Thursday, February 28, 2008

Girl, I Got You

Husband has a business meeting with this young lady today.

I’m not kidding. I don’t think I’m allowed to share the details just yet; it’s too early in their “business relationship”, so maybe later.

Anyway, he tells me the other night that he has a meeting Thursday and when I ask with who, he pulls up a portfolio of all her pictures. My jaw dropped to the floor. “Oh, hells no”. She has one sultry, sexual, dominator’ish, not to mention half naked picture after another. This girl don’t play. And Husband is going to meet with her? You can bet your ass they’re not going to be talking mergers and acquisitions.

So, in an effort to get myself in a secure, non-threatened, emotionally stable place about the whole issue, I do a little compare and contrast, a “Me vs. Her” if you will.

Ok, Ms Sultry, Sexual, Dominator lady, you may be shiny and tanned and toned and smooth and have a bunch of aggressive, seductive facial expressions up your non-existent sleeves, but I am smiley and short, I look approachable, I have nice shoes, I’m hilarious when I’m tipsy and if you try to beat me up with your big muscles, I can run away fast.

Look at me below, all spritely and full of bounce. Girl, you don’t gots me. I gots you.

Wednesday, February 27, 2008

Trying Too Hard

So I’ve blogged before about my Tuesday ritual (Tuesdays) of doing a kickass session in Atlanta’s Piedmont Park, followed by a big chow down at a little place called “The Flying Biscuit”.

Well, obviously all these Tuesday’s have made us regulars at our breakfast haunt and so we have developed a preference for the table we like to sit at and the server we enjoy most. James is his name. But James had been missing the past few weeks. We had no idea what happened to him. Did he leave? Was he fired? It was all a mystery. A mystery that could easily have been solved by simply asking the other severs if he still worked there. But where’s the fun in that? Frankly I prefer the thrill and suspense of walking in every week and scanning the restaurant, from way up on my tippy toes, to see if he is around. Then once we discover he’s not, we can waste a good 5-10 minutes bitching about the fact and get ourselves mentally ready for the substitute server. Who we prejudge as not being great, simply cos they are not James.

But yesterday, James was back. Cue the heavenly music and the laser beams of sunlight. We were so happy. The funny thing is, that up until yesterday, James had no idea he was our favorite server. But we were so relieved to see him that we decided to share. This is where the problem began. I think our sharing of information has put James under some sort of server performance pressure, cos he immediately began trying. Trying to come up with interesting “I care about my customer” questions. Catching bits of our conversations and popping in with his own spin on things. And hovering. He began to hover around our table, checking in with us way too much.

I have to say we were a little disappointed. The reasons we loved James was that he use never do all this stuff. He always greeted us as his regulars, knew our order and just got it started, was friendly without being invasive and didn’t hover over us as we ate like hungry savages.

Poor James, what have we done? We appear to have turned the perfect server into the type of sever that must be avoided. My fear now is that the pressure to play the part of and live up to his new label will eventually break him. What a shame, for all of us.

Sunday, February 24, 2008

A Different Type of Wreckage

This weekend I decided to reverse the routine of last week. I opted to go out instead of working. So today I’m wrecked for completely different reasons and a little hung over.

We started off the night with dinner at this amazing restaurant, “Ray’s on the River”. I’ve wanted to try this place for the longest time. Its fancy schmancy and overlooks the Chattahoochee river.

The resso was for 8.30pm and I nearly didn’t make it. In true female style I couldn’t find a thing to wear. This restaurant had a dress code but I had mentally chosen my attire earlier in the day, thus saving hours of prep work by avoiding tearing up my wardrobe trying on various clothing combinations, or so I thought. But once it came time to get ready and I actually put on my mentally prepared outfit, it was not cute. It’s so frustrating, I was going for the pretty, delicate, feminine look, unfortunately, I was anything but. I have this body type that is toned, yes, but a little blocky too, so pulling of petite can be a challenge. I ended up looking and feeling like the Hulk on the verge of ripping the shirt off myself. Not at all pretty, delicate or feminine.

