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Best, Debbie

This blog is moving!

Can I be honest?

Yes…

Great!

I hate this blog’s name and I have for some time.  I decided on the name after listening to one of my favorite songs while I was drunk.  I then registered the name and created the blog.

But I hate it so much.  It makes me not want to write on it because I can’t get behind the name of the blog.  It’s too brooding and dark.  It’s not me at all.

So after thinking on it for quite some time and realizing that nobody reads this mess anyhow, I’m moving to Debbiedoodledoo.

I love that name!

The new blog will be live in the next couple of days.  It’s going to be more than just a diary blog.  There will be recipes, favorite things, photos, book and TV reviews, podcasts, and more.

Thanks for your support and I hope to find you at my new home.

If you don’t want it repeated, don’t open your mouth

In continuing with the promise I made myself last week, I have again done something that someone doesn’t like and yet I don’t give a shit.

I joined a committee at work.  I won’t say what committee, but I wanted to have a say in some of the things this particular committee does because over the past few years they have made terrible decisions.  Over the past few months I have realized I don’t like anyone on the committee.  Not. One. Person.

Today we had a lunch meeting and as we were talking about something we were planning, one of the committee members basically accused a former member of fixing it so that she won a grand prize last year.  She went as far as to say the person’s name and say that it was shady that she was on the committee and won.  She did this several times.

I should have said something at the meeting, but I was waiting for the committee chair to say something like, “Um, you don’t have any proof and what you’re saying could be considered slandering…so stop.”  But nobody said anything.

I really should have called her out then and there.  I’m mad that I didn’t.

When I got back to my desk, what she said was eating me up.  There were 15 other people at the meeting and who knows what they will tell their co-workers and then what their co-workers will tell their co-workers and so on and so on…

I decided to tell the person.

This accused person is supposedly friends with another committee member and she immediately called her to verify what I said.  When the other committee member acted weird and tried to play it down, she called me and said that she believed me.  The accused was very upset and couldn’t believe that someone would do that, but then later informs me that she had a personal problem with the woman before.

In the meantime, I check my work email and in my inbox was sitting an email from the committee chair saying that what we talk about in the meetings must stay in the meetings.  In this case, I don’t agree.  What that woman accused another co-worker of had nothing to do with what the committee does, she was being a bitch.

So anyway, I’m sure they know it was me who said something and I just don’t care. What are they going to do?  I plan on quitting the committee, I just don’t want to be around people like that.

There are some things you just shouldn’t say and accusing someone of cheating or stealing or anything untoward is just wrong unless you have concrete proof.  And then, take the shit to HR and don’t act like it’s harmless gossip.  It’s not professional or courteous or nice.

Social assassin

It seems I’ve lost my patience with the world. I have absolutely no tolerance for bullshit, vacillation, or cowardice. I’m just done.

Below are three examples of my being done with assholes.  It is not limited to these three stories, my vitriolic tongue is just getting warmed up.

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Last weekend, I was hanging out at my friend’s house and I was sitting near a group of guys. The guys aren’t friends of mine, but I know them from our mutual friendship with the couple that was hosting the get-together. As I was sipping my sangria and relaxing (or trying to), I overheard them critiquing some women they had met the night before at a bar. As I listened to these very average and, may I say boring, men pick apart women they didn’t even know I started to giggle. The one that was the leader, big gross sideburns, asked me what was funny.

I leaned in closer to the guys and said, “You talk about women like you have a say in anything.”

Sideburns frowns, “What do you mean?”

I snort and say, “You men act like you’re the one who gets to pick. Don’t you understand that women are the ones that pick? No matter how much you tear apart a perfectly pretty women’s looks, if she decided to pick you for whatever…a quick fuck or dinner and a movie…you’d go because you know deep down that it’s not up to you. Yes, you’d probably think you’re doing her a solid by going out with her but that’s not true. She gave the green light, no matter who asked the other out. You men pant after sex like dogs pant after a bone and maybe that’s why you feel the need to rudely critique women, because you’ve been rejected so much that you fool yourself to think that it’s your choice to not go out with whatever “her” turned you down. That’s why I’m giggling. It’s fucking hilarious.”

Sideburns looks pissed and says, “You’re a bitch.”

I laugh harder, “Of course I am.”

I ruined the vibe of the night. The group of guys ended up leaving shortly after I got down from my soapbox. My friend was shaking her head and said, “You just couldn’t ignore them, could you?”

“No,” I said. “I don’t know why, but it was like all of my being was rejecting what they were saying and I had no control over myself.”

I wasn’t sorry for what I said. I’m done.

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On Monday, I was on the train going to work minding my own damn business. I was standing by the door because there were no seats available. As we were coming to the stop, a man closed in on me and said, “Excuse me, the next stop is my stop.”

