Why I hate waterproof mascara


So I’m not usually a huge make-up person. I mean a bit of mascara, eyeliner and lip gloss are my standard go-tos on a daily basis. Sure I might try to glam it up for a special occasion, but for the most part, I generally can’t be bothered (read: would prefer to sleep in). And let’s be real, those three additions to my daily routine aren’t much. Most of the time I’m just trying to cover up the fact that I may have drunk too much wine on a school night (read: I definitely did) and ended up getting a shitty night’s sleep as a result. But still, it’s my thing.

And just like I stick with this thing, I also stick with my brand of mascara. And yes, I’m really picky about it. Over the years I’ve tried a lot of them out and the one I always come back to over and over again is the Maybelline Great Lash. You know the one, pink tube, green lid, sells a tube every 15 seconds….Ok, I may have made that last part up, but the point is, it’s a pretty fucking big best seller. Especially when it comes to the everyday-I-can’t-afford-the-expensive-shit-but-still-want-to-look-good, anyway.

So I’ve bought this stuff for years and at this point, I’m never going to change. It’s always the blackest black that I get and at any one time, I can have about ten tubes of it on standby at home, just in case. So you can imagine my surprise (and disgust) when I accidentally purchased a fucking waterproof version of my favourite beauty trick. I actually didn’t even notice I’d done it. It wasn’t until the next morning, when I woke up with a bigger than normal case of panda eyes that I finally put two and two together…

Which all led me to the question of why we even need fucking waterproof mascara in the first place. I mean seriously…why? I can think of a couple of reasons and a shitload of good excuses as to why they are bad reasons. Allow me to explain:

  1. Swimming – ok, I’m sorry, but really? Between the fact I’m trying to pull off a two piece while still maintaining control over my naturally curly (fucking crazy) hair as it comes into contact with any form of moisture, mascara is pretty much the last thing I’m thinking about. No amount of “eye-pop” is going to cover up this shit storm.
  2. The gym – this is one that really pisses me off. Anyone who thinks it’s normal to work out with a full face of make up on is a fucking idiot. I mean seriously…I don’t even know what more there is to say about this.
  3. Crying at the movies/work/emotional situation – nothing a pair of dark glasses won’t cover up

So as you can see, there really is no excuse for waterproof mascara. In fact, as I discovered last night when I opened the oven and the residual mascara that no amount of face cleansing can get rid off meant my eyes sealed shut with the escaping heat, it can actually be a health hazard.


Parents, They’re Liars: Part 2


Or maybe I’m the only one who lies to their kid…

A while back I wrote about how I lie to my children. Well, as the Halloween holiday approaches, I’ve realized I’ve told a pretty big fucking lie and it’s gonna come back to bite me in the ass.

I have to give a bit of backstory in order to understand what kind of shit storm I’ve created with what I thought was a small, insignificant little white lie.

Back when Mini 1 was about two and a half, Hubs B and I took him trick or treating for the first time and he couldn’t have been more thrilled with the idea of getting shitloads of free candy. Not exactly at first though… I crammed his screaming ass into a monkey costume and carried him from house to house. The first house was our neighbor, who proceeded to basically dump her entire night’s haul of candy into Mini 1’s bag. Un-phased, he kept howling, while Hubs B carried him to the next house, where the same thing happened—lovely elderly neighbor equals tons of candy and by the third house, it was the same situation. Mini 1 had the haul of an entire night of trick or treating, gathered with stoppage at only three houses. This was when he realized what was in his bag. He proceeded to gorge himself on candy until Hubs B and I took it away. This was where the screaming began again. I vowed he’d never accumulate enough candy to put a horse into a diabetic coma again. So, here comes the lie. (I might just be a horrible parent or an evil genius…idk.)

