Anyway, since I’m so bad-ass, I decided to take the evening and chill like I like to chill when I found out nobody else was home.  The boy is at work… the man is with his amigo chasing truck parts around the greater southeastern region…

What to do ?? 

Pop the cork out of a nice bottle of merlot, crank on the karaoke maker and sing, then retreat to a bubble bath. Most relaxing of plans for me personally.

So, the wine is breathing and I’m sipping a little, rockin some Rod Stewart when the power flickered a couple of times and POOF….. no music, no lights, no AIR CONDITIONING…. It’s like 980 degrees up in here and the last thing I want to do is drink merlot (it gives me hot flashes) or take a hot bubble bath (more heat stroke)…

I suppose I’ll go sit outside in the shade where its only a humid 100 degrees or so and stare at my dogs.  Can’t take my laptop with since the battery says 66%, which translates into about 8 minutes in real life.

Damn the luck.

Why exactly can’t people put a new roll of toilet paper on the little toilet paper holder when the roll is empty?  Seriously, it’s within reach.  Go ahead, throw that empty little cardboard whirlie in the trash and put a nice new fluffy roll on there.  It seems like I’m always going in there (at home, at work, at my friend’s, at my Dad’s place) to an empty roll…  Conspiracy? 

Yet another poo peave near and dear to my fart is the smell of Febreeze or any other fake flowery scent.  Not that those roses in a can are completely useless.  But, is it really necessary to spray half a can of it after taking a crap?  Do folks really think that it helps the stink?  Trust me, it does not.  

This seems to be more of a chick thing than a guy thing…  I mean, guys really don’t give a crap if a green fog follows them from the potty room…  But women… Good Lord.  For some reason when a girl comes out after making a poo, it’s not just the poo smell… it’s rose covered poo.  For the love of God, please, if you must spray, make it a quick burst of air fresh… not the whole can. 

Lastly, and this is a direct command to my step-son, PLEASE close the damn door when you take a wiz.  I’m all the way down the hall, with the TV blaring some brilliant show on History or Discovery or someother nerdy network… and I can still hear you pissin.  What’s with that?  Why can’t you take the .22 seconds that it takes to close the door before you whip it out and let it fly?  Really.

Not one phone call… but I’m sure the voicemail is jam packed with griping bitchery.  There was a helluva storm in the greater metro area last night and it appears Comcast can’t get it together fast enough to get everything up and running again. 

Phones by Comcast.  Internetz by Comcast.  So, I had a very productive day today not having to listen to people on the phone telling me why their homeowners dues are late and how they mailed their payment already and it must be lost somewhere since the post office just doesn’t give a crap and how the damn lawn care people haven’t come and trimmed their already well manicured shrubbery…   So, tomorrow will be a scary day in management land, but today… today was pretty good.

Anyway, over the last weekend, I went to the beauty supply place and got a gallon of bleach and went to town doing my roots since  God didn’t see fit to let my hair stay as blonde as it was when I was a young’n.   I’ve been doing this routine for years.  Color and trim my own hair.  And for years and years, I was actually good at it.

Until this time.

First, I left the toxic goo on my mop way too long and frizzled the ends of it. So, it needed to be trimmed.  So, I got the scissors and started to trim it.  All was going well.  Dead ends were flyin. 

Then it happened…. I slipped. 

No, not just a little gap.  A full two inches of my fried locks fell to the floor.  I stood there and tried to objectively assess the damage.  But, there was no salvaging it.  It had to be chopped off.

During this few minutes, I saw the last two years of growing this mess out, flash before my eyes.  Two years of babying, pampering, trimming… all gone with one bad pass of the scissors. Dayum.

Now, I was starting to feel my neck turn red and my pulse in my neck was busting.   I think I even felt my eye twitch.

As it turned out, I had to cut the sides so short (the back has always stayed short) that I look either like a really old lady with bad color or a short lesbian.  I’m still trying to determine which…  Now, don’t get me wrong, I have no qualms with any chick that digs the girl on girl relationship.  I have lesbian family members and a variety of gay friends… so I’m totally not knocking anybody.

My problem with the lesbian scenario is that the cut isn’t saying I’m not a cute little lipstick lesbian.  I don’t have cutsie poo poo Barbie hair anymore.  Rather, due to the two toned stark contrast in color, I look butch.  Big T has taken to calling me Butch as a pet name.  He thinks all of this is freakin hilarious. 

My boss, texted her gay hairdresser and begged him for an appointment.  She told him she couldn’t take it anymore.  She told him she stops in front of my office and laughs.  Cold. Cold. Cold.

So, you see why I’m so upset over this whole hair thing.

Anyway, the hairdresser texts her back and I’m supposed to have my butt in his chair, on the clock, paid for by the company as a bonus treat.  I suppose that could be considered silver lining… bonus hair cut and color done by a gay guy.  If you’ve never had your locks fondled by a gay hairdresser, let me tell ya something… you have no idea what you’re missing.

Hopefully, this will solve all of my hair-do-don’ts.

To update anybody who might have missed me in the last three or so years, I got hitched, lost my job, lost another job and have been on a total rollercoaster and trying to figure out who the hell I really am at forty.

Folks, I have finally figured this out.  I’m a bookkeeper.

A bookkeeper for a local property management company.

I know, I know.  Last time I blogged about my job… I got fired for being snide and bitchy.  Lesson learned.  The Man won that battle.  However, if I don’t find an outlet for all of my professional frustration, I’ll just explode.

Seriously, if pissed off restaurant servers can vent on how they get back at horrible patrons, I can surely tell some of the funnies that go during my day to day at this job.  It freakin hilarious. 

Most of my day is consumed with poking payments and bills into a computer.  Not so difficult, right?  Right.

But on occassion, my presence is requested at a Board meeting.  I know, fun, huh?  Right. 

Alls I can say, is if I had to do it all over again, I’d be born rich and have nothing to do  but be a Board Member.  If for nothing more than just go mess with my neighbors.  But, presently, I’m not rich.  I work for the rich…  see where I’m going?

So, I smoke. Alot. 

Life has driven me to bad habits in the last couple of year.   I have foud that the occassional night of drinking a butt load of beer is good for my psyche.    The downside to drinking obscene amounts of beer is that I smoke way too much.

Sometimes, venting (even if it’s just to blow off steam and really means nothing to anyone but me) can backfire… literally.

Whatever.  I’m just as full of sarcasm and anxt and pretty much miserable with life in this house.  All I can say is choose carefully before you make a big, fat, wrong life choice like getting married. 

I mean there are ALOT of factors involved in compatibility, and people should really pay attention to those factors.  Unlike yours truly.

TOLERATION OF THE SPOUSE’S SPAWNS.

I can’t tolerate his daughter.  She is horrible.  She won’t work and try to support herself.  She moves out. She moves back in. She moves out. She moves back in.  She steals from us, and when I say steal, she wiped him out.  She lies and denies.  She’s lazy. 

And at this point, toleration isn’t anything I can make myself feel.  I look over at her and I get angry.  I hear her voice and I cringe.  I see her eating and it makes me sick.  That’s all the girl does is eat, sit, sleep and run the roads.  God forbid she get a job.  God forbid she try to buy her own shampoo, soap, hair dryer. 

Why work when Daddy will keep letting her go in my room and use my things.

TRUE COMMONALITIES… NOT FAKE ONES

When me & Big T were just dating, he played himself to be a real family man.  He played himself off as someone who enjoys being around friends and interacting with people.  Yah, not so much. 

It is so easy for someone to fake someone else out when they aren’t together 24/7.  This man doesn’t do anything.  Nothing.  He sits on the couch and smokes cigarettes. 

Chain smoker.  Now, don’t get me wrong.  I smoke.  But it’s a pack every couple of days. Sometimes less.  This man goes through a carton of smokes in three or four days.  He’s not the healthiest person to begin with, but at this point, his health is his problem.  He doesn’t care, why should I?  But, my house SMELLS SO BAD.  And it’s impossible to get the stink out.   

He is lazy as his daughter and son.  He sits all day and the stupid dogs, which nobody wants to take out when I’m not home, apparently pee somewhere in this house.  I don’t see it, but I can smell it and it disgusts me.

I’m a neat freak and there is no way for me to live the way I want to in this house.  I work 55 or more hours a week.  None of these people that live in this house work.. or do house work.  I come home to dirty dishes pile high in the sink.  I come home to cook after I clean the kitchen and then I clean it again.  I have to dust and vacuum.  I have to scrub the toilets.  God forbid any of them do anything around here.

SEX – What the hell is that?  After four years of marriage, I do believe I could be certified as a re-confirmed virgin, and that my friends isn’t by choice.

What to do??

I’ve done a lot of self-analyzing and a lot of wondering.  It seems like I do that on a daily basis. 

