I'm Still Wondering What Happened

Friday was fine. We talked about when we were going to take vacation. We talked about trying to overlap our week at the cottage with his sister again. I mentioned that I had enjoyed spending time with her and her husband last year and I was hoping for an extra day with them this year.

Saturday was fine. In the shower together, he asked if there was any more soap. I told him I didn't know if he had any, I hadn't done his shopping. He said "I noticed." I jokingly replied that grocery shopping fell under the rule "if you want the milk, buy the cow." It's an old theme so there was no anger in it, just play.

Sunday morning he went to work, I went home to my chores.

Monday and Tuesday were both late nights for me. When I finally stopped for the evening, I noticed the time. I realized he hadn't called but by then it was too late to call him - he would have been sleeping.

Wednesday I arrived home to an empty house. Quiet is a rare thing here, so I took the opportunity to catch up on some reading. I heard someone come in and thought maybe it was my neighbor. I entered the kitchen in time to see The Polish Guy set a box on the table.

One single box. It didn't contain much. A nighty, a lamp, a container of dog food and a couple of dog toys. Four years of happiness and love in one single box.

I felt the blood drain from my face. I started to ask why but then pride took over. "It's too bad, we had something that was pretty special."

The Polish guy shrugged his shoulders.

"I hope you have a nice life" was the only thing I had left to say.

Two weeks later, I'm still wondering what happened.

 

Pack a Pint of Peckers

We're packing a new variety of tomato at work. You do know where this is going right?

That's right - boxes of tomatoes that look like one eyed bandits. Honestly, I had to walk away. I just couldn't take all those peckers looking at me.

I've got no idea how they taste - I'm guessing bland and fleshy.

Being nice is over-rated.

Remember the work phone with the number that gets around? Yes well, it's still giving me headaches.

I rarely get oddball calls on my work phone anymore, so today when it rang and "unknown caller" showed on the display I answered.

Me: Hello, it's Vanessa.

Caller: Hi, I just found this number in my husbands wallet.

Me: Well I don't know what to tell you - this is a work phone.

Caller: A work phone?

Me: Yes, a work phone.

Caller: Oh, Okay.

I hung up and went about my Sunday. I knew it wasn't over though, because I had an idea who the caller was.

Round 2...

Me: Hello, it's Vanessa.

Caller: Hi I called earlier. I'm J's wife.

Me: Okay and?

Caller: Well do you sometimes give him a ride to work?

Me: You're his wife, don't you give your husband a ride to work?

My Brain: While you're taking his paycheck and not giving him any spending money? 

Caller: Well I do, but sometimes he gets a ride. It's just he told me that you're his supervisor and he has your number to sometimes get a ride?

My Brain: Yes, because you're too effing lazy to get out of bed and drive your husband to work. It fucks up my day when I'm down a guy. 

Me: So your husband gave you a perfectly reasonable explanation for why he had my work number and yet here you are calling me because you don't believe him?

Caller: Well um yeah.

Me: Yes, I gave your husband my work number so that if he was ever in a bind he could catch a ride to work with me.

My Brain: And I threatened him with death if his psycho wife ever found out about it and started calling me. 

Caller: Okay, sorry about that.

Me: Have a nice afternoon.

Yep, completely self inflicted. I knew she had a screw loose, but damn I hate having my work day frigged up because some lazy skank couldn't be bothered to get up and drive her husband to work.

And of course it didn't end there...

Then I get the call from the husband with apologies and explanations.

Me: Honestly? Your marital drama is none of my concern. Have a good afternoon. 

And it still isn't over...

Next comes another call from the wife. She sounds drunk or high or who the fuck cares. She starts apologizing.

Me: Can I explain something to you? Sunday is my only day free of work. It's the only day I don't have to think about work. It's my only day to myself - free of worries. I would like to enjoy that day if you don't mind.

Bitch, you don't want to make me flip my bitch switch.

Can I Have a Do-Over?

It all started with a nail.

J: I just found this on the floor - somebody could have really hurt themselves on that.

He then presented me with a nail. Kind of like a finishing nail. One of those headless nails that could be as long and wicked looking as you want, but unless it's sticking out of a piece of wood it's harmless because it can't stand up on it's own.

Me: Right, somebody could really hurt themselves stepping on a nail lying on it's side.

Thankfully J had walked away and didn't hear me. 

K: It's a good thing you don't make a habit of saying what you're really thinking.

There was some heavy sarcasm there. I laughed about it and started trying to edit my thoughts before they came out of my mouth.

Let's call that an epic fail.

Remember washroom B with it's malfunctioning paper towel dispenser? After pushing the lever at least 50 times I had an entire 2 inches of paper towel. I came storming out and grabbed a foot or so off of the roll sitting on the janitor's cart.

Which would have been fine, except the janitor saw me and could tell I was frustrated. Do you think? There was probably a damned thunder cloud over my head with lightning bolts spelling out "Danger - Stay Clear!" So he started apologizing profusely about the paper towel dispenser.

