A Quarter Life Crisis

Peculiar morning, no? It was for me even if it wasn’t for you. I woke up and hit the snooze button, not typical Faith behavior. Normally I’m awake before the alarm blares and watch the fluorescent numbers change until 6:36AM. I have no scientific evidence to back this theory but I’ve decided my need to control things makes me wake up before the alarm sounds. It’s a false sense of security.

Snoozing was just the start. Typically when I finish dressing for work I walk into the kitchen and feed the cats. For whatever reason instead of giving the cats their food bowl I laid the bag of cat food on their feeding mat and placed their food dish underneath the sink where the bag belongs. I walked away for a second and then realized the error of my ways, odd! Clearly this was just as disturbing to the cats who took to staring at me blankly. But then again maybe not as cats never really stare knowingly in my opinion they are more blank than emotional. I truly dislike their coldness but I feel compelled to have a pet. I’ve always had a pet and can’t see existing without one. I might need to discuss this compulsion with someone.

Anywho, because I was slightly off my normal schedule the iron was still hot and I felt uneasy about wrapping it up and placing it in the closet. But I did. I felt like it might melt something on the top shelf. I thought about this during my walk to the train station. Oh did I forget to mention that now that I am working in the city regularly I take the train twice a week when my brother can’t drive me because of his dialysis appointment.

On my less than five minute walk to the train station I was almost hit by a car driving no more than 10 miles per hour. As I tried to maneuver around him he tried to park in the space I was standing in. In his defense I was in the only parking space still available in front of the free clinic. Yes I live around the corner from a free clinic, #dontjudgeme. My apartment is ridonkulously cheap for its size but for what it makes up for in space it loses in neighborhood appeal. I won’t speak on the seedy characters that I see on a daily basis. Being home more often may force my hand to make that move.

And when I say move I don’t mean living with The Spaniard. Ever since having my license plate stolen twice I’ve toyed with the idea of moving out of the neighborhood and truly embracing my boughie. Of course with my hectic travel schedule that thought only occurred to me when I had extended stays in my apartment, so like once every quarter. Not enough to make me actually look for a new place. Don’t confuse my ploys to be grown up by acquiring a realtor and looking at condos as a realistic search for a new place. I toyed with the idea of adulthood through purchasing something I definitely probably can’t afford comfortably. Besides I don’t want a place without a family or the guise of a family.

On the train I noticed a couple of things that struck my fancy and something that disturbed me a bit. I’ll start with the fancy because that’s more interesting…I think! So there was this guy sitting half way down the train car who resembled my College Crush. I would have liked to see him walk because I like watching men walk, it’s one of my things and because my College Crush was bowlegged. Although considered a flaw in adults, I find it very very fascinating and sezy. I don’t know why. So much so I looked it up on Wikipedia when I came into work this morning to find out the actual medical term, Genu Varum.

That had me thinking a little bit about college and how I almost had the nerve to tell College Crush that I had a thing for him, which I honestly think was mutual…it helps my ego so go with it. In the middle of my speech, which I wrote out the night before, I was rudely interrupted by an envious lesbian. To this day I still fault her for my inability to disclose my true feelings to him. I ended our friendship shortly thereafter because I couldn’t look at her face without replaying my missed opportunity. Sure I know this makes no sense but I remember her bringing it up in casual conversation saying something like, “Wow did you see how College Crush looked at you, you’d have thought you were about to tell him you loved him or something, ha ha!”

It also made me think about the betrayal I felt when a close acquaintance of mine sucked him off one night dated him briefly during our senior year. She totally betrayed my trust. I confided in her that I’d been crushing on this guy since freshmen year when we sat next to each other in soc class. At first she said something like why and then I explained all his amazing qualities, one of them being his super smartness. He graduated Summa Cum Laude. Big…brains do it for me all the time! Additionally he was athletically inclined, tall, broad shouldered, handsome in that rugged cowboy way and he was a genuine sweetheart. For instance he’d always give me his sweatshirt in criminology classes because the building was outrageously cold.

Not that it was right but yes I actually laughed at her when she told me he was a loser for never calling her afterwards. She deserved that treatment for being a backstabbing skank not to mention he liked taller girls with a little more chesticles, I know this from the few girls who were privileged enough to be called his girlfriend. In my mind I was clearly a shoe in, this didn’t combat my nervousness though. Fear crippled me after being interrupted by the lesbian and well I missed an opportunity at something or nothing. Who knows it will always be one of those things I wonder about. I hate not having closure though I won’t lie. It did teach me that if there is something or someone you want, go for it. Never allow fear to consume you to the point it inhibits your ability to act because it will always be your loss.

Does it make me a stalker that I’ve tried to find him on Facebook multiple times with no success?

Anywho, I then noticed a couple sitting about two aisles away on the train. I started to think that it must be weird to both live and work with your spouse. When would you get that me time that everyone needs? I pocketed that thought because the female portion of the duo missed her mouth and spilled a whole bunch of coffee down the front of her shirt. This in and of itself didn’t capture my eye, it was the male portion of the duo coping a feel assisting in cleaning. Interesting, she’s going to be very embarrassed for the rest of the day. It was a cream blouse. I also noticed the guy hold back a laugh. The chick wasn’t too amused but next time I’m sure she’ll be more careful.

Before reaching my destination, Suburban Station, the train stops at the Gallery. There’s always a line-up of passengers getting off at this station. One of them that stuck out to me by hair initially was a gentlemen with a freshly cut hi-top fade. I know that 90’s fashions are the rage and I’m sort of riding the bandwagon but in this instance the unkempt trying to be curly nappy hi-top fade made me want to earl a bit in my mouth. If that wasn’t enough to upset my morning breakfast, once Mr. 90’s was in full body length view he was wearing a pair of women’s rain boots and the tightest stone washed black jeans I’ve ever seen on a man. I think he noticed me staring at him. I apologize for the judgment but seriously dude, I mean seriously!

But the topper, the icing on this strange ride to the work and slightly disturbing, the noticeably disheveled husky man in the tan pea coat who kept making eyes at me. I noticed that he wasn’t wearing any socks with his dress shoes. It was definitely cold this morning and he was actually sockless, spooky right? If the car were empty besides the two of us I’d have been real afraid, like snatch a piece of my cootie frightened. And I don’t scare easily. I mean seriously my fright meter is way up there. Granted the fear could have been coming from a place of non-comfort with the fact that someone I found less than attractive was giving me the I wanna lick your neck look. But I really think it was more because he looked like an ex serial killer, at any moment ready to return from sabbatical with a vengeance.

Peculiar morning, no?

Leaving my current career path as a consultant is bittersweet. How cliché does that sound? But it’s all the way true. Although I detest the politics of consulting, robotic human vampires are not the friendliest folk to work with; I learned a lot in a very short period of time. When I started consulting I thought I was the hashish and pissed excellence! I quickly realized everyone in consulting pisses excellence, in his/her own mind. Arrogance, with a side of Backstabbing Bish is a prereq to surviving or at least be thought of as truly the hashish. While I’m Facebook friends with Arrogance, Backstabbing and I don’t mesh like that. Seriously, the OG in the sky doesn’t need one more thing to smite me for in the hereafter, I’m just saying, He doesn’t!

By end of business on Friday I was more than ready to call it quits. After working with Texas on a few of my more recent assignments I ended up shackled to him again for a portion of the work on my current project. Clearly the work gods are not friends with me on Facebook. If they handed out degrees for jumping on my last nerve Texas would graduate summa cum laude! And that might actually be an understatement.

Earlier in the day the Realtor sent me the list of three properties we’d scope out after I was finished working. It was a toss up whether I was going to walk or catch a cab. I’ve decided that close proximity to my office and downtown Philadelphia is one of my more important must haves for my new place in addition to ample closet space. When I stepped outside Humidity damn near stole my will to live, cab it was. In better weather the trek to Northern Liberties or in this case slightly below Northern Liberties on the outskirts of not the greatest neighborhood wouldn’t be half bad and good exercise. But in the butt blazing heat I just wasn’t making it happen. In any event we looked at the three places, none keepers and parted ways in front of my office. The Realtor was nice enough to drop me off, must be the commission!

By the time I made it home from condo searching it was 7:15. I’d agreed to have Pretty Skin pick me up around 8ish but that would be cutting it too close. Besides the fact that I wasn’t too keen on the idea of him knowing where I live. Shoot I didn’t really know why he was in the in bing, this is slang for jail carry on. I made a quick call and told PS since it was getting later than anticipated I would meet him wherever he decided we were having dinner.

We met at Johnny Manana’s on Ridge Avenue in East Falls. Even though I live a hop, skip and a jump away from there I’d never been. And he gets a gold star because I heart American Mexican food. Yes that’s ridonkulous I know but authentic Mexican food is prepared with corn meal, which I don’t particularly care for but American Mexican is made with flour and I likes me some flour. Digressing a bit I know right!

Anywho, the date was alright, to scale it, probably a 6.5. The conversation with PS was easy but I needed to get the 411 on this whole jailhouse experience. For a minute I thought he was trying to avoid the pink elephant but he says, could be a cap up one never knows, he doesn’t like to talk about his past self because that’s not who he is anymore. I can dig it; especially since his past self distributed street pharmaceuticals. He said he deserved his five-year punishment and he would never do anything to find himself in that situation again.

What the deuces do you know how much has changed in the past five years – shoot that’s a lifetime in cell phone technology?

He seemed genuine but uh I’ve seen half an episode of Oz and I can’t get down with the get down if you know what I’m saying! Oh and then the other two bombshells of the night, he has a 9 year old daughter from a jump off…not even a relationship and that architectural firm, he was the equivalent of Mailroom Boy’s supervisor, it figures! But the icing on the cake, no job right now but I guess this is to be expected. He is a barber, unlicensed, so that’s his current hustle until he gets a legitimate tax-paying job. At least he’s actively searching, that’s a lot more than I can say for some folks I know who will remain nameless…Little Brother!

After all those details my head was spinning and I asked if we could end the night a bit early. PS seemed slightly disappointed but whatevs, in actuality I was all types of tired and I had some serious thinking to do. Besides siddity Faith started rearing her ugly mug and I didn’t want to go there with this gent just yet. Despite his checkered past, which he was very honest about, we had a relatively decent mini date. He was easy to talk to, could hold a decent conversation and he laughed at my oddball jokes. I’m a nerd at heart folks!

When I got home I de-clothed, sent a text message to PS letting him know I got home safe and thanked him for dinner, washed the slight make-up off my face and said, DAMN! No literally that’s what happened. Nothing a good night’s sleep and a small prayer wouldn’t help, right! I woke the next morning and said, I’m going to see how things play out, cautiously with Pretty Skin. I mean he didn’t directly kill anyone right?

Saturday plans grab a quasi-expensive gift for Male Nurse Friend (MNF) and make it to his birthday BBQ. By mid day this plan was all but a memory. I had no motivation. For whatever reason, maybe the hellish workweek or the exhaustion that sprouts from maintaining too many gentleman callers was catching up with me. Believe it or not I’m not as young as I used to be!

In any event I opted for a card and a gift certificate to Dave N Busters for MNF. When I drove to his apartment there was no parking, after looping three times I called it quits and drove back home. I know that probably was wrong (it ain’t like his non showing butt hasn’t stood me up on a number of occasions) but I really wasn’t in the mood for the queens he invited anyway.

Earlier that day I’d texted Jon B to see if we were still on for True Blood. By 11PM I had no response so I figured that was the end. Damn I really read that man’s intentions wrong. My dating wheels need some oil I guess.

On Sunday I rose early and cleaned the apartment. Since I’m not traveling I’m back to my normal weekend scrub the home routine, me likes. I sparked up a random conversation with Italian Stallion around 3ish and in the middle Jon B called, now what woodwork did he crawl out of? I ended up calling him back around 6:30, you know just to see what excuse he’d give for doing a no call no show.

Apparently his ex called to let him know he can no longer be involved in her daughter’s life. He was devastated and needed some time to himself to decompress. Hmmm…pretty janky on her part and all types of effed up for her daughter considering Jon B is the only father the girl’s ever known. He seemed to be taking it quite hard. I thought I heard him choking back some tears. I offered him some words, I mean what else was there to do and told him to get back to me when he felt he was up for company. I don’t feel like I need to make any effort here. Red flags are busting out of the seams on this one!

So it seems no one wants to hear the romanticals of all things Faith for the past 8 weeks, sheesh I’m crying a bit on the inside. I kid I kid! It would seem, not surprising really, that Crazy Balls has taken the stage. And since I write this blog for both myself and the lovelies that stop by and leave me comments from time to time I feel obligated to give you more details, not that there’s much else there.

Without further digression,

After getting through the 8 trillion security check lines in the airport in Sao Paulo, Fellow Traveler and I patiently waited to board the plane home. The dreaded Brazilian work excursion was over and we were finally going back to civilization as we know it. No more black bean Wednesdays or feijãda as the locals so nicely named it. Yes you didn’t read that wrong on Wednesday for lunch every place serves black beans…they come with a variety of meat options (mostly pork including snout – the locals said it’s something about paying homage to the slaves…hmmm I could think of a better way to show respect but I am going off on a tangent).

I won’t lie though I really miss suco de abacaxi, fresh pineapple juice, it’s literally the best thing since sliced bread!

Anywho we’re in the airport waiting for yet another airplane when I notice this older gentleman, I’d peg him in the 60-65 ballpark but I could be wrong, standing slightly in front of us. I noticed him because he was wearing the tightest cargo pants I’d ever seen on a straight man and he had an obnoxious orange tan which lent it’s services to the 14 strands of hair on his head. They (the hair strands) were congregating on the top of his head in sort of a comb over motion not doing a great job of hiding his ginormous bald spot. Side note if you’re going bald men just do the Mr. Clean it looks way better than rocking the Terry Bradshaw or Sherman Hemsley cul-da-sac. I’m just saying.

Of course I’m fantabulously hair vain so I’d probably hang on to anything I had left as well.

