Thursday, April 10, 2014

"Ready, OK!" Jane, the Life Cheerleader

Okay, so every once and a while I get out of The Bitter Barn, take off my Snarky Pants and grab my Positive Pom Poms, pull up my Sassy Pants and just go on a rampage of motivation and positivity.  So much so that I believe I start to shit rainbows and fart glitter.

But you know what?  I do it when I see my friends struggling.  Doesn't matter what they're struggling with, but it always seems to be able to get organized into two (among others) boxes:
  • Work Mumbo Jumbo
  • Relationship Rhino Whino
Alright, kids. Let's do this *cracks knuckles* 



WORK MUMBO JUMBO 
I know there are times your job sucks.  People suck, your boss sucks, your job sucks, and your coworkers suck.  It's to be expected. It is basically how the real world works. You get out of college, high school, tech school, night school, court ordered alcohol classes, prison school, etc. etc. and this is what you get.  Long gone are the days where you could sit around in a coffee shop or a bar with your friends (fuck you to both Friends and How I Met Your Mother), or the 'cool' jobs where you host parties and wear designer clothes all the live long damn day (I'm looking at you, Laguna Beach and The Hills, "reality show" my ass), and in are the days where you wake up dreading driving that commute and hoping the building might be on fire so you won't have to go in, pulling into that parking lot, punching in and living a sad cubicle life for a majority of the day.  But here's a really good point that people need to remember:

It. Pays. The. Bills.

I'm not sure about you guys, but my folks were NOT fond of me calling them up and asking for several thousand dollars so they could float me, my rent, my bills and my increasing gin and tonic IV drip while I went to explore my dreams.  They told me I had "responsibilities" and that I was an "adult" and that I should "act like it". Pfft. But sometimes you really need to just put on the big kid underoos and head to work for a few years, grovel like the rest of the monkeys and earn a living. Besides, and this is one life lesson that I've learned very early on. Leave work at work. I'm not talking paperwork that your boss told you to do "God damnit Jane if I've told you once I've told you a million times get that TPS report into me by the end of the day and do not put a cover sheet on it!", but the stress and the thoughts about work. The more you think about your crappy job when you're not at your crappy job, it's like you're working overtime, not getting paid for it, and you're exhausting your brain and your body.  Just relax.

Punch out. Go home. Don't punch anyone out, however (PS - isn't that knockout game the most absolute stupidest fucking thing ever conceived? I believe we need a few well-placed snipers with paint balls to take care of this little problem).

In the meantime?  Do what you love in your off-time. Volunteer. Walk dogs. Throw paint on fur coats. Whatever floats your boat and fills your soul tank to "full", do that. If you keep your happiness/soul tank at full, then work sometimes becomes less of a hassle because you're surrounding yourself with other things that you like to do.

RELATIONSHIP RHINO WHINO 

I've been promising a few of my friends that I'd be showcasing them in a dating blog soon - don't worry you guys, you'll have your 10 minutes of anonymity-laden fame - Momma's gotta sit down and write this shit first. But I consistently get a stream of dating woes from many folks. Don't get me wrong, I love the stories I hear, people asking my opinion about a lot of things related to dating (as if I'm some sort of expert, bahaha), and again, a lot of my advice boils down to some agonizingly simple things:

-What do YOU want?
-Do YOU like this fellow/lady?
-Are YOU comfortable with using a ball gag?

Simple things people. Don't complicate the world by trying to figure out what's going on in other peoples' heads - that is THEIR responsibility. Not your job to decipher their brain AND your own.

Frankly, the world of dating exhausts and frustrates me because it's all "games" and "how to go about going through the stages" and the fact there are "stages" at all makes me furious. Are there "stages" of going on a trip?  Sure, I suppose, but most of it can be boiled down to "go on the trip". I have long stopped doing the "the right person is out there, you just have to stop looking for him/her" crap - just do what YOU want to do and be happy with it. If you happen to find another human that wants to hang out and do the same things and like you, AWESOME BLOSSOM. If not, then you're doing what you love either way.

There you go. You're welcome. That'll be $150.



Bottom line kids, just be yourself and do what you like. The rest seems to fall into place. 

