I'm drinking the tequila kool aid and hooking up with Supah for Post It Note Tuesday. Everyone knows PINT ... I'll not bore you with the 411 on how to play along. Yes, I'm kind like that.

 

 

 

Speaking of fucktards - is it supposed to be really difficult to get these little sticky notes placed correctly...or should I be riding the short bus?

Second Jobs

I have posted before about getting a second job. It's also one of the reasons for my scarce presence in blogland these days.

I haven't said what this second job entails, what it is I'm actually doing. I spent two months scouring the job boards. I had to find something that worked around my insane schedule. One week I'm foot loose and fancy free after 5:00pm - the next week I have kid pick up and everything that goes with having kids afoot - cooking, cleaning, homework blah blah blah blah. Retail was out because of scheduling. Waitressing or bartending was the same. I couldn't work till 1:00 in the morning and then get up at 5:00am to get ready for my real job. Working as an escort was out because I don't have the temperment. Don't laugh, I actually considered it.

So what am I doing? Market research, via the telephone, from home. I'm one of those annoying people that call just as you're sitting down to supper asking you to complete a survey.

(Hangs head in shame and listens intently as her followers drop like flies)

The thing is, I have never ever worked at a job that I'm not proud of doing. Let's be real though, no one likes a surveyer. I refuse to call myself a telemarketer because the company I work for does not sell shit. They do surveys for large companies and business - mostly customer satisfaction surveys. However, to the general masses, there is no distinction between what I do and a telemarketer.

Do you know what the other kick in the arse is? I'm really fucking good at it. I've been told by several people at the end of a survey that I have a "lovely voice" and "if every telemarketer (See? No distinction) that called sounded like you do I'd complete more of these surveys". That comment actually made me think I should be doing 1-900 calls instead of surveying. The comment was made by a woman.

The job allows me to work from home, there's no travel and I make up my own schedule. If there's days I can't work, I simply don't. Shift start and end times are at my discretion. For this reason alone the job is ideal. The pay is really decent. But I'm still ashamed to say I'm doing this. A very select few of my friends know that I have this second job.

Here's where you come in. This secrecy around this new job is playing on me. Am I being retarded? Ok ok - we all know the answer to that but am I being retarded when it comes to this? I need your HONEST opinion. I keep telling myself I could resort to theivery (I do look good in black) and prostitution to make my car payment and that would be a helluva lot worse than surveying, right?

Also, the next time you get one of those annoying phone calls at dinner, keep in mind that a "I'm sorry I really don't want to do this" is so much nicer than a "fuck you". The person on the other end of the line could simply be trying to feed her kids or make her car payment.

If There's A Medal For Being a Fucktard...I Have It In The Bag

Thunk.

That would be the sound of me falling off the face of the earth. I know. I'm such a fucktard.

So while trying to catch up on the 463 posts in my reader, I found Zgirl's post from today (okay I have to admit...I started this post last week!!!) and I'm stealing her idea. Don't worry, I warned her I was going to steal it.

So rather than bitch and complain about the multitude of people that make me want to stab them in the eye and kick them in the crotch on a daily basis - I'm going to bitch about myself. Fun, right?!!!! Let me clarify - I'm going to bitch about my drunk self. You see, happy hours have recently been turning into happy entire evenings that see me completely inebriated and saying totally inappropriate things to whomever passes within hearing range. I need to stop. Of course any armchair psychologists would tell you that I'm using alcohol as a means to escape my shitty relationship issues. Really though, isn't that one of the wonders of alcohol?

So let us begin shall we....10 things I hate about Drunk Dual Mom.

Brain/mouth filters. I struggle with this at the best of times. Add alcohol, mix gently, and the resulting chaos will be talked about for WEEKS to come.

1. The fact that when you are drinking - you don't see anything wrong or inappropriate talking about blow jobs with the Executive Director of Programs. To go as far as to offer such a service to this man if he cut your grass - yeah that might NOT have been one of your finer moments. Albeit the grass is really long and such a drag to cut. Yes, he was laughing with you, but upon sober reflection, he had to have been a tad bit shocked.