Digressing…Fellow Traveler and I chuckle a bit before we’re split and board the plane to our separate seats. Once inside the jet I begin getting settled for the long ride home. About three or four minutes into the boarding process two ladies stop in front of me and begin speaking broken Portuglish (Portuguese & English), you know the none tan must have made them think I was Brazilian. After convincing them that I was in fact American and spoke English they asked if I could switch seats so they could sit together. Under normal circumstances I wouldn’t have given up my seat but they were sisters and I would have preferred to sit next to my sister instead of some random passenger.

Little did I know that taking the seat up just a few rows would put me right beside, you guessed it, Crazy Cargo Hair. See Crazy Cargo Hair was his initial name before the overnight peep show.

As I mentioned before Fellow Traveler and I had to fly through Toronto on the way back to Philadelphia. After experiencing the prison fare they offered on the ride over to Brazil I decided the best use of my 10 hour flight would be to get some much needed sleep, if possible. It had been our experience that the air over the Amazon was pretty choppy but I was fully prepared to Xanax, courtesy of Fellow Traveler’s mom-bot, myself to sleep at the first sign of turbulence.

Even before the flight attendants did their in flight emergency dance I was fast asleep. Sometime during the night, as all flights to USA from Brazil depart between 10PM-12AM, Crazy Cargo Hair stripped from the waist down. I’d like to think he stripped in the wee hours of the morning when the flight crew had dozed off in their little cubby holes but there is no way to know for sure because I was fast asleep. Not to mention its pitch black on those overnight flights so he could have been going to town on himself and I would have been none the wiser.

In any event I woke to the annoying early morning announcements from the flight crew you know the drill, turn off all electrical devices, last chance to hit the john yada yada yada. Just as I opened my eyes I was accosted by shriveled old man testes. I’m not sure about you but this sure ain’t the best part of waking up! Not to mention he was doing the whole don’t mind me I’m just adjusting my junk thing that guys do in an attempt to put his doodads back into those tight arse cargo pants. Now I can’t say for sure what type of undies Crazy Balls, note the name change, was wearing because I wasn’t positive I was in fact seeing what I was seeing.

After blinking about seven or eight times I was sure I was in fact seeing the old man peep show…and I didn’t even ask for it! I began asking myself all these questions…when did he let them loose, did he free ball the whole flight home, why didn’t he go into the bathroom and put himself back in his pants, did his testes kinda have a tan, did I really just see 65yr old balls? You know the normal morning questions!

The show only lasted about a minute or two as Crazy Balls is clearly skilled in the art of putting peas in a pod. For a split second I thought to complain but since we were getting off the plane shortly I didn’t see the benefit.

Side note whenever you say Crazy Balls you have to put up the jazz hands, like a Broadway musical…I can’t tell you why but it just seems appropriate.

So I’m not even sure where to start with what’s been going on in the World O’ Faith. Ok well let’s be serious work has monopolized most of my time. But in between that monopoly life’s been storming. And when I say storming, I really mean storms people, but luckily it’s quieting down a bit.

There’s no better place to start besides my last entry. In my previous post I was still stationed in Sao Paolo. Question: Is it possible to age a year in 8 weeks time, probably not but I feel 30 and I haven’t even reached 29 yet! Don’t worry I’m planning on throwing a great big ole bash to bring in 30 and all of my readers (the 2 that are left) are invited. Anywho being so far from family and friends I started to feel like my life at home was just a dream. I know this requires some explanation.

All the characters normally so front in center in my life were puttering around still doing the things they do and living their lives with no involvement from lil ole me…vain much? Not that I thought their lives would automatically cease as I mounted a jumbo jet to Brazil but it was deflating to know that as important as I think I am people were getting along without me. That was a growing moment! The Little Brother was responsible enough to take care of home without my 1001 reminders or nagging. Maybe he didn’t do it just like I would but it got done, the absolute definition of having more than one way to skin a cat. The Best Friend navigated single-dome with the advice and shoulder of Nurse Friend. Male Nurse Friend went on his vakay and took pictures without my angles. My life was going on without me, a movie playing with my cast of characters but I wasn’t in any scenes.

It started to get a little depressing listening to my life instead of living it. I was an outsider amongst family. Faith was not a happy camper, although it was nice to hear from everyone sporadically it only helped to remind me that I was not there in the thick of things. My real life was a dream and the only thing to fall back on was work, not really a thrilling alternative.

Work equaled hell! There is no other way to explain it. For 8 weeks straight I worked 16+ hour days. We know I am career minded; however, at home I balance my scales. I work and play hard, point blank period! In Sao Paolo I worked hard and played not at all. It’s just that simple. And it didn’t help that we had a language barrier that stalled our project for close to two weeks. Given our overly aggressive schedule a two week delay only added to everyone’s stress levels. Not to mention that half the Brazilian team was green, freshly hired consultants with little to no experience. In addition all the deliverables (final documents prepared for the clients) had to be completed by Fellow Traveler and I. All I have to say is pressure busts pipes.

Leaving Sao Paolo was the happiest moment of my adult life to date, how sad is that? Unfortunately arriving in Toronto (for financial reasons we had to fly through Canada) brought the trip home way down. Most of that was due in large part to being detained by Canadian immigration and having my bag searched like a common terrorist. After that fantabulous ordeal I missed my flight back to Philadelphia to which the Air Canada staff replied, “Well it could be a lot worse at least there’s a flight leaving in a few hours.” Thanks, I felt a helluva lot better considering I’d been flying for the last 10 hours hadn’t had a shower, woke to an elderly man swinging his man parts in my face (for whatever reason Crazy Balls, as he was so nicely named, decided during the flight to unhitch his pants and free ball the flight back to Toronto. I didn’t notice any of this from my world o slumber until right before the plane landed waking to see wrinkled testes getting tucked into cargo pants….not a pleasant sight folks nope not at all) and still had 16 or so hours of work to complete that day. Sorry Air Canada you get the forever stank eye (o_O) even more so because the food on the flight to Toronto was a rat’s hair above prison fare.

Remember Canadians are known for hockey and that is all…this is me being a bit snide but Air Canada left a narsty taste in my mouth toward our neighbors to the North.

If it were hygienically safe to kiss the streets in Philly I would have. Considering the potential diseases one might catch I decided against it not to mention the streets were piled high with about 4ft of snow…but believe me I wanted to. Instead I relished that enthusiasm on the Spaniard who escorted me home…he comes in handy sometimes.

It was nice to take a shower in my bathroom and sleep in my bed (my being the key word here). Those single moments of peace were quickly interrupted by more work for the project and that thing we call life. Fellow Traveler and I picked up the slack (a recurring theme over the life of this project) while the Brazilians celebrated Carnival. It must be nice to enjoy a weeklong festival of hedonism right smack in the middle of a project…I wouldn’t know!

Snow jailed me to my apartment. The Little Brother watched as I took conference call after conference call with occasional bathroom breaks; notice I didn’t mention food or sleep. For at least a week I survived off of water and air. This is not the life I signed up for. My weekends were no better. Even when I did get away for Nurse Friend’s half a birthday celebration I was so overburdened with work I could barely enjoy myself. Things were nearing the breaking point.