I had no plan b. Now I had to commence tearing through my wardrobe and I only had 15 minutes, so I’m under titanic pressure. I’m belting it from the bedroom via the bathroom to get to the wardrobe, then back to check the potential ensemble in the mirror. Fintan (the kitty) doesn’t know what’s going on, but he’s having a blast racing around with me and taking spontaneous leaps at random sleeves, belts and straps hanging off the clothes.
But I finally found something and got on my way.

The food and wine was great. And after a posh, civilized dinner we thought it would be a great idea to finish off the evening in a couple of our local Red Neck bars, freak watching. We started off in one bar, but had to quickly drink up and get the hell out of there, cos one of the local “studs” decided to try and make us his new best friend. So we grabbed the purses and slipped out while he went to the bathroom and ran, in heels, to the next bar.

We were there about 20 minutes dancing and shouting along to the awful karaoke singers, when in walks the “stud”. F*#k. He spotted us at the exact time we spotted him, so there was no ducking under the table and crawling across the floor to the exit. He comes stomping over and demands to know why we got him kicked out of the bar. “What the hell are you talking about “stud”? Apparently he got kicked out not long after we left and decided it was our fault and told us we could make amends by buying him a drink. Dream on “stud”. It took a hot minute but we eventually got rid of him and partied the rest of the night with locals.

So today, I’m pretty much good for nothing. So I didn’t even try. And now I’m under a duvet watching the Oscars and envying the fabulous women of Hollywood who can pull off the petite, feminine look, flawlessly. Bitches.

(Don't ask me who most of these people are, I don't even know, but we all had a fun evening)

Thursday, February 21, 2008

If Your Gonna Be A Jerk, Be Consistent

So I recently started working as a personal trainer, but not at your standard gym where you just supervise the person as they move from weight machine to weight machine. This is a place where they train pro footballers, baseball players and all these child prodigies that are going to be the future Maria Sharapova’s, Tiger Woods or Tom Brady’s. Impressive, right?

Ok, but let me just cut to the chase. One of the other trainers working there is a real jerk. On my first day I was told to assist this guy, lets just call him Zoolander, cos his ego is that big and his hair very similar. So Zoolander is doing his thing and I’m making myself very available to assist but I’m getting a vibe. The vibe is that this guy thinks he’s all that. Like he is the Jesus of all things personal training. But whatever, I make a note to self on the issue and just follow along, until I get the distinct feeling this guy is trying to shake me off, to lose me in the crowd, to ditch me if you will. His body language, his way of ignoring my presents are all distinctive signs. When he does speak to me its like he is talking to a child, “don’t touch that, don’t sit there, it looks better if the trainer is X, Y or Z, can you stand behind me?” When I speak to him, I get nothing but irritated, one-word answers. Zoolander is being a real prick and I’m starting to really, really dislike him. Basically he wants me to observe him in all his glory from the other side of the facility. The fact that he doesn’t want me near him is coming across loud and clear.

I feel the need to call him out on the issue.

Me: Look Zoolander, I know this is probably the last thing you want, me tagging along as you try to work your exercise magic and believe me, I’m not loving it either, but lets suck it up and try to get through it as best we can.

Zoolander: I don’t know what your talking about, I have no problem with you tagging along.

Great, now he’s playing the “your a crazy bitch" card.

Anyway, we both survive the experience and I make sure not to team up with him again.

But the other day I arrive at the facility and am sitting in the office waiting for my client. Zoolander walks in and sits near by. He say’s “Hello” and I reply with a “Hello” and nothing more. It’s just the 2 of us and the air is heavy. Neither of us is speaking. It’s pure awkward. Eventually he strikes up a conversation. I swear the temptation to give him the Zoolander treatment, you know, the irritated one word answers was very tempting, but I didn’t, I was the bigger person and I conversed. And surprise, surprise we actually got along. So now I’m confused. Did I misjudge this guy? Was he just having a bad day? Cos he’s coming across completely different, almost, likeable. So now I feel a tad guilty. That is until I arrived the following day and thinking we are peers and friends now, I’m all “Hey Zoolander, what’s goin on?” To which I get a moody one-word answer. I’m a little taken back, but now, doubting my own judgment as far as he’s concerned, I decided to keep going with conversation and see what happens.

Me: So who’ve you got coming in today?

Zoolander: Clients.

Me: No, really? I ment who, the sexy volleyball player, the chunky footballer??

Zoolander: Yeah, all that.

Ok, you f*#ker, how dare you trap me in some sort of false sense of friendship and then pull the rug out from under me. My instincts were right, you are a jerk. But please, if your going to be a jerk lets be consistent, cos then I will always now exactly where I stand. No more mixed signals, no more confusing me with friendly banter. Just be the asshole you clearly are all the time and things will work out just fine.

Monday, February 18, 2008


So normally when Husband is traveling things get a little bit easier, scheduling wise, cos I only have me and my schedule to consider. So I tend to say “Yes” to a lot more invitations to dinner with friends, coffee’s at Starbucks (even though I’m not a coffee drinker), trips to the mall or freak watching at the bars. For any of you wondering what the “Freak Watching” is, let me just remind you where I live, Georgia. And not downtown Atlanta neither, about 45 minutes outside the metro area. And I have to say, I have traveled many places in this world, but I have never come across as wide a variety of freaks, in one place, than you get in some of the local bars here on a Friday or Saturday night.

I had one night recently where things got so weird, that the next morning I was sure I dreamt it. It was like the crazy’s had been released from the asylum for the weekend. Or the people from the boonies loaded themselves and their cousins into a pick-up truck and drove to town to drink with them there city folks. You can also throw a few students into the mix, as well and myself (Irish and in no way am I fluent in Southern Red Neck speak) and my gay friend (someone had to represent the Queens) and that was the type of crowd we’re talking about. A recipe for weirdness.

But like I said, that’s the usual drill. However this past weekend I broke with tradition and opted to work instead. Yes, I chose to make money instead of spend it. It’s a lot less fun, but Visa really appreciated it. Usually I like to keep the weekends free so Husband and I can do things like have near death experiences in tiny planes, but since he rolled out, the days and choices were all mine.

I felt good about my decision and was already making plans for the extra money but it started to not feel worth it after a full 8 hrs on Friday, 13 hrs on Saturday and another 8 hours on Sunday. By the end of it I was so tired I was becoming emotional. The little’est task was such an effort. Sunday night it took 3 attempts and a nervous breakdown to try and get one of my shoes off. Yes, I started crying. The bastard wouldn’t come off and I had already bent up and down enough. It was obviously time for the water works. Like I said, I was emotional from pure fatigue.

And now the best part is, a whole new week is starting and I get to do it all over again. God, I could easily start crying again. I need to play the lottery more.

Sunday, February 17, 2008

Damage Control

Look who got some flowers for Valentines Day. How about that? And only 2 days late.
I can't help wondering if going public had anything to do with the motivation to make things right??

As you can see, Fintan really liked them.

Thursday, February 14, 2008

Oh God, Is it Valentines Day??

Ok, so its Valentines Day, I suppose I can’t really ignore it. The red and pink is truly everywhere. But am not sure on the protocol here. Do we wish everyone a “Happy Valentines Day” or is it something that is kept and only said to the object of your desire and affection? For me it’s always been something that you celebrated with your significant other or in the absence of a significant other, it was an opportunity to let someone know you very much wanted them as a significant other.
But the confusion has come as a result of receiving many text messages today from friends wishing me a “Happy Valentines” and also throughout my daily interactions people have been saying “Happy Valentines Day” instead of the standard “Have a Great Day”. Which if your the type of person who is starved of a bit of love and affection and has been down on your luck scoring wise, then this can lead you into some sort of false sense of fabulousness, by having you think, “Oh my god, everyone loves me. I must look hotter than I thought just going about my daily life in nothing but a jeans and t-shirt”.

