you know what, i love this ad. i love this model. and no i don’t want to horse around or take a shower with her. i just like to look at her because she’s pretty. i don’t see any reason to deny that.

plus the spot really makes me feel good. it’s gives me that “unbearable lightness of being” feeling (the sabina character, not the tereza character).

i mean c’mon, there are party lights everywhere, even on the canoe.

there are fireworks inside of a heart.

there’s a full moon surrounded by swirling clouds.

there are chandeliers in the teepee.

there’s dancing performed in beautiful red underwear and brown suede boots.

there are freckles.

there’s a catchy song.

and there’s a great rack, which probably wasn’t increased two cups sizes by the push-up bra like aerie claims but who gives a flying monkey?  it makes me feel less tense and dreamy for 30 seconds without any side effects. booyah!

and no, this ad doesn’t lead me to believe that the whole world is going to hell in a hand basket because it’s pushing sexuality on tweens.  if we raise our girls right and give them a strong moral foundation, then bra commercials, shows with the kardashians, and lindsay lohan’s antics won’t turn them into total sluts to define their self-worth.  besides this isn’t a modern day problem created by advertisers.  i was stuffing my bra with toilet paper at age 14. some girls aspire to look sexy. i’m not really bothered by that. being sexy and feminine shouldn’t produce shame, at least not at an age where we begin to have those feelings. it may not be for everyone and that’s ok, too. what we need to teach young girls is to accept who they are, and accept others who aren’t like them.

it’s all good.

here’s another one to prove it. can you say flowers everywhere!

so you might be wondering where i’ve been. not really? well, guess what …

work has its dick up my ass and i’m pinned to this pukey cheap-ass corporate carpet. in addition to my day job here, i’m also on this enterprise new media team responsible for infusing a social media plan into every line of business for this global beast.

infusing? isn’t that what you do with vodka?

i’m convinced one of the main reasons i really don’t belong in corporate america is that i don’t speaka the language. half the fucking time i don’t know what’s being said. and this special vernacular really flexes its muscle when you’re involved in a cross-functional, enterprise-wide endeavor. here are some of the words i stumble on:

workstream – whatever happened to group, work group, team? now it’s a workstream. what does that even mean? are there fish in it?

 out-of-pocket – you’re not available, what??

prescribe – you’re not a doctor and so you’re not prescribing things. and if you are, then hook me up with some percocet.

hypotheses – this is a science term. i tune out because this does not apply to me.

synthesize – can’t we just put shit together?

traction – this is what my beamer has none of in the snow.

milestone – this  applies to birthdays and anniversaries, significant things. how is every task a milestone? *shakes head*

sustainable – of course corp america had to jump on this ecological bandwagon. well i laugh to myself everytime i hear it in a meeting because i think of an erection.

cadence – this has to do with the rhythm of voice or music. why are you using it to mean frequency?

thought leadership – this is what steve jobs did, it implies innovation,  i don’t see much of that here or in other big corporations. i just see a bunch of over-compensated exceutives. (alright i won’t go there today.)

this is by no means a comprehensive list, but it would be much easier for me to succeed if people would stop trying to impress everyone in the room and just speak some good old fashioned english. like those people in the movie fargo.

i had major reservations about this. i really don’t believe in this stuff. but i’m an open-minded chick so i thought why not give it a whirl.

i signed up for match.com.

now i know a lot of people have met their mates on online dating sites. and i do just about everything else online but somehow the buck stopped with meeting that special someone.  i’m of the belief that finding a person who makes you blush and gush is more of an organic thing, not a data thing.  that chemistry (pheromones, endorphins, dopamine, oxycontin and the heart racing chemical) is the thing. and to get these chemicals surging you actually need to be near the person, not looking at their picture, facts and figures. and definitely not reading about them “in their own words.”

well…

i guess i should have lied about my age. i can’t tell you how many men are looking  for women younger than they are. ok, i can tell you. EVERY FUCKING ONE OF THEM. here’s one funny example. i saw this guy who works at my company on match. he stood out because a week ago i went to a meeting and this vp i had never met before was checking me out to the point where i became uncomfortable. what’s his status on match?  “44 y.o. man looking for women 30-42.”

what the fuck is wrong with women your own age or a few years older? in person, i’m eye candy, but on match, you wouldn’t even consider me. seriously!?!? that’s ok because i thought you looked way too uptight anyway.

which brings me to another problem i had with match.  i don’t want people i work with seeing me try to find a fucking date. omg that’s awkward. i saw the profiles of a few people i know and just giggled with embarrassment. i can’t tell you why, but the whole thing seemed so silly. and i wasn’t reacting well to the selling of oneself as a suitable suitor.

i’ll tell ya what else i wasn’t reacting well to. fucking creepers winking at me, liking my photos, or emailing me a sales pitch. EEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeewwwwwwwwwwww.  the email system is within match so it’s not like they invaded my personal email, but the exposure made me recoil with fear and loathing. i wanted to poke at all of them with a virtual stick and say, “go on, geeeeet out of here.”

for a match based on data, why doesn’t the actual data mean shit? i indicated in my profile that i love summer, sun, warm weather and water sports. winter bums me out something fierce.  so why did mr. avid skier hit on me?  i’m not saying i wouldn’t do a long weekend in vail, but i know what i like.  i also indicated that my political views are very liberal and mentioned being a recovering catholic. and conservative church-going protestant dude emailed me? we all know that mary matalin and james carville have pulled off being happy with opposing views, but they sir, are the exception.

then when i was in public somewhere, at the gym, train, grocery store, i kept seeing the faces of people on match. if my eyes met with a stranger, i was sure he was looking at me because he recognized me from match.  i’m paranoid by nature, but that site fucking haunted me!

some of you may have read kernut the blonde’s blog posts about her match.com dating experiences. the posts were hilarious. well, i didn’t get that far.

i gave it the old college try, but i quit my 3-day free trial before getting charged. it turns out match.com and me are oil and vinegar.  

i’ve done a very bad thing, punkers. i went to mcdonalds today. boy, was it fucking good. normally i try to hide my guilty little pleasure because most people i know would be appalled to learn that i like to eat mcdonalds. “i’d never put that shit in my body.“  but you’d drink a coors lite?

so not only was that shit tasty, it was cheap. i’m a quarter pounder with cheese girl (although i recently discovered i like the angus bacon and cheese snack wrap when i just need a little something). a QPC extra value meal is only $5.79 and includes the world famous fries and an icy cold soda. now if i went to a pub or a fancy steak place for a burger and fries, we’re talking $10-$20 plus tipping some wait person with too much flare.

and the calories would be like doubled. here’s a breakdown of my meal:

quarter pounder with cheese: 510 calories

medium fries: 380 calories

bottled water: 0 calories (i get the water because soda is too many calories and it’s only good the first couple sips, unlike franzia, which is well worth the calories. see that’s the thing about my calories…i’m all for racking em up as long as there’s flavor involved. nothing worse than consuming calories on something that doesn’t taste great.)

back to the math. if i ate a fancy burger and fries at 2x as many calories, that’s over 1700 calories. so i get my fix and don’t do too much damage. you say whatever, i say brilliant.

let’s talk fries. i add salt that comes out too fast from those little packets they give you. yeah i add salt to that shit. you eat chinese food. druthers. i like to eat my mcdonald’s fries one at a time. this way you really savor the flavor. eating them a bunch at a time is like chugging a good tequila. protocol. now truth be told mcdonald’s fries actually used to taste better awhile ago when they fried them in a mixture of about 7% cottonseed oil and 93% beef tallow (you come here for the thorough research, don’t ya?). but then all the people who really want to eat them but torture themselves by not complained about the high cholesterol in the fries so MickeyDs switched to pure vegetable oil. sacrilege.

and before y’all go asking me if saw supersize me or fast food nation, no i purposefully did not see these movies. why would i take my own grease sunshine away? i don’t want to know what ingredients are used, or to examine the meat packing industry, or any such nonsense. you say irresponsible. i say lighten the fuck up. i’m not eating 3 meals a day at the golden arches for 30 days in a row and consuming over 5000 calories a day without exercising. so stupid.

i get that there are better foods for you that taste just as good, and even mcdonalds offers healthy food options (although i don’t konw why anyone would go to mcdonalds for a salad when there are burgers, nuggets and fries on the menu. besides that’s what saladworks is for.) but i think a little self-indulgence is healthy. denial will be the death of you. if you’re down with this premise, you might also want to read my diets are dumb post.

i’m tired of doing the walk of shame from my beamer into a mcdonalds hoping no one will see me. (oh btw i dine in because, i forgot to mention above, my world famous fries must be hot.) from now on i’m going to hold my head up high, get my QPC on and hope mcdonalds is doing the monopoly game. it’s back by the way and 1 in 4 wins!

how do you eat your fries?

do you dine-in or drive-through?

what are you ashamed of?

do you also eat at yo quiero taco bell?

ps: you can blame this silly post on denny delvecchio who commanded i write a new post. bet you’re wishing you hadn’t, huh denny? anyway, thanks for the encouragement.

lately i find myself saying, “it’s just an aberration, i swear.” a lot. which is really contradictory.

i was pulled over for not wearing a seatbelt and got a ticket. it’s just an aberration, i swear.

when pulled over, i couldn’t find my car registration. just an aberration.

i overdrew my checking account the second month i was on my own. aberration.

i’ve overslept three times recently (i refuse to use an alarm unless it’s absolutely necessary)  abb…

i didn’t get the last three jobs i’ve interviewed for. fucking bullshit.

i deleted a critical email at work that i told myself i must save because i’ve had to forward it at least 3 times.

i lost my first dry cleaning ticket.

now some of you might be saying, that’s a whole lot of nothing in the big scheme of things. and i know that none of these things are like putting the baby carrier with the baby in it on top of the car then getting in the car and absentmindedly driving off.  but these incidents are very out of character for me. normally i’m extremely anal. organized. detail-oriented. safe. responsible  (except for those times i allow myself some unrestricted fun, we’ll call those deviations ”being irresponsible with control”).

i think it’s time to get my shit together. i’m not very focused or disciplined these days.

or maybe not. maybe i’m finally letting go. unpuckering. not sweating the small stuff. going with my natural biorythyms. not giving a shit if i don’t continue to work in corporate america. maybe i could finally take some risk with my career. maybe becoming a bubblehead will be good for my creative spirit.

they say that every cell in the body is changed over a period of seven years, and we humans experience emotional, physical and mental changes that occur in seven-year intervals. so it could be that i’m in some kind of evolutionary spiral. it could also mean that based on my cellular age, i’m around 7 years old. (this makes total sense from a maturity sense).

anyhussy, i say, bring it.

i’m upset about this weiner business. not because tweeting a photo of your moose knuckle to a hot chick is all sleazy and salacious and the dude is married.

that shit happens all the time and the emotional repercussions are between him and his wife. and hilary clinton probably. besides relationship stuff is thick, layered and very complicated. that kind of analysis is best left for someone with credentials. or credibility. neither of which i have.

now don’t get me wrong if anthony weiner used any official resources to talk dirtay with his dianas, i think he should be lynched. (and i really hope john edwards goes down in a flame of silicone lube for soliciting and secretly spending more than $925,000 to hide his mistress and their baby during his campaign. fucker!)

what i am upset about is that no one ever tweets pics of their package to me.

don’t get all excited. this isn’t an open invitation or a “tweet your meat” contest announcement (although that’s not a half bad idea, i think the contest would be huge – TWSS), but it’s just the idea of it.

i like junk.

i embrace technology and new media.

i adore pop culture. (damn i’m punny)

i want in!

yet no one is sexting me, sending me dirty pics, leaking sex videos of me, or tweeting me their massive male muscle.

what am I chopped tuna?

hear this men: the 20 somethings, college students and nubile porny stars aren’t the only chicks wanting men to flex for them. in fact, they may well be among the least engaged in your brand promise. you’re missing targeting your message to a key market segment. that is, over 40 with a hungry, open mind and discretionary time for play (our children are grown and our careers are established).

campaign fail!

well we all know this was a big power trip and men in power pull these kind of shenanigans because they think they are getting away with something and are reaping satisfaction by imagining some trophy girl will perceive them as hip, badass and well-endowed. so silly. try to impress a woman who is savvy, has discriminating taste and sophistication. a woman who can’t be bought and sold. in other words, take on a real challenge, ya numbnut. then it might be impressive.

