My Skirt Fell Off In Parking Garage

* 5 years ago … It happened again. Different skirt, different lot. Meh!

As I was walking from my office to my car, my skirt hit the concrete.  I remained upright, standing there in front of God and everybody, in my top and underwear. I do not have a tan – on purpose, but I sure could have used one at that moment.  My legs look like abnormally long pieces of packaged chicken. Read: white.  Did have on nice underwear, but it just doesn’t compensate for the lack of skin color – in daylight.  Couldn’t grab the demon garment  because I was holding boards.  The wooden kind. Ignored the horrified screaming and running of garage mates and finally managed to pull that sucker up under my arms.  And took my boards to the post office to mail them.

Who mails boards? As in not- too- long- but- sorta- heavy boards?  Interior designers, that’s who.  I’m not a designer, I am the office ODDJOB.  Without the razor-brimmed hat.  My areas of expertise are research (“Here’s a picture of a painting.  We need to know who the artist is.  There is no information, no caption, no nothing, don’t even know when or where the picture of painting came from. Go!” I found artist and a silkscreen of painting to purchase in 30 minutes), food choices (“Everyone is dieting but I still think we should get a cake, should we get a cake?” Get the cake. Am genius), and mailing boards.

Had to stick my stomach out to keep skirt on in post office.  Happy foreign man says, “You want to mail boards?”.  I said indeed I did and the cost must be under $100.  He started laughing and speaking to himself in his native tongue. Am thinking that means cost will be well over the budget. Skirting the details,I return to office with humble, sad face.  Walked into designers bull pen, looking for my boss to tell her about expense.  That damn skirt went south again. My colleagues, all women, were nonplussed; they are used to my wardrobe malfunctions.  Paper-clipped skirt top to underwear and called it a day.

Did I mention I live in the city located just on the outskirts of  Hell?  Where it is 81-degrees at 7 a.m.? This morsel of info is only necessary because sweats are not clothing here, sweats are a perpetual state of the body.  Every body.  So skirt slippage was heat-related. As evening approaches, it is a brisk 80-degrees inside my house; the a/c is working its ass(?) off, making the same sounds that pierce the air when empty cans are put in dryer and dryer is turned on high. War zone ambience. Trying to relax and cool down.

Turn on the computer and get some news.  Apparently bird doo facials are all the rage in NYC; you, too, can have one for $180. So “Emperor’s New Clothes”, I can’t even wrap this.  My mind is grinding, so I’ll throw out an offer for bird poop facial aficionados …. you are most welcome to sit on my patio – all day long – for $10; you will be delighted by all the bird bombs that cover your entire self.  There is only one catch … bring earplugs… the a/c sound might disturb your bliss.  Come early and stay late.

Don’t even think I”m complaining, I’m not.  Based on what I read, hear, and see, I am beyond lucky.  If anyone needs a skirt fail, a scary loud a/c, a poop facial provided by numerous regional birds, and/or  boards mailings, you know where to look.

*P.S.  Always wear nice underwear, even if you aren’t riding in the car … you never know ….. just saying.

Later.  If I don’t melt…

Use Your Words

That’s what I’m doing … using your words. Well, sharing your words. Loving:

“If life gives you lemons, keep them. Hey, free lemons!”

“I have a lot of growing up to do. I realized that the other day, in my fort.”

“Imperfection is beauty. Madness is genius. And it’s better to be absolutely ridiculous than absolutely boring.”

“Time is precious. Waste it wisely.”

“Welcome to today. Another day. Another chance. Feel free to change.”

“Some people just need a high-five. In the face. With a chair.”

“If you can’t convince them, confuse them.”

“Today I will be happier than a bird with a french fry.”

“Work like a captain. Play like a pirate.”

Yo Ho Ho … off to walk the plank!