But I digress from the real question, what am I doing for Valentines? Well, MY significant other and I have decided to spend some quality time………………..apart. Lord knows we get very little of that (some underlying sarcasm there for those of you who may have missed it).
Yes, Husband has gone to Australia, the land down under if you will, for 10 days. He has a group of athletes competing there in a series of meets.

And you wouldn’t be wrong in thinking he must have taken care of business before he left, right? Maybe a flower or 2, a hidden gift, some little notes of endearment. Well think again. I got sweet F.A (for those of you unfamiliar with the phrase, it means Sweet F#*k All).

Message to Husband:
“Just cos your out of the country on Valentines Day, it does not mean your Valentines responsibilities are null and void. Quite the opposite actually. You are expected to make a better effort BECAUSE we are NOT together on this SPECIAL day. If you are not careful, you will return to a house null and void of not just me, but Fintan and Bruschi also. Now you have yourself a great day, hooneey”.
Public Service Anncouncement (The above message is loaded with aggression)

Monday, February 11, 2008

Rough Weekend

I’m alive. I survived the wisdom tooth extraction, but I have to say it was very rough going. The first 24 hours post extraction was absolutely miserable. My face felt like it had ballooned beyond recognition, although Husband assured me it looked fine, me thinks he was just being kind. I continued to bleed for a good while afterwards and the pain killers they gave me did nothing but make me throw up, leaving me with no choice but to abandon them and just tough the whole experience out. I swear the only thing getting me through was the anesthetic pulsing through my veins which kept forcing me in and out of conscious all day and night. But I’m getting there. I’m not yet pain free and I’m still eating baby type food, but I’m functioning.

I also had a very near death experience, totally unrelated to my teeth this past weekend. Husband is in the process of trying to get his pilot license and so yesterday, cos it was clear and sunny. He decided it would be a good opportunity to do some flying. And after spending 2 days going from the bed to the couch, I was now ready to partake in some real world activities. We decided to fly to Clemson, South Carolina, about a 50-minute flight to see a friend, hang out for a few hours and fly back.

Everything was going fine until we got airborne. Visibility was great, but the wind was not. We were flying along happily, then suddenly we would get tossed upwards and dropped downwards. It was crazy. Now I am not a nervous flyer most of the time, but I totally white knuckled this one. Bare in mind too, we are in a small 4 seater plane, not your average, solid, steel, 747 type beast, so we are feeling everything. It continued for most of the flight, just hitting all these air bumps and turbulence, but the worst was still to come.

As we were getting closer to our destination, Clemson, the wind was just getting stronger. We were getting pushed, pulled and thrown around. It was awful. I was nauseous, nervous and absolutely terrified. The Pilot/Husband was trying his best to line us up for our approach but the plane just kept getting pushed off course. At this stage I am internally freaking out. The tears are welling up in my eyes and I’m convinced this is not going to end well. But I’m doing my best to not make a sound. I’m trying to let Pilot/Husband focus on everything he needs to do to get us out of this alive. I’m sure a wailing, panicked, crying wife would not help him one little bit.

But we’re closing in on the runway and still can’t get it lined up. By now, I am in crash position. My head is well and truly between me legs and I’m wanting one of two things. Preferably to just get out of this alive, but that not being an option, I want it to end fast and as pain free as possible. It feels like I’m in crash position for way too long. I’m too scared to peek up, cos I just don’t want to see death coming. But the not knowing how much longer I have to endure this tossing around gets too much, so I look out. All I can see is the runway, less than 100ft away and us being blown off to the left, as the planes right wing is being forced downwards. We are practically on our side. Pilot/Husband gets it straight for a second, but again, the wind throws us a curve ball. We are feet from the runway, we are not centered and we are still on our side. A crash is about to happen, I can feel it.
I reassume crash position and brace for impact. Impact finally happens. I think I remember the right side hitting first, then something that felt like a bounce, then and even thud. By even, I mean both wheels hitting the runway. Pilot/Husband brakes and gets us in control and starts the taxi off the runway. At this point I’m crying, no joke, the relief to be down safely is too much. We get the plane parked and I try to jump out, but the wind is blowing so strong I can hardly push the door open. But I’m not staying in this plane one second longer, so I get my ass out of there and head towards the pilot lounge. It feels like I have to rugby tackle the wind just to walk the 80 or so yards. My head is down, shoulders up and I’m leaning forward like I’m about to do a resistance run. This f*#king wind man.

