Not So Blonde

Deep Thoughts… by Mary Handey

I don’t like a lot of cutesy talk and nicknames. Not there is anything wrong with that stuff, I just don’t like it for R and I. This is probably in no small part to the ex-hub having a new nickname for me every other day. *shiver*

Usually, R and I call each other honey or baby (ironically, when I’ve done something really airhead-ish is when R breaks out the “baby”) or we often resort to each other’s last names.

I know! That last one is weird. If you saw R and I in real life, you’d hear me call him his last name over his first any day of the week. Same goes for him.

Typing that seems so… not loving. But it is, in our weird way. I can handle that. We mostly do it when we’re being sarcastic. And R and I? Are sarcastic pretty much every moment we’re awake. I think my sarcasm is one of the things R first fell in love with. Either that, or it was this ass! It’s a toss up.

One thing I hate is when R refers to me as “dog”. Reason being: I’m not his dog, I’m his girlfriend.

It’s one of those things you wish could let slide when it happens, because I know R is trying to be cute when he does it. But, I can not let it slide. I feel the need to say something. Every time.

I will haven’t heard from R in a couple of days and I’ll get a text that will say, “What’s up, dog?” And I stop being worried about him and start getting irritated - within seconds.

I just realized I also hate being called “bitch”. Not that R calls me bitch. When he’s been highly irritated with me, he’s called me “bitchy” before… and, well, let’s say that will start a fight anew. I think I probably don’t like being called anything dog-like.

~~~

R texted a while ago and said he was going to call later. Wonderful. We haven’t talked ON THE PHONE in about 2 weeks and tonight just happens to be one of those nights that I feel incapable of saying much more than, “I missssssssssss youuuuuuuuuuuu…”

~~~

Got new self tanner. It said on the bottle it smells like limes. Yeah. ROTTEN LIMES. But I have to say, I’m liking the color so far. Check back with me later. I’m so white that I need to see the color right away - so I can correct it! I have to say this one seems to be holding up rather well… and sort of gives a nice sheen to my legs.

Watch me wake up tomorrow a mottled mess and hate it.

~~~

I’m on a save money kick. Okay, not as much save money as - “Bee, start taking care of those bills and stop acting like your ass is independently (Ne-Yo’s new one) wealthy.”

I decided instead of getting a pedicure for my bi-weekly treat (new thing), I’d do my toes myself and take a few items into the cheap-o dry cleaner by my house to be pressed.

After the fourth re-application of toe polish, came to the conclusion the professional pedicure is worth the money it takes to keep my ass in one place until the toes dry. Aggravating!

~~~

I hate a lot of fish. I especially hate a lot of frozen, microwavable fish. But have decided this Lean Cuisine meal is one of my new favorites. Too bad I can’t take it to work since I don’t want to be the one stinking out the break room.

~~~

Remind me to never let my apartment get as disgustingly messy as I did this past week. Would y’all believe it if I told you I still hadn’t unpacked my bags from San Diego? TWO WEEKS AGO? No wonder I fell off the Wardrobe Remix wagon.

See, I know better. I know when I’m depressed how much more depressed a messy ass house can make me but, sometimes, it’s like I can’t help myself. Shit stacks up on top of more shit. Dishes pile up in the sink… and all I feel capable of is laying down and not moving. It’s not a good feeling. Must stop.

~~~

I’m excited for Robin Thicke’s new album. I know at least one person who isn’t, though, and that would be R. I wore the shit out of Mr. Thicke’s last cd when R and I went to Mexico last year. To the point R would probably cry if he ever heard the man’s voice again. But, no matter, I love this song. Enjoy.

P.S. I could swear he sings, “All I got is coffee all around me…” Addicted much?

Spooky Stories

I was cruising thru some older posts back when I was bartending in 2005. Were those ever some good times. Other than R still living in NYC and missing him like cookies miss milk (I have no idea, just go with it), it was a fun time in my life. I made a new category called “Barfly” to house them all, but, I got bored halfway through transferring them. I’m fickle.

