This is my first effort to write on a regular basis in quite some time, and I haven't been exactly excelling at that.

4. Right now, I really want a drink, but I can't have one. The warning labels on the antibiotics I'm taking pretty much promise that I'll die if I have one. I doubt this is true, but given my luck today, I think it's better not to press the issue.

5. So maybe I should just go back to school and rack up some more student loan debt? Because I only have like $40,000 so far. From degrees I didn't complete. That feels so good to write, especially considering the day I've had. I've been taking this class at City College called Chemical Dependency and the Family or something like that, which is one of the classes for getting your Drug and Alcohol Counselor certification which I think I'd probably be pretty good at, but since I have my BA already, I could also go back to school for my Master's in Family Therapy which will be really expensive but gratifying. Definitely something to think about.

6. On a brighter note, my mom and I are going to see Book of Mormon on Sunday and I could not be more excited. I already know all the words to all the songs because I borrowed the soundtrack from the library last year and listened to it non-stop for weeks. It's so good, you guys. If you have any interest in musical theater or Mormons (I happen to be a big fan of all of the above), I definitely suggest you check it out.

What's in your purse?

So after a couple of years of cramming all of my crap into one of the smaller Kate Spade Sam purses that haven’t been popular in 15 years (I grabbed hold of that trend and refused to let go), I finally broke down and brought myself an incredibly spacious purse. I could easily keep a small dog in this purse. It’s practically luggage. And I love it, but it’s easy to lose track of all the stuff that I cram in there.  So in the spirit of voyeurism, let’s play, what’s in your purse today?

Keys

Wallet

A Hairbrush (not one of those little ones you get with free gift with purchase at the Estee Lauder counter either, a full size one)

Some really decrepit looking tampons

Glasses I never use

A ticket stub from seeing Dave Barry at the Granada several months ago

Some really cheap Cotton Candy scented body spray. It’s actually quite a refreshing scent. The brand is called “Body Fantasies Signature.” I know, I'm a classy lady.

My Weight Watchers weigh-in card

Inexplicably, some crumpled wax paper. I have no idea of the origin of this item

Birth control

Tweezers (when I’m bored at work, I like to break up the monotony by going into the bathroom to tweeze my brows)

Several receipts

Spare change

A Jiffy Lube coupon

A recipe for corn casserole (a DELICIOUS recipe, by the way. I know we hate Paula Deen these days, but she really does have a way with butter and sour cream.)

2 heart shaped lollipops and a Valentine ’s Day card from my favorite little friend, Kira.

Bubblegum flavored lip gloss (between this and the cotton candy body spray, this is starting to resemble the purse of a slutty 15 year old)

My Kindle (that I love, love, love. It’s amazing.)

Burt’s Bees lip balm

A Slinky (really. There’s a Slinky in my purse. Your guess is as good as mine. I mean, I know where it came from, but not why it’s in my purse. In case I need to do some spur of the moment slinkying?)

That’s all. I’m really glad we did this. Now my purse is clean and all of you got a little taste of what a complete slob I am. My purse on wheels (my car) is even more astounding in its messiness, but we’ll save that for another day. So, y’all, what’s in your purse?

Baby Showers, Pajama Jeans, 100 Calories of Sadness and Fabio

This is actually supposed to be for six things Thursday, but it’s Wednesday and I wrote it today so even though it doesn’t involve alliteration, this is 6 Things Wednesday.

1.       This weekend I went to a wedding shower. It was a lovely event if you enjoy quiche and miniature cupcakes, but it really got me thinking about a related issue. There were so many women at this thing because the bride is one of those charming social butterflies that everyone loves. I barely have enough female friends to support a doubles tennis game. Who’s going to come to my theoretical baby shower? I’m not interested in wedding showers, but baby showers seem almost like a necessity.  I’m going to have to have one of those weird co-ed baby showers and lure my male friends there with promises of beer. My baby shower is going to have a keg, I just know it.

2.       This just in: those Pajama Jeans I was so excited about? Well, they suck. The problem is that they’re a lot more jeans than pajamas. Really, just stretchy denim with a drawstring. What I was looking for was, I don’t know, denim colored sweatpants? Majorly disappointing.  

3.      . Tomorrow I am missing a Kenny Rogers concert because I have a midterm paper due in the one class I’m taking. This is more disappointing than Pajama Jeans. I have seriously considered dropping the class so that I can go, but I’ve already written the paper, so I think I’ll just accept the harsh reality that I will not get to see Mr. Rogers up close and personal. I will console myself with the fact that  all of his terrible plastic surgery has got to be distracting anyway.

4.      I’m on a diet. Again. Weight Watchers. Again. And I have more weight to lose than ever before so the 3.5 lbs I lost last week didn’t even really make a dent. I mean, it’s better than nothing, but if we’re talking percentages well…we’re not going to talk percentages. Anyway, this means that I think about food pretty much constantly and keep asking men what they’re eating and what it tastes like and to please describe it to me. It also means that I am dealing with the harsh reality of daily salads and 100 calorie packs, which are, no matter what is in them, 100 calories of sadness. I get to the bottom of one of those little sacks and am just shocked, shocked that there isn’t anymore.

5.     .  Game of Thrones is coming back on in just a few short weeks. This is the opposite of Pajama Jeans. This is terribly exciting. Also terribly exciting is that George R.R. Martin is writing another book and if we’re lucky, he’ll live to publish it.

6.      My friend Monica met Fabio at our local health food store and discussed the importance of high quality, nutrient dense foods and homeopathy. I am more than a little jealous that I was not there to get a picture so that this story would be “I met Fabio at the health food store”, but I don’t think that I would have found anything to talk about with him. I am interested in his hair care regime. 

Ain't Nobody Got Time For That (Okay, maybe some people, just not me.)

Okay, so I’m stealing the idea for this blog from Jenna Marbles who does relatively funny video blogs about how to put on makeup when you’re drunk and what a woman’s nails say about her. This is a short list of things I do not have time for. Now, these are things that some people have time for, but I am not one of them.

1.   Putting on makeup every day. So I work with basically one person who sees me every day and he is a middle aged man that I don’t much care about impressing. This is why when I recently ran out of good foundation, I started using old shitty foundation instead of buying more and because it isn’t exactly the right color for my face, I just sort of stopped wearing makeup to work. Plus, I really prefer to sleep those extra five minutes
2.  Car Maintenance.  My car is like a giant purse on wheels except with more empty McDonald’s bags.  There are no fewer than four different outfits and three pairs of shoes in there at all times. I inexplicably have a box of books in the trunk that have been there for months and I don’t know who put them there or where they should go. I have a reusable shopping bag that theoretically serves as a trash bag, but so does the rest of the car.
3.   Consistently dealing with hair removal. Used to be, I shaved my legs once a week, on Friday morning. This was because I didn’t usually see my boyfriend during the week, so I’d do it Friday morning, and as far as he knew, I was smooth and hairless all week long. We just moved in together and I am suddenly facing a lot more hair removal than ever before. If I wasn’t so poor, I would consider just lasering it all off. I also used to get Brazilians on a semi-regular basis but a. that shit hurts and b. it went largely unappreciated, so I stopped. And let’s not even talk about my neck hairs. 
4.  Returning the grocery cart to it’s original home. So most of the time, I do this because I don’t want to seem like a total asshole, but every time I go grocery shopping, I am tempted to just shove it up onto the nearest center divider and calling it a day. 
5.   The top sheet. When my boyfriend and I first started dating, he used a full set of sheets. But since then, I’ve proved to him the futility of that exercise  when you’re sharing a bed with someone who flails around as much as I do. Now  it just gets skipped  all together. 
6. Telemarketers. You know, I get it, it’s their job. Their terrible, awful job. I know, because I’ve done that job. People hate you and that can really weigh on a person. But that doesn’t mean I want to talk to you. So if I by chance accidentally pick up the phone, thinking that perhaps that you’re one of my many bill collectors (most of whom I avoid as well) then realize you’re trying to sell me something, I’m probably just going to hang up.