In other words he was apologizing because I was being a bitch. So I went up to my office where I may or may not have bawled a little bit and got my composure back.

I wish I could have kept it for longer than five minutes. Today was destined to be one of those days where I cringed every damn time I opened my mouth.

My Brain: Don't say it, don't say it -

My Mouth: Looking at those fake fingernails makes me want to vomit. It's like someone stuck a fake fingernail on a toe.

My Brain: Would you just STFU mouth - you sound like an obnoxious bitch. You are being an asshole again.

The entire day went like that. It's pretty bad when you're so bitchy you don't even want to be around you. 

Can I have a do-over?

Linking up with Theme Thursday hosted Jenn of Something Clever 2.0. Click the button and check it out.

UPS, The Swinger and Ron Jeremy

Getting ready to go back to work after lunch today I stopped at the end of my driveway. I looked left, then I looked right. I let the vehicle coming from the right go by and as I was getting ready to pull out I looked to the left. There was the UPS man flying towards me.

The UPS man honked his horn - after I saw him.

I'm sorry I startled you UPS man, but let me reassure you. After struggling to keep my break up drama free, getting creamed by a UPS truck would not have made my day. If I'm going to try for some drama I can think of numerous more satisfying scenes to make. Not one of them would involve looking for a replacement vehicle. Cars cost money y'all.

The Swinger's Big Plans

The Swinger has the weekend booked off. It will be like a vacation for the rest of us.

He's got some big plans for his weekend off though. Now keep in mind that I had zero foresight on the huge amount of potential this guy had for blog material. Stupid me, I told him to keep his sexcapades to himself. So all my intel is second hand.

Yesterday someone told me all about him telling them all about his plans to spend the weekend partying with Ron Jeremy. That would be Ron Jeremy the porn star. So I said "well wait a minute - didn't that guy have an aneurysm or something?"

Holy shit I've got to Google this - finally I can prove this guy is full of it. Bullshitters bug me. It's like they're saying "you look stupid so let me string you a line."

Only when I got home, I couldn't remember "Ron Jeremy" was the name of the guy I wanted to Google. I Googled "fat hairy porn star" and got nothing that triggered my memory. Thankfully, no images burned into my retinas either. Then I remembered the name Ron. So I added that to my search string and found out that Ron Jeremy had been cleared by his doctors to resume sex.

I thought all was lost in proving The Swinger to be full of shit. Until I heard today's story - secondhand of course.

I guess now his birthday plans include visiting Ron Jeremy in the hospital.

So I Googled that aging porn star again at lunch. Now according to TMZ as of February 22nd, Ron Jeremy is healthy and hale and has his Doctor's clearance to pump away.

It's not 100% proof that The Swinger is full of shit, but I think if Ron Jeremy was in the hospital, the media would know.

PS UPS needs to paint their trucks a different color. I mean I know they're pretty big and all but that brown color kind of blends. I think they should go to a school bus yellow. It would complement the brown uniforms and be a lot easier to see.

PPS If Ron Jeremy is getting action there is hope for all the short fat hairy men out there.

PPPS The Swinger needs to make better use of Google so his bullshit is based on recent news. 

 

A "Fail" kind of weekend, spilled milk, and The Swinger

Saturday after work, I braved Walmart. The youngest needed socks and I was hoping for something to entertain me in my lonely spinsterhood. Can I still be a spinster if I've had children or do I have to be childless also?

After navigating through the other shoppers (Relax - there was zero bloodshed) I looked at a wall of books. Every one them of the Twighlight ilk, which wasn't anything I was in the mood for. So I picked the one that appeared to be different - Beautiful Bastard. If you've heard of it, you're probably already snickering right?

Because doesn't every just dumped woman want to read erotica?

Fine, I'll watch the movie I bought. Except the universal remote to work the DVD player is batteryless. I can't even blame the kids because I'm the one who stole them to use in the TV remote. Since I've got absolutely nothing to coax the DVD player past the menu screen into play, no movie either.

I found a book to read - other than Beautiful Bastard which is residing under my bed where it landed after sliding down the wall - and went to bed.

Value Village here we come

Sunday I stopped at Value Village on my way for Groceries - they've always got a lot of used books.

I also found this mirror and thinking it would look pretty neat painted black, I bought it. Then groceries, a stop at the Home Hardware for some black spray paint and I'm home.

The day is sunny, not warm but not frigid so I've got no excuses to NOT cut the lawn.

Except the mothereffing lawnmower would not start. My just bought last year, second pull guaranteed lawnmower. So I decided to spray paint my mirror and discovered I kind of suck at spray painting.

This is when I chose to go in the house and start reading the Dean Koontz novel I had also bought.

This is the "Woe is me, my boyfriend dumped me" part of the post. 

I won't hold it against you if you skip past this part.

I don't know why, but evenings are not too bad. I'm sad, but not "lose it" sad. Mornings (and by morning I mean anytime before 3 pm) are brutal. Which I guess is just more proof that I'm not naturally a morning person. This morning it seemed like I was going to be closer to okay. Then I drove to work and saw his truck was home.