The next year, I began telling Mini 1 about this goblin, called the Boo Goblin that loves to eat your Halloween candy in exchange for a toy. (Mini 1’s grandma had bought him that stupid Elf on the Shelf the year before, so he was all about shit like that. FYI, I suck at that Elf and should probs do a post about that fucking asshole.) He seemed interested, so I went on to tell him that we could still go trick or treating and collect candy and he’d be able to keep ten pieces, but he’d have to give the rest to the Boo Goblin. He still seemed game, so I ran with it. I explained that if he put all his candy outside on our porch, the Boo Goblin would come along, eat the candy, and be so happy he’d throw up a toy. Again, no complaints from Mini 1 and the Boo Goblin was created.

He talked about it for days leading up to Halloween, mind you, he was only three and half then, so I figured what harm could come from it. I bought a crappy toy at the checkout line of Meijer, Hubs B put Mini 1 in the bathtub after a night of trick or treating and the candy went out on the porch, and the Boo Goblin was born. He “ate” the candy, left the shitty toy and Mini 1 didn’t consume a vomit-inducing amount of candy.

Fast forward several years and that fucking goblin still exists, but now that dickhead is bring Legos and shit for two kids! Motherfucker, this lie is a disaster, and I’m almost certain Mini 1 knows it’s a lie, but he’s fucking with me. He won’t give in and tell me because he’s concerned about his toy gathering going out the window.

And to think, it all started because he was my first kid and I was concerned about his health. Poor Mini 2, he got the shit end of the stick. If I had it to do over again, I’d say, “Gorge yourselves, kiddos! You’re too damn skinny anyway!”

On a side note…where does all that candy Mini 1 and Mini 2 collected go??? Oh, trust me it never goes to waste!



Do I get an A for just showing up?


So I know it’s been a long time since we posted anything. I’d like to say life got in the way, but really, I’ve just been lazy as shit…One thing that has happened however, is I (PM1), got a new job. This was a big step for me, actually going for a job interview and leaving my old job after 15+ years, but that’s not what this post is all about. No this post is about the funny/WTF things I have encountered through my new job.

Namely…the students.

Fuck me, these guys are simultaneously the bane of my life and the single most funniest part of my day. And I’m talking grown up, university level students here too, so you know, theoretically they should have some clue about life, right? Wrong… For one thing, these guys think it’s totally ok to rock up to a 2 hour lab and inform me that they need to leave after 30 mins because they have to work that night. Um, come again? You want to leave a lab at 2.30pm because you have to work that night? Where the fuck are you working? Somewhere that involves a passport and international travel? And just for the record kid, I actually work Monday through Friday, all day…novel I know, but also the real world…get used to it.

Then there’s the kid who shows up for a 3 hour lab, does a bit of work and then after an hour a half, informs me that he’s leaving because, and I quote, “he’s gotta work tonight, so he thought he might just take it easy today.” Um, WTF? You’ve spent a solid 1.5 hours here buddy and you want to leave now so you can “take it easy”. You know there are actually more things for you to do in this lab and by leaving early, you’re not only putting yourself behind, it means you’ll have less time to correct your future fuck-ups. Not to mention that the work you should be staying to do isn’t exactly taxing. But no, the kid just informs me he really thinks he should take it easy before leaving and, I’m guessing, spending the rest of the day at the pub.

But karma can be a real bitch and when this kid rocked up the following week for his lab…not only was he indeed behind, he then proceeded to waste nearly 2 hours trying to pH a buffer he should have made last week, with the cap still on the pH meter. After I informed him that he had just spent the last 2 hours checking the pH of the inside of the pH meter, he just looked at me and said “I should’ve stayed last week, shouldn’t I?”

Yes, you fucking should have, buddy. Yes you fucking should have 🙂


OMG…A lost dog!!


I love animals, especially cute little dogs. I love them so much, yet I wouldn’t get another one if my life depended on it. (That’s another story…our old dog died. Well, we had him put down because he’d had a stroke and had this really horrible gangster swagger, head tilt, housing peeing and crapping, can’t walk straight thing going on. It was devastating to Mini One and Mini Two. Hubs B: “Great, they’re going to hate us. We killed their dog and then abandoned them.” That’s exactly what went down. We decided to put the dog down and then leave on kid-free vacation. Worst. Parents. Ever. DERAILED…)

So last night after a riveting third wheel Friday with BFF, she left and called me only seconds later. Now BFF and I have been friends for 20+ years and together we can be quite stupid.

