A Child Is In Charge Of My Pay Check

So my new boss is 29 years old. He's seven years younger than me. And he's my boss.

When I was 13 and going through puberty, my boss was in kindergarten.

When I was 18 and going off to college, my boss had no pubes and was in middle school.

When I turned 21 and got smashed drinking slippery nipples and something something apple bomb something's, he turned 14 and was probably popping his pimples and trying to hide his spontaneous erections in math class.

And now I'm 36 and he's 29 and totally the boss of me.

*sigh*

How did I get here, people? I have a degree! I was going places once! I had ambition! Goals! Purpose! Perky tits!

Blah.

My only consolation? He's prematurely balding. It's not much, but I'll take what I can get.

Stupid baldy baby boss man.

Just Like Neil Peart, Only More Hilarious

For those of you wondering, Renty is still here. I haven't blogged much about him lately because he hasn't been very entertaining. Until late last week, which is when he brought home something awesome...


Renty: Check this out!
Captain Carl: What is that?
Renty: It's a digital drum set!
Me: Wow.
Renty: Yeah!
Captain Carl: Well that's, ummmm...cool?
Renty: I bought it at the Goodwill store.
Me: I think I had one of those in the 8th grade.
Captain Carl: *glare* No, this looks way more awesome than what you probably had.
Me: Nooo, I'm pretty sure it's the exact same one.
Captain Carl: *stern glare*
Me: Oh! Yeah, you are so right. Way more awesome.
Renty: Yeah so I ran out and got some batteries for it. Check it out!

*tap tap tappity tap tap clang*

Captain Carl: Dude! Sweet!
Renty: I know, right?
Me: You're a natural.
Renty: Well, I'm not that good. YET.
Me: Oh you're just being shy. Come on, play something else.
Renty: Okay..

*clash clash clash bong tap tap clash*

Me: Oh man. True talent. Right here. This guy.
Captain Carl: *evil glare* Hey, the Kiddo would love this...you should show it to him.
Me: Yes! He can play his keyboard and you can play the drums. Jam session!
Renty: That would be fun.
Me: And it will be even more fun when I videotape you and put it on youtube.
Renty: What?
Me: Huh?
Captain Carl: *warning eyes*
Me: Ohmygod! Do you remember that episode of Friends with Ross and his "sound"?
Captain Carl: *menacing glare*
Renty: Oh yeah, that was hilarious!
Me and Renty: *laughing hysterically for different reasons*
Me: Oh! *wiping eyes* Yeah...hilarious.
Renty: Yeah. I love Friends. Remember the one where they switched apartments?
Me: Yeah, that's what we're doing...remembering good Friends episodes that have nothing to do with your drum kit.
Captain Carl: *killing me softly with dirty looks*

Security Camera + Obscene Gesture = Awesome

Day 3 at my new job. I only accidentally walked into the conference room instead of the copy room twice today. Yesterday was five times. Hurrah for improvement!

I've already decided who I am going to hate the most there. She's in charge of office supplies and wears capris with tennis shoes and has a Martina Navratilova haircut and thinks she's the boss of everyone. But not me. No sir.

I am an independent thinker.
I am setting my own pace.
I am totally going to piss her off on purpose.



My new company is so small, they don't have a receptionist. They have a receptionist's desk but no receptionist. They also have nowhere for me to sit until the office remodel is complete in two weeks. Guess who's sitting at the receptionist desk?

Lucky for them, I have a natural sweet and helpful manner that lends itself well to a reception area. Shut up, I totally do.

Also, there is a camera in the ceiling of the reception area that points directly at the back of my head and my computer monitor. And not only does my manager have a giant flat screen mounted in his office where he can watch my every move, but there is also one mounted in the general cubicle area for the entire office to view. Presumably so they can see when a customer walks in. But customers hardly ever come in, so mostly what they do is watch me type emails and file things and eat my sad little lunch at my desk while I read my sad little book. It's like being on a reality tv show, except with less fist fights and lesbians making out. My goal is to figure out new sneaky ways to flip everyone off. Today I used the old "head scratch with middle finger raised" technique. Classic.

Fire Chestnuts

In the car with my sister

Me: Oooh! Jessie's Girl! Turn it up!
Lizard: I love this song!