Since there was nowhere to move and I really didn’t care, I replied, “Okay.”

He moved closer to me and sighed a stinky cloud of coffee breath, “Can you move?”

Annoyed that he couldn’t just be patient and wait until we got his stop, I said, “Where the hell would you like me to move? You’re blocking my way and the door is here. You’ll get to work, don’t worry.”

“I just want to make sure I don’t miss my stop,” he insisted.

“How the fuck are you going to miss your stop? Unless you are indeed the dumbass I’m starting to think you are, when we get to your precious stop the door will open and I’ll let you out. Chill the fuck out.” I wished I could punch him in the throat.

“I just don’t like being late for work.” He’s relaxed a bit.

“Why is that my problem? Just shut up and you’ll be fine.” I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose to keep myself from belting him in the head.

The train finally gets to his stop and the doors open. I stepped out of the train to let the asshole out and he miraculously exited the train without any trouble.

As he walked away, I said, “I hope someone shits on your day like you shit on mine.”

I wasn’t sorry for what I said. I’m done.

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And then last night. Ugh…last night. I went to the grocery store to pick up a few things I needed; BioKefir, peaches, cherries, and walnuts. Yes, I’m a squirrel. I placed my purchases on the belt in the express line and waited for my turn. A woman my age got in line behind me and placed her stuff on the belt; bag of cookies, bag of fried chicken, 6-pack of regular soda, and cupcakes. When she was finished, she gave my items a dirty look and raised her dirty look to my face and said, “I hate health food nuts.”

I raised my eyebrows and nodded to the horrible shit she had before her and asked her, “How do you shit?”

With a huff, she gathered her diabetes and artery clogging fare and went to another line. The cashier was speechless and I thought, “Mission accomplished.”

I wasn’t sorry for what I said. I’m done.

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Appropriately, or should I say serendipitously, Curb Your Enthusiasm’s episode this week featured Larry David acting as a social assassin. He would say things to people that others were too chicken to say. Basically, he told people what he thought and didn’t lie about it. It got me thinking about how the world would be so much better if we stopped with the stupid courtesy lies we tell people. Some people need to be told the truth. They lie so much to themselves or have their heads so far up their own asses or are so caught up in their own self-importance that they can’t see things clearly. I think this is a perfect role for me. Telling people that they are acting like a damn fool or inappropriate or annoying would be doing them a fucking favor.

I could be a good samaritan by telling others my honest opinion since that’s what I’m thinking anyhow. Think of the stress I could release telling my friend that her husband’s breath is so bad it’s difficult to talk to him. Or telling my cousin that I’m not buying his “girlfriend we’ve never met” story because I really think he’s gay. Or informing my brother-in-law that he’s lower than a piece of shit scum at the bottom of the dirtiest sewage system in the world.

The one rule I would give myself is that I’d only offer up my true opinion if asked or provoked (you can’t expect a honey badger to not bite you if you keep poking it, right?). This is my new attitude and I like it. I might actually make me like people again.

Have you ever seen the rain?

I’m sitting here watching the much needed rain pour down outside and it gives me a sense of relief. I have mentioned several times over the years that the lack of rain affects me negatively. It’s like the drier it is outside, the drier I feel. I hate it. I like things green and lush, and soft ground. I also hate standing in the middle of the yard under the merciless July sun to water my garden. Hose water isn’t good for the garden, too much treatment, it needs the rain.

Sometimes when it rains like this after a long drought, I go outside and just let the water beat down on me. I just came in from standing in the rain for about 15 minutes. It’s one of my favorite things to do. My neighbors think there’s something wrong with me, but I wonder how they’d feel if they tried it. Standing in the rain is nature baptizing you. Wash wash wash it all away.

I’ve been without a computer for over two weeks. The thing has been acting up for months now and at first I thought it was an update I installed and then I thought it was a virus and then I just gave up and called the manufacturer to see what the hell was going on. My hard drive was malfunctioning. Luckily, I was under warranty. I just got back my sweet machine today and have spent most of it installing software and downloading my music off of my Amazon Cloud. I’m so happy I had the forethought to upload my entire music library to it a few months ago. I would have lost thousands of songs had I not.

Of course, being without a computer has put a bit of a damper on my writing. I’ve had some amazing ideas which I have written down in a notebook (what’s that?) with a pen (how primitive), however, it’s not the same. I couldn’t pull up my book and fit the pieces in or wire in and just let myself go off writing. I do look forward to expanding the scenes and finding them a place within the story.

Not much else is going on. I’m still working on my running, which is humbling as hell. I try not to drive or live life staring in the rear-view mirror, but I sometimes wish I could figure out why I stopped running a few years ago. I was doing so well and I just stopped. At the moment, I’m running 3 days a week and practicing yoga 3 days a week. I feel good.

Ex-boyfriends have been on my mind lately. It’s like everything I do reminds me of a past someone. I don’t know the why of it, but my friend tells me it means that I’m ready to start putting myself out there…you know, in the dating world. I can’t really take what she says into account though, because that’s her answer for everything I say. I plan on exploring this more. I believe that things happen for a reason, like when you see the same number or word over and over…this is sort of like that. It’s like every moment is a memory or reminder of someone. Not subtly, but like a billboard in front of me at every turn. Maybe it’s the universe’s teaching moment for me to stop blaming myself for things I can no longer change or it’s simply helping me purge these someone’s out of my mind. Maybe I need to go back out into the rain and let it wash it all away.

I wonder if Craig knew his list would appeal to creeps everywhere…

A coworker of mine has created a blog that critiques the Missed Connections personals on Craigslist and it’s hilarious.  Please go and see here.

And to add to this Craigslist post, here is an ad I found many years ago and originally posted here.

“Hi, I’m a 29 year old single black male. I’m 6,0, muscular, dark brown in complexion. I love to fart. I would like to correspond with a sexy, single and attractive woman, white, between 23 and 37 years old with a big butt who farts a lot-farts more than the average person, farts long, loud and smelly. I want a woman who considers herself a farter in every sense of the word, so we can get our groove on together. Please keep in mind that the farting part is absolutely the most essential quality I’m looking for in a mate…for a wild, sexual relationship. I live in Philadelphia, but would be more than willing to do everything necessary to meet a woman who sees herself honestly reflected in this description. A very big butt is a plus.

 If you don’t fit this description, please do not email me. Also, if you’re not serious and are simply looking for someone to tease and do not intend to respond if I try to get in touch with you, please don’t e-mail me, because I’m 100% serious. I’m tired of getting e-mails from folks who pretend to fit the description, yet don’t respond when I try to contact them. Thanks”

I wonder if this fart lover ever got his smelly dream lady or if he’s still wandering the streets of Philly sniffing the air in hopes that some woman’s Taco Bell-flavored flatulence is strong enough to pull him into the cheeks of her ass.

The wonderful world of being in a thankless job

On Thursday night I attended a welcome dinner for work.  I work in publishing as a project manager/editor/slave for several medical journals.  I’m seriously good at my job.  I am not one to brag, but this I know.  The publisher and managing editor for the journal invited me to the dinner, and because the dinner was late and my commute is long, to stay at the 4-star hotel my company uses for these occasions.

I never get invited to lunch, let alone something like this.

After work on Thursday, I walked to the hotel full of nervous energy.  It was the first time I was going to meet this managing editor with whom I’ve been working for over 2 years.  I was also going to meet several members of the editorial board.  Many of the members have been authors of editorials and other pieces we publish regularly.  I was looking forward to it all.

I got to the hotel and tried to check in, however the assistant that handled my reservation messed up and only placed the room on hold with the company’s credit card instead of paying for the room with the card.  It took me a half hour of calling various people, but that was finally sorted and I got to my room and….eh.  For a fancy smancy hotel, the only thing that was really great was the bathroom.  The actual room was just okay.

I had a pretty good opinion of the hotel, even with its just okay room, until I tried to get online.  Most hotels, given that it’s 2011 and everyone has a laptop, provides free WiFi to its guests, but not this hotel.  It charged.  A 4-star hotel charges for WiFi, but the Holiday Inn doesn’t.  Fucking sad if you ask me.  What’s even sadder is that they only provide you with local channels as well.  They charge extra for cable.  Fucking pathetic.

I ironed my outfit for dinner, the iron was provided free, and got ready.  The dinner was right across the street from the hotel, so that was easy.  I got there and met everyone.  It’s weird, but I felt so out of place.  I knew the publisher and managing editor, but everyone else was a complete stranger.

It was better at my table.  I sat with some really interesting people and had some good talks.  Dinner was horrible.  Fancy=the smallest portions ever.  The dinner was also full of wheat, so I couldn’t eat most of the meal.  I did, however, have lots of wine.

After the dinner, I got back to the hotel and tried to sleep with no success.  The bed was really uncomfortable with its thick pillow top that wouldn’t work with me at all.  I think I slept for an hour.  I was up at 4:15AM and at work by 6:30AM.

At the dinner, I was told that I must attend the meeting they were having the following day.  I was previously told that I didn’t have to go to the meeting and my supervisor (who should be at these types of meetings with me) was out of the office that day.  I couldn’t say  no; so hungover and exhausted I went to the meeting which only pissed me off.

You see, what I do for this journal is nothing short of ripping myself in two to accommodate every request that’s made of me.  Even when it seems impossible to do.  But, at this meeting the only people that got any credit for anything were the editorial office.  I wanted to shout, “It’s ME who gets our Articles in Press published so fast.  It’s ME who keeps our issues running on time and/or early.  It’s ME who keeps everyone happy and does whatever it takes to make this journal perfect.”