I do like a good majority of the posts from that “era”. Like is a strong word. I can tolerate reading them again and giggle - that’s more like it. I think it’s probably in no small part to being drunk half the time I was writing them. Hey, you work in a bar? You drink!

The post in particular that I was looking for is this one, when I talked about the bar I worked in being haunted. Let’s just say, I’ll never listen to this song the same way again:

I bring this up to say, y’all, I’m now convinced my CUBE (or one right by it) is haunted, toooo. A cube ghost! Noooooo… anything but that!! An old dark bar I can see possibly being haunted but a CUBE??

I really shouldn’t be talking about this. Entertaining the thought of even going there, as not-so-serious as I might be, is just plain dumb. This is a bee that’s damn near afraid of her own shadow but I’ll sit here typing about ghosts when I’m home alone…

Spooky! I just got chills. But I’ve come this far there’s no sense in turning the blog around now…

The place I work at clears out hella early. I’m talking by 4:04pm you’re probably going to be one of a handful of people still remaining. The reason for this is, work starts for a lot of my co-workers at 4 or 5 in the morning. By the time I stumble my way in at 7am (fine, 7:05 - who are you? MY BOSS?) most of them will look at me like: What took you so long?

I’ve been staying later at work because, well, I have no life and I’m never in a rush to get home with R gone. (Don’t cry for me, Argentinaaaaaaaaaaaa!) Not only that but if I’m going to do some overtime this Saturday wearing this get up:

You can best believe I’m working four 10-hour-days to push that entire Saturday’s work into overtime (Friday’s a holiday, kids).

So I’m sitting there typing away, when I hear faint, but, pretty clear typing in the cube next to mine. I wanted to call out to the project manager that occupies that cube but you know when you get that feeling… that someone’s… not going to answer?

Because you know they’re probably not there?

Because said PM left hours before and would have announced himself if he returned?

I convinced myself it was a more distant cube and it was some strange echoing going on. Never you mind I work in a hallway kind of one to itself but you know, the mind believes what the mind wants to believe.

I continue to sit at my desk, finishing up some work from the dreaded MONTH MOTHERF’ING END and all the while, I’m hearing this typing. Every time I hear it, I convince myself I’m not hearing it. Maybe my toothache is starting to affect my hearing. It can do that, you know.

One of the few people that has a key to the joint happens past my cube and says, “Burning the midnight oil, Mary? I see you’re the last woman standing!” Gulp…

If I’m the last woman standing, where was the mysterious typing coming from? This co-worker’s office is clear on the other side of the building. I don’t care how faulty and weird ductwork can be, there’s no way I would have heard her typing.

I jump out of my seat like a match was lit under my ass, grab my purse and exclaim, “Well, that’s a bad reputation to have!” I scurry past the cube the typing seemed to have been coming from and I didn’t want to look… but I couldn’t help myself… I glance over quickly and just as I suspected - CUE SLASHER MOVIE MUSIC - it was empty!

I beat it out of there so fast. I beat it out of there faster than… things get beat. Fast, okay? FAST. I think I’ve heebee jeebee’d myself sufficiently for one night, how about you? I’ll end on a lighter note…

I killed (bad choice of words) a couple of hours, easy, reading some older posts. I especially enjoyed reading about when R and I were first together (saying things like “We’ve been together a YEAR” like I was all tough and stuff) and when the teen actually talked and joked with me. Or, rather, talked to me at all. Oh, how I miss it. A sampling…

Me: Man, you are so lucky you got my sense of humor because your Dad? Nada.
Dictator: What are you talking about? You aren’t funny. Tell me something you said that’s funny.
Me: Uhh… that one time when we were driving and I forgot to turn the headlights on and I told you that people in other cars probably thought it was the night driving past!
Dictator: That’s not funny.
Me: You laughed.
Dictator: I laughed because it’s corny, not funny. There IS a difference, Mom. Call me when you find something you’re good at, ‘kay?

Just so you know the kid ended that conversation by saying that he knew something I was good at. When I asked what, he said: “Being my mom.” Invasion of the Teen Body Snatchers, I command you to bring my son back!

And if not that, than bring me a damn drink!