2. While laughing and joking with a group of contractors about the possibility of running for Mayor is good clean fun - suggesting to that same group of men that sleeping with all the male prisoners at the local jail to ensure votes probably wasn't such a classy move. To then proceed to put parameters around your whorishnish by stating the following: "But they can't have beards and they have to have large dicks". Oh Dual Mom....oh oh oh, there are no words.

3. Tequila is not your friend. Make a t-shirt, put it on a sticky note, tattoo it on your ass, whatever needs to be done to ensure you remember this.

4. The fact that when you get going, you have no idea when to stop. The absolute retardedness of mixing red wine, tequila shooters AND whisky is beyond comprehension. Grabbing the bottle of Crown Royal and filling a tumbler...yeah that's going to hurt the next morning. On the plus side you highly amused a friend when your reply to her saying to you, "Ummmm you don't want to do that" was "Oh wow, you're absolutely right...this drink totally needs ice".

5. Your ability to hear what you want to hear when inebriated. Pretty sure the waitress did NOT actually want you to so emphatically appoint yourself a member of her rugby team. When you turned to the girls and said, "Wait, when she refers to a SENIOR rugby team...she's using the word senior to mean really good at rugby rather than middle age, isn't she?" it caused them to fall off their chairs with laughter.

6. Bringing down a really expensive chair while holding onto it trying to balance yourself. Again, classy. Who knew wood and flesh made so much noise hitting a marble floor? Defending your actions by saying you were practicing for rugby tryouts probably didn't fool anyone.

7. I hate the fact that friends remember EVERY last goddamn word that I utter. Why can't they drink until they forget....like I do?

So just so you know, I am alive and kicking. I figured I had better let you know before someone sent out search and rescue. All is well. I just seem to be in a writing funk...ya know what I mean? Obviously this writing funk hasn't impaired my drinking abilities.

Ok c'mon dish....I want to hear tales of drunken debauchery. Please?

So Let's Find Out Just How Demented You Are

Ok so dude that did this little bit of profiling with us kept referring to Psychology Today, which is a well-known magazine. Dude could also be full of shit, I don't know. I have to tell you though, I was sitting at a table of 8 people when he revealed the answers and we were all ooohing and ahhhing like we had suddenly become enlightened buddas. I and another guy (who just so happened to be my boss) refused to share our answers on the last question with the rest of the table. You'll see why in a minute.

So my answers were:

Favorite color - red (of course)
Warm, strong, bright

The words you used to describe your favorite color is how you subconciously see yourself. Mimi apparently thinks she's very eye-catching. Egotistical much Mimi? :0)

Favorite animal - cat
Alone, stand offish, aloof

The words used to desribe your favorite animal reveals how you think others see you. Apparently I'm a snob.

White room
Cool, calm, alone (there's that damn word again)
The words used to describe your feelings in a white room are how you subconciously feel about your future. Let's not talk about the fact that I've used the word alone twice.

Body of water
Fast, noisy, cool

This one, well this one reveals how you like your sex. It disturbs me that my boss also refused to reveal his answers on this one. I was NOT about to tell people that I like fast, noisy sex. Tell me how quickly that would have gone viral over the email system at work?

But some of your answers!!!! Some of your answers had me hooting outrageously. Gayle has everlasting sex which makes me incredibly jealous. Zgirl has wet, refreshing sex which I can't even think about. She also thinks others see her as sleek, stealth and agile which is really interesting. It's why I smushy love her face. I'm concerned that Quixotic doesn't have a very bright view of her future and we need to stage an intervention.

Salt became so anxious at the thought of the white room she couldn't even finish the questions, as did Mrs. BlogsAlot. You two should hook up and talk over your anxiety issues, really. Logical Libby was apparenlty told at camp that she wants to sleep with farm animals. This explains so much Libby. Once again Mimi takes the cake with humungous, deadly sex. Holy black widow Mimi!!!