Be we are alive. And the one thing I discovered, well, 2 actually. 1. I have the ability to remain very together in the throws of a crisis and 2. Husband is an excellent pilot. I don’t know how he did what he did to get that plane landed, but I’m very grateful for it.

Thursday, February 7, 2008

The Wisdom of Age

Tomorrow I get my wisdom teeth out. All 4 of them. I’ve been putting it off now for about 3 years, but its time. I am a little worried, truth be told. I’ve heard various stories from many people about it being a nightmare, about not being able to eat for 7 days, of chipmunk type faces, bleeding gums and how sore it is to swallow. Then there’s the optimists, who tell me you’ll be fine, as long as they give me great drugs.

Drugs, now that’s the part I’m looking forward to. Some excellent drugs would be just the ticket. I have no objections about checking out of life for a few hours and sending my brain on a much-needed vacation. It’s just a pity I have to have my gums tore up in order to get a few.

Then there’s my mother, who is afraid my face will collapse without the support of my wisdom teeth. Which made me wonder, is she in fact taking some excellent drugs herself?? Hmmmm??
Don’t worry ma, I’ll let you know how it goes, if I can talk and I’m sure both my mouth and face will be just fine with the remaining 28 or whatever it is, teeth.

Wednesday, February 6, 2008

Products Whore

Today I was going to blog about how much of a products whore I am. How my side of our bathroom is full of bottles, jars and potions in all shapes and sizes. How I am now in that demographic of women that if I’m promised something will reverse the signs of aging, reduce or even eliminate fine lines and wrinkles, will minimize pores, plump, suck, smack, pull or regenerate, then I’m all over it. But I changed my mind cos something much more important is happening in the news over here.

Yesterday was “Super Tuesday” and even though you may be tempted to think this has anything to do with the “Super Bowl”, it hasn’t. They could not be more different. Super Tuesday is held around February or March of a presidential election year, where a large number of States, 24 this time, vote on who they would want to see as the next president of the United States. The results help all parties involved decide on who their official nominee will be for the presidency.

Now since I am not a citizen of the US, I am merely a Green Card holder, I have no vote. But I can’t help playing the game, “if I did have a vote, who would I vote for?” So, who would I vote for? I have no idea. I feel like I am at a disadvantage. I was not born or raised here, so I have no affiliation or loyality to any party through family members etc.. I am at present trying to educate myself about Republicans, Democrats and Liberals and what each one stands for. It’s not easy. A lot of the media is either one way or another so trying to find an objective opinion is damn near impossible. Every radio, tv show or newspaper is riddled with their own agenda.

Then there is the potential history-making situation the US is faced with in this election. Will it have its first Female President or will it have its first Black President? The impact of this is not lost on me. But just cos a candidate is female and so am I, is that enough of a reason to vote for Hillary? Or cos I sympathize with the struggle of the black people of this country, is that a good enough reason to vote for Barack? And what about John McCain, he is neither black nor female, so do we eliminate him cos he is a white man and we have seen plenty of white men in the Oval Office before?

Obviously the answer to the above should be “No, we vote for the person we think can do the best job for the people.” But based on what I’m reading and seeing in the media, my feeling is that this is exactly how some people are going about choosing their President. And I've noticed that asking someone who they plan on voting for is as risky and dangerous as asking a women to tell you her weight. But like I said, I have no say here, I am merely a spectator and admittedly an uneducated one as far as US politics goes. So fear not those of you concerned that the faith of your country lies in the hands of someone like me.
I can’t even choose a party to follow. My problem is I like certain things about Republicans and certain things about Democrats and Liberals, but not enough about any of them to commit. Nothing new there, I’ve always been a little scratchy when it came to commitment.

So there is the long explanation to my very short question of “Who would I vote for?” And still no answer.