Me & Lizard: *singing* You know I wish that I had Jessie's girl....where can I find a woman like that? I play along blah la la laaaa....

Me: Hey, what's a fire chestnut?
Lizard: Huh?
Me: I've always wondered what a fire chestnut was ever since I first heard this song.
Lizard: What are you talking about??
Me: Is it like some kind of actual nut or is it a euphemism for something else?
Lizard: There's nothing in Jessie's Girl about a fire chestnut.
Me: There is so!
Lizard: Where?
Me: *singing* Cause she's watchin' him with those eyessss, and she's lovin' him with those fire chestnuts....
Lizard: *laughing* Ohmygod!!
Me: What?
Lizard: *gasping for air* That is the funniest thing I've ever heard!
Me: Why is it funny?
Lizard: It's "and she's lovin' him with that body I just know it".
Me: No way.
Lizard: Yes!
Me: It sounds more like fire chestnuts to me.
Lizard: No it doesn't!
Me: *singing* ...hmmmm she's la laa him llaa laa eyeessss, and laa laala la with those fire chestnuts...
Lizard: ...with that body I just know it. Trust me.
Me: Huh. I suppose that works.
Lizard: *giggling* Ya think?
Me: Shut up. It's probably a common mistake. A lot of people probably think it's fire chestnuts.
Lizard: *smirk*

*silence*

Lizard: Fire chestnuts...ha!
Me: I like my version better. More interesting. No wonder Corey Hart never had another hit.
Lizard: Rick Springfield.
Me: Huh?
Lizard: Rick Springfield sang Jessie's Girl. Corey Hart sang Sunglasses At Night.
Me: Oh yeah.

*silence*

Me: *singing* I wear my sunglasses at night, so I can so I can...keep track of lesions in my life!
Lizard: Seriously?
Me: What?

What The Hell, Me?

Seriously, what am I doing at work today? I photographed a wedding last night (for my second, more creative job). I'm exhausted. This is my last week of work at my old job.

Clearly I'm an idiot. Because my old job doesn't give enough of a shit about me and my teeny tiny paycheck to give me more money to stay, and yet? I'm still here. Actually working after giving my two week notice. I mean, does anyone actually do that?

I should have taken this week as vacation. But no, Miss Responsible has decided to be here every day this week so that she can train the girl taking over for her. And then start her new job next Monday. Giving herself no time off in between. And? No earned vacation for several months at the new job, which means no time off for a long time to come.

I could just smack myself. I could totally karate chop my stupid self in my stupid face.

I told my boss this morning that I'm probably not going to show up on Thursday because I really need a day off and I don't want it to be Friday because that's when everyone here is throwing me a going-away happy hour. I'm not missing that shit. And when I told him, he just stared at me and I could practically hear his thoughts... "She has to train the new girl, she cannot take a day off."

Well fuck that shit, asshole. I have two weeks of vacation built up here and deserve at least one day. Even though it means one less day of training my replacement. Bitch can figure it out her damn self. You people treated me like crap and refused to give me pay raises for over four years now. I hope my replacement sucks. So there.

*sticks tongue out*
*raises fists to the sky*
*screams*

Wolverines!!!!!

*sigh*

Damn, I'm tired.

Dear Grandpa: You're Awesome. And Old. And Kind Of An Asshole.

Dear Grandpa,

Hi, remember me? Miss Yvonne? Your youngest grandchild, the one who came to visit you and Grandma in town after you moved off the farm because I was born so much later than all the other grandkids and never got to experience the joy of farm life like they did? Also, I wore leotards and legwarmers a lot and drank all your off-brand root beer but would never admit to it?

So Dad (your oldest son, remember him?) reminded me that your 100th birthday is on Saturday. I just wanted to write you a little letter to tell you how very excited and happy I am for you! I know you've been looking forward to this big day for awhile. I wish I could fly home to Minnesota to be there for your big birthday party. Even though the last time I visited you at the nursing home, you confused me with my Aunt Margie and you kept calling my dad by my uncle's name. But whatevs. It's all good, Grandpa. I mean, so you forget who people are sometimes! Big deal! You're 99 years old!