I went under the assumption that when one reaches four/tenths of a century in age, one would have a clue as to who one really is… not…

So, all this means that I’ve figured it out.  You Know You Need To Put Down the Pizza & Beer When…

 1.Your belly juts out farther than your saggin boobs do…

2. You have fat pooches blobbin out in all the wrong places…

3. When you’re sittin on the couch and you’re restin your arms on your gut…

4. you wear leggings you look like a cream puff with legs…

5. there’s a fat roll resting snuggly against your neck & you can’t even think where to start in looking for your cheekbones…

6. you spend your time avoiding Kodak moments but if & when the shutter bug does find you, you run to find something or someone to stand behind…

7. you have to adjust your fat rolls in order to sit any kind of comfortable… and sitting like a lady???  No…

8. you have the desire, but not the breath or energy, to sing a Go-Go’s song on the karaoke anymore…

9. the inkling of a thought of dancing to a song you could dance too even just a few short years ago makes your chest start to hurt…911… hello…

10. you have a whole trunk load of clothes you bought the last time you shrank… only problem is that you gave all your fat clothes away… Doh!

In keeping with my Pitty Party attitude, I’d like to compose a list of people who’s laps I’d love to accidentally spill a nice cup of hot tea in.

#1 -  The asshat who went and changed wordpress.

WTF??  It was working just fine.

I knew where all the little buttons were.

It took me about 30 minutes to figure out how to save a draft and not publish this perfect post before it was full of sarcasm.

#2 – My step-son.

Why??  WHY??  Why is it every damn time I go out of town for a few days…

*that his dishes sit in the sink crusting with burnt, canned chili

*that his room seems to smell more like a kennel than when I left.

*that his chores never seem to get accomplished timely?

#3 – Big T.

Enough moping around already for fuck sake.

Put on your big boy shorts and find something to do.

When you hurt, take a pain pill.  That’s why you have them.

Quit thinking I’m mad at you all the damn time.

I’m not mad at you, I’m just sick of you drag assing around feeling sorry for yourself.

#4 – The dork at Taco Bell who refuses to give me enough friggin mild sauce to make my bean burrito tasty.

#5 – Christmas shoppers at the WalMart who are in a foul ass mood to be Christmas shopping… collectively, the whole tea pot in all their laps.

Do like me, don’t shop for Christmas if it pisses you off so much!

Ok, there are way too many to list.  So, let’s move on.

I spent the last 3 days in Huntsville at a distributor meeting…

I resigned my position as CFO as whoever was doing all the financial bullshit before me was a complete moron and nothing is as it seems… actually it is.

It’s in the shitter and I’m not about to take responsibility for it.

I’ll go back to my cushy little, high paying sales position… travel and eat in tasty places.

So, I still have a job.  Not the same job, but a job none-the-less.

I managed to talk to the Big Guy, my main boss who flew in for a Board Meeting before the meeting so he’d not be blind-sided and pissed.

The Board Meeting in which I was set to resign…  he had to know.

I told him in theory there is a big fucking difference in a bookkeeper and an accountant… and I just ain’t no accountant.

I can’t do magic with numbers…

unless it’s spending money… I can make that shit disappear.

Anyway… I ended up with a sweet chunk of real estate for my territory.

Tennessee, Kentucky, Virginia, North & South Carolina, Georgia, Florida, Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana, and Arkansas.

Yah.  I’ll be a tired bitch from all the road rage in my future.

So, in a nutshell (too late), this week saw one job (the job I loved dearly) disappear, open up to me a new job.  And I only took a $700 a year cut in pay.

Go. Me.

The Redneck turned White Collar (albeit temporarily) is back to the Redneck.

I think I’ll call it Pink Collar.

I’ll be around to give wet, slobbery love to all y’all over the weekend!

Today, I watched my desk get taken away never to be seen again.

Today, I emptied the trashcans and took it all away to the dumpster.

Today, I threw the last of the last little office items into the bed of my truck.

Today, I vacuumed my way out of the office.

Today, I turned off the lights and locked the door.

Today, I walked down the way and turned the keys into the landlord.

Today, I watched the last nearly nine years of my life come to an abrupt end.

I’m an emotional heap of whining mess.

I cried, knowing my job will never be the same as it has been.

I will now be in a new part of the company, as the southeast sales manager.

I suppose I should be happy that I still have a job after this reorganization/merge happened, because so many people are without jobs right now.