Did I forget to mention that part? Yeah, we live within walking distance of each other and will regularly need to drive past each others houses on our daily routines.

My emo Brain: Why is he home? Did something bad happen?

My logical Brain: He did mention something about having to take a night shift for a guy on vacation.

My emo Brain: Well how is he going to pick up his kids on Friday if he's on afternoons.

This is where my logical brain gave my emo brain a slap across the cheek

My logical Brain: Not. Your. Fucking. Problem.

Then, while at work someone asked me if I had plans for vacation. Which I did - two weekends ago. In fact The Polish Guy and I were even discussing when we would take our vacation. Then Wednesday he dropped off all of my stuff.

I'm kind of guessing that means he's not planning on taking us with him this year.

I've written those hurtful words "I've been dumped" but I up until this morning I had not been able to say them. I just couldn't do it without losing my composure.

I managed to get the words past the lump in my throat, and told her why I had no vacation plans at the moment. I did not cry. I even held it together through the meaningless platitudes that people make when they're sad that you're sad.

Not even an hour later I flipped the bitch switch over something trivial. Then I had to apologize for being an asshole, but at least I didn't snot and slobber all over an employee's shoulder.

That would be unprofessional.

Cockroaches and spilled milk

Another trigger for me has been seeing the one lady at work and remembering her little homily from Barbados of "There be a cockroach in your milk." Apparently, this is what they say when a woman is having a sneezing fit.

Why do I even worry about this? It's not as if I have any reason to believe he was two timing me.

Besides, should it even matter at this point if "some other woman be doin' yer man"? Another woman is not going to make him any more not attracted to me. It's like worrying about getting more pregnant if you have sex while pregnant. Obviously he's "just not that into me", so why even worry about it? Why look for answers in the inexplicable? Why care so damn much over someone who obviously no longer cares for me?

It's like crying over spilled milk.

The Swinger is back at My Half Assed Life

The Swinger's got some big weekend plans. Whenever I felt weepy, I would picture him in ridiculous role playing costumes. Emphasis on ridiculous so as not to trigger my gag reflex. Alternately, I would wait until I caught the other Shipper/Receiver's eye and make like I had the guy on a leash and collar with a whip in my hand.

Whicha!

It got me through the day.

This is why my lawn is always a mess.

Early this week the sun was shining and the air was soft and full of spring smells. I looked at my yard and saw the shaggy look of a lawn just breaking dormancy.

I rarely have the energy or desire to mow the lawn when I get home from work, even on those occasions where I have the time. Usually weekdays are a scramble to get a meal put together, enough clothing washed that everyone can leave the house the next day and a few minutes to myself.

So I have to wait for the weekend. Call it Murphy's law, call it what you will, but most weekends in the early spring seem to wind up being wet and rainy. Too wet for cutting grass.

This year mother nature offered up a special surprise - snow.

I suspect that once again my grass will be a foot tall with new spring growth before I'm able to cut it.

One of these days, the day after tomorrow will be the day.

Remember this post - Don't Make Me Flip my Bitch Switch?

We're waiting for Dad to come and pick up his youngest child for the weekend. Or I'm waiting and they're trying to drive me nuts.

You know how it is when you're due to go somewhere so you just pace around the house until finally it's time to leave? That's what the youngest is doing right now - with his shoes on. The oldest is trying to aggravate the youngest and doing a damn fine job of aggravating me at the same time.

So I'm hiding in my bedroom listening to a Cake CD skip - because it's been that long since I really used my stereo.

Four today and eight tomorrow

After a full week of six today and eight tomorrow, except for last night when it was six today and seven tomorrow, this should be welcome news - no?

Except me - the asshole at the party - goes and says - so no break? I made a yuck face too.

Then I laughed at myself, because let's face it four is better than six.

Except right now that's how I'm getting through the day. Counting off time until this segment of the day is done and the next one begins.

In the morning, I have to force myself to wait until it's my normal time to leave because the sooner I start the sooner first break will come. The sooner first break comes the sooner lunch will come and so on until today is done.

The sooner today is done, the sooner I can get through tomorrow and then the day after tomorrow.

One of these days, the day after tomorrow will be the day I'm okay again. Okay with being just me instead of us.

That day isn't visible on the horizon yet, but it's coming. It always does.

Weekend Funnies is on hiatus

If you're looking for a great place to link up for the weekend? Yeah Write has got you covered with the weekend Moonshine Grid. I promise - you'll get a lot more out of it than I can offer.

I wish I could order up a hot flash when I need one.

Right now, my dog is shredding one of the stuffed toys that came home from The Polish Guy's house last night. I hope this isn't the beginning of adolescent post break up doggy angst. I did that with the two footed adolescents - one ride on that merry-go-round will do anyone for a lifetime.

The warmer weather might be here - but I still froze my arse off at work today. Then they turned the chillers on.

It really is too bad that I can't just order up a hot flash when I want one.

Supper is almost ready to serve - before 9, so there's a win. The green bean casserole I made is big enough to take to a pot luck. I probably still won't get seconds.