the other reason i’m upset about this weiner stuff is because he tried to delete the tweet. i feel his pain here. i can’t tell you how many time i’ve  responded to a twitter message notification text on my iphone thinking i was responding as a direct message only to have my response appear as a tweet for all of my followers to see.

when i would delete the tweet, it would disappear from my timeline, but it wasn’t getting removed from everyone else’s timeline! this is from the twitter help center on deleting a tweet:

“Hover your mouse over the message (as shown below), and click the “Delete” option that appears. Voila! Gone forever… almost. Deleted updates sometimes hang out in Twitter search. They will clear with time.”

almost? sometimes hang out? clear with time?

twitter has no real delete mechanism. this poor sap thought he would flash his physique to just one chick and it went to everyone. there is no way to save your ass (or your dick as it be) on twitter!

now that’s evil.

i want feather hair extensions. my daughter just got them at the mall. they were only $10 a feather. they’re mad expensive in a salon though.

they’re all the rage with celebrities.

so cool, right?

here’s a 48 sec vid:

FeatherHead

daisies in the hair are pretty rad, too.

the feathers come in dazzling colors. you can wash, dry, curl and straighten your hair with them in. they last about 8 weeks and are attached with silicone-laced beads so they don’t damage your hair. they also come in multiple lengths and can be cut just like hair.

so what’s the rub?

i think i’m too old for them.

i work in corporate america.

these things bum me the fuck out. i want to wear them!  i mean i grew up in the 70s admiring stevie nicks and the whole gypsy belladonna look. i wore feather earrings for chrissake. my style today is bohemian cali rocker chic a la mary louis parker in weeds. and i have messy hair that would hold feathers so awesomely. kind of like this skank:

for illustrative purpose only. sorry kesha haters.

yes, i have bigger more grown up issues to worry about but i avoid them and torture myself with this shallow shit instead. what? you have a better coping mechanism?

so tell me what you think i should do or tell me your coping mechanism or tell me if i should get a tiny diamond nose piercing.  i’m not taking this mid-life crisis lying down, punkers!

i fucking hate interviews. i get a call from the HR recruiter of a big pharma company. i do a 30 min phone screening with her. she likes me and passes my resume along to the hiring manager. i do a 45 min phone screening with her. she decides to move me along in the interview process. i get scheduled for a 3-hour interview. one hour with the hiring manager. one hour with one of her peers. and a one hour writing test.

ok.

then i’m scheduled to speak with the HR recruiter again. she wants to go over the company’s interview process with me. she sent me a 3-page doc to review beforehand:

“candidate guide to leadership capability interviews”

there’s a diagram and definitions outlining six leadership capabilities used in performance management, managing talent and recruitment.

i’m told that each interviewer will pick 2 or 3 leadership capabilities which align to the job and ask me questions about my work that will demonstrate my abilities.

then i’m told i have to answer the questions in the STAR format. another diagram and more definitions:

S/T- Listen carefully to the question and give an overview of a relevant SITUATION or TASK.  (1-2 min.)

A – Describe what actions I took and avoid talking about  “we.” (5-6 min.)

R-  Discuss the the results and impact my actions had on the business. (2-3 min.)

fucking consultants!  here’s an acronym for consultants: KISS! keep it simple shithead. a 3-page document full of diagrams and definitions! really? why can’t you just ask me to describe what i think is one of my biggest accomplishments! i can structure the answer fucktard. this shit is also used for performance management. if i suck, just tell me straight up. there’s no need to put it in some complex matrix with big fancy consultant phrases.

whatevs. so i prepare for the leadership capability interview (pretty funny considering i didn’t know what capabilities would be assessed or what questions would be asked specific to the capabilities.) i update my portfolio. i research the company and its products.

i iron (fucking significant that’s why it gets its own line).

guess which part i fucked up? the motherfucking writing test!

after two hours of talking leadership capabilities they put me in a room with a laptop and the test. i’m not used to a laptop. i’m old school, bitches. i have a desktop at work and home. i like the big keyboard and am intimate with the layout of the keys. and like my salad dressing, i prefer my mouse on the side.

well, i totally spazzed on the touchpad. and totally ran out of time.

plus, the version of Word that was loaded was unfamiliar and the toolbar wasn’t loaded up. i couldn’t fucking find bullets, bold, italic, etc. i struggled to customize the toolbar. i ended up with grid lines on the page that i couldn’t figure out how to remove.