Monday, February 4, 2008

Super Bowl Hangover

I know the Super Bowl is of very little interest to most of the people in Ireland but over here, it’s a huge deal. But bigger than that, it’s a huge deal in our home. As we all know it’s was New York Giants vs. the New England Patriots. The Patriots is Husbands team and for anyone who doesn’t know, they got spanked. It was a nightmare. My face was in a pillow for most of the game. I could barely watch the sadness unfold.

At one point it felt like a joke, a dream, some sort of out of body experience. There is no way it could be happening, the team had not been beaten all season. They played 18 games to get to the Super Bowl and won them all. They were the favorites. It wasn’t supposed to end like this. But it did and Husband has not been himself since. The whole room went silent as the clock counted down the last 8 seconds. As the saying goes, “you could hear a pin drop”. Blank stares and open mouths were all around. It was too much for Husband, he didn’t know where to go or what to do, so he just got up and went outside slamming the door behind him.

I was paralyzed on the couch. What the hell was my next move? Do I go after him or do I give him his man space? It was a tough call. I opted for giving the man space. I heard him come back in and I wondered if I dare go near him. I gave him another minute and ever so quietly I tiptoed into the room and asked in my kindest, non-threatening, non-confrontational voice, if everything he was ok? All I got was an aggressive “No”. I slowly walked towards him, so as not to scare him, we all know what an angry animal can do if startled and I tried my best to find the right words to say and the right thing to do, but I was lost. There was nothing to say, there was nothing to do. I just had to let the pain settle in and wait for the healing to start.

Today, Husband had to take a personal day. He was just too sad to go on with normal life. And I tried to keep conversation to a minimum, especially conversation about house things, financial things, emotions, shopping, shoes, feelings, basically anything and everything was off the table. I’m hoping each day it will get a little better and the depression will begin to lift, other than that, its Egg Shell City for Shinks for the next while.

Friday, February 1, 2008

Thou Shalt Not Bitch

So I’m Catholic. Not really a surprise, most of us Irish are, but I am not a big time practicing Catholic. By big time I mean, I do not attendant Sunday mass regularly and please, no judgment, I already feel guilty, us Catholics do guilt very well, no help needed there. But my absence from mass, does not mean an absence from religion. I was raised by strict catholic guidelines and so they are well woven into my DNA and I do my human best to live by the lessons learned.

So that brings us to the topic of Lent. Lent is the 40 day build up to Easter and during this time we make the decision to give up something for the 40 days. It use to be tradition to fast (go hungry) for 40 days but now, thankfully, the rules have been laxed and we just give up something, e.g chocolate, carbs or what ever you choose for the 40 days.

Now even though I’m not big time, I think Lent is a good opportunity to do a little soul searching and find ways to improve one’s self. In previous years I’ve tried to give up either swearing or chocolate. Failing every time. So this year, instead of doing my half effort, run of the mill old reliable’s, I decided to do a bit of a self-evaluation and come up with something a little deeper. So this year I’m going to make a stab at bitching. That would be, to NOT bitch.

I am not allowed to sit and bend the ears of those near and dear to me for hours on end about what someone said, didn’t say, how they pissed me off, how I pissed someone else off etc.. you get the idea. But since I am human and a women and as a women we have a big need to talk out our frustrations and emotions I am allowed to:

1. Pick one person to discuss a situation with. The discussion must end with a decision and then, that’s the end of it. I am not allowed to talk it out with countless others, cos if I’m honest the pay off for that is probably me just looking for more sympathy, support, approval, or for someone else to volunteer to make it all better, thus avoiding having to make the hard calls or tough decisions.

2. I can write it down. I can bitch to my hearts content on paper. Let it all out and leave it right there. So I’ll be purchasing a little Lenten Bitching Book and plan to fill it full of all venomous ranting. The only fear here, is someone might find my little book and not knowing the purpose of my exercise may interpret me as some sort of psycho. O.k., maybe this one needs a little more thought.

I have until Wednesday to finalize the details, but I think this Lenten challenge will be a challenge, I mean, who doesn’t love a good bitch every now and then?