Dishes are done. Even if they're really Mondays dishes. I don't care dishes got done.

Weekend Funnies will be going on hiatus. Partly because I'm not feeling funny right now. Mostly because I've been watching all the stats and I wasn't doing much for you bloggers who did link up.

If you're looking for a better place to link up? One that will bring you community - which is something better than page views - I can't think of a better place to hang out on the weekend than Yeah Write's moonshine grid. If I manage to blog something other than whiny shit this weekend I'll see you there.

Now please excuse me - I've got to go clean up some shredded stuffing.

Wife Cakes and knowing when it's time to say when.

One of my workers often gifts me with a Kit-Kat in the morning. Last week, when he was out in the greenhouse picking green beans* for himself, he picked a bag full for me. We'll be having green bean casserole tomorrow thanks to his efforts.

This week he gave me a box of cookies. 

Every one of them individually wrapped within it's own plastic tray.

With one of these little packet under the tray and warnings to not eat or microwave.

They were called Wife Cakes and gave me terrible indigestion - make of that what you will.

 

Apparently I give The Polish Guy indigestion too.

 

So tonight The Polish Guy dropped off the little bit of stuff I had at his house. Seriously, four years together and it fit in one box. Most of it was the dog's stuff. 

I guess that means he's saying no way to the Friday night dog visitation I always joked about. No worries - there's always a walk as an alternative.

 

Three strikes - You're Out!

 

Yep, that's right. Three strikes. Three relationships for my 42 years (I don't count flings - I know the difference) and three failures. At the end of the day, it really doesn't matter if it's my failure, their failure or our failure. It wasn't a win.

For each of the last two, I've taken the leap of faith - this time will be different. I've made my best effort to let go of the past and hope for a future. This guy isn't the one who hurt me last. This guy will be different.

And I've discovered the landing to be just as rocky and painful as the last time.

This guy was different. This guy is a guy who was never meant to go through life alone. So boo to the ladies who treated him like shit on his last go arounds, and boo to him for not dreaming that this time would be different and braving the free-fall.

Even if the landing is rocky, the fall is pure exhilaration.

Now please excuse me, I'm sure there are some cats out there looking for love.

*We grow tomatoes at work, but at the end of each row is a green bean plant for sentinel purposes. The beans from them may not be "garden grown" but they are far superior to the grocery store offerings this time of year. They're also free. 

I Don't Miss Working in an Office

Up until last August, I worked in an office. It was clean, relatively quiet and the hours were a whole lot more regular. I was also kind of good at it.

Where I work now for most of the year there are forty to sixty other people working in my department. If somebody is making me feel twitchy and bitchy I have the option of biting my tongue and backing away. Somebody else will likely make me laugh and the twitchy feeling will go away.

In most offices there are only a handful of other people. I spent a lot more of my day talking to or hearing people that may not have been my favorite that day. I also got to spend a lot more time pulling little daggers and other sharp objects out of my back.

Once in a while, I wish I was back at my old job with it's regular hours and familiar tasks. Then one of the ladies from the office calls me.

Usually she drones on and on in a monotone voice that I can barely hear about some relatively minor thing. Sometimes she complains about how difficult somebody else is making her job.

She reminds me of me when I worked in an office.

I may not have figured out what I want to be when I grow up, but I know I don't want to be that me again.

The Grief of a Child

My kids have always lived in the house we live in now. When they were small we were friends with the couple next door - Ron and Margaret.

Ron had a way with kids, especially my oldest little boy. I don't know if it was just his nature or his experience as a Judo instructor, but he always knew exactly the perfect amount of wrestling for my little tornado. Ron stopped while it was still fun - before things got out of hand.

Infinite patience and a stern voice when needed will take you far in a child's eyes.

By the time my little boy was old enough for school, Ronnie had superhero status in my household. If my boys were awake, every stroll through his backyard brought him his hero's due. Excited cries of "Ronnie!" were blasted from our window or the sandbox in our yard. When the playmates started coming over, he got to hear a chorus of children call his name from our sandbox. Each of them trying to be the loudest.

While his hero status was rising, Ron's health was failing. Complications of the treatments that saved his life when he was a teen with Hodgkin’s disease were catching up to him. There were heart attacks followed by bypass surgery. Then one day he could no longer keep food down and was hospitalized. The same radiation therapy that saved him so many years ago had paved the way for another cancer. Within days he was gone.

My little boy was only six or seven when I told him his hero had died. He cried and wailed with the grief of a child. When there were no signs of it easing, I took him in my arms and told him that it was okay to be sad and that he was allowed to be as sad as he needed to be.

Then I told him that when he felt like it, it would be okay to be happy too.

***

I'm linking up with my favorite community again. If you haven't already checked Yeah Write out you need to, so click the badge and see what we're all about.
 

Just another slice of inappropriate

When #2 gets together with The Polish Guy's two teenagers it can be a comedy show. I've got to start recording this shit - it's that damn funny.

Last night, just before I got into bed I remembered my glasses were still tucked into my pants pocket. The pants were hanging in the bathroom, so I went to get them.

