Pancakes and Vodka

A coworker of mine has told me a few times I should write a book filled with my little stories about my life. He also suggested the title Pancakes and Vodka. I actually like the title, it’s fitting of me, but writing about my own life outside of my blog seems daunting.

I am not that interesting. I am a jealous, paranoid, self loathing, yet overconfident woman in my thirties. My late thirties at that. I have only been working for two months ( I did get a promotion though). I am a walking contradiction most days. I work out but I smoke, drink, and eat like shit. I am a mother, who hardly sees my kids. I am a wife who always wants more.  I am happily disgruntled most days. I am ok with this, but find it hard to write about for more than a few paragraphs. I am vain, but not that vain (insert nervous laugh). A whole book about me….No way….maybe.

So I am going to start simple. I am going to start with the title (which I didn’t even come up with).

Pancakes and Vodka. This title came to be when The Guy in the cube behind me was laughing at me because I was telling him how my kids  made pancakes for dinner the night before, and left the mess for me to clean up. He said he never met anyone who ate pancakes as much as me. Then he said he thinks I like pancakes as much as vodka. We talk about alcohol a lot at work. So there you have it. Pancakes and Vodka; quite possibly my two favorite things, and A brand new category on my blog with the possible intention of maybe sort of trying to get published one day. Of course I should probably give myself more than 20 minutes of writing time if I want my stories to be any good.

A Day Of Rest

I wish I could write while I am at work. I have some pretty good ideas, but by the time I have a day off or a late start I have lost them. I know I have been writing about work a lot, which isn’t very interesting, so I guess I will write about how I spent my day off. Today is my late start I have 10 minutes to write this so bear with me. I promise to do better when I have more time.

Yesterday I slept in. I woke up at 8. I never thought I would see the day when I thought 8am was sleeping in. I love my sleep, and am slightly pissed that my body has adjusted so well to getting so little of it these days. Once I was up and caffeinated, I went for a run. It was beautiful outside, and even though I walked more than I ran, I felt thoroughly energized. After draining some Gatorade, I hit the shower, went to Costco with the hubby. We spent $600 on groceries, and I still need to pick a few things up from the grocery store that Costco doesn’t carry. I didn’t realize how empty the pantry was without me going to the store once  a week. I was also starving while we were there, and bought more snack food than I normally do. Big mistake.

I skipped ahead a little. After my shower I got on the scale and I now weigh 128. I haven’t been below 130 in about four years. So when I saw bikini’s at Costco, I threw one in the cart next to the granola bars and Oreo’s.  I now know never to buy a bikini without trying it on first. I may be 128lbs, but I am no where near ready to wear anything so low cut that I have trim a little more than I normally trim. Needless to say the bikini is going back. Fortunately I have another one from last year that fits ok. So after putting away the groceries and laughing at the small green patch of triangular fabric barely keeping my goodies hidden, I changed into a more fitting two piece, grabbed a book and laid by the pool. I stayed there most of the day soaking up the rays and getting a nice sunburn for my efforts. I’m ok with that though, I would rather my tummy be a little pink vs. the catfish gut white it is after months of being hidden under shirts. You will understand in a minute what I mean, because I took a pic. Not a very good pic, but I don’t really care what you think of how I look. Unless of course you think I’m pretty. Then you can tell me. I mean this blog is about how insecure I am in aging, the least you can do is throw me a compliment every once in a while.

windblown hair, and squinting into the sun. Maybe no one with notice the super white tummy?

All done. I finished a blog entry with 3 minutes to spare before I have to get ready for a long, boring day at work. I hope you enjoyed it, and tell a friend.

Overconfident

Okay, here’s the deal. I am good at what I do. I am. I am good at being a Mom. This is not a natural thing as some movies or books might lead you to believe. I can understand why some species eat their young.  My kids are scrawny, and wouldn’t make a good meal, and that might be all that keeps me from consuming them at times.

I am good at being a wife. I was better at the first time. Now I am jaded, and less fulfilled (Sorry K) so I don’t dote on my husband 24/7. Although I think if I did he would have never liked me. He’s just as twisted as me.  I mean he has to be, I am the way I am due to a series of unfortunate events molding and shaping my snarky personality. He loves me. What kind of sicko does that make him? The best kind of sicko- because what I lack in tenderness I make up for in other ways. We’ll leave it at that.

I am a good dresser. No really I am. I can clean up pretty damn nice. I am 36 years old and I can still look fucking sexy. Not only can I look sexy, but I can also pull off sensual. Try that when your 20. That shit is not easy to pull off. I sound super classy tonight don’t I? Fuck you, I’m writing, and I don’t have a lot of time for eloquent phrases these days. To be clear: I can do it, I just don’t want to.

I am good at faking my way through most days. presenting myself as whats expected. I have learned at work I am good at presenting myself as naive, yet clever. This is a tricky one to pull off. This goes back to the previous post ‘The art Of wearing Many faces’ If you didn’t read it, you should. No seriously I am confident in my writing skills as well. I am here for your fucking amusement, so go back and start from the beginning. Nobody wants to wait for me to recap ( I wrote about that once too) seriously you’re behind…Sigh.

Anyway, so I am good at manipulating my personality. I am so good at it, that even when I don’t want to do it, I still find myself manipulating my personality. I feel like I may have a disorder of some type. I’m sure I do. There is a disorder for every errant thought. Here is the thing though. I am confident I am going to sell a lot of cars. It’s not just selling shit that I am good at. It’s not just manipulating my personality, it’s staying one step ahead of myself. It’s exhilarating. It’s the part that most salesmen hate that I thrive on. I can fake emotion, and that is how you sell stuff.

There is another girl where I work. She is highly emotional with customers, and coworkers. This is her way, and I accept her for that. I on the other hand am not capable of crying.  I feel sorry for people, sure, I’m not a monster. But I can’t sell them anything on pity. I have to find a reasonable, logical way to put them in a car. After all that is my job, and why they are there. The key is to be reasonable and logical while maintaining a facade of emotional diarrhea. I can do this. I am a woman. Faking it is in our DNA.

I don’t think this makes me a bad person. The way I look at it is; everybody wins. The person who wanted a car, gets a car. My husband gets a wife who contributes. I get a twisted high at being one step ahead of the game. And my male coworkers get a kick ass woman to work with. They don’t feel that way yet, but they will. I am just that confident.

If The Shoe Fits…

I’ve been home with the flu all week. I’m feeling somewhat better today, and decided to do some laundry so I have clean clothes to wear to work tomorrow. Before I could put clothes away though, I had to clean the floor of my closet. It was littered with my shoes. Trying to walk through the piles of stilettos proved to be too dangerous. So I began clearing a shelf to keep my precious shoes neat and orderly. It turns out I need more shelves.

I don’t know what it is about shoes, that when I see a pair I love, I have to have them. Particularly high heels. I love the way they make my legs look. Accenting the shape of my calves that I work so hard to tone. I don’t have pretty feet, despite my manicured toes. But when I put a pair of heels on the arch in my foot looks amazing. My stockings cover any varicose veins giving my skin a young supple look. I buy shoes that hide my bony toes (only in the summer will  I wear a peep toe heel). My high heels not only work to shape my feet and calves but also force me to correct my posture less I fall over. This keeps my ass exactly where it should be. Looking tight and fit like those hundreds of squats are supposed to make my ass look.

It’s no wonder I have such a fondness for for my high heels. They may make my feet bleed, my toes numb, and my back ache after wearing them at work for 14+ hours, but they take years off my vain self. Someone once told me “Pretty Hurts” if that is the case than my feet must be damn beautiful.

Here is a pic of the three shelves of heels. The bottom shelf goes four pair deep. These do not include my sandles, sneakers casual shoes, or boots. The whole time I was making room, I kept thinking about what new pairs I need to buy to go with this outfit or that. I may have a problem.

Shoes!

Initiation

Initiation is what happens the first few weeks in the car business. The boys club that was once a sleazy stereotype for car salesmen is no more, but the hours, and fraternity like hazing still seem to be around. This is not sexist; the same thing happens to the new guys as well as the new girl(s). This is not mean spirited, but rather tough love if you will. Working 15 hours days, going in on your day off, dealing with irate people is a big part of what we do, and the brothers of Delta Pi New Cars are just breaking us in. They want to see who will make the cut.