And so what if you yell at all the nurses in the home when they make you put on clean clothes every day? Seriously, a few grease stains and a little body odor doesn't hurt anyone. You're just doing your part for the environment by saving energy on laundry. Plus, those nurses deserve it for taking your Tums away from you. How do they know that antacids don't cure headaches and gout? They're just a gaggle of know-nothing women. It's not like they're doctors or anything, right Grandpa? Up top!

And I'm sorry, but that guy in the room across from you totally had it coming when you tried to trip him last month. Everyone knows his room was supposed to be YOUR room! Even though no one ever told you that. It was implied. Duh.

You know what's great about you, Grandpa? How you always manage to steer the conversation back to yourself no matter what the subject. Like that one time...oh man, it was so hilarious...when I was trying to tell you about how my son is doing in school and you grabbed my arm and yelled "I keep telling them to take me off those damn hormone pills and they won't listen to me! I don't need 'em, they give me hot flashes!". Yeah, that was great. Good times, Grandpa. Good times.

I'm always learning new things from you. Because I had no idea that doctors prescribe estrogen for prostate cancer when you are too old for surgery. I love hearing about your bodily functions too. Who knew one person could urinate so much in a day??? It's fascinating, really.

Hey, remember the time you told my mom that my sisters and I weren't really true family members because we are female and therefore can't carry on the family name? Gosh Grandpa, thank you so much for shedding light on this issue! I never really thought about it that way, but it makes total and complete sense. Thank goodness I got married and changed my name so that I don't embarrass you in front of God when you go to heaven. This way, when I get up there you can be all "Oh her? Psssh, she's just my granddaughter. But go ahead and let her in anyway. She got married, so it's all good. Even though she kept her maiden name as part of her middle name. If I can forgive her, I'm sure you can too God." Because I'm sure you'll be God's left-hand man (not right-hand because the Big J is already on that side) when you go to heaven on account of you being so devout and republican.

Next time I come for a visit could you maybe tell me more about how the Democrats are ruining this country? I promise to bring you another large print book about George W Bush in exchange. Or maybe this time you'd prefer one about Rush Limbaugh? I know you told me that you voted Democrat once when you were young and didn't know any better, but I promise not to tell Jesus about that at your funeral. It'll be our little secret.

Happy 100th Birthday, Grandpa! Be sure to hug Aunt Margie/me at your party.

Love always,Miss Yvonne

Most Awesome Bowl Cut Ever

1. I got a new job.
   
2. I am sad to leave my old job.
3. My kid skipped school yesterday.
4. I yelled.
5. A lot.
6. Now I have to drive him everywhere because I took his car away.
7. This is more of a punishment for me than him.
8. Damn it.
9. Captain Carl is gone all this week.
10. I'm exhausted.
11. I went to Lizard's (my sister) house last night.
12. We ordered pizza and drank wine.
13. We drunk dialed our mom and dad.
14. I don't think they understood what was happening.
15. I haven't been drunk on a Tuesday night since probably college.
16. I forgot how awesome that is.
17. I have no idea why I'm numbering each of these sentences.
18. Srsly.
19. One more thing.
20. I totally made the top 25 on momdot.com's Top 100 Mom Blogs of 2009. I'm number 25 and yeah, that's just barely making it into the top 25 but whatevs because I can't believe I made the list at all. Also????
21. I outranked Dooce. Motherfucking Dooce, y'all.
    
22. I made a badge to celebrate with a picture of my 3-year old self.
23. Cutest. Kid. Ever.

Mama Don't Let Yer Babies Grow Up To Be Chain-Smokin' Lottery Players

The Kiddo turned 18 while I was in Arizona. Because I'm a bad mom and totally forgot about it when I scheduled my trip. Not that he really cared. I texted him early in the day to tell him happy birthday and that I loved him and the punk never responded. So I called Captain Carl and was all sniffly and whiny about how the boy doesn't care about me anymore and blah blah blah me me me.

But I know that's not really true. He was just excited because he's been looking forward to turning 18 for months now. Every time he'd get busted for doing something dumb or forgetting to do a chore or something, he would be all "Don't forget guys, I'm almost a man and soon I'll be able to do whatever I want". To which one of us would reply "Yes, a man with no job and no diploma (yet) and no money to do whatever he wants." and he'd be all "Yeah, but still." because our boy is a master debater. (twss, Kurt)

The Captain and I decided before I left on my trip that he should throw the Kiddo a party on his birthday. The only kind of party he was interested in was a poker party with "a few of my dudes". We knew what that meant....him and three other band nerds sitting around a table wishing they were somewhere else smoking pot and getting laid. So we recruited the Kiddo's girlfriend to make it a co-ed party worth bothering with. And since she friend requested me on facebook (sucker!), I saw the invitation she posted on her wall to all of her 326 friends. Sweet, this party was sooo gonna be rockin' Jake Ryan style. Look it up...I'll wait.

So the Kiddo had big plans for the morning of his birthday. He told the Captain the night before that he was getting up early and buying 1) a cigar 2)a lottery ticket 3)a pocket knife and 4)something from an adult video store. Just because he could. And that's exactly what he did. The something from an adult video store turned out to be lube and he was all "I don't even really know what to do with it" when he showed it to Captain Carl.

What the hell kind of parents are we? I mean, I can't believe he doesn't know how to use lube yet. We should be arrested for being the most lame (but still super sexy) parents ever in the history of parenting.

So weird that registering to vote wasn't on his list, right?

Anyway, the party was a smashing success. A whole 15 people showed up...a record for a boy who could never remember to invite anyone to any party he ever had (i.e. the $400 10th birthday party at Skatetown USA where only two kids showed up. Damn it.). There were even actual girls there. I got texts all night from the Captain saying things like "I got them to sing karaoke!" and "Emo brought a real live girl to the party!" and "I just busted two kids having sex in our driveway". I can't believe I missed it.

P.S. The Kiddo won $27 on his first lottery ticket. The little shit.

P.P.S. He told me the cigar "wasn't bad" and didn't make him cough at all. The little liar .

Job Interview Tip #1: Always Be Rhyming

I had a job interview a couple days ago. If they hire me, I would be getting a significant pay increase. I have no idea what my odds are, but I felt like I had a really good interview. When I told Captain Carl about it, he said I should send the manager I interviewed with a follow up email to thank him for his time. I was all "What do I say?" and he was all "Keep it short and sweet" and I was all "I can totally do sweet" and I guess that made alarm bells go off in the Captain's head for some reason because he was all "Don't be inappropriate". I have no idea why he would say that to me.

So here's the email I sent the guy.

Dear Mr Manager,

Thank you so much for giving me the opportunity to meet with you today. I sincerely appreciate your time and consideration. You seem like an accomplished purchasing manager. In my eight years in the purchasing business, I've known many managers *wink wink* and you are easily the most intelligent and snappiest dresser of all of them. For reals. I especially liked your slacks and how they fit you so well in the buttocks area. I know most people wouldn't say that to you. Most people would use the word "pants" instead of "slacks". Call me old fashioned. Or awesome. Whichever.

Anyway, I feel that I should perhaps clarify my answer to your question about what kind of salary I am looking for. When I said "I would prefer to start out high enough that I don't have to come to your house and perform special favors to earn overtime wages like I do with my current manager" I really meant "I am totally done exchanging sexual favors for money". Hope that clears things up for you. Because you looked kind of confused and I would hate to start out our business relationship with a misunderstanding. Although I thought you would have gotten my meaning, what with all those hand gestures I was making. But whatevs.

In conclusion, awesome slacks. If you hire me, I'll totally have your back. I just made up that rhyme. Can you believe that? It just like, totally came out of my brain and through my fingertips and into this email. Like magic. Or God. Unless you don't believe in God, then forget that part. Go back to magic. Or Buddha. Or ummm, Allah? I don't know, I'm not good at pretend religions.

Sincerely,
Miss Yvonne

UPDATE: Y'all. I got the job. For reals. Clearly I am a thank you letter writing genius.

I Never Did Find Where They Were Having The Kegger

So my parents have a pretty sweet deal living at this retirement village in Arizona. It's like college for old people. Seriously. Walk down the street anytime of the day and you'll find at least one drunk geezer. And if there's one, there are at least three more not too far from him. Because they travel in packs there. And if you walk by during happy hour, you will be invited to sit down and have a cocktail and maybe some snacks and maybe someone accidentally spills a drink on you and maybe someone else accidentally drops their napkin and could you pick that up for me sugar? it's just so hard to bend over that far.