#2: Are you naked?

Me: What the hell? Of course I'm not naked. Why would you even think that.

Seriously - I have never made a habit of strolling around unclothed. That would be gross.

#2: Just the way you went into the bedroom and came right back out.

Me: I was getting my glasses.

I returned to bed, but wanted to give him back an Eew moment.

Me: I should have told you I was going to get my Dildo.

#2: Eeew

The Bonus Kid: Eeew

Wanting to steer the conversation away from the possibility that I might actually own such a thing I piped up again.

Me: I've never actually bothered - I always figured you guys (meaning the Asshats) would find it and steal the batteries to run a remote controlled car or something.

I can hear the conversation continuing between #2 and The Bonus Kid, each of them coming up with different implausible scenarios between #1, #2 and a dildo.

Then it happened.

#2: Dildo Fight!

Which triggered a slide show in my head.

Remember when you were a kid and you would have sword fights with the paper tubes from wrapping paper? Replace paper tubes with neon colored dildos.

You've met the Asshats - it could have happened.

Now picture Luke Skywalker and Darth Vader facing off - only instead of Light Sabers they've got neon colored dildos. Yes I know - I just desecrated Star Wars.

For accuracy, is it Luke that gets the green dildo? 

I went to the mall and there was no blood spilled.

I'm two thirds of the way through spending a three day weekend. Have I spent it sensibly?

Oh hell no.

Friday was spent napping, with a little bit of reading to break it up.

Today it was time for the dreaded trip to the mall. Have I mentioned before that I despise shopping? Still there was a mall gift card that needed to be spent and new work shoes that were sorely needed.

First I checked all the fluids on my car, prepping like I was going on a 8 hour road trip instead of a 45 minute drive to Windsor. Which makes me think I need to get out more because let's face it, I never go anywhere other than work, the grocery store, The Polish Guy's house and my mom's for Sunday dinner.

I made it to the mall, in one piece and parked outside of Chapter's because after shoes I was getting books. I lie, not about the books but the real reason I park outside of Chapter's is because there's a bathroom in there.

I headed through the mall - have I mentioned I hate shopping? What is with people who insist on rushing to get in front of you and then walking exactly a half pace slower than your natural stride? My natural stride is impatient bitch by the way.

Once I finally found a shoe store, I came to the realization that somebody declared it national old lady with bunions shoe shopping day. The two older ladies next to me were most entertaining - even as they irritated the ever loving shit out of me. The younger of the pair kept bringing the older one shoes from the sale rack, the older one kept rejecting them. They were damn ugly, clunky looking things - I don't blame her a bit. 

Anyhow - I've got new shoes. Ones that for now at least I can take off in public without clearing the room. We'll see how comfortable they are as the week progresses. For what I spent it should feel like I'm walking on pillows held aloft by angels, even after ten hours on my feet.

And I've got books. A reference book on grammar, and a dictionary - since age seems to be undermining my spelling skills. Once I made it back home, I finished off the afternoon with another nap. It was the best part of my day.

Weekend Funnies is still live.

Weekend Funnies #7

I've got a love/hate thing going with Q-tips. Most of the hate is due to the arseholes I live with who leave the used ones laying on the bathroom counter.

When it comes right down to it though I can't live without them, even if I sometimes do try for a week or so. The last time I tried to not buy them I completely caved and dove into The Polish Guy's stockpile of them like they were the greatest treat on earth. What those cheap off brand cotton swabs found in my ears was so horrifying that I had to hide the evidence lest he see and think poorly of me.

It has to be brand name Q-tips too. They're the only ones that have the exact right amount of cotton on them and the sticks that are strong enough to give some real leverage. Once when I had no-name cotton swabs I went to use one and felt the scratch of a cottenless stick. I spent the day worried that the cotton had fallen into my ear. It was similar to the anxiety that swallowing a bug produces.

Don't even try to tell me you never stick a cotton swab in your ear either. I won't believe you - how the hell else do you scratch an itchy ear? The warning on the box makes me laugh every time I read it because seriously - why else would you buy cotton on a stick?

Weekend Funnies #7

Link up your funny post of the week. 

Microsoft is an asshole and the lift-truck drive test.

Five today, seven tomorrow was the word last night. I double checked my phone to see the day was indeed Wednesday and then started harassing my shipper/recievers to get me out the door by 5:15.

I don't think they really cared about my tales of woe and an empty fridge but they had me out of there as early as possible. I've got food y'all!

Microsoft is an asshole.

Around my house, if it's Wednesday night and I'm linked up to Yeah Write conversation is not permitted. Wednesday is reading night and I've got a system. I start from the bottom of the grid and work my way up. If I read a post and can't think of a suitable comment on first read that tab gets left open. Once I've made my way through the rest I go back to the open tabs.

So you know what happened last night? Microsoft updated Windows and took the liberty of restarting my computer for me. It's a good thing I also right down each post as I'm reading and whether I've commented or not.

Microsoft is an asshole.