LIFE IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU'RE MAKING OTHER PLANS.
-John Lennon

Friday, March 14, 2014

Jane's Dating Adventure: A Sneak Peek Into My Box

Message box, that is.  What were you thinking?

Just like any other time I mean to write a deep, meaningful, serious blog entry, I think of nothing but funny blog topics, and then my little brain starts chugging away in all different directions. So here we are.

Anyways, I've reevaluated my priorities and just how willing I am to wade through the epic horse shit that is online dating profiles, and the resounding results show that I'm not all that willing. It's funny, don't get me wrong, but if I read that one more guy is "laid-back, easy-going and adventurous", I'm going to stab someone in the eye with a pick axe (no doubt my pick axe from my super adventurous trip unearthing rare fossils in Egypt - lookit how adventurous and exciting I am!). 

I fear, however, that not a lot of people really get what I mean when I talk about the ridiculous shit I get from guys online. "No guy can be that stupid" or "Are you serious that that one guy said that?" Well, ladies and gents, I do know how to read, and I'm with you - I didn't think guys could be that ridiculous. 


Oh, how wrong I was.

And this blog entry I'll be using my good ol' pal, screen shots. Because let's face it - I can. And if your OK Cupid username has the word "penis" in it, let's face it - you've got bigger issues than me screen shotting you in my blog.

So I give you - the best of the best of the best jackasses and hopeless folks of online dating.



This gentleman, "William, The Puerto Rican" seems genuine and kind of information generator.  This was the first message I got from Sir William, and yet I did not reply. As much as I want a dude with a boat.



This guy was a doozy. Apparently he was SUPER interested until I told him that I wasn't looking for a hook up. Then strangely enough, Mr. Looking For Eventual Love disappeared. Oops.



This guy was interesting in a self-deprecating way.  He was a VERY handsome man of black and Irish heritage, tall tall tall, and seemed promising. What made him not my type was the two children he had with two women, both of whom were in fierce custody battles with him.  Look, I have a hard enough time keeping my own shit in line most of the time, I don't need to invite anyone else's to the fruit basket party.



Now, THIS DUDE. OH LAWD.  All he wanted to do was kiss. Just meet up for a "spontaneous makeout session, no pressure".  This kinda sounds like the perfect "How To Catch A Predator" situation. I'd be surprised NOT ONE BIT if I saw Chris Hansen pop out of the bushes with a camera crew.  Note the date: November 16th.  This Eric dudebro had first messaged me IN JUNE. This means it had been going on for FIVE MONTHS of still trying to get together to make out. I told him I'd be willing to meet him for a drink, some dinner so we could get together and know each other. He said that was too much pressure. Uh.... are you a real human being?  And then the dick pics came. And oh, my. Some gents shouldn't send dick pics. Especially completely unsolicited dick pics. Because when a woman says "no", it actually means "send me a picture of your genitals".  But to Eric, I say thank you. I've sent your dick pics to several other homeboys who feel the need to show me their manhood. I send them yours and say "I didn't know we were playing show and tell!"

Now, we've looked at some of the gentleman who have talked to me.  We haven't talked about the people I just see as I peruse through the sites.



He must have a great personality. 



Again - GREAT smile. Very open and he seems personable. 

And the coup de grace: I had sent a guy a message just saying hi and made some breezy yet charming joke about something on his profile *flips hair and laughs* and this is the message I received back.  I have never face-palmed harder in my LIFE. This and this alone was pretty much the straw that broke the camel's back for me for online dating. 



You, Mr. "I'll Be Upfront And Honest" are a gem.  While you ARE honest and up front, you leave a lot to be desired in any kind of company. 

The above representation of online guys is probably why I've gone pretty silent on the online dating front. I'll pop into my profile once a week or so just to see who's creeping around, but generally it's the same vermin who've been around before. 

Up next - another dating entry, but from my perspective on other people's dating life :-) Stay tuned, my lovely readers! 

Saturday, February 22, 2014

Lazy Saturday

Hello from your most silent blogger! Things have been crazy since Christmas so blogging has taken a bit of a place on the back burner. Sorry.