Perhaps a better analogy would be that of trying out for a sports team. Having seen my son go through similar weeks of torture only to persevere in the end has opened my eyes. I tried explaining this to some of my coworkers who were also going through initiation. Two quit yesterday, I was awarded a desk, and better yet I finally got on the set schedule. I passed some small part of the test, to put some icing on that cake I also sold a car last night.

With my new schedule, I no longer have to work bell to bell everyday. Today I don’t have to be in until 11. So I sit here with hair dye turning my grays to brown. The timer just went off and it’s time to rinse. I wish I had more time to write, I have so much to say that is getting all bottled up. I think I will spend a good portion of my day off this week spilling my drivel onto my blog. Until then, keep reading, and appreciate the small victories.

Catching Up

My first week at work was exhausting. It is going to take some getting used to working 12-14 hour days, but over all I think I will do okay. Yesterday, I was at work at 9am and didn’t leave until 10:30 pm. The good news; I sold a car. Or rather helped sell a car. Still, it was exciting.

I got home at 11, and the boys were playing video games. The kitchen was a disaster. K is out of town camping, and the kids made pancakes for dinner. Batter was everywhere. Dishes were piled up in the sink. No one put a bag in the trash, and trash was everywhere. I told them I was too tired to be angry, but I promised to be angry this morning. At least they made me some pancakes, and left them in the microwave for me. The other night I got home at 9pm and K assumed I didn’t want to eat that late, so he didn’t think to make enough dinner for me.

Today I gave my boys lessons on how I would clean the kitchen, and we practiced wiping down the counters, loading the dishwasher. Putting things away. Sweeping the floor. We even did a tutorial on dusting the living room. They were super excited about learning these invaluable lessons.

I texted K when I got home, and assumed he would get it when he was on his way home in a couple of days. I figured he must not have service, since he never texted me once letting me know he arrived, or asking to see how I was doing, or how the kids were fairing on their own. Imagine my surprise when I got an immediate response from him congratulating me on my sale. Well at least we are able to stay civil with each other. He did not reply to my ‘I love you’ text. Or he did, but only said “goodnight’.

There was a time in my life when this would have hurt me, but now I see the value in him letting me know where I stand with him. I think this is a good thing. K and I are amiable, and considerate towards each other. I have said before that we are like room mates or friends living together. This isn’t an ideal marriage, but it’s comfortable, and there aren’t any surprises.

Not related but worth a mention, I have lost 3 lbs since I started working. I set my alarm for 5 and got a work out in before work, I am eating less ( no time for a lunch break in the car business), and stress might be a small factor to my weight loss. I am felling pretty good about this. I was worried I would slack off, and gain weight with my new job.

I think after a month or so of working, and figuring out my benefits, and other bills I have to pay; I will look into getting a maid. Spending my day off cleaning up after my family really sucks. I think getting a maid to come in once a month would be a huge help, and a deserved reward to myself.

Right now though I think I will just take a nap and get a manicure. That seems like a nice way to spend a Sunday, especially since I sold a car last night.

You’re Free To Do As You Like (Almost)

I just got back from my Aunts funeral. It was awful, as funerals tend to be. My mother was with her when she died, and I flew out to be with mother, and family the day after she died. I cried every time I saw my uncle. His heartbreak was almost unbearable to watch.

My Aunt lived in Las Vegas, a favorite place of mine to visit on any other occasion. We did stay in a casino on the strip because we got a better deal. We did gamble a little at night when we would return from my uncles. If we were anywhere else we would have found a bar to unwind at. My Dad thought that staying on the strip was a great distraction for my Mom during down time. We took her to see some of the sights, and did some shopping. Unfortunately, we had to shop for funeral attire, so it did put a damper on things.

Last night when I got back I was exhausted, my eyes were swollen from crying, and I didn’t sleep well in the hotel. My husband was being weird when I got home. He wouldn’t talk to me, even though he didn’t see me for five days, and I was visibly upset. He didn’t put his arm around me when we went to bed; he got as far away as possible. This morning he did manage to say goodbye. When I asked him if he was mad at me, he asked if there was a reason for him to be mad. I said I don’t know; because honestly I don’t.

Tonight he worked late. I cleaned the fridge, did the laundry, made dinner, and lunches for tomorrow. I went to the store, and tried to get the shopping done for the week. He was still being weird. After he ate he asked me how much I lost in Vegas. I told him I brought $300 and was down $200.