But no, I couldn’t say any of that because it would be unseemly.  Instead, I bit the inside of my cheek so hard I drew blood.  After complaining to some of my colleagues, I’ve realized that any production job is thankless.  We’re behind the scenes getting the job done without any props or glory or kudos.  My boss is wonderfully appreciative of the job I do and I suppose I will just be happy with that.

Until I publish my novel.  But then, knowing myself the way I do, I would go out of my way to give that poor production slave my praise knowing how shitty not receiving it makes you feel.

Now because I didn’t post for 3 whole days, I have recorded a podcast as a bonus for this week.  It should be up in the next few hours.

UPDATE:  Podcast is uploaded.  You can find it on my sidebar.

I’m typing from my phone. Too busy packing and charging electronics for overnight stay in Philly. I’m going to a fancy work dinner tomorrow night and they put me up in a super fancy hotel.

There will definitely be a better post tomorrow.

Heavy legs and heavy lids

Day 2 of waking up at 4:30 AM was worse than Day 1.  I really didn’t want to get up this morning.  I went for a run last night.  It was my first run since January when I hurt my back and hip from the ridiculous weight-lifting.

My legs are killing me today.  They are just heavy.  Just walking to the ladies room was painful.  Starting over sucks hard.

I am kind of over work at the moment.  I’m just irritated with everyone.  I need a little break.  I had a 4 day weekend over Memorial Day, but it wasn’t enough.  I’m tacking on some vacation days on our 4th of July days off and I can’t wait.  I just want to lay in the pool in silence.  Drunk Neighbor will probably disturb my peace, but I can just yell at him to go away.

It still smells like vinegar outside my front door, but I haven’t seen one of those flying ants or whatever they were.  Drunk Neighbor asked me why it smelled like vinegar and I told him I had no idea what he was talking about.  I like to mess with him.

My allergies are acting up tonight.  We haven’t had rain in over a week and the pollen is just sitting there waiting to destroy me.  Even in my drugged up state, these allergies are still horrible.  I can’t wait to go to the allergist on the 21st.  I don’t want to live in a bubble and I feel like that’s where I’m heading.  Bubble Debbie….not.

I was talking to my great-aunt Elinor today and she told me she saw my 2nd cousin Linda and Linda’s son on the side of a busy road fist fighting.  I know it’s wrong to laugh, but this cousin is crazy.  Crazy as in she stabbed her mom and tried to strangle her brother.  Crazy as in coming to a bridal shower with dog shit on her pants (don’t ask) and never going to the ladies room to wipe it off.  Crazy as in stealing money from convenience stores and family members.

I’m telling you, I’ve got some serious Whisky Tango in my family.

I asked my Aunt El if she stopped and she said, “Christ no, Debbie.  I beeped, waved, and yelled out the window…For fuck’s sake, wait until you get home to beat the shit out of each other you assholes.”  My aunt is 87 years old.

That’s all for now.

It’s summer when I’m up @ 4:30 a.m.

The alarm went off at 4:30 a.m. today and I hit if off and laid there.  While I love that my job allows me to work extra hours to have every other Friday off, it’s really difficult to appreciate it on day one.  Thankfully, I got myself all organized last night so I didn’t have to think too much.

By the time I got off of the train, I was in a mood.  It’s amazing how much louder the city is 30 earlier than my usual time.  The one street I walk down was lined with trucks making deliveries and it was driving me nuts.

Work was work.  Ugh.

I came home and told my garden I was sorry.  I haven’t watered the plants in 2 days because the asshole weatherman kept saying it was going to rain.  It didn’t.

After watering the plants, I went for a run because the junk in my trunk is getting a bit cluttered.  On my run, I saw a hawk land on a low branch of a tree.  The thing was an adult and huge.  It’s talons were fierce.

I went to my niece’s end of the year concert at her school.  She’s 10 and it was hilarious.  She plays the drums and hates it.  She was rolling her eyes and we were laughing so hard.  She’s a drama queen.

And now I’m home.  I noticed that there are flying ants all over a bunch of plants in my plant bed.  It looks like something was laying in the bed and now there are bugs.  I hope nothing is dead under the plants.  Ew ew ew.  I poured some vinegar on the plants, that was all I had, and hopefully that burned enough of the ants so that I can get the situation under control tomorrow with real pesticide.  I need to stop thinking about this now because it’s making me inch.  I don’t mind bugs, but that many in one place gives me the willies.

Wait, I just checked the bug situation and they are gone.  It looks like vinegar is the trick, but it makes the air stink.  I’d rather the stink.

Wow, wasn’t that an exciting day!