I've got about a dozen blog posts started and not finished. I've got tons of ideas for things to write about and share and do and what do I lack?

Motivation.

Ugh. It's always been my issue. And my other issue is moderation. I tend to go from zero to a million miles to zero again. I usually get a bug up my ass, hit something new SO HARD I burn myself out, and then end up injured or too tired to keep up my zealous pace for very long.

It sucks.  But I am slowly changing my ways.

But first: I've got to finish a few blog posts and get them up from the months and months I've been slacking on.

Talk to y'all soon :)

In other news, here is my current crush. Mmmmm Pharrell. His new "Happy" 24 hour music video is PHENOMENAL. Check it out.


Tuesday, January 21, 2014

Tuesday, December 17, 2013

I'm Jane, and I Care Too Much, Part 1

Hello. My name is Jane, and I care too much.  This will be a two-part series - this post will talk about caring too little - just enough - and too much.  The next post will deal with my own personal bullshit about how I care too much about what people think of me and how that keeps me from reaching my maximum ass-kicking abilities.  Should be a ridiculously deep, self-gutting masterpiece. Hope I make it out alive!  But first things first.

I care too much about the people in my life, the opportunities that come across my desk, and what I can do to help out others.  Now, usually caring about things isn't a big deal. It keeps you from being a sociopath, it helps keep the universal good-o-meter in the black, and it's just polite to care about things. 

But like everything in the world, if you do too much of something, it can be bad for you.  Like dairy, rom-coms starring Hugh Grant and heroin. There's a thin line between not only caring to little and caring enough, and between caring enough and caring too much.  Both extremes get you in trouble. 

Caring too little

If you care too little, you're probably a jackass. Simple as that.  People who don't care enough seem to be pretty selfish shellfish in my eyes. Simple as that. For instance: I don't care enough to find a witty meme related to this section. Although I did find this:



Caring the right amount

I don't even need to talk about why this level of caring is a good idea.  It's all rainbows and glitter and unicorn diarrhea and shit.



Caring too much

This is my area of expertise, folks.  I have cared too much about everything since day one. A quick young-Jane anecdote for you:  when I was in elementary school I had a friend named Jimmy.  One day we were sitting around, eating paste and throwing glitter around, and I heard on the intercom "Jimmy So-n-So, please report to the office."  Well, then. I grabbed Jimmy by the hand and without further notice to the teacher marched his and my ass to the office to see what was the matter.

A few hiccups in my plan:
-They called a different Jimmy to the office, not my buddy Jimmy
-I didn't tell the teacher where I was going, or who I was kidnapping
-I didn't tell the office that I didn't tell the teacher

So basically it turned into this grand comedy of errors in which "two children loose in school and one of them is Jane" became basically an alarm warning.  But what was so wrong? I wanted Jimmy to get to the office so that he could take care of what needed to get taken care of. Where's the problem - I was helping!

I also care too much about the things I eat.  Again, story time: in first grade I went to a birthday party for my friend Kelly. Her birthday I remember was late May, so we always had a party outside.  This particular party, I remember, we all had to sit down in the grass and listen to her dad tell us a story about the birthday cake. About how it had rained and ruined the original cake, so he had to make mud pies for everyone. How as much as he tried, he couldn't get all the worms out of the dirt pies, so some of us may have worms in ours. He told us that he really hoped we liked them regardless.

Now....a normal child would have known the difference between an actual mud pie made out of dirt in the ground, and the delicious cookie crumb-pudding-gummy worm concoction that was no doubt the invention of a hungover frat member who could only stand long enough to shake the pudding before yakking off the balcony, no doubt onto another frat member.  That would be a normal child.  I, on the other hand, experienced my very first anxiety attack of my life - completely convinced that this man - my soccer coach, dad to one of my friends, and now provider of absolute shit birthday food - was going to force all my friends and I to eat mud and real worms.  I looked something like this:

Photo credit: Jill Greenberg

I had a legit meltdown because I hadn't yet made the leap from humor to reality. The rest of the party was spent trying to keep me from hyperventilating and peeing my pants.