BFF: OMG!!! There was this little dog wandering in the street. I almost hit it! So I got out and put it in my car.

ME: OMG!! Come back here. That poor dog!

BFF: I think the dog is blind. She’s really old.

ME: OMG!!!

We can be really dramatic when it comes to animals. A few sends later, while waiting for BFF to pull into the driveway, my phone rings. She had found the dog’s owner. What a relief! Well kinda… It turns out the owner was outside with the dog and BFF basically stole the dog from in front of its house and put it in her car and well, drove away. She’s a dog thief! She didn’t intend to be…but like I said, we make poor choices.

Luckily the owner wasn’t too pissed and BFF was able to be a hero in her own mind. I’m sure this won’t be the last stupid thing either of us do, but of course Hubs B got a good laugh out of it. And I was just grateful it wasn’t me who did something stupid, like always.


Why is someone’s mom here?


Last weekend with Hubs B, Guy BFF and Guy BFF’s wife who I will call Roomie, I headed to a the Rusted Root, Gin Blossoms and Blues Traveler concert. While in theory this sounded fab, because it would allow all of us to go back to those wonderful years we spent living together during college. Where we partook in legal and illegal activities, had no responsibilities and pretty much thought anything was funny. Like my post about old movies I loved as kid, this didn’t exactly pan out this way.

First off, this concert was in the middle of fucking nowhere. Punching it into the GPS, she was like, “Bitch, you best be turning around because I don’t even know where the fuck we are.” During this aimless drive with the GPS screen showing fuck all, my brother sends me a text that goes something like this.

Bro: You at the Blues Traveler concert?

Me: Yeah. Why?

Bro: I’ve been to that venue. Camped there. Are you camping?

If my brother could have seen my face, it would have said it all. Still driving into a cornfield filled oblivion, this now gives me a slight indication as to what I’m in for.

Me: I don’t camp.

The convo ends there. I don’t camp. I won’t even stay at a hotel with the doors on the outside. (FYI…it’s called a motel.) There is not a chance in fucking hell I’m sleeping anywhere but in a bed at a four star or up hotel. So panic starts to set in and I turn to Hubs B and ask him if he knows anything about the venue. And in classic Hubs B form says he doesn’t have any idea, but he’s certain it’s in the middle of nowhere. Thanks, Hubs B.

As soon as we hit the town where the Children of the Corn was filmed I begin sneezing and not just ordinary sneezing, it was the kind where you sneeze so fucking much that no one bothers to say God Bless You after the six hundredth fucking time. Bring on the booze because it’s going to be my only salvation.

We finally find the venue, if you can call it that. Basically it’s a plowed down cornfield with a stage in the center and small children flagging you down to park your car for $5. Safe and thrifty…

So Rusted Root takes the stage and things are going well. Drink in hand, people watching and listening to music. But it all falls apart when the sun goes down and the lights go out. Two drinks in and I have to use the bathroom.

Porta Potty hell

There are like thirty and while it is still daylight, it’s all good, but the sun goes down and pissing is nearly impossible because it is so fucking dark you can’t see your hand in front of your face. This is also when the hitters and joints come out, and while I’m not against this shit, it was pretty fucking excessive. The contact high was ridiculous. Please stop smoking weed in the fucking porta potty and making it your personal bong! I actually need to take a piss.

At this point, I’ve stopped drinking because there is no possible way you can see to get back to where you are sitting. I don’t want to get lost on my trek to take a piss. Poor Guy BFF was lost for at least twenty minutes and had to be escorted back to our seats by the kid behind us who smoked more weed than I’ve ever seen someone smoke. (Shocker because Hubs B could put anyone to shame back in the day.)

