OH! and! one more thing.. I have a crush on an extremely short individual.

I'm 5'10'' by the way. It's unheard of.. really..

But more on this later....

Oh, yes, and also.. ALSO...

I accidentally wore a see thru shirt to work today.

With a black bra undereath. Black see thru shirt, with a black bra. Nice.

Full on Janet Jackson circa 1989/90.

Hello co-workers, I am actually a cheesy hooker, here to make you uncomfortable with my see thru shirt and bad Janet Jackson circa 89/90 ensemble. Care to join me in my campaign of sexual harrassment?

Come on, it's fun!

aaaaaaand SCENE!

Ok, so.. I'm sorry. I am so very sorry. I am sorry for the seemingly planned CAMPAIGN OF SEXUAL HARASSMENT I seem to be intent on waging against my clients and co-workers.

Oh yes. If the hugging incident wasn't enough (see below for details), yesterday, I said to a client during a conference call, and I quote:

WILL YOU MARRY ME?

Yes. I said it. He's already married by the way. A straight shooter that likes to sail and wear pleated khakis. I don't doubt he wears 'boat shoes' in a non-ironic manner (although I guess I haven't noticed people wearing 'boat shoes' in an ironic manner lately, or ever really, but you get what I mean). He also has one of the most IMPRESSIVE and non-convincing comb-forwards this side of Donald Trump. Of course, none of this would deter me if I truly loved him. Mais non, I do not.

No, THIS TIME I SO RUDELY FORCED myself upon a client, albeit verbally and over the phone, not in person, it was because he was so very understanding concerning the way schedules work.

You may not know this. Or perhaps you do, but when one plans a schedule, in an ideal world you also use this schedule to plan how your 'resources' (this is the project management way of referring to ACTUAL PEOPLE that do the work laid out in schedules. It's better if we don't think of them as human, trust me.) will be able to work within all the many projects assigned to it. I know, I know, FASCINATING STUFF. "TELL ME MORE!," you scream clutching your mouse, "TELL ME MORE!". And I shall.

This particular client knows, and this is a rare thing, that once you SCREW with a schedule, say feedback on something comes in two days late, it does not necessarily mean that the schedule will only push back two days. OOOOOHHH NOOOOO!!!! One must consider how this delay affects the domino situation of RESOURCE PLANNING. Oh yes they must. Maybe resource number 1 (0r Sarah - that's her name, but like I said, it's better not to know) has OTHER work to do that was previously planned and cannot be moved. So then it will actually take this resource number 1 5 days to complete something because they must now fit the delayed work into their current schedules.

AM I GETTING YOU HOT WITH ALL THIS SCHEDULE TALK? I bet.

Ok, the point is, and there is a point (sort of) is that this particular client, instead of saying, "HEY I'M AN ASSHOLE AND AM GOING TO TREAT ALL OF YOU LIKE YOU ARE ON A RETAINER WITH OUR COMPANY EVEN THOUGH WE ARE ONLY PAYING YOU LIKE $2.00 TO DO THIS", said, "I understand how schedules work and that it may not be an even two days later that we get this back."

Holy shit. Music to my ears. Sweet sweet SWEET music.

To this I said, "Um, WILL YOU MARRY ME?"

I expected a loud uproarious laughter to ensue, both by the client on the phone, and by my team mates sitting next to me in the over airconditioned conference room. I am so very funny, after all.

No, no.. instead, oh yes.. instead, we get this:

COMPLETE AND UTTER SILENCE BY ALL PARTIES INVOLVED.

awwwwwsome.

dead air, my friends, dead air.

Not a girl's best friend. At some point my co-worker managed to throw out a nervous gaffaw and the 'incident' was completely ignored, not mentioned, and never spoken of again.

I am expecting a subpoena in the mail any day.

SOMEBODY, please! SOMEBODY save me from myself.

Reason number 278 why it's nice to live alone sometimes:

You can pick a booger and flick it where ever the fuck you want.

Yeah, I said it. You know it's true.

Ok, so, I um.. hugged one of my clients the other day.

And when I say 'client' I don't mean I'm a hooker who calls her 'johns' clients. Or a therapist or something where perhaps hugging said client might be considered somewhat normal.

No, no, I work for a website company, managing projects with clients in higher education, or like pharmaceutical companies. Not really 'hugging appropriate'.

ugh.

So, yes, I got a little over zealous and some hugging occured. But let me say IN MY DEFENSE that the *other* client contact we saw that day, very OBVIOUSLY went in for the hug with me. I had NOTHING to do with that hug. I just awkwardly received it.

Oh, but also let me say that this is in Long Island. Not the most fuzzy warm place. Lord help me.

At the end of our meeting, the client contact in question (not the original hugger) came at me with a hand shake, which I gladly returned. Then, like in some slow motion horror sequence (maybe the prom scene in Carrie? maybe?) I felt the client coming at me in a manner that I interpreted to mean that she too was going for the hug.

It was an awkward hug initiation, but I felt that it had been made. So in I went for the hug return! "Come 'er you big lug!" Ok, I didn't really say that, but that was the 'tone' of my return hug. As in, DON'T BE SHY, LET'S GET THIS HUG ON!

And then, just as quickly as the awkward hug situation began, I realized that, in fact, this client was perhaps just going to try to get past me to the door to leave. And, in reality, this motion towards me was not a pre-hug stance, but a motion to leave the room.

OH MY GOD.

I just fucking HUGGED THE FUCKING CLIENT.

These were the thoughts running through my head. I have just SEXUALLY HARASSED MY CLIENT OF THE SAME SEX AND SHE WILL BE FIRING US, AND ALSO SUING ME SHORTLY. Not only sexual harassment, but GAY sexual harassment. Jesus help me.

As it became clear that the hug was unsolicited and perhaps FORCED upon her by me, I busied myself with fixing a sandwich and frantically tried some damage control.

"Oohh, yes, sorry 'bout that! I was just in the South and got used to being really friendly. Heh heh... heh..."

Yeah, I'm pretty sure she wasn't buying it.

Again, IN MY DEFENSE, if the first client contact hadn't busted out with the hug, I would have NEVER thought she was also looking for some lovin', huggin' style. I mean, maybe it was like some european kiss/kiss situation. Maybe?

The rest of our meeting, albeit brief, was spent by me going over the whole horrifying scene in my head and trying desperately not to bust out laughing because I was so mortified.

When I got outside away from client earshot I mentioned my horror to my co-workers who seemed very non-plussed about the whole thing. Apparently the hug that felt like a bad dismount on a bad first date didn't seem *too* weird to the other people there.

However, later, I was reminded never to show my weakness to one of my co-workers when my boss came up to me (who had not been at the meeting) and said 'Hey there huggy-bear!'

UGH.

Yeah, apparently, he found the story sooooo funny he decided to tell the entire management team about my faux pas. CEO, my boss, all of them. Nice.

I haven't stopped blushing for almost a week now.

Let the circle be unbroken, the humilation is complete.

I think I need a hug.

Holy fucking shit, I am in a bad mood. A really rip roaring bad mood.

I'm in such a bad mood it's keeping me from sleeping, despite being very exhausted-like tired.

Feh.

Back in the day, when I was anxious or feeling depressed or like shit about myself, I used to sit down and start writing in my journal, and eventually I'd tease out of my subconscious what it was that was *really* bothering me. Like maybe I just needed to cry. Or maybe I never got enough barbie dolls when I was little and I needed to grieve all gestalty and shit to feel better.

Now, quite frankly, I'm just tired of feeling bad. I don't care about the reason, I probably know what the reason is more or less. I'm really just tired of thinking about feeling less than O.K.

It's not something that happens all the time, feeling less than O.K. Oh, but it does happen. It's where my mind goes when I feel unsure about things in my life. It's like a mental habit I formed when I was young. "Feeling unsure and weird? It's much easier to think about how you suck!" Great idea right?

It's almost like my version of having an eating disorder. Eating disorders are all about feeling out of control and eating and food being the only things that you feel you *can* control. When I am feeling unsure about the future or something in my life, I just start down the laundry list of things I don't like about myself and POOF! no more anxiety attack for me! Just that old familiar feeling of feeling sorry for myself and self loathing.