i spent way too much time with the technology so when the admin came a knocking to tell me my time was up, i hadn’t wrapped up my article, re-read or spell checked it.

fucking frickem frackem godfuckingdamnit.

i wanted to take that laptop out into the field and bash the fucking daylights out of it office space style.

soa the reason i’ve been absent from the blogosphere is because i was moving into an apartment. and the reason i was moving into an apartment was because i was separating from my husband after 20+ years of marriage, raising a family and building a home together. i’m not going into all of the heavy stuff on my blog out of love and respect for mr. punker.

but i sure as shit am going to talk about all of the superficial consequences this has wrought.  (why oh why do i use nouns like “shit” and verbs like “wrought” in the same goddamn sentence? because i can, punkers, because i can. )

anyhussy, here are some of my first impressions of being on my own in an apartment:

i miss having a hose on my kitchen sink. how are you supposed to fill the water reservoir of your keurig coffeemaker without a hose?

how do you get rid of the food debris in your sink without a garbage disposal? especially when you don’t have a motherfucking hose!

nordstrom’s is really expensive.

how do you know if it’s a cockroach or a beetle? (please tell me cockroaches don’t exist in the burbs.)

raising the lid on a dumpster really skeeves me out.

what did people do before coat closets and innovative storage solutions? (i had to buy a fucking garment rack and send the rest of my babies to goodwill.)

take my advice: one needs at least a two bedroom apartment to have enough space for shoes.

just because the previous owner and his/her cat are gone, the fucking linen closet still smells like cat piss litter box ammonia pungent blechhh something fierce.

gonzo volcanic rock bags really work as an odor eliminator. (paid advertisement welcome.)

i think the girl downstairs leaves a pair of size 13 men’s work boots outside of her door as a deterrent because i’ve never seen a male coming or going from her place. brilliant actually.

the property manager refers to me as sweetie. ”i’ll put in a work ticket for you, sweetie.”  and the maintenance man calls me senora. “toilet paper holder es ok now, senora.”

ulta, bed bath and beyond, and victoria’s secrets coupons have not followed me to my new address. grrrrr.

this was my first housewarming gift from the glitter gang bangers, a vapid blonde, absence of alternatives, wicked shawn, buggin word, duffmano, brilliant sulk, for the birds, and lagunatic.

isn't it the glitteriest, happiest rubber ducky key chain you've ever seen? i think i will name her "bijou." whaddaya think?

and the real kicker …

i have to lay down my franzia box in the fridge. when i want to tap it, i have to pull it out and put it on the counter. wtf whirlpool engineers!  there’s a minimum shelf height for a refrigerator and it should include ample head room for an upright franzia box!

ps: i also want to thank sister merry hellish, the barreness, and buggin word for the posts they wrote/dedicated to me during this trying time. your love means the world to me.

i miss you guys. hard. i’m ass-deep in a web project at work and coincidentally have been dealing with some major personal shit outside of work, too. so i haven’t been able to creep around your places as much as i’d like. and i haven’t been able to even think about posting. i promise to be back before too long.

as if you care. well i care, damnit!

so i’m going to leave you with a quickie to hold you over. here are some random thoughts:

i did the networked blogs thingy, so won’t you follow me? see it’s just there at the right, below my awesome avi. i don’t have too many followers so it’s pretty sorry looking. i’m not above begging when it comes to the way things look. i’m a superficial bitch like that.

i vote for an arts and crafts period at work. arts and crafts time shouldn’t stop with grade school, summer camp, elderly homes, and mental institutions. it would be great for brainstorming and meetings. at parties. at bars (but not on a bed). at BBQs. there should be an arts and crafts app where you can invite others to join you.

speaking of a cool thing to invite others to do. check out this new social media site, story bird. it’s collaborative story telling, motherfuckers! i can’t wait to play with this thing once i come up for air. and if you play with it, you better invite me! yes, i’m an overly sensitive teenage girl sometimes. ok most of the time.

that “under pressure” song by bowie and queen still knocks my socks off everytime i hear it. it’s so explosive, climatic, and triumphant. when i hear it i just want to spring into the air and do a ballerina’s grand jete.

you could even yell "puissance!" with this move

lastly, “he not busy being born is busy dying.” ~bob dylan