It’s around this time that my allergies are now full-blown and out of control. I’m a fucking city girl, my body can’t handle this much nature! I’m certain I look like Sloth from Goonies and I feel like hell.

So the Gin Blossoms take the stage…

Oh. My. Fucking. God. There’s a reason their career ended circa 1998. They fucking sucked so hard it wasn’t even funny. It’s was two hours of my life I will never get back and because the music was so retched, I spent the time focusing on the moths swarming the stage lights. Masses of them and big ass mother fuckers, like the size of small birds. I hate moths. Disgusting, wayward, unpredictable fuckers. Life sucking, creepy, weird-eyed shitheads. So gross.

After the millionth sneeze and nearly wetting my pants, I decided to bail. I was over this pretending to be young again shit. I’m fucking old. Give me a smokeless bar, a party at BFF’s house, a restaurant with good food and a even better alcohol and I’m in. Or even better, the drink machine and Guy BFF and Roomie and a drunken game of 90’s Trivial Pursuit.

I’m too old for drum solos that last twenty fucking minutes, bad nineties music and too much weed. Glad I spent four years enjoying when I could appreciate at it, because now it kinda sucks.


OMFG!!! It’s the premier of SOA!!!


Last week was the super fucking sized premier of Sons of Anarchy, a personal favorite of ours, so we couldn’t be more grateful that it’s back and we have something new to obsess over. Here are our thoughts…of course they’re going to be a rambling nonsense of sorts.

PM2: Thank fuck Kurt Sutter decided to open with Juice’s naked ass because I’m not entirely sure I loved this episode. Jax…such a naughty, naughty boy, yet I watch religiously. (And hate him and love him and hate him and hate him and love him. Fuck me.) Right now I’m kinda pissed off, but don’t get me wrong, I’d never bail on this show. Your thoughts PM1?

PM1: Well, although I hated Jax for most of last season, I did love him again in that finale when he finally realized what a fuckhead he’d been. So, I actually liked him in this episode because he’s being all introspective and revengeful and he looked hot as fucking fuck when he got that revenge too. My hate is reserved squarely for that c**t he calls mom…fuck me, never have I hated a TV character as much as I hate her. I mean the bullshit she spins to justifies her actions, the delusion she has and the fact that she CONSTANTLY has to stick her fucking nose into everyone’s business…fuck me.

Random side note: how porky is Marilyn Manson looking these days?

PM2: Oh the finale last season almost killed me. Poor Jax. How could your heart not break for him as he cradled his poor dead wife in his arms? Devastating. And worse, the fact that it came at the hands of evil lying whore of a mother. While I’m totes in agreement that Jax looked panty fucking dropping hot in that revenge scene. (OMFG…that close up of his low slung jeans and boxers…that fucking stomach. Fuck me.) I’m fucking flat out disturbed by Gemma’s lying ass. She’ll throw anyone under the bus to save herself. Asking that poor guy if he had a family. You’re still an evil disgusting c**tish bitch. Tara had a family and you killed her!!!

But yeah…side note addition: Lmao. That’s the first thing I noticed. He’s looking a bit on the chunky side. And when I say a bit I mean, he’s totes a tubs now.

PM1: Yep, she’ll do anything alright. The only thing I’m hoping is that Wendy has learned from her past fuck-ups and will this time sell Gemma out to Jax, instead of waiting for Gemma to sell her out. I mean she is harboring Gemma’s secret in her house…somehow though, I think Wendy has other plans. Either way, the whole thing is one shit-fight mess that I hope Jax survives. And Chibs, and Tig and Bobby and Happy, because honestly, they are the only ones I care about now…at least they’re loyal. And WTF Nero, going back to your crazy-arse lying bitch girlfriend…when you know she killed her first husband and had a hand in killing her second husband…are you fucking batshit crazy?

Side note again: what the fuck happened to his eyebrows too?