Let's skip forward a few years, since I've got literally MILLIONS of these stories to share, if I felt so inclined.  Gotta save something for the honeymoon, right?  Something to tell my future mail-order hubby (no doubt from Eastern Europe) - "Yep, this is what you married. SUCKA!!"

Anyways, let's go to college. I was working in a horse barn, doing chores.  For any horse-inclined readers, bedding for horse stalls waxes and wanes like any other commodity and during my tenure there, it was slim pickings for stall bedding.  It's just sawdust essentially, but with not a lot of trees, there ain't a lot of sawdust.  Basically, I tried saving my boss a bit of money by being frugal on tossing out bedding while I cleaned the horse stalls. I didn't let the horses stand in shit, but I kept my eye on things and kept things tidy and frugal.  Because I cared about my boss, about the horses I was taking care of, and the barn's cost.

I was let go of that job, as I say, because of a technicality.  I was at my other job and I noticed that my other boss had called.  I thought there was something wrong, so I called her back, and she let me go while I was on the phone. I had planned on quitting when I got to work the next morning.  I got fired for caring too much about the bottom line.

Throughout my career, caring too much has manifested itself in working extra hours, allowing others to pile on work that I'd normally not do, but I did anyways because I "wanted to help other people out".  I didn't want anyone to "fall behind with their work, so I might as well stay an hour later", and coworkers took advantage of that mentality.  It caused stress, strained ruined personal relationships of mine, and exhausted me.  But I always did it because I never wanted to burden anyone else.

What I'm trying to get at is this: when you care the right amount about something, you're still able to keep your wits about you and have some semblance of self-preservation so that people don't unload their work onto you.  If you don't care enough, you come off looking like a dick and no one wants to be a dick.  If you care too much, you leave yourself open to running yourself ragged trying to appease people, taken advantage of and sometimes fired.  People may see you as a bleeding heart, or even an attention whore (right? Pffft.  People who care?!?! Assholes).


Enjoy your tonight and your tomorrow!! :) 

Monday, December 16, 2013

Dun Dun Dun...Another One Bites The Dust...

Take it away, Freddie....

Well, the cannon has sounded on Peeta/Winston.  Quite possibly in the most anticlimactic way possible, might I add.

We'd only seen each other a few times the week after our initial first date, but both of us were pretty busy.  Last weekend he had asked if I wanted to hang out. This usually isn't an issue, but it was around 10:30 at night and I was planning on hitting the hay. I thought to myself, "Self, you should just give this guy a chance. What's the worst that can happen?" so I invited him over, and we just sat on my couch and hung out.  Until 5:30am. Holy mother of God.  Now, nothing funny business happened - just sitting and talking about everything under the sun.  I thought it was cool.

Now, I mentioned my hesitancy in the very beginning with Winston on whether this was an actual "I want to date you" thing or a "Let's just catch up as friends" thing. In the last few days, it was becoming kind of clear that it was indeed the latter.  HOWEVER, the texts he was sending weren't matching up with the body language he was providing.  He would mention how he was looking forward to seeing me, how he loved my lips and couldn't wait for our first kiss, and how moving slow would make it totally worth it.

Ahem.

So cut to this past weekend. I had my company's Christmas party on Friday (free booze plus swanky haunted hotel?  Looks like ghosts don't bother young ladies who get white-girl-wasted on gin), and Saturday he came over to chit chat, and start watching Dexter.  Again - he came over at like ELEVEN FUCKING O'CLOCK.  (A quick sidebar: an indicator on how willing I am to give a guy a chance is always how late I'm willing to stay up to see him.  I'm usually in bed by 9:30 most nights, so pretty much anything after 10pm and you should feel like the Queen of fucking England that I'm still conscious). Again, we sat and chatted, and watched an episode. It felt very "friend-zone-ish" so I just sort of played it out. A few hours later he left, once more with the friendly hug and nothing more.  At that point I had pretty resigned to the fate of "just friends", to which I like to tell people:

I have plenty of friends, thanks. 