That's nice and consistent. I can always count on that place in my head to be there, no matter how uncertain the rest of my life is. Hate my job and want to get hit by a bus today so I can never go back? Ah yes, perhaps I would like to indulge in a little despising of my diminutive chin. Yes, yes, much better. That glimpse of my profile I just caught in the window passing by is FAR more upsetting than my job. Let's think about that for awhile.

Sigh.. The irony is, is that I really don't even *believe* half the horrible shit I think about myself. Or even most of it. I believe, deep down inside that I'm pretty fucking cool, actually. Most of the time, these thoughts are like deep ingrained brain habits that are like my safety blanket. I just go through the routine when I'm feeling the crunch from the outside world.

And let me clarify (or perhaps the right word is 'admit') something for a second. Really, when I am feeling like shit and really giving myself the 'what for' it's having to do with my appearance, not my social skills or my personality. I have a FANFUCKINGTASTIC personality. But 'Extreme Makeover' doesn't exist because people want better personalities. Although frankly, most of the time that and a good haircut is really all that needs to be done.

No, no, I am the most boring of the females around who is constantly worrying if they measure up physically. You would not know it if you knew me. I try to keep most of it to myself. I am, however, the queen of self-deprecating humor, so there's hints of it. I'm sure it's more obvious than I like to admit. But if they only knew...

So, what to do? My great fear, and I think I picked this up somewhere in 7th grade, is that I will finally rid myself of these thoughts and start relating to the world and myself in the way that someone who thinks they aren't the hunchback's ugly sister might. Holy shit, right? What a radical concept.

But what if I do that and it backfires? What if I was right all along? What if I really AM the hunchback's ugly sister and really SHOULD pass go right to the freak show of my local boardwalk? What if I am FOOLING MYSELF?

So this is my fear. It essentially boils down to thinking I'm good enough, when in reality I'm not. Or in the 7th grade version of it all, being asked out by the boy you have a crush on, or the popular guy and then, when, all dewy eyed and full of young hope and romance you respond with a 'yes, I'll go out with you', the guy yells PSYCH! and laughs his ass off at you with everyone joining in.

*shudder*.. ugh.. and by the way, that never actually happened to me, but it was my greatest 7th grade fear. Old fears die hard, apparently.

You may be asking yourself, 'Oh my god, why in fuck's name do you even give a shit?' Or perhaps you'd be asking something similar without so many swears involved.. And I ask myself that question just as frequently as the popping up of self-loathing thoughts come up.

I mean, what a fucking waste of time, worrying about all that shit. Wasted brain energy when I could be painting or playing the guitar.

The feminist in me says it's because of the 'man' making women feel inadequate so all they do is worry about their asses being too big instead of thinking about ways to finally take over the world and start the long overdue castration festival. There could be some validity to this, but I think in order for that to take hold of someone they have to have a hole to fill caused by something else.

I guess I do have that hole. Ew, not *that* hole, a METAPHORICAL hole or whatever. I guess I need something a little less self-abusive to fill it. sigh.

The biggest frustration of all, is that this is something I've figured out OVER AND OVER AGAIN. I have lived a whole lifetimes focused on realizing that attitude is basically the only thing that matters. All those people on Extreme Makeover? I can guarantee that if they just worked that shit and was like 'check me out, I'm hottttt!' the whole world would relate to them differently. Feeling ugly makes you ugly, I know this. Ok, except for the bad teeth. The bad teeth, that they can still fix.

It's like that famous story about Marilyn Monroe with the reporter or a friend (can't remember) when they are out in public and no one even notices her. She says to the person she's with 'Want to see Marilyn?' and she busts out the attitude adjustment and suddenly everyone recognizes her.

It even comes through in photos. On days when I'm feeling like it's time to finally get the burqua to cover my shame, and there's a photo taken, I look like shit. But on days when I'm feeling like the most sparkly shiny fancy ladypants in all the land, and there's a picture taken, I look goood, yo.

But again, I say, why does it even MATTER. oh why?