I had so much fun reading your answers! For those that didn't include your answers in the comments, let me know if you have any deep psychological issues you need help sorting out. I'm a trained professional now ....all expert and stuff.

Fuck I love you guys. You make me smile.

Psychological Profiling Anyone?

Anyone that has ever worked in a large organization has probably attended a "Staff Appreciation" event of some sort. These things can either go one of two ways: the day ends up being lots of fun with a great guest speaker, good food, and the chance to catch up with people you often only communicate with via email. Or. Or you sit there wanting to stab your eyes out, wondering what the hell your Human Resources department was thinking and if they actually work for the same organization as you do.

Friday we had a "staff appreciation day". I did not want to stab my eyes out. Bonus.

The guest speaker was actually a dude that had been on Opera. Being on Opera totally validates his existence, right? I need a sarcasm font. But seriously, dude was good. He managed to keep me entertained for two hours which is no small accomplishment. He started his spiel talking about the workforce of today. How the millenials (young people just leaving school) are going to change the face of the work place. How these millenials have grown up thinking that it is their god given right to have the "perfect" life handed to them, complete with an entry level job paying 60 grand a year, one months holidays and a pension plan (or 401K for those in the states) all wrapped neatly in a bow. What happens if they don't get it? Why they will sick their mommy on you of course. Don't laugh, it happens. We see it everyday in post-secondary education and it's going to happen in the workforce, you mark my words.

Anyway, after about the first 15 minutes one of my co-workers turned to me and said, "He's stealing your act, I heard you give this exact spiel years ago". One of my favorite soapboxes to get on is the state of workforce and the effect the teacup generation is going to have on that workforce. Work 40 hour weeks? Screw that, I have an xbox game to wrap. Overtime? Yeah right, I have a standing mani/pedi appointment every Thursday at 5:00 that I will not miss for any damn employer. You don't think I'm doing my job correctly? Well fuck you I quit. Ask anyone that works in Human Resources and they'll tell you their biggest concern today is finding dedicated staff that are willing to work. Hell, they don't even have to be qualified, they just need to be willing to work a full week.

Here's my question: What happens when these millenials are running the country/countries? It's scary folks, scary scary shit.

Okay, it wasn't all doom and gloom. He gave us a bit of a psychological profiling diddy. Want to play? Of course you do.

Think about your favorite colour and write down three adjectives describing that color.

Think about your favorite animal and write down three words describing that animal.

Now, think about an all white room. The walls are white, the floor is white, there is no sound in the room, no windows, everything is white. Now list three words to describe how that room makes you feel.

Lastly, think about a body of water. Any body of water whether it's an ocean, river, stream whatever. List three words describing that body of water.

Do it. It's fun. I'll come back tomorrow and tell you what your answers mean. I'll also give you my answers which will have you pissing yourself laughing. If you want to share your answers in the comments please do!

Coloring Outside The Lines

I live in a black and white world. I should clarify that. I INSIST on living in a black and white world. When life has the audacity to throw shades of gray at me, I simply get out my trusty set of crayolas and color the damn thing. Well shit bricks and throw rocks at airplanes, my black and white crayons are worn down to the nub and the local craft store seems to be out of these very colors. What the hell???

What the hell seems to be my motto these days. It's no one thing in particular but a culmination of life happenings that has me going, "Okay slow the fuck down because Dual Mom is having trouble keeping up".

The 18 year old little fucker darling son is back home, apology in hand. Black and white, check. What's not so black and white? He got his license last week and it has me spinning. Let me explain (I know...you're rolling your eyes at me...I can FEEL it, stop it). I've never been a helicopter parent. I firmly believe kids need to experience bumps and bruises to enable them to deal with this wonder we call life. I've never worried about my kids being stolen out of the public park, I've had my daughter split her head open and I didn't blink an eye. My son fell off my mother's second floor deck when he was two years old (I was 8 months pregnant at the time) and I managed to get him to a hospital, sit through hours of xrays and CAT scans, all without going into labour and losing my fucking mind. So I'm able to keep my shit together right, strength in the face of adversity? Right?