Also? Bicycles everywhere. The clubhouse has about ten bike racks and during peak tennis/shuffleboard hours, they are filled to capacity. And holy fuck, the golf carts. And they're all driven by dirty old men chewing on cigars with a can of Miller in one hand and the other on their little golf cart horns that they beep at all the women they pass. And when they see a woman under the age of 50? Holy hell. You haven't lived until you've been hit on by a guy with a walker wearing black knee socks with sandals.

I think my favorite part of this place is the spy cameras. Only they don't call them spy cameras, they call them "surveillance cameras" but whatever because everyone has three channels on their tv that show the cameras at the entrance to the village and at the tennis and shuffleboard courts and at the swimming pool. I found out about them after the first night I went swimming. I came back home and my mom was all "I saw you doing laps!" and I was all "How? You weren't there" and she was all "I saw you on tv" and she showed me the channels and I was all "Holy shit, how could I have been here two days already and not know about this!". Because hello? awesome!

And I know the gossipy old ladies totally use the spy cameras to see what's what. One of them is all "Let's go down and play shuffleboard, Betty" and the other one is all "Let's see who's there first" and then they turn on channel 4 and they're all "Oh hell no, that bitch Doris is playing. I am not playing with her, she makes terrible deviled eggs and she wore a shirt last week to bingo night that showed way too much cleavage".

Yeah, so every night I would sit and watch the spy cameras and my mom was all "You don't even know who those people are!" and I was all "Ssshhhh, I'm busy spying". I kept hoping I'd catch someone having sex in the hot tub. The closest I got was some guy who looked like he was masturbating for a minute but it turned out he was just having a seizure. Meh.

Retirement: Just An Excuse To Be Drunk At 2pm On A Tuesday

So I went on vacation a couple weeks ago to visit my parents in Arizona. My parents are 71 years old and retired and spend their summers in Minnesota at the lake and their winters in Arizona in the desert in a retirement village.

Retirement village = Depends and yawning

Right?

Dudes. This place was the happiest place on earth. Disney World has fucking nothing on this retirement village. This was my daily activities calendar for eight straight days:

8am: Wake up. Sit around in pajamas for an hour. Eat breakfast consisting of bagel with cream cheese and an orange picked from the tree outside the patio door.

9am: Play tennis. Partner with 73 year old lady who used to babysit you when you were three. Get asses whooped by 71 year old dad and his 80 year old tennis partner.

11am: First swim of the day in heated outdoor pool.

12pm: Eat lunch consisting of sandwich and fresh squeezed lemonade from the other tree outside the patio door.

1pm: Nap.

2pm: Shuffleboard with 71 year old mom. Get ass whooped by three old ladies wearing plastic glittery sun visors and bermuda shorts.

4pm: Home to watch a half hour of Judge Judy.

4:30pm: Happy hour with parents and ten of their closest friends. Sit on the patio and drink freshly squeezed lemonade liberally laced with vodka. Get sloshed and listen to old people tell sex jokes.

6pm: Dinner at the clubhouse, followed by casino night/bingo night/billiards night.

8pm: Home for a glass of freshly squeezed lemonade liberally laced with more vodka.

9pm: Walk to the clubhouse with mom's two best friends to go swimming again.

9:30pm: Hit the hot tub. Share a six pack of canned Bud Light with old ladies.

10:00pm: Stagger home.

10:30pm: Sleep.

Okay, so maybe this might not sound like a ton of fun to some of you. But seriously, I had the best time. With three older sisters, I rarely get my parents to myself. And when I do, I remember how wickedly cool my dad is and how my mom and I can giggle like teenage girls for hours when we're together. And I'm sorry, but a place that lets you drink booze in the hot tub? Awesome.

And ladies? If you ever want to feel good about yourself, just go hang out at a swimming pool full of old men. I guess not having nipples that sway near my crotch and a swimsuit without a skirt down to my knees really does it for the retirement set. Rawrrrr, grandpa.