PM2: Oh, poor Wendy. I’m just hoping that she isn’t as stupid as she’s been in the past. At this point she’s Jax and those babies only saving grace. OMFG…don’t talk about Jax dying. “I hope Jax survives.” Shut your fucking mouth!! I almost cried just then. But, yeah, so all I can hope for is that Jax figures it all out and gets revenge for his dad and his wife and honestly at the rate Gemma’s going, Nero is going to be added to that list too.

Side note…again: Um…your thought process is far too similar to mine. I looked at Hubs B and asked the same fucking question. If he’s trying to accentuate his forehead, kudos to him, it worked and he looks extra fucking weird now without eyebrows.

PM1: Ok, what the fuck PM2… “she’s Jax and those babies only saving grace”…?? No fucking way. I don’t want Wendy raising those kids and I totes think she’s full of shit when she says “I only want to help”. No bitch, you only want your kid back and back in Jax’s pants…not gonna happen. I pretty much think everyone’s gonna die actually…except maybe Unser, because apparently terminal stage 4 cancer means you never actually die.

Side note continued: really fucking weird…can’t wait to see what Courtney Love looks like when she shows up.

PM2: Listen up, Negative Nelly! While I think Wendy sucks, I’m hoping she’s changed her ways and somehow is the voice of reason through all of this. Someone has to be; the rest of the group is a fucking shit show. And in Wendy’s defense, who wouldn’t wanna get in Jax’s pants??? And the way this show has gone from the beginning, you’re totes right about everyone getting fucking killed. I guess we’ll just have to wait and see how it all plays out. I’m sure this won’t be our last post.

Side note part thirty-five: Courtney Love will definitely be interesting. I’m kinda intrigued by a grimy Lea Michele. Wonder if she’s gonna find herself on her back in Jax’s bed???

Later, PM1…this fucker has gotten long! Here’s to Tuesday and another ridiculous post about fictional characters. 🙂

You talkin’ dirty to me?


So a friend of mine recently introduced me to Audible, the Amazon associated “talking book” App. Given that I (a) love to read and (b) spend an insane amount of time in the car driving to and from work, most of which is spent plotting the murders of my fellow motorists, she (and I), figured it would be a better, more productive use of my time.

She was right 🙂

It’s definitely a great distraction listening to a talking book, although I have to say, listening to it is an art form. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve zoned out, only to discovered 3 or more chapters have passed me by and I have no fucking clue as to what’s happened.

Side note: when Hubs A and I were driving across country once, his brother, who I shall refer to as Bro-in-Law, suggested we take the 12 disc talking book of 2001: A Space Odessy…Yes I shit you not, this was a 12 disc monstrosity that I have no desire to revisit again…ever. The fucking movie was bad enough, the talking book…Fuck me, forget water boarding, this is what should be used as a torture device. Naturally, while it was playing I fell asleep multiple times during this boring as fuck riveting book. Don’t worry, I wasn’t driving at the time, so we weren’t in any danger. However, because of the type of book it was, I could pretty much wake up at any point in the storyline, and sweet fuck all would have happened. And yes, I am being serious. I mean it took virtually an entire CD to describe that big black monolith (oh look, I took 3 words to describe it), that the apes stare at…fuck me.

Anyway, I digress.

Where was I? Oh yes, zoning out. So while that has happened with me in the past, it doesn’t tend to happen now, and I’ll give you one reason why…Sex.

Yep, you heard it, sex. This talking book I’m listening to, although dubbed as a crime/thriller, has sex…and plenty of it. And there is something strangely funny about listening to sex while it’s being read out loud to you. And before you start picturing all sorts of dirty scenarios, it’s not straight up porn you filthy perv. There’s no actual moaning or sound effects, but what there is, is thrusting and wetness and climaxing and…oh god, I can barely type this without laughing…seed exploding! Yeah, you heard me… Seed. Exploding. And let me tell you, it’s weird as fuck, sitting in a car, surrounded by your fellow morning commuters, barely awake as you mainline coffee and try not to kill anyone, while at the same time, listening to two fictional characters get off.