It's where I place the blame when things aren't going my way, I guess. Some people blame other people (which is starting to seem like a better idea) but I blame my dimpled ass. The girth of my hips is why I can't find someone who isn't a crazy asshole to date me. This is why. Except there are countless examples that exist where people with far larger asses than mine find true love. DAMN! Another hole in my AIRTIGHT theory.. damn you logic! damn you to helllll!

So perhaps it's time to begin the attitude adjustment. But this means literally changing how I relate to the world. But what if people don't like me if I'm not that non-threatening, self-deprecating gal they've come to know? It's like an alchoholic having to get all new friends because they can't drink anymore. Plus, it's so.. so.. ME to be that way. What would I occupy my mind with, if not feeling sorry for myself because not EVERY person I meet wants to sleep with me? It boggles the mind, truly.

Not relating to the world that way really does feel like stepping into an unknown vacuum of time and space. And as we've already established (wayyyyyy up the in the beginning of this entry) when I feel like I'm unsure and unsettled, my mind QUICKLY rushes back to fill the void with the "if my fill in the blank was only better" thoughts.

Dammit. I guess I'm fucked. I know this is where I should decide to really focus on starting a meditation practice. Right? Start my own little cognitive behavioral therapy experiment? I've tried it all before. I guess I just need to try again. And again. And again, until something sticks.

In the meantime, when I'm really feeling shitty, I do remember that it could be so much much much worse and I should be so lucky that the only thing I worry about on a regular basis is if I'm pretty enough. I know this deep down.

As a good friend says, 'Hey! At least you can control your bowels!'. Lord knows it's true, and lord knows how long that will last.

So maybe I should just shut up and enjoy my functioning sphinchters while I can.

I'm thinking that's a very good plan. I hope it works.

Goin' to Graceland, Graceland, bam dada bum... goin' to Graceland...

Anyway, I went to Graceland. Oh yes. So check out these pictures.

My co-worker Margaret thought it was sad.. and I guess it was, thinking about what a talent he was and how tragically he ended.

But frankly, I just loved the 70's cheese. Loved it.

See for yourself.. enjoy!

This is so cool!

I just ordered everything in the urban section.

Check it!

Couple of things:

1. Women who wear 'clear' or 'beige' 'pantyhose' are so very seriously misguided. ALSO! Those who wear these with SANDALS are committing a crime SO HEINOUS I don't know where to begin.

Why is it usually someone who *just might* be from Russia or some other slavic country? Bad times at Ridgemont High ladies. Bad times. Let's learn from our new country and surroundings. Please, for the good of all of us. "Sandlefoot" is just a description, not directions for how to wear them. ugh.

2. My guitar teacher, a "mellow" hippy type who is actually full of the most rage I've ever seen, as hippy types often are, which makes pretty fun to be around, had the following rant about a certain cult that famous people are in (and it's not of jewish origin, ahem). Apparently he doesn't watch T.V. but the whole Tom Cruise thing has made it to his cultural consciousness, which is says alot about how fucked up and over the top the Tom Cruise thing is. Put a lid on it Tommy-boy, a lid.

So, apparently when he (my teacher, not Tom Cruise, although maybe him too, one never knows) as a young laddy in New York, got sort of interested in these folks and took some classes and their personality test, etc. As you do.

After taking a few of the classes, me thinks the young version of my guitar teacher caught a distinct whiff of the bullshit and decided he wanted his money back from one of the classes.

This is where the good part comes in, as my teacher began this part of the story, my eyes widened with fear.. They then took him INTO A ROOM ALONE (don't worry, his anus stayed safe. Anus safety at all times, thank god) and said the following thing to him:


The end is coming soon. Very soon. And when that end comes, people will be coming to us to get this knowledge we possess. (Here's the best part) They will be coming WITH SHEEP TO BARTER FOR OUR KNOWLEDGE. (That's right! WITH SHEEP) and when you come (assuming he had a sheep with him, I suppose) we will TURN YOU (and your scrumptialicious sheep) away to fend for yourself.


Oh. my. god. Needless to say, he got his money back.

Apparently, the sheep is just the tip of the iceburg.