I feel like I should add something poignant or at least something like “flaky people” because most of us shouldn’t have time for flaky people but the truth is, most of the things I don’t have time for involve grooming and cleaning. So basically the point of this pointless post is that I am a lazy person. I couldn’t even come up with an even 10 things. I mean, I could have, but I'm not going to.  

Say it loud and say it proud: I AM NOT TOO PROUD

Disclaimer: Don't expect to learn anything from this blog. It will most likely be non-stop self-indulgent poppycock. 

Though my lifestyle involves considerably more pride than it did in say, the early 2000’s when I lived primarily on vodka and Boca burgers and co-parented a dog who was like a crystal ball of how fucked up my children were going to be, I still think a fair amount of Not Too Proud living is a good thing. Say it loud and say it proud (because it’s the only thing I’ll be doing with any amount of pride for a while): I am not too proud to admit the following: 

 I love me some Michael Bolton. And not ironically. Not even in a "Oh he's a terrible singer...he's one of my favorites" sort of way. No,  I think he’s very talented and am very much looking forward to seeing him in concert with Miss Beckie Bohannon on my birthday day! I was going to try and guilt my boyfriend into going with me, but it will be a lot more fun to go with someone who isn't planning my demise the entire time for forcing him to go see A LIVING LEGEND.

On weekends, I rotate between like four pairs of “yoga pants” or as I like to call them couch-sitting-vodka-drinking-pants. In a tight spot, I also occasionally dress them up with a cardigan and some jewelry to disguise them as professional wear and wear that shit to work. Which is also what I plan to do once my pajama jeans arrive. Yeah, you heard me PAJAMA JEANS (Jeans that are also pajamas. I know, I can't believe my luck either). 

If the love of my life wasn’t allergic, I’d already be well on my way to collecting a full set of cats. I am cat lady, hear me meow. And I know he can’t help it, but I consider his allergy to be a character flaw.

I recently learned that Mississippi was the most obese state in the union. Then I considered moving there because it might help me look thinner by comparison. Some day, I'd really like to be skinny. If only for a couple minutes of my life, I’d like to know what it feels like. I know I will never be one of those people who eat whatever they want only when they’re hungry and stop eating when they’re full. I am one of those people who will eat the entire dozen Krispy Kremes (or two if it happens to be Two Dozen Tuesdays), or the whole wheel of Brie, and all four rows of cookies, and keep eating, like a goldfish, even after I feel physically ill. I think about ancient Roman royalty and how they used to have huge feasts where they’d eat and eat and eat and drink and drink and drink and then excuse themselves to the Vomitorium (which I know isn't it a real thing, but I can still pretend, can't I?) with their gold-plated vomiting wands, and then come back to the table refreshed, and ready for another round. Part of me realizes this is just culturally accepted bulimia, in the same way that the Greek-man-boy relationship was basically culturally accepted pedophilia, and part of me thinks it is completely ingenious.


I have seen every last episode of Law & Order Special Victims Unit (or as I like to call it: Law & Order: Molested Corpse) and am currently rewatching them all in order because it seems like too much work to commit to a completely new program with a new plot and characters that I don't know as well as Benson and Stabler. I also pay the $7.99 for Hulu Plus (which is otherwise a total rip-off. Why do I still have to watch commercials?) solely so I can have access to all 333 episodes. I like a lot of other terrible television shows, but none with the passion of this particular romantic procedural.

I have never met a sentence that I didn't think could be improved by a good parenthetical (really, I just love them.) If this makes me a lazy writer, so be it. 

Okay, that's all I have for now, but I really just wanted to get this blog started, so I did. I promise they'll be lots more from the Not Too Proud Life Archives.