What a fucking wake-up call!

And yeah, it makes me laugh…out loud! It also makes me look around. You know, just to check my volume really isn’t that loud that everyone else can hear it too! I just hope to fuck I don’t crash the car or get pulled over, because I’m not quite sure how I’ll explain exploding seed to the cop that’s first on scene.


Older and wiser…maybe?

The anniversary of my twenty-ninth birthday is right around the corner and I’d like to stay I’m much wiser than I was in the past. This is a huge fucking lie because I still tend to repeat my mistakes, say stupid shit and swear a fucking shitload. But there are some things I’ve learned over the last 29+ years and maybe by sharing them I can help out that younger generation, lead them in the right direction, so they find themselves older and wiser. 🙂 Unlike me who’s only the older end of that statement.

Here are a few things I wish I would’ve known or done in my younger days:

  •  For the love of fuck…wear sunscreen!! I worked as a lifeguard and baked my ass like a Christmas goose for far too many years. I swear I had crow’s feet at nineteen. And there were times, while I thought I look damn good, I’m certain now that I looked like this:


Or possibly even this:


  • Don’t get a fucking credit card until you have an actual legit job where you can pay off your balance or even better don’t get one until you understand the repercussions of bad credit. (Thanks for those multiple bailouts, Dad.)
  • Keep a small group of close friends and ditch those toxic ones. They suck, and make sure you figure this out early or else you’ll end up in tears far too much.
  • Travel, despite the cost. (Although this goes back on my credit card recommendation.) Visit as many places as you can and enjoy seeing the world, because there will come a time when the adult world creeps up and you have a real job or kids or a mortgage or are just too fucking busy.
  • Learn to like wine, because there will come a time in your life when your friends all get old and only drink wine. It’s the classy girls kinda booze, especially when you drink it out of a wine glass with a picture of Hello Kitty giving the middle finger on it. Right, PM1?
  • That boy who broke your heart in high school that you swore was as hot as fuck and you would never get over; he probably looked more like this:


Than this:


And PS…you’ll totes get over him because he sucked even back then.

  • Follow your dreams even when your mother tells you they are stupid and pointless and you’ll never earn a living doing something like that, because there is nothing my gratifying than making your own dreams come true.
  • Laugh till the point of tears regularly. This is something I try to do because it just makes everything better. I owe a big thank you to Hubs B, BFF, Work BFF, Guy BFF and PM1 for always laughing with me. Not a day goes by that I don’t have a laugh with one of them and I <3 them for it.
  •  And lastly, rock those nineteen year old boobs. And I mean this one. There will come a day after babies and nursing and age that your tits will look like potatoes in tube socks and you’ll remember your perky boobs and wish you wouldn’t have hidden them from the world.

While I’m not one of those peeps who worries about birthdays and getting old, I’d still like to think of myself as twenty-nine. That just seems like a good year. 🙂



Happy birthday…from my tattoo guy?

The first person to wish me a happy birthday this year was my tattoo guy. Usually it’s the guy I have our car insurance through or one of the many places I online shop, but this year the winner is Steven. Interesting…I either get far too many tattoos or I haven’t gotten enough and he’s trying to earn back my business. The fact that I have a tattoo guy probably speaks volumes about me, but whatever. I like him and wouldn’t consider going anywhere else.

But to digress a bit, here’s a quick story about BFF since we share Steven as our tattoo guy.

When we were teenagers, long before the fabulous Steven came into our lives, BFF got a tattoo on her lower back, not a tramp stamp, it’s off to the side and far more classy. She swears it was the worst fucking pain of her life and still insists the tat guy made her drop trou right in the front of the shop. So basically it ruined her and she swore up and down she’d never get another. She was like, “Sweet fucking Jesus it was like childbirth. Never again.”