In the middle of that storm, The Man Wander Married went off the deep end. Honestly that isn’t all that shocking considering he is a functioning lunatic (he’s my daddy and I love him but the truth is the truth). It’s a long story that I will sum up like this, Wander is relocating to an apartment until the papers are signed. Knife in the heart of my moving plans (did I mention that I want to move to San Diego)….yet again I take a backseat to all things family. At this point I can’t even say I mind because I’m so used to it, it just feels normal. And honestly it would be selfish of me to think of me first, right? At this time it’s best to deal with the uncomfortable-ness of parenting my parent until she is back on her feet. What will come of this situation; will be a happier, healthier Wander, of that I am sure!

To add to my confusion because clearly working like a slave and the walls collapsing on my parents already rocky marriage wasn’t enough my body decided to quit on me. Yup right in the middle of it all Fellow Traveler had to rush me to the ER! This will be the second time in 8 weeks time that Fellow Traveler sat in an emergency room with me. The first time I had to have my ear drained by a doctor who barely spoke English. Although he knew enough English to slide me his personal business card wink wink and tell me to call him any time day or night…ugh ugh ugh! If he hadn’t actually cleared the gook (technical term) out of my ear making it possible to hear again I might have reported his narsty a$$. Oh clearly I failed to mention that I got some kind of ear infection on the first flight to Sao Paolo causing me to lose my hearing for 10 days…not pleasant folks not pleasant at all. With the help of Inappropriate Doc I was back to myself relatively quickly. And outside of his behavior that ER trip was quick and painless.

In any event the recent trip to the ER wasn’t nearly as pleasant. Waves of pain ranging from 8-9 on a scale of 10 were hitting me every few minutes. Unfortunately I had to hop on a conference call with Texas before I could be escorted out of the office. Did I forget to mention how he ranted for about five minutes about not letting the stress of the job get to me before allowing Fellow Traveler to take me hobbling in pain to the cab, such a major queef! Yes I called him a queef!

Once at the hospital the pain was pretty much unbearable and threw me into fits of violent vomiting. Side note I never knew that pain could cause nausea, it appears you learn something new every day. Anywho in between spitting up bile all I could think about was the fact that this was the final day of the project and I needed to get the staffing model done before 5PM Brazilian time, clearly my priorities were in the wrong place. In addition to that thought I didn’t want to alarm my mother with my medical condition until I knew for sure what my medical condition was.

Finally, after an hour or so I was wheeled to the back. By that time my temperature was see sawing, one minute I was hot and the next minute I was getting chills. A technician came in to inform me that I wasn’t pregnant. Fantabulous, now figure out why it feels like a gremlin is crawling out the left side of my stomach. After about a half hour my temperature and blood pressure returned to normal….probably a direct result of the pain meds. Now the gremlin was down to a 2-3 out of 10 and the highlight of this day would be a pelvic exam, and I hadn’t even prepped!

And by prep I really mean got myself emotionally ready to have someone stick a duck’s beak somewhere it ain’t supposed to go.

Ms Pelvic went off without a hitch and all was good. I told Adolescent Doc, so named because she looked all of 12, that there was nothing wrong with my woman parts. She advised that since my pain was localized slightly above my uterus, a pelvic was a must along with a CT scan. After the violation of my downtown bonanza I was escorted to the scanning area. In between all of this fun I down played my pain with The Spaniard, Wander and the Little Brother. I mean there was no sense in getting everyone riled up if I wasn’t even 100 on what was wrong with me.

In the end it was just a kidney stone. It passed while I was in the hospital and I was allowed to go home with special instruction to follow up with my PCP just to make sure nothing else was wrong. That appointment is yet to be scheduled.

There’s more of course but this post is already too long so I guess this will be part 1 of a 2 part series. I must catch you up on the happenings of all things romanticals in my life…

When everyone heard that I would be traveling to Brazil for about a month they were all overjoyed. I however only saw trouble. Trouble in the sense that it would be yet another project with Texas, yes infamous Texas from Vancouver would be heading up the work in Brazil (mostly from the US, how I don’t even know). But not because he wanted to head the work but because the manager who was originally staffed and helped sell the project decided to move to greener pastures….lucky him!!!! If you remember anything about Texas, he’s not the best manager but I’m quickly learning that my company talks a lot about being the best however our people and actions pale in comparison. Ah the life of a consultant. Not to mention Texas is super anal retentive, with the most ginormous chip on his shoulder it’s hard to ride in compact cars with him…I mean I’m not complaining I’m just making a friendly observation (maybe not so friendly but you smell what I’m cooking).

Did I forget to mention that I don’t speak a lick, iota, not a word of Portuguese. Guess that didn’t matter to the all mighty powers that be…moving right along!

In any event the prospect of flying to Brazil just a few days after the holiday just didn’t sit well with me. Partially because I am in a bit of a funk about the whole going back on my word about the Spaniard, why do I do this to myself? Something is wrong with me I know. Maybe I really want to believe the lie. The little Faith inside keeps jumping up and down screaming you stoopid stoopid stoopid girl but I just keep ignoring her because sometimes the truth is a lie. Or sometimes we like believing the lie because it’s easier to digest. So my digestible lie is that he’s actually getting a divorce and hasn’t been with his wife for the last three years. I choose to believe this like so many other mistresses (sideways heifer…hey I call it like I live it these days) because it’s easier than admitting the obvious truth, that he’s probably slaying both myself and his wife (shuddering a little in the corner at the detestable nature of that last comment).

Man oh man how those morals they do fall.

And to add insult to injury you know because nothing in my life goes as planned, The Little Brother (TLB) totaled Juan. Yup you read that right; Juan is sipping mojitos in a land where good cars go after ridonkulous accidents on the ice. Before you try to hang me at the stake I made sure my flesh and blood was 100 (this is slang it means ok in this instance) before asking about the car. Believe it or not I haven’t yelled at The Little Brother once for the accident. (This is subject to change if I have trouble securing another equally reliable relatively similarly priced automobile.) TLB suffered nothing more than a bruised ego…too bad his bruised ego had to come at the expense of Juanino. Yet another expense I wasn’t ready for, much like my $600 cell phone bill from making calls in Vancouver on my personal cell, but I guess that’s why they call it life. If it wasn’t full of janky shit it wouldn’t be nearly as fun…or nearly as interesting to blog about.

Ah so back to this whole Faith you’re flying to Brazil thing. Anything that could have gone wrong with this whole trip did go wrong the first week. Let me just give you the run down in bullet point form because well I’m a consultant and we likes our bullet points because it makes us feel like we’re doing our job well. (I would bet half my paycheck there isn’t a presentation (we call them decks) that exists that doesn’t have some form of bullet point, ok I might be pushing this mundane topic too far).

What went wrong in no particular order:

• Told literally at the last minute to book a flight to Brazil at the cheapest rate possible which pretty much meant you’re flying coach unless you have status…ugh!!!!
• Totaled Juan…well I didn’t but TLB did
• Entertained some nonsense with The Spaniard (good and bad for me sort of like ice cream
• Didn’t get my Brazilian visa until the last possible minute (it arrived the Thursday before the flight on Sunday)
• Ignored two state-side text messages, one from Mailroom Boy and the other from the taxi driver (I use my cell as my primary number no I didn’t give my number to yet another random taxi driver) who mistook my friendly conversation for sexual innuendo
• Delayed in Philly airport (not surprising) causing me and Fellow Traveler to dart through Dulles Airport in order to catch the last plane smoking to Sao Paolo
• Saw my life flash before my eyes not once, not twice but three times while in flight on the monster jet from Dulles to Sao Paolo…literally I believe we dropped 5k feet out of the air at one point over the Amazon (children were screaming)
• Arrived in Sao Paolo (Fellow Traveler’s luggage wasn’t so lucky and actually never left Philly) with a serious case of bubble guts but I didn’t make it to the hotel for another two hours…y’all know I can’t do public restrooms
• Met Texas and all he wanted to talk about was how the Eagles lost to the Cowgirls…WHATEVER!!!!!
• Felt like the outer limits of hell traveling in the Sao Paolo traffic
• Expected to actually rush from the airport to the client site after a few minutes of “freshening up” clearly some stoopid ass man thought of this (sorry for any hombres in the audience but seriously after 17 hours of travel the last thing I’m thinking about is going straight to the office how about an actual shower, dirty ass bastards!!!!!

And before I forget why were there no washclothes in my room and why didn't anyone know what I was talking about when I asked for one at the front desk.

Oh yeah and happy new year folks!!

When Nurse Friend invited me as her lipstick lesbian date to a co-workers’ wedding I was un-thrilled…totally and utterly un-thrilled after learning that the wedding shared timing with the upcoming Maxwell, Robin Thicke and Chrisette Michelle concert. Seemed to me that the concert was clearly the better option but then again it wasn’t my co-worker/friend so I could have been biased.

Considering that Mr. Back n’ Forth bailed on Nurse Friend and moved his undying love self back to his hometown, some landlocked state in Middle America, I felt it only right as a true friend to stand in and be her date, even in the face of the double sezyness posed by Maxwell (chocolate) and Robin Thicke (vanilla) and one can’t forget the fantabulous vocals of my girl, Chrisette….utterly breathtaking. And very un-Faithlike I didn’t run out and purchase an outfit although Nurse Friend drug me along on her purchasing escapades…believe me that’s not a complaint because we all know I heart shopping of any kind…except grocery.

Moving right along the wedding was interesting…only because it was presided over by a female minister…we don’t get much of those in the Baptist church as it’s more of a good ole boys club. Women do get to be deaconesses and wear those ah for the love of Jesus hats. After the ceremony we had about 2 ½ hrs to kill so we went to the nearest mall. There I knocked out two birds with one stone, some pre-Vancouver shopping and getting a pedicure. Nurse Friend elected for only a mani. By the time we finished the bride and party were just starting up the hor d'oeuvre portion of the reception.

I mingled with the folk I didn’t know while sampling options that looked and smelled meatless. During the reception I took a few pictures for Nurse Friend who conveniently forgot her camera and even chatted it up with the bride’s father…very cute salt n pepper gent I might add. Judging by his younger than anticipated wife I guess I’m not the only one thinking that thought…moving right along. Somewhere between the sloppy salad and the marina covered chicken the bubble guts began. I can’t truly pinpoint when the turn for the worse happened but by 9:30 waves of nausea swept over me.

Under normal circumstances it wouldn’t have mattered to me to upchuck right there considering that it was their food that made me feel this way. However knowing this was someone else’s wedding reception and if the shoe were perched on my foot I would be on one of the higher levels of pissed-off-ness seeing a guest of a guest hurl during my princess for a day party, I sashayed my way to the facilities. There I proceeded to spew forth what felt like everything in my stomach…not to good! After a few minutes Nurse Friend burst in to see if I was ok….yes I am an adult and can handle throwing up as a one woman show.

Granted throwing up after a great party never feels that bad…at least it happened as a result of something hella cool. Throwing up after a semi alright night…not on my list of wants to do, not that I had a choice or anything, not to mention that I had a 10 hour travel schedule planned for the next day. Oh so maybe I forgot to mention that for work for the next 8 weeks I will be back and forth to Vancouver.

Luckily by the next morning I felt somewhat better, a little queasy but suitable for travel…even middle seat travel. Not that I have a choice especially after hearing about two additional rounds of layoffs happening in the near future for my company. It is my preference to have a job to complain about rather than complaining about not having a job. Even still whoever said that I wanted to give up my weekends to travel? Hello I don’t get paid for weekend work!

So that was just a little rant. Anywho the first flight, from Philly to Chicago went off without a hitch. Problems rose on the flight from Chicago to Vancouver International. For whatever reason, rarely do you ever get one from the FAA there was a 30-45 min delay for the flight. Not to mention the flight was oversold, as usual, and the annoying flight steward kept asking if anyone was willing to give up his/her flight…judging by the oversoldness of the flight my guess was no…you know just a thought. In any event once on the plane, the ride was pretty smooth unlike my trip through customs.

Now in my mind I’d stereotyped Canadians into Americans with accents but nicer. Generally this is true. Instead of saying prah-cess (process) they say pro-cess…which actually might be the proper pronunciation now that I review the spelling of the word. Anyway arriving in Vancouver at 12AM which based on my body clock was actually 3AM and being interrogated by a cop without a gun wasn’t my ideal way to meet and great our neighbors to the north but I guess the pro-cess is just as excruciating the other way round. And after confirming this with a couple natives I’m right. The pro-cess ( I will never tire of saying it this way) is equally painful coming into the states if not worse.


From here the adventures begin eh…

As predicted work dwindled by Monday, which means my billable hours went down to next to nothing. Great wonderfuckingful that’s exactly what I didn’t need heading into a semi lengthy vacation. In any event I go over the details with my counselor/manager (she acts as though she doesn’t know but I know she does) who says that I need to work on expanding my internal network. Ugh ugh ugh, this wouldn’t be so bad if I actually liked the people I worked with or didn’t think they were full of shit.

Every time I meet a new consultant they are well, more of the same. Phony as a $2 bill and will try to sell you the shoes on your feet, all that the same time, its consultant multi-tasking at its absolute best. Don’t get me wrong. I appreciate having a job every morning I wake and can shower, slip into my pjs and work from the comfort of my bed. No complaints there….most days but I also didn’t saddle myself in college debt to play the who’s the most popular game instead of who’s the best suited for the job. Consulting is very much high school in pantsuits and snazzy skirt blouse ensembles, don’t worry I have the wardrobe down to a T.

In any event my year end review was more of the same, the fake consultant-ese that irks the piss out of me. My counselor sets up a meeting that was interrupted by multiple phone calls, asks if I read the review she sent the night before (because work is really a 24hr type of thing) and if I have any questions. About the form, no not really I comprehend English very well. What about the direction you want to take with the company? She doesn’t want my real answer. Everything is ice cream cones and popsicles, at least that’s what I told her…not in those words of course I did mention that I don’t see where I fit with this type of work really, you know me being on the flip side of liar and not really interested in selling folks concepts or programs or products they could do without. She overlooks that comment and focuses on the ice cream cones and popsicles. This was to be expected but I had to at least throw the bone. She didn’t fetch.

Sometime during the review I mutter (under my breath) kick rocks bioytch just so I felt like I expressed some of my true feelings. None the wiser, given the multiple phone calls answered and who knows how many e-mails, some even to me. Then she hit me with the due to the horrendeful year everyone’s had pretty much no one is getting a raise. Not unexpected in the least. And ended with this nugget, you’re doing an awesome job everyone sees that please look at the opportunities not as criticism but as real opportunities for you to become the best consultant you can be. Deconsultantify, keep doing what I’m doing so I can one day wake up a car salesman in a pricier suit…uh maybe not so much!

On a more interesting note and little less of the same, Mailroom Boy mentioned he should find a career. Hmmmm, I believe this epiphany is about 10-12yrs late but as they say better late than never. This is not me judging. I mean honestly I am in a “career” but still wake up with the feeling of what the frig should I do with my life hence this quarter-life crisis. And when I think about it, it’s easier to dip out of the mailroom than it is to dip out of insurance consulting. This is a crony network not only do I work with internal folks we serve tons of clients and an AWOL type of bail out smears your reputation. Reputation trumps all so the departure must reek of pc-ness. All sides must agree, and if I leave for an insurance company I have to sign a confidentiality statement.

Why not ask for my first born it might be less painful.

However my ears did perk up when Mailroom Boy said this. It demonstrates some potential but I won’t let my panties drop for a spark he needs to create a full blown flame. His statement falls into the I will believe it when I see it category…my trust levels are running on empty these days. In true friend fashion I told him anything that he puts his mind to I have faith (no pun intended) he can achieve. And that statement wasn’t laced with consultant bullshit either.

Anywho Mailroom Boy invited me to a nearby state park this weekend for a bbq…sounds like fun.

Today was an interesting day not only did The Spaniard pop out of the woodwork and claim he was in yet another car accident (I know I know I should empathize but I just don’t believe him. This will be the third or fourth accident since January) my boss decided she wanted to go all balls to the wall hard at work on the day before the holiday. WTF???? I mean seriously of all days to decide that she wants to burn the wick at both ends this just aint’ the day. And I say that because I am still, yes still, suffering from insomnia.

In serious need of a calgon take me away moment, I continue to putter on. Not sure how much longer my body will function sans sleep but I intend to push her to the limit. I mean it’s the least she can do for me this being the summer kick-off weekend. Plans are tentatively made to go to the beach with The Spaniard, probably won’t happen, and take in a baseball game with Mailroom Boy. Double bookings, ah the loveliness that is single-hood....
Some might be saying, “Eres tan estúpida para no ir a España con el Spaniard. Or in English, you are so stupid for not going to Spain with the Spaniard however, given the total “formality” of the event (family weddings) and our total lack of a relationship I felt it only right. I mean I don’t want to be known as that gold digging hooker for years to come if we were ever to work out our kinks, very doubtful.

Oh see there I go again forgetting to update ya’ll. So the lunch….well it went. I tried to politely walk away, you know the mature thing where you say hey it’s not you it’s me and we can part ways and never speak or see each other again as a matter of fact why don’t you burn the items at your house and delete my number from your phone remain friends.

Maybe he could see my strike out, not sure but he just looked so pitiful. And under normal circumstances pitiful does nothing but gasp I do care about him………….I just don’t see how we work. With most folks I can see a future it might be far faaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaar over the horizon but it is see-able. To say we are as different as night and day is ginormous understatement. Something as trivial as sports, he likes soccer and I am a football/basketball fanatic…we are like fitting a square peg in a circle. Granted it’s a small thing but it’s just the icecap on the mountain of incompatibility issues we have. Somehow he doesn’t see it. He just keeps saying he thinks I’m perfect.

Which brings me to another issue, don’t idolize me. Although on some days of the week I like to imagine the sun rises and sets on my ass it doesn’t and it makes me uncomfortable that he thinks like this. And for the last time stop with the friggin pet names in particular princessa….my name is Faith.

Is that me being mean again?

Peoples I’m back…not really back in the sense I will have a post a day but I am back into the whole blog thing with some new energy. Since it’s been awhile I will give you a blow by blow of what’s been up with me. For the last month and half; work vs Faith and work won the first couple of battles but I know I will prevail in the war. At the end of the day that’s all that matters. Model Friend moved to the left coast. I cried. She took photos to hold over my head….well she only caught a tear on my cheek because I hid my face beneath my hands. Yes I am that immature.. Mailroom Boy seems to have gotten the not so subtle hints that I am not interested in his schlong. It works out well for me because I hate uncomfortable conversations about how you’re a nice guy but I just can’t envision doing the freaky sneaky with you. He’s still a cutie but it starts and ends there. He also made a sideways comment that all black women have attitudes and for a second I almost got offended but I thought about it briefly and said to myself, Faith he isn’t worth the thoughtful argument you have pre-saved in your memory banks. On the down side, I think that means no Chrisette Michelle concert for me.

It’s better this way because well I am in a relationship (I hate this word even more than the word commitment and boyfriend).

And since you brought up the relationship why don’t I just talk about it a little. The Spaniard is good I guess. If you talk to him let me know. As I said work won most of the recent battles and I just haven’t had time for him. Being the corporate ladder climbing monster that I am could be my undoing and partly why I may never get married, he just comes second or third or well point being he isn’t first. I have trouble allowing a man to be my sole source of motivation or concentration. I see how many a woman I know turned out because of this and the cons clearly outweigh the pros. Men exist as a side dish but never the main course.

One day this might change but I don’t see it happening until I make a six figure salary. My goal is before I hit 32 (age adjusted from 30 due to the current recession). Due in large part to the downturn I don’t anticipate a raise because a raise when half the working public is getting laid off is downright irresponsible.

So I went off on a little tangent. Anywho over the summer I elected or better was selected by The Little Sister, to continue her driving lessons. Word to the wise and a ginormous note to self buckle up and pray I make it out alive. Just the other day she nearly killed me in the middle of an intersection. (Might have been a rookie mistake, maybe I suck as an instructor, but whatever the reason it made the heart flutter) Of course she claims her foot hovered ever so nicely above the brake but with the car picking up speed toward an obvious red light I tend to think not. She insists she was simply inching to see the oncoming traffic….no need to inch when the light is clearly red and you aren’t making a turn. Side note I will avoid getting my blood pressure taken until the end of this because I’m sure I’m in the higher levels due in large part to outright fear. The Little Brother turned ghost-face white the other day when I allowed her to drive to the laundry mat and unfortunately for him I don’t know CPR (bad Faith I know I am putting myself on punishment- I wonder if the Y teaches this?) so he might want to stay clear of the car when the Little Sister takes the wheel again.

He mentioned later his life flashing before his eyes but you know how he exaggerates.

And through all of this Dapper Dan continues to haunt/stalk The Best Friend. One of these days she will give up and concede due to pure and utter exhaustion. Personally deep down inside I think the Best Friend enjoys this sick twisted on again/off again game they play with each other. I on the other hand tire of hearing about it but I won’t let her in on that little secret. Blog Friends keep it on the DL (down low for those out of the know).

Nurse Friend kicked Designer Jeans into the wind and has moved on to greener pastures. And when I say greener pastures I do mean greener. No smoke screen, the newbie seems nice. I won’t give him a name just yet because he is too new. If he lasts the month I will give a better update. Wander is as Wander does; still shooting the shit with the man she married.

As an aside I noticed something rather odd about NYC chicas (I’m on assignment in the big apple)…why do they wear get em girl pumps in the subway. I do say I prefer the laidbackedness (you know that’s not a word) of my fellow Philadelphians who stick the uck me pumps in the bag/purse/laptop carrier and rock the sneakers for the walking the streets of it all. IDK (ooh there I go again with that text talking) it’s just a thought!

Over the last week or so I’ve started talking to the other girls who work in my office. Normally I don’t pay attention to them because well one of them is the Sigher (prior posts shed light on her condition), one has a tendency to hunt for boogers (I’ve never actually seen it with my eyes but Mailroom Boy seems to always notice this out of his peripherals when he’s talking to me and I trust he wouldn’t lie about something so ginormously gross) and the other is cool but she travels just as much as I do. In an attempt to be office-mates I made a conscious effort to be less purposely antisocial with these women.

In doing so it’s paid off tremendously. Not because I have more people to talk to while at work, honestly I prefer to listen to my iPod as opposed to conversing with predult women discussing cheating or about to cheat boyfriends. There’s but so many bullshit conversations I stomach in one sitting. Work teams with bullshit conversations because most times you’re grouped with folk by division of labor instead of actual friendship ability. As far as I know there’s no workarmony you can sign up for to make sure you’re seated with like- minded individuals based on a bazillion questions to determine true compatibility, I’m just saying there isn’t!

In my case being the insurance professional I am has granted me the pleasure of a seat assignment betwixt the actuaries, yippee! I have no f’n clue what these czars of math are yakking about half the damn time and likewise when I speak about business process that look at me equally un-phased. Yeah seating genie you screwed up on this one!

For whatever reason the Sigher and Snot Rocket decided to ask if I wanted to join them for lunch a few weeks ago, bailing seemed a touch rude considering they jumped on the limb to ask. FortunatelyRegrettably I had conference calls all through lunch, as usual for some reason people zone in on that open hour between 12-1PM in my calendar and slip in meeting invites without my knowledge. Because obviously I don’t want to eat lunch…..ever! Before I know it I have no window for even a bio break but I’m digressing. In any event I didn’t make lunch.

Considering the effort I decided it made sense to, OK honesty here Faith, the one girl I am cool with, Fellow Traveler, persuaded me to go to lunch because she too can get a little weirded out by the odd coupling of Sigher and Snot Rocket (it might be a generational thing as Traveler and I are both five or so years removed from school while the others are fresh off the college express). In any event lunch this week with the troop wasn’t that bad.

Unintentional benefit number one, I actually took time for an official lunch and sat somewhere other than directly in front of my laptop soaking in all the cancerous light gleaming off the screen. It’s sad but I ‘m a bit of a workaholic. Unintentional mishap, completely missing the afternoon conference call on Monday luckily my manager who looks like Steve Carrell was pretty cool with it minus the frantic message he left on my cell. My brain might have been clouded by thoughts of freaking the Spaniard, opps Freudian slip.

The second unintentional benefit, Snot Rocket turned me on to Pandora Radio. Caution it will take about a week before your personalized free radio station 99.9999995% commercial free works perfectly but soooo worth the effort. You start with an artist or song that you like and from there the magic begins. The site works based on the music genome project grouping like music and artists based on your first pick. Don’t worry pretty much everything your mind conjures is there. Not to mention the site spits out tunes you may have never heard based on your current music selections and you may just find new artists to add to your faves. Pandora Radio gave me a leg shaking, bite the pillow musicasm!

Now instead of iPoding all day long I Pandora and can hear jewels from Hinder to Jay-Z with a dash of Lenny Kravitz, Billie Holiday, Duffy and Prince!

So I realize this has been around for awhile and I’m just learning about it, you faithful readers may already have known of this gem but at least let me feel like a kool kid for two seconds more.

Have fun Pandoring!

Last night I decided to use my gym shoes. Come on no applause necessary from the peanut gallery. I pranced OK I rode the elevator to the first floor and entered the surprisingly up to date gym provided by the wonderful folks at the Marriot in Schaumburg, this made up for sticking me with two full size beds instead of the fabulocity (stole that from Kimora) of a California King. I mean who comes to a hotel to sleep in a child’s bed? Of course I hopped from bed to bed because well they forced me into the double full. Digressing!

To say I was impressed is an understatement with the work out facility. Everything was state of the art in particular an elliptical machine ready with iPod docking station which transformed the internal television (that’s right cable on the dashboard) into a touch screen iPod remote, alls yeah people pump pump pump pump it up!

Instead of the lazy gym go-er quick start I upped the ante and opted for the mountain trek. Not because I’m inherently opposed to lazy gym behavior but the mountain trek provided a visual (again on the internal TV screen) video diagramming my push up the hill. I’m all about the visuals folks. It made me feel all Lewis & Clarkish foraging my way virtually through the hills.

Wait did Lewis & Clark really forage? You get my drift I wasn’t a history freak in high school!

This feeling of wonderfulness towards the Marriot and my whole gymnasium experience came to a crashing halt, why the frig were all the vending machines non operable, no one calls rooms service for a Dr. Pepper (hello 18% gratuity). Under normal circumstances this wouldn’t make me mad but I’d already showered and transformed from work out Faith to get some work done in my skimpy nighties Faith. Not to mention my hair was tied up Aunt Jemima style in a scarf and I didn’t bring suitable bedroom shoes (slippers, flip-flops what have you) with me on the trip.

What a ginormous inconvenience! This meant peeling out of the nighties into semi work attire and putting on my sneakers sans socks, I don’t like how that feels. For some reason I couldn’t locate that other pair of gym socks in my suitcase. Those narsty TSA workers must have grabbed them during the invasion of my bag. Not to mention having to de-Jemima my hair ( I wouldn’t want to be accosted in the hall and asked to to flip flap-jacks) which is a task in and of itself.

All this for a damn Dr. Pepper!

In the whole scheme of things a little caffeine pick me up probably wasn’t worth the effort but I’m talking Dr. Pepper folks and we all know I’m a Pepper, You’re a Pepper…….

Sometimes, OK most times I shudder to admit I'm a part of the most self absorbed whinny generation to date. If you don't already know it's Generation Y also known as Trophy Kids, Quarter Life Crisis-ers, Echo Boomers, Millennials and iGeneration (you know like the iPod). It gets me down. Of course since my generation is pretty much a group of over/under achievers my down could really be a symptom of my age. Or it could be a sign that I need to seek professional help and begin my prescription for Prozac. And yes that is right in line with my generation as well being the most medicated group to date. Hell we beat the boomers and their limbs are damn near falling off from working like slaves.

Digressing

In all honestly I am truly on the cusp. Being born in the early 80's some sociologist might argue that I'm actually Generation X(Xers were born between 1965 and 1980 but depending on the source it can stretch until 85). Let's take a walk down GenX lane shall we.

Generation X Traits:

• Neglected by parents
• Loyal to relationships
• Serious about life
• Stressed out
• Self-reliant
• Skeptical
• Highly spiritual
• Survivors

Maybe I should reconsider this whole wanting to be part of the X. By all accounts the person described above sounds like a shrink's permanent sofa jockey, not that there's anything wrong with that. A little tell me why I'm manic is probably good for everyone.

Model Friend and I tossed the idea around once or twice, you know work out the emotional kinks!

Considering that Roe vs Wade, and Watergate are the notables of the generation, not to mention the invention of the computer I guess this really wasn't my time. I was born during the chicks with choice era. Not to mention my notables are more in line with Yers. I remember The Oklahoma City Bombings, OJ's trial (of course this was also the trial of the century so that might work for everyone), 9/11 and The War on Terror.

Hmmm, I guess I am a bit more Y than X, generationally not biologically.

Still in the pit of my gut I feel a little bile growing as I'm associated with a group of over indulged pre-dults. Stunted by parents who awarded participation over winning, you know the whole everyone gets a trophy even the losers. That type of doting results in grown children who require constant reinforcement at work and can't finish a job without a team.

And I say all this because this Gen Y chick sits opposite my cube sighing all day long about how bored she is because she isn't simultaneously watching television, im-ing, listening to her iPod, completing a presentation (actual work) and surfing the web for Jimmy Choos.

Sorry folks this is an odd week.

Before ya'll get all bent out of shape (oops naughty thought) I am not, repeat am not having an office affair. With the recent gnome attacking my completely flirtatious innocent convos with Mailroom Boy I would prefer that the office gossip about me be false.

Not that I'm one of those girls anyway. I tend to keep my life regimented. By regimented I mean the carrots don't mix with the peas. Work is on one shelf and play is on another. Rarely (and by rarely I mean never) do I blend the carrots and peas for a heart healthy meal if you get my drift.

Don't get me wrong I am not knocking the secretary playing under the desk dixie with her boss to get ahead. Whatever floats your boat, keep right on rowing. And I'm not deluded by the sanctity of marriage (I know Wander is somewhere cringing). If a man strays from the confining binds of his marriage maybe monogamy just ain't his twist (same goes for a woman I am an equal opportunity type chick).

My issue....affairs need to operate seamlessly. No long gazes in the direction of your accomplice in crime. Keep it completely business as usual. Problem being that once you've seen some one's family jewels it's kinda difficult to act as if you've never seen him butt butterball naked. Here's an example that's the same but different, take the last post about Mr. Pudgy-kins if I saw him walking down the streets of Philly I might burst into fits of uncontrollable laughter. In the least I would do the old lady whisper and leer.

But I digress. Let's keep the office clean, well as clean as it can possibly be. My mind wanders sometimes thinking if the CSI team parlayed into your everyday corporate or not so corporate office what those black lights would pick up. Could explain the reason why so many places have converted to those see through glass sliding doors. It's not just to be eco-friendly and stylish. It's to make sure every one's feet are firmly planted on the floor.

If I remember correctly, just about 40% of working women consummated an office affair (with numbers like that it almost makes you feel abnormal if you're not part of the skirt lifting no panty wearing to the office club). This could explain the lack of sex within the marriage, every one's getting serviced prior to reporting home. Kinda makes me not want to touch any of the copy machines, desks or quasi kitchen counter tops (you know because where else is the do getting done).

Personally I like avoiding confrontationally awkward situations. When you meet your office husband's wife at the Christmas party do you exchange knowing glances like yeah I had him too? I wonder, maybe I should ask.....

Recently the nosy gnome in my office brought up that her mail continues to get delivered late. Yes I know you need some back story. Here is goes, Mailroom Boy stops by my desk most days, sometimes twice a day. Normally he holds hour long15-20 minute conversations with me about random stuff.

Honestly he's a talker. I don't really know too many men who talk as much as he does but that's beside the point. He brightens an otherwise dull day, such a necessary distraction that I've grown quite accustomed to. Consider Friday sent me into fights of withdrawal when the whole day passed without a sighting. I've conditioned myself to see his lurch-like frame pushing his mail dispensary machine cart. It doesn't hurt that he isn't bad on the eyes. Whatever.

Granted while he's chatting me up he's also delaying mail deliveries. Not to mention he has no reason what so ever to chit-chat with me because I never have any packages. Either way he stops and we hold mostly pointless banter. A smile here a giggle there, some might misconstrue see this flirting and take it out of context. Enter gnome stage left.

First imagine a short, say 5'0" fifty year old woman with long blond hiding gray-black hair in a pony tail with a slight hunch back. Stop laughing, it's not funny! I think she has a hip condition which caused her current upper torso forward walking. Anyway on to the short but irritating as hell conversation. It's almost 4PM AKA close to quitting time. Out of the corner of my right eye I catch the hobbling troll. She approaches my desk with an imp like grin but I continue to listen to my IPOD thinking she is going to hop right by my cube. No such luck.

Gnome: Hey

Me: Hola

Gnome: Well that Mailroom Boy is such a nice guy, isn't he?

Me: Ummm, I guess he seems nice. At this point my antennae are up folks.

Gnome (leaning closer to me so no one else can hear): So.....do you knooooooow him?

Initial thought why doesn't she just ask what she want to know instead of beating this dead horse, it's too late in the day and she's too damn old to play these playground games, ugh!

Me: I'm not following your question, what do you mean by know him. Of course I know him, I was cut off mid statement.

Gnome (giggles a bit): Come on you know it's none of my business really but....do you knooooow him?

Me (the pleasant has left my face at this point): What are you talking about, of course I know him he walks by here every day!

Gnome: No no, well it's none of my business but he stops here and talks to you sooooooo long I just thought maybe you knew him outside of here you know kinda, oh but seriously he's talking to you so long I get my mail late most days, ha ha ha ha.

Me: Yeeeeaaah, no I don't have any dealings with him outside of work. He talks to everyone and if you have an issue with your mail delivery maybe you should speak to him about that. Well I have some things to finish up before I leave, is there something else?

Gnome: Oh...no that was it, I gotta get some work done before I go myself, see you tomorrow.

My ear buds were in before she even started to walk away.

Was I rude?

This mini invasive convo dug into my skin like an underwire breaking loose from an old bra. For the fellas out there think pubes caught in a zipper only you don't have the luxury of scratching your balls in public, cause you know I'm a lady. But I digress.

When she walked away I couldn't concentrate on work and I wanted to prance over to her desk and say what did you expect me to say, yeah from time to time I take Mailroom Boy into the stairwell and touch my ankles.

Oh I forgot, it's not really any of her business.

Yep this conversation was right up there on the list of things that grind my gears. Almost as annoying as when Wander calls me and asks if I'm awake. Hell yeah I'm awake, how else did I answer the phone.

I'm off the soapbox.




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