The Lift-truck Drive Test

So remember when I was supposed to test for my lift truck license, only the guy who was certified to do the drive test was sick all week so I didn't have to do it?

I wasn't so lucky today.

It was the first time I had ever even sat on the seat of a lift truck. I did remember to do up my seat belt. Then we ran through the levers. There's three of them. One for up and down, one to tilt forward or back and one to move the forks from side to side.

There's also turn signals on the opposite side of where mine are on my car, and a gear shifter (?) for reverse, neutral and forward on the left of the steering wheel which seems pretty ass backwards to me.

Wanna know what else is ass backwards on a lift truck? The wheels are. The front ones are fixed and the back ones turn.

Ever driven a pick up truck on a slippery day with no weight in the back? That is what it feels like to steer a lift truck moving forward.

In my day, I've had my share of fun with driving a pick up truck. You know, giving the gas pedal that goose that will have the ass end swinging around just right to go around a bend. But that was on purpose.

On the lift truck, I just felt like I was losing control.

So the tester told me to try it out going in reverse. Did I mention I have a stiff neck today? So first mistake (in reverse) I put my hand outside the cage to try and turn my torso enough to see behind me. That's a no-no. You could crush your hand doing that if you backed into something.

Next up was lifting a pallet. Only to pass the test it's a pallet stacked on another pallet. I wimped out and lifted the bottom pallet. And drove around in reverse - because forward wasn't working so well for me.

I won't be loading trucks anytime soon because I flunked, but if you ever need someone to drive a lift truck backwards, I'm your girl.

Tonight it was five today, eight tomorrow but I don't really care since I'm now booked off until Monday morning. 

Now I'm off to finish reading and commenting on the grid. You should check us out here, because I'm one of the editors picks!!!! And if that isn't enough over the top awesome, I also made it onto the The Best of the Grids!

A rambly post and Whoo Hoo - a three day weekend coming up.

Seven thirty today, seven tomorrow and bring a supper - it's Tuesday.

It has to be since my co-supervisor has huge red bags under his eyes. The price of being a fair skinned blonde - it's impossible to hide fatigue. 

I told both my shipper/receivers they needed to haul ass tonight. I can't eat pizza two nights in a row, unless I want to be constipated for a couple of weeks.  

Can I just say this is the last time I'm skipping groceries on Sunday? I'm down to a handful of coffee filters and nary a paper towel in the house. Worse, the odds are pretty good that when I finally do make it to the grocery store I will forget both of those items.

I had to dig pretty deep in the freezer to find some chicken for dinner. Which then had to be defrosted. So it's 9 pm and dinner just went in the oven. Most of it will probably be somebodies lunch tomorrow, because everybody's snacked on whatever could be found.

I don't even think I can scrounge up something for the crock-pot. Although I'm going to try - since I've gone and linked up to Yeah Write again. If you've got a great well written post under 500 words - you should too. It's a great community for bloggers who write and writers who blog. 

There is some light at the end of this week though. I've booked Friday and Saturday off. If I get around to making an appointment I might even get my hair trimmed and my eyebrows waxed.

Plus, with 3 days off I've got more time to push Weekend Funnies #7, so get your funny on and come link up on Friday.

Seven thirty today, seven tomorrow and be prepared for dinner.

Today I walked up and down pack lines using my loudest clearest voice "Seven thirty today, seven tomorrow and be prepared for dinner." The girls on the lines roll their eyes as they mouth the words along with me - it must be Monday.

There is a certain rhythm to my week. One that's dictated by tomatoes. Nothing is picked on Sunday so Monday will always be a long day. Tuesday and Wednesday will be much the same. Thursday might end an hour earlier, and Saturday if you're really lucky you get done by 5.

Fridays are the best because the needs of our offshore labor dictate we will be done by 3:30 on pay weeks and 5 on non pay weeks. It's the only day of the week you go to work knowing when the day will end.

Most days we find out around four how long we will be working and what time we will start the next day. It could be six, or seven or some lucky days - eight. The only plans you can make with any degree of certainty are that you won't have time to do anything after work.

Weekends are brief things. Blink and you miss it.

The hours are grinding me down quickly and the season has only just started. Within a month I'll be walking the pack lines saying "Nine today, six tomorrow and be prepared for dinner."

Don't Make Me Flip My Bitch Switch.

For as long as I can remember my initial reaction to most situations is negative. During my twenties the stress of having small children and an alcoholic husband meant that at least some of the time, my initial reaction was more rage than irritation.

It's something I'm always working on. Trying to suppress the knee-jerk response long enough for my brain to catch up and allow me to react more appropriately.

Sometimes this means my response might still be bitchy, but trust me it's better than it would have been if I hadn't taken that time to respond thoughtfully instead of emotionally.

Then of course there's those times where I'm either too tired to force intellect to rule over emotion or the stimuli is just too damn strong. 

This morning, my bitch switch got flipped in a big way.

I had a voice mail from my ex-husband. Now it stands to reason that experience gained over the years mean he's good at triggering that bitch switch, but I've also gotten pretty good at not letting him get to me. But this time the trigger was just too damn strong.