Like I said… I’m being a baby today.  I’m whining.  I’m crying.  I’m scared of the unknown.

Big T feels like shit, so he’s not in any condition to cheer me up.  Wish he’d crack a joke or fart or something.

We cooked wayyyy too much, and subsequently ate wayyyy to much.

I’m sure I consumed no less than a gazillion calories and didn’t even make it to the pies and stuff.

It’s Saturday now and I’m still keeping my mits out of the pudding cake.  I just don’t think I can take it.

Anyhooooo, E Chuod over at Oh, Was That the Line?

did a lil post naming thing that he could do without….  National Thanks For Nothing Day….

Of course I’m always naming off things I could do without for the rest of my life, but I figured I jack the idea, and give a little link lovin at the same time…

So without further ado, let’s get to listin those things I could go the rest of my life without, mmk?

• Lindsay Lohan… I don’t care if she’s drunk, stoned, coked up, a lesbian, or pantiless…. She needs to grow up and go away already.
• The fact that the only friggin checkout line in WalMart that you can by cigarrettes is a 10 items or less checkout line.  WTF??   They should allow all lanes to sell smokes.   I buy a buggy full of of shit everytime I go in that damn place….  They expect me to go through one lane, then the other.   Please…. there is always at least a 30 minute wait to check out at WalMart because the tight bastards only utilize 7 of the 32 available lanes.
• I could give a rats ass to hear about politicians and celebrities cheat.  Who cares.  JimBob next door cheated on LouEllen and it didn’t make the front page of AOL or the local paper.
• I was pissed when Christmas commercials and displays started before Halloween… Now I’ll be pissed until the day after Christmas from all of the Ho-fucking-Ho Ho Ho commercials.  I hate it.
• Government bailing out of anything.  It’s all bullshit.  They aren’t helping anything.  They aren’t doing anything but snatching taxpayer dollars and pissing it away….

I’m sure I could go on all day, but I’m depressing myself and I have a shit load of stuff to do.

Go and visit some these guys…

Joe Cool – A karaoke crooner who loves his chica and family and is on my list of folks to invade one day.

What I Got So Far – This guy is an insomniac, sarcastic and full of crap.  I love it and I’m totally addicted.

Confessions of a Dumb, White Guy – Thanksgiving plans with the Hoff.

Fracas – Sick, sick woman pimping food porn.

Ok, I’m not the happy holiday type gal.    It’s just not in my nature to get into the giddie-ness of the season.

I think it’s all over commercialized and truly just a big bunch of money-makin crap.

That said, as I try to make my rounds to the blogs I stalk on a regular basis… there are some of them that have listed things that they are thankful for.

So, regardless of my disdain for the holiday season as a whole, I’ve really had no choice but to reflect on things that I have to be thankful for.

And heeeere we go.

- Family. I have 2 kids, Big T has 2 kids…. that equals 4, plus one grandbaby.  It’s taken me well over a year to adjust to having the new additions to my life, and it’s not been all that easy on my children either… but somehow we’ve made it work.

- Friends. Without them, life would be obnoxiously boring.  Hollyrock and Mario are my best friends in the world and I love them with all of my little heart.

- James Bond. Without the James Bond marathon and football (BTW the VOLS blow) Thanksgiving wouldn’t be the same.  I’ve watched the Bond-a-thon on Turkey day with my Dad since I was a kid.  And I don’t give a rat’s ass what anybody says, Roger Moore is, in fact, the best Bond.

Most excellent Bond flicks, in no particular order….

Live and Let Die, View to A Kill, Diamonds Are Forever, You Only Live Twice, Goldfinger….  and I gots ‘em all on VHS cuz I’m all hi-tech and shit.

- Karaoke. Oh yah, Babe.

There’s nothing that entertains me more than a night out drinkin and singin some ridiculously cheesy songs.  Nothing.

Piss on a bunch of American Idol.  They’re all just glorified karaoke singers.  And Simon is an evil troll…

I’m so sucked in by listening to myself make all kinds of noise that Big T went and bought me a super-deee-dooper system for the house.  Complete with my very own Diva microphone stand.

It’s not that I’m all that good… til I’ve had a few beers and then a few more beers… then I’m damn good.  Heh.

I thankful for lots of stuff.  I really am.   But to list them would take too long, so I covered the highlights.

I know you people have Turkey to eat and football to watch!

So, take it easy.  Save some food for tomorrow and do it all over again.

Love to all y’all and yours.