The next day I had asked him some funny quip about him not wanting to "make the first move", and herein lied the endgame. He gave me some hippy dippy "I don't know, we may not go that route" text and followed up with "I really enjoy your company and our conversations though", to which I immediately thought, 



I've told friends and family that my mentality on dating these days is this: "I'm not in the business of convincing anyone to like me or want to be with me. Either you do or you don't." And I'm sticking to it.  There ain't nothing I can't walk away from, even that ridiculously good Pistachio Pistachio ice cream. 

And now that Winston is out of the running, it's looking like clear and sunny skies. I can also divulge some of the funnier facts about him that I was saving up: 

-First of all: he's got a few tattoos.  Badass? Potentially, if one wasn't a portrait of Sandra Bullock's face.  I'm dead serious.  The others include his dad's initials and birthday, which is sweet and familial BUT WAIT THERE'S MORE: his dad's initials are flanked on either side by Arnold Schwarzenegger and Sylvester Stallone's initials and birthdays.  

I literally could not stop laughing after I saw those for several minutes. I may have a tramp stamp, but it's not some actor's initials. Or face. 

Although...tattooing a celebrity's face on your body means never having to go through this...

 -Secondly: he's slept with his current roommate, which kinda bugs me. It's not that I would think anything would happen between them, but it's the fact in general.  I know we don't live in the dark ages anymore and shit happens, and people get over it, but in my world, I get to say whether or not I'm comfortable with it or not. That being said, I probably wouldn't live with anyone I've slept with. 

-And lastly: in all actuality, I think he's just as socially awkward as he was ten years ago when we worked together. Does he have his shit together? Absolutely, and good for him for doing that!  But still kind of awkward.  Conversations didn't flow as easily and one would hope, and let's face it - if I wanted to make a move, I wouldn't have thought twice about it.  Sorry I'm not sorry. 

So that's that.  There concludes The New Girl Dating Heat, as Nick and Schmidt have long dropped off the planet. 

In other news, in the past few weeks I've dreamed of not one, but TWO of my exes.  I'm not generally one to dream about old flames, but this one a few nights ago was....pleasant?  I didn't dream that we were back together, but I dreamed that we were actually friends and could get along.  It's a nice gesture of my subconscious.  Whether reality will prove the same result - the jury's out on that. 

Anyways, enjoy your cold Monday morning!! 


Tuesday, December 10, 2013

Welcome to Wisconsin Winter 2013...



I was in the midst of writing a super motivational post, and then this week happened.  I'll finish the positivity post, just not today.

Now a bit of background info: before Thanksgiving, my furnace magically stopped working. On a Wednesday night. I told my landlord about it. They told me the earliest someone would be able to come out and look at the furnace was Wednesday. The NEXT Wednesday.  Let's just say I was NOT amused.

A little heating humor for you folks...

The furnace got fixed after a few days, and all was well.  Until this morning.

We had our first big snowstorm here in Southeast Wisconsin this past weekend, and it got to be a massive clusterfuck of ridiculousness. 30-60 car pile ups on the freeways (just check it out), interstates SHUT DOWN, etc. etc. So really, if I think about it - my thing isn't all that bad. To start the week off, I shoveled my driveway out and went to my car - car wouldn't start. Eventually I got it going, but the battery needed changing.  Cue an hour wait at the dealership and a hefty chunk of change out of my pocket.

And then there's today. I woke up this morning ready to brush my teeth, get dressed, give my cat some water and head to work early.  I was tired but feeling decent. Until I turned on the faucet.

Drip.
Drip.

No water.

At first I thought it was because I hadn't paid my rent and it was the ninth of the month already (oops), but no, that couldn't have been it. I dropped off the check last night.

Oh no.



Fucking frozen pipes.  I was nearly halfway to work before I realized this, thanks to calling one of my friends and filling my car with so many f-bombs it would make sailors blush.

So now, friends and family. I'm asking. Begging. Pleading.

How do you go about thawing frozen pipes?  How do I keep from this happening? Because if it continues, I can really only see one thing happening...

I'll go Jack Nicholson all over this motherfucking house. 

And then I will surely end up like this, with the frozen pipes and all.

"I'm not gonna hurt ya. You didn't let me finish my sentence. I said, I'm not gonna hurt ya. I'm just going to bash your brains in. Gonna bash 'em right the fuck in."