Ex: Hi Vanessa, can you please make sure #2 is ready to go when I get there? I don't mind waiting a little bit but it's getting to be a pain.

First trigger is the Hi Vanessa. He's calling his kids - not me.

Second trigger is the entire statement. Our arrangement allows for alternate weekends and one weeknight per week. I've worked at keeping it as fluid as possible - for the kid's sake.

However, I don't find it cool when Tuesday - the weeknight - gets cancelled and rescheduled week after week. Sometimes it gets cancelled and rescheduled and then cancelled and rescheduled again. It makes planning meals a tad bit aggravating. It should also be noted that he does not arrive at a set time for pick ups, it's whenever he can make it after work.

So when the fuck exactly am I supposed to have the kid ready and waiting?

On Tuesday which has become the classic no show night?

On the alternate weekend for 4, or 5, or 6 or whatever goddamned time he finally makes it?

It should also be noted that "the kid" is 17 going on 18 and dad should be damn grateful he's still willing to hang out with his old man. Lots of kids that age aren't cool with hanging out with parents.

So now that I've gotten that off my chest - lets get the funnies rolling.

Weekend Funnies is live.

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Somebody owes somebody some something something

Friday night sitting in the "Man Cave" with The Polish Guy and we're watching a movie. Religulous, which is marginally less bad than the last movie we watched - Stuck. I can honestly say the average tampon commercial is more entertaining than either of them.

I left this at home waiting for me. 

 And this.

So you could say, I owe him sexual favors for giving me a place to go where I can't see that shit.

Or realizing those dishes are going to be even harder to scrub, and that pile of laundry will have grown to epic porportions by the time I am home long enough to deal with it - you could say he owes me sexual favors.

I'm a selfish bitch so I'm going with option B.

Weekend Funnies #6

You need to talk to your boys and Weekend Funnies #6

I've had some interesting conversations at work this week.

I'm glucose intolerant

The first was having a guy tell me he couldn't eat fruit because he was glucose intolerant. So then later I asked him if he wanted some donuts.

Because I wanted those fuckers gone before I got stupid and ate another one!

When I remembered the whole "glucose intolerant" thing and mentioned it his response was - I can eat donuts as long as they don't have fruit.

Facepalm. Dude, you need to quit looking at porn on the internet and Google glucose intolerance. Either you have it and you don't know how to eat properly, or you're full of shit and you just get the runs from fruit.

It happens sometimes - take some Immodium and you'll be fine.

You need to have a talk with your boys

Remember how I was bitching about the bathrooms reeking of piss? Well yesterday I walked into the bathroom and smelled piss. So of course I went to flush the urinal. That's when I realized I was actually smelling the puddle of piss under the urinal.

That's right - a puddle.

So I broke the bad news to the janitor. He told me I needed to "talk to my boys". Because lets face it after teaching the two assholes I gave birth too that pissing on the floor isn't cool, I really want to instruct a bunch of grown men on the art of peeing standing up.

Now boys, you can go to the washroom when you need to. No need to wait until things are so urgent you can't aim properly.

As if!

Join me for Weekend Funnies #6. Rules and info can be found here

Weekend Funnies #6

I usually like to include a funny (I think anyhow) little story with my opening Weekend Funnies post. Which I write on Thursday and schedule to post at 5pm on Friday.

Sorry, I'm beat and it ain't happening tonight.

Things have been busy in Tomato land and even after missing a day and a half of work with the man-flu, I've still worked over 90 hours for this pay period with two days to go. That day and a half ended up being 21 hours of missed work by the way.

Fucking tomatoes.

Anyhow - The Rules

This is a link up for your funny post of the week. Now I realize everybody's got a different brand of funny so you aren't required to make me laugh, but if it's not even an attempt at humorous this isn't the link up for your post. 

I prefer it if you link up a recent post. The reason being that you help bring traffic with you that way and that helps out anyone else who links up. And me by the way - because I'm sitting there pimping your post as best I can while still trying to keep The Polish guy intrigued enough with my meager cleavage that I'll get nookie. So help a sister out and bring some of your people with you.

A back link to my blog is required. The reasons are the same as above. I won't force you to display my tomato ass, but you can if you want. Or the bananas. Or a simple link in your post to my blog. Grab the code and insert it in your post, or add a link to www.myhalfassedlife.com. If you have issues email me at myhalfassedlifehere@gmail.com. I work all day Saturday (fucking tomatoes) but I do check my email.

It's a small link up, so visit your fellow link upees and leave them some love. Or share the love, because you know - The Polish Guy will be losing interest in my cleavage if I spend too long on twitter at night.

Anal people have anal dogs.

In case you missed it, because really I tried very hard not to bitch about it - much - I worked most of Easter Weekend.

On Good Friday, I finished work in time to make it to my mom's Easter dinner. After the dinner dishes were done. Thankfully there were a lot of hors d'ouvres. 

Saturday I worked until 5, which doesn't seem too bad considering Sunday would be a day off.