I knew we were staying in a casino, and knew we were going to gamble a little to unwind. He asked me how much I lost total, I told him how I lost what I won as well. Then he said Well it sounds like you had a nice vacation. It wasn’t a vacation, it was a funeral. He said people don’t gamble at funerals. This is true. I can’t help remember though when his grandmother died and after the funeral we went to New York City to have a fun day. we could have gone to see my extended family while in town, but no, we went to NYC. That was ok though, it was his idea.

I didn’t point out the NYC trip. I just asked him if my going to Vegas was why he was mad. I apologized for my Aunt’s location. He said it’s not that my Aunt lived in Vegas that bothered him, it’s that he works every day so I can go on vacations. It wasn’t a vacation. It was a funeral.

Tomorrow I start my new job. I will work everyday. I was told by my new boss I will be needed 50-60 hours a week. I would like to make enough money to pay back my husband for my plane ticket to the funeral. I would like to pay off my car. I would like to send my husband to Vegas. I think the boys will be in college by the time I make enough to make all of that happen. By then I think our inevitable divorce will be under way. I can’t make you happy K. I love you, and I’m sorry.

I Can Be What I Need To Be. I Can Do What Needs To Be Done.

My Aunt went to the hospital for back pain two weeks ago. She was diagnosed with stage four liver cancer. She died yesterday. It was that quick, the way her life was taken from us. It was that unfair. My aunt didn’t smoke or drink. She lived in Sin City, but her life was anything but sinful.  She lived a quiet healthy life with her husband and cats,  and now she is gone.

I didn’t call her in November when I was in Vegas. I was selfish, and thought I would see her the next time I went out there. I wasted my chance for one more visit with her. I gambled that she would still be around, and the house won. That was a cheesy pun, but this whole thing feels so surreal. She was fine two weeks ago.

I want to cry for her, but I can’t. I wanted to cry yesterday when the news came. I wanted to cry for my mother, who was with her when it happened. I wanted to cry for for my uncle whose despair must be unbearable. I can’t cry  yet though. I am the broken daughter. I am the one who doesn’t cry easily, who doesn’t like to be touched, who is incapable for showing emotion. I want to, but I can’t.

So I am doing what I do best in a crisis, I am the strong one. The one with a plan, and with the funds to see the plan through. I bought plane tickets for my Dad and my sister. I booked a room, I rented a car, and then I booked my own flights.  One fortunate thing happened from me opting to gamble verses seeing my Aunt in November. I had enough player points to acquire a room at the Excalibur for only $23 a night. Since we will be in Vegas for five days, and spent thousands of dollars in airfare, this was a small blessing. Right now, any blessing is welcome.

Funerals are a weird thing. I once read they are for the grieving, not the deceased. I am finding that statement more than accurate. I am sad my Aunt is gone, but am also happy to be able to see family, I never get the chance to see. Why do we wait? Why do we put it off as a chore to visit with family? Even as I question myself, I know that once I return home, I will not see them again until the next funeral. Because that is how life is. We will make promises to one another, just like we did the last time. Then we will slip back into our comfortable lives, and convince ourselves there will still be time. We will put it off until time runs out.

I mock my mother for her uncontrollable emotion. It rolls off her in waves. This is her mental illness, the polar opposite of mine. It always bothered me that my mother cries at everything. To me, it felt like her tears had less value because she could summon them so quickly.

I am sitting here writing this before I pack. I am writing this hoping I can induce some kind of emotion. I want to know how my mother does it. I realize her tears hold immense value, because she has a heart big enough to weep. And I, I am sitting here, and I want to cry, and I can’t.

Irish Eyes Are Smiling

Yesterday was book club. My book club meets at an Irish pub in downtown Austin. If ever in Austin, you should definitely stop by Fados and have a pint.

So back to book club. My friend picked me up, this made me happy for two reasons. 1) I don’t have to try to park downtown 2) I could drink more. One other person came to book club. We all ordered drinks, and I ordered some food, because I have learned not to drink on an empty stomach. I don’t like to eat in front of people, especially if they are not eating, so I ordered a small appetizer. I really should have ordered more to eat. Instead, I ordered more to drink.

We discussed the months book briefly, Rise Again by Ben Tripp. It was a decent zombie read. I did not care for the main character, but I think she was written that way on purpose. I really liked the cliff hanger ending, and will buy the next book that comes out. Once we exhausted our discussion on the book, we moved on to other topics. Our families, working out, sex, dating, oh let’s order more drinks- all of this talking is making me thirsty.

I was pretty buzzed by the time I decided to break the seal, but was still holding my own. I walk back to the ladies room, the door is propped open with a trash can. I cautiously walk around the can and wiggle into the bathroom and walk right into a mans chest. Ok I must be more drunk then I thought I was, I swear I thought this was the ladies room. I apologize, and try to make my way out, embarrassed. He stops me, and explains I have the right facility, he is the manager(or maybe owner- I can’t remember), and was checking on a leaky toilet. He apologizes for startling me, and leaves. Phew, my dignity is saved, and I can pee.

By now we have been at the bar for about 3 hours, the manager/owner stops by our table, and makes fun of us because of our zombie book on the table. It doesn’t matter what he says, as long as we keep him talking. we are all hanging on every word in his Irish lilt. Go ahead, insult us, it’s okay, we don’t mind. To be fair he was insulting us playfully, not being rude. I think we should order another round…

The manager had come and gone, the third member of book club also departed. We were waiting for our check when the manager made a second appearance, and pulled up a chair to our table. besides having a sexy accent, he was actually a very pleasant person to talk to. We talked about about books, movies, and whiskey. To prove his point about a smooth drink, he ordered us his favorite whiskey (Tully’s), and then I ordered more.

After our third, he graciously left us, and invited us back for Saint Patrick’s day. I flagged the waitress down to pay for the extra drinks I ordered, and was told, that our new friend took care of everything. I love when people are genuinely nice. I hope one day I can repay the favor.

 

Dream Log: The Detective Dream

Obviously from the title you have surmised that I am a detective in this dream. I am, but not for the police, it was more like for a secret agency(I’m even vain in my dreams). Very elite, and my job was to find puzzle pieces (literal puzzle pieces), and put the puzzle together.

The first part of the dream I can remember is going to a compound of some sort. It looked like a summer camp, with little cabins, and a lake, and a garden. I don’t know if the description is important, but I can remember it so I am writing it. We (someone else is with me but I never find out who, I just know they are there) walk into the main cabin, and are greeted by Betty White (just wait this gets weirder). She is the leader of the compound, and a sex guru. She takes us to a smaller cabin, that has vaults built into the walls (the kind of vaults you might find in a morgue) She opens a door and slides out the tray indicating my puzzle piece is inside. I crawl into the vault and find an old metal bathtub (it looks more like a water trough) it is filled with opened, unused condoms, and my puzzle piece is at the bottom. I reach in and feel the slippery lubrication of the condoms gliding between my fingers. I am elbow deep in latex before I grab onto something at the bottom of the tub.

*This dream was so vivid that if I were to be blind folded in real life, and had to reach into a vat of opened condoms, I am sure I would know immediately what I was touching. I also woke up with the lingering scent of condoms in my nose. Seriously, my fucked up brain uses all of my senses in slumber.

Once I have my puzzle piece firmly in hand, a whirlwind surrounds me, and my unknown partner, and sweeps us to a knew location. This is a sleek office of some sort. I hand the mystery puzzle piece over to another unknown player in my dream. Once the piece leaves my hand I am once again swept up into a vacuum and am being sent to  next location of a puzzle piece. The song ‘Trojans’ by Atlas Genius is playing in the back ground.

Then I woke up.

Let’s break it down!

A)Yesterday I was listening to Atlas Genius, and heard the song ‘Trojans’ through the rotation of the album. Trojans are a brand of condoms.

B) Yesterday I was reading a cheesy YA book . It is in a supernatural genre, and there were lots of whirlwinds and vacuums sucking the characters here and there.

C) I was having a discussion about Shawn White with one of my students yesterday. I must have mixed up my Whites while I was sleeping. Why a sex guru? Well, what other occupation has a bathtub of condoms? My brain had to come up with something!

D) I had my stereo turned up really loud before I went to work. Instead of turning it down before turning it off, I just turned it off. So when My husband came home and turned on the TV, the surround sound was full blast. Wheel of Fortune was on at the time. “I’D LIKE TO SOLVE THE PUZZLE!!!”

This was an easy one to figure out. I hope my subconscious does a better job at fooling me next time.