But she’s pretty fickle and a bandwagon jumper, so when I got another one, she decided she’d give it another try. Especially since I told her Steven is fucking awesome. Going with her for moral support, she opted for a tiny tattoo on her foot. Turns out it’s not so bad. She survives and the tat is adorable. Yay for BFF, but not really.

A few days later is the 4th of July and she goes on a boozy bender where she wears no shoes, pokes at the tat with dirty fingers and hits up a few too many bathrooms.

Cue the next day while lying on my couch:

BFF: Do you think it’s infected?

It’s swollen and cratered and puss is forming. It’s as red as an Irishman with a sunburn. It’s totes infected. I feared they may have to take her leg.

Me: Um, yeah.

BFF: Ask Hubs B what to do, he’s in the science field.

Hubs B: *While watching TV* I’m not a doctor.

Me: I have some antibiotics in the cabinet from when I had a UTI. Take one.

BFF: Ok.

Over the course of three days I was texted updated pictures where I teased her without regard for the fact that she may lose her foot, about it being gangrenous and smelling like almonds. Eventually she had to see a legit doctor and not a fake one who has a degree in biology and was drinking a beer while watching TV, because it got mega out of hand. It healed and it didn’t stop her from getting two more after that.

So a shout out to Steven for that happy birthday and for reminding me I’m old, and also for making BFF and I want to get another tat. Mission accomplished, Steven. Well played. Here’s to gangrenous tattoos and my 29th birthday!


Work…you make me wanna drink


I’m back at work and it’s only been three days and I wanna have a really stiff drink or ten and sleep like a fucking baby. (And possibly wake up already retired.) My job always eases us back in or at least that’s the way they look at it. A nice welcome back breakfast of runny eggs, frisbee style pancakes, some mystery meat covered in a red sauce and soggy bacon, and oh yeah, what I thought would be the only edible item, fruit. (You know how I feel about fruit, but in this case I was glad to see it.) Except for the fact that it was pretty shit-tacular. Watermelon with seeds, sour as fuck grapes and mushy strawberries with the green tops still attached. (What the fucking fuck? Unless they’re dipped in chocolate that shit needs to be removed. These were not dipped in chocolate.) Needless to say I ate hardly anything. And I ended up drinking out of Work BFF’s glass because mine had some white chunky thing floating in it. (Let the illness passing begin!)

We then proceed to sit through a boring series of meeting and more meetings and once again meetings, where my boss lays down the law and has that come to jesus talk with the peeps she knows are gonna be fuck-ups. It’s by no means exhausting, but it is boring as fuck.

But the ease in ends two days later and I’m hit with that what the fuck am I doing feeling and sometimes I wanna ugly cry in the bathroom and reconsider my career choice. Anyone else have a job where their office is filled with 58 rolls of paper towels, 87 boxes of Kleenex, 58 tubs of antibacterial wipes, 87 gallon ziplock bags and their even more interesting counter part, 87 quart sized? The list is pretty much endless along with ever finding my desk again. But my personal favorite are the 1,870 UNSHARPENED pencils! Motherfucker…have  you ever tried to sharpen that many pencils??? And don’t even get me started on pencil sharpeners!

Dear Amazon,

Don’t call it industrial if it can’t make it more than two months before it needs to be replaced. Yep, I sharpen a lot of fucking pencils. A LOT!!! And when your sharpener craps out and only sharpens half a pencil, I’m tempted to stab myself in the eye with it just get out of ever having to sharpen pencils again.



But in the end, none of this a has anything to do with my job. No where in my job description does it say, collector of mass quantities of cleaning supplies, and writing utensils, sharpener of astronomical amounts of #2 pencils with a half-assed sharpener, owner of a million fucking glue sticks, (like enough to glue a fucking elephant to the ceiling) and controller of shear fucking chaos. Yet somehow this is where I find myself and after a drink and a good long soak in the bathtub, I’ll do it all over again tomorrow…because I secretly love it. (Not all this shit, but my actual job.)

Not like it’s a mystery, but take a guess what I do for a living??? 😉