The problem is nothing is open Easter Sunday. Even Walmart takes a break from worshiping at the altar of commerce and closes it's doors on Easter Sunday. So I had to run around in panic mode after work and get groceries for the upcoming week. Which left me with pretty much zero weekend.

I didn't even get to see The Polish Guy. Which may have been a good thing since I was an asshole the weekend before. Something about not getting a chance to eat dinner and then consuming alcohol. Does it every damn time.

If I had thought I could get away with it I would have put groceries off until Monday, but I was expecting that I would work until 9pm Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday. By that time of night who the fuck wants to go grocery shopping.

Except I only had to work from 6 am to 8 pm. I still didn't feel like going shopping.

Today a miracle happened and we were done at 5. I threatened to kick asses if my Shipper/Receivers didn't have me out the door by 5:15.

We made it out the door at 5:25. I still didn't get home until 7. Wanna know why? Of course you do.

It's because my dog is anal. No not anal glands, even if he does sometimes have issues with those too. See, you know how penne noodles taste different than spaghettini noodles even though they're both made with the same flour?

Well I guess to my dog it's the same with rawhides. He'll only eat the rawhide "chips", rolled rawhides are unaceptable. My local grocery store sells the rolled ones and chihuahua sized chips. I refuse to buy the little ones because he tries to swallow them whole and then I've got to listen to him gag, chew, gag, chew, whine, chew, gag and so on. So I bought the rolls. Which he refused to have anything to do with.

So tonight, because I couldn't take another evening of him sitting with his nose exactly one centimeter from my elbow trying to get me to give him something I did not have, I made the effort to go get him some damn chips.

Lucky for my dog, I'm just as anal about my pasta so I get it. 

You're welcome puppy.

By the hair of my chinny chin chin, getting old sucks monkey balls.

For some strange reason my chin hurts. Having no idea why, I decided to check it out when I was on break. I was in my car and the sun was shining so there was a lot of light.

Hmm, I need to exfoliate.

Maybe I should use something to minimize my pores too. 

Holy fuck, what the hell is that?

Even chin hairs can have bad hair days.

It's a god damned inch long white whisker hair sticking out of my chin.

Mother trucker. Getting old sucks monkey balls.

Not only do I have to cross my legs when I sneeze or cough. I have to cross them when I lift something. When I laugh. When I do just about anything.

And you know what else?

I fart. I fart when I'm walking. I fart when I bend over. I fart when I lift something. I fart when I breathe for fucks sake.

What the hell is that all about? Nobody ever warns you about that when they are gleefully preparing  you for the wrinkles, the hot flashes and the piddles.

Not a single person ever tells you that you will lose the ability to hold your farts.

So if you ever see me walking in the store pick a different aisle, because you really don't want to walk behind me.

PS I still have no idea why my chin hurts.

Pants that fit weird, Bosses, Pizza and Boobies.

You know how sometimes you've got that one pair of pants that just fits weird? I was so tired this morning that I just didn't give a shit, so those were the pair I pulled on.

They're some weird ass version of skinny jeans - if a size 14 could ever be anything remotely close to skinny. In order to allow this miracle of "skinny" jeans, they have spandex in them.

No they are not those god awful jeggings - they're denim. I've got some taste.

For whatever reason, even though the legs fit close all the way to my ankles (which makes my feet look HUGE by the way) from the crotch up, they're baggy. So baggy, that I don't even know if the zipper works because I've never had to use it.

If I were shaped like Humpty Dumpty they would be a perfect fit.

I spent the entire day pulling my pants up. Every third time I would have to pull my underwear up too, since as my pants were trying to slide down my ass they were taking my underpants along for the ride.

It makes a long day even longer when you're wearing pants like that.

And then the boss showed up...

Near the end of the day the owner came out to the pack house floor. We're doing a brand new pack that takes forever.

He told us everything we were doing wrong and was shocked that we hadn't come up with a better solution.

Trust me - I see things from his point of view. Business men go into business to make money, not lose it. Still that Just. Was. Not. Fair. We had tried to get some discussion going about our concerns. I had sent an email to my manager right away. We didn't get any sort of response, advice or a conclusion Monday, so I delayed the order. Tuesday we had to take some sort of action and that was what we came up with.

So I yanked up my saggy, baggy assed pants and pulled out my big girl words. You know - the ones that don't start with an f or end in a k?

I don't mean to be disrespectful sir, but I tried to get some discussion going about this pack yesterday by sharing our concerns. We didn't get any response so I delayed the order until today. 

The owner was very quick to apologize, and that's how you win the respect of your employees.

Pizza anyone?

Just like pizza - minus the oregano.

For the record if you are ever standing above a pallet of ripe cocktail tomatoes in cardboard you WILL crave pizza.

Boobies

Who's got big boobs?

Also? Jamaican ladies have the best sense of humor. Now I just hope the Mennonite lady who was walking by as I was taking this picture wasn't offended. Otherwise I might be in shit tomorrow.

By the way, we had pizza for dinner and damn it was good.