The fact that my son has his license has me wanting to down gallons of tequila or 150 proof vodka whenever I think of him driving. He's 18, it's time that he had his license right? WRONG people, what the hell does he need his license for when he has two perfectly good parents with tons of driving experience to drive his ass around? I have a completely irrational fear of my children driving. I  have clear, vivid scenarios playing out in my head of receiving a call from the RCMP saying that my son has been in a car accident. Complete scenarios people- where the whole dialogue plays out in my head complete with crystal clear images. The severity of the accident varies by the day. I seriously feel like I'm going to lose my mind.

Until last night, I've been able to hold my shit together because even though he has his license, he has no car. His father and I have told him he needs to pay the insurance fees to be put on as a second driver on either of our vehicles. Last night he came home and said to me, "I got a truck". I spun around so fast I swear I heard my neck crack - "What the hell do you mean you got a truck, where the hell did you get a truck, what the hell are you talking about, oh sweet jesus tell me it's not true". Apparently Gramps (Monty's paternal great-grandfather) has GIVEN him his truck. Gramps has Alzheimers and it has reached the stage where he's no longer able to drive. Well fuck Alzheimers all to hell.

Of course I can't tell him he can't have the goddamn truck. What the hell kind of mother would do that? As I stood there looking at the grin which was totally encompassing Monty's face, tears started pouring down my own face and I said to him, "Please buddy, please please be so careful when you're driving. I couldn't handle it if something happened to you". Do you know what the little fucker did? He laughed at me, told me I was being foolish. The worst part is....I know I'm being foolish. I know this level of fear is completely irrational. The goddamn black crayon won't color this level of gray.

The relationship with boyfriend. How can I give you the facts in a succinct, short manner?

• We've been together for 8 years
• He's sick, has been on dialysis for 2 1/2 years, waiting for a kidney transplant
• I don't love him. No that's not true, I do love him. I'm not in love with him. I'm not happy. I'm miserable with him actually. I don't use the word miserable often. I'm not one prone to misery.
• He's not happy, but I've realized over the last year he's not a "happy" person and he's ok with that. This is a huge issue with me.
• He loves me. I'm his life. He lives and breathes for me.
• I'm scared if I end our relationship, it will take away his will to live.

Those are the facts. There is so much more than just the facts though. There's 8 years of history, there's the relationship he's developed with my children. There's guilt. Mostly, there's unhappiness which I just try to ignore. The goddamn white crayon won't color this one.

I need to decide within the next 5 days whether or not I'm willing to dish out $3,800 (plus spending money) to send Jimmy to Europe on a school trip next year. Twelve days in Paris, Rome and the Riviera studying art and history. Can you imagine? I cannot convey to you just how much I want to give him this opportunity, to open his world like this. To give him such an incredible experience that I myself never had as a child. Isn't that what all parents want, to give their children opportunities to fly like the wind? $3,800 will require the selling of body parts. Five days to decide what organ I'm willing to live without. No, boyfriend won't buy my kidney, I've asked.

When I was away I had the chance to visit with oldest sister for an afternoon. She been diagnosed with MS. That would make both sisters diagnosed with MS in the last five years. Fuck me. She's not dealing very well with it. She has no family around to help her. I feel utterly useless. Let's not talk about my odds on this one. The experts seem to be split on whether this thing is genetic. Russian roulette anyone? I've tried coloring that one with both the black and white crayon to no avail.

There.

Those are the big things that have been playing on my mind and preventing me from writing and reading. I just feel as though I have nothing to give back to you so I haven't written because we all know this blogging gig is a game of give and take. The worst of it is, I miss you guys. I miss the give and take.

Anyone have crayons they can lend me?