Bucket List Antithesis

There’s not a bucket big enough to hold all I want to do. But here are a few things I never want to do again:

  • Get stuck in small space with overserved man who has just inhaled a handful of chocolates: Don’t shake your head and wonder how this happened. It did. And the space was immediately filled with overwhelmingly heinous fumage. Would have fainted dead away, but space too small and I’m too polite (ha!). Had no choice but to stop, drop, and roll into a ditch. Still gagging.
  • Eat green peas and/or liver: More gagging. If I am on a desert island and all there is to eat are green peas and/or liver, I take this back. Note to self: no boat rides.
  • Register for “Do Not Call” lists: What a total waste of time. You crafty telemarketers and your “anonymous” and “private caller” handles! And for the managers of all “Do Not Call” lists, YOU’RE FIRED!
  • Reply to comment, “What country are you from because you don’t look like an American.”: Final answer: “I am a conehead. From France. Merde!
  • Work for people who are missing several teeth in the front of their mouths: If you have a “thriving” business, you can afford to go to the dentist and get some chompers. My experience with you tells me your business is anything but thriving because my paycheck bounced AND you don’t have a mirror. Basta!

Off to mind my own business.

What are your “never agains”?


Angry Birds, Royal Wedding, Ellen DeGeneres & Other Randamonium

Well, hello there! What’s on your mind today? Here’s what’s on what is left of mine:

  • Angry Birds: If you “know” me, you know birds like to use me as a restroom. But I’m not talking about those birds. Talking about all the Angry Bird games. They are making me crazy. I get the utmost satisfaction when I aim a bird, let it fly, and it decimates a bunch of green pigs. Especially when I give the dastardly pigs names, usually names of people I know. Am greatly stressed at the moment because there are just some levels I have yet to win. Games should be relaxing but this one is making me crazy crazier. Back off, PETA; these pigs are animated and I love animals. Except fake green pigs. Meh.


  • Royal Wedding: Unlike most of the population, I’m not pissed I didn’t get an invite. Although I should have. My relative was the Queen of England … for eight days. Have stayed at The Goring, where Kate and Co. will stay until the wedding. It’s quite a lovely hotel and conveniently located right around the corner from Buckingham Palace. The only odd thing about the place is that the bar includes a herd of sit- upons resembling stuffed sheep. Of course, there’s an explanation for this, but I didn’t read the book. Baaaaaaaa! The sheep seats, ha!  These two lovebirds are getting hitched as quickly as possible; weddings are not held in the Anglican/Episcopal Church during the Lenten Season. Usually. And one more thing … Ellen DeGeneres didn’t get an invite, either, and Kate‘s her cousin. Someone has forgotten her manners. Maybe that’s common among commoners.


  • Ellen DeGeneres: She is one of the funniest people I don’t know. And she is kind and generous. She helps people. I’m still hunting for a job. So, I decided to write Ellen, requesting her help in this area. DON’T LAUGH OR I WILL CUT YOU… out of my will.  Am well aware that she gets grillions of letters, requests, pleas and such. Am also aware that I am not her demographic target. Nevertheless, I press on. I do know, from prior work, there are people hired to specifically go through all the communication and cull, giving her what they deem a “possibility” for her show. So I included a note to the person reading my words – “*Pretend I am your mother*” Maybe a tiny guilt trip will get my words in front of Ellen. Am not asking for job on her show – just employment that pays $$ that pays the bills. Will keep you posted re: any communication from Ellen. I don’t tweet, but I can dance. So we shall see ……….


  • Be Specific: Need to be more specific with my personal prayer requests. Finding myself in the dating pool at this stage of the game – well, I’ve uttered the phrase, “God help me!” about a million times. Usually after a date. So praying for a nice man or gaggle of nice men to enter my space is most necessary. That has yet to happen … or maybe it has. I live with a male who loves me unconditionally, would protect me to the death, who thinks I’m the nuts and soup. He’s awesome. But he is my dog, Cooper. Methinks more specificity is in order … need to add “human” to the mix. Silly moi.

Okay, Happy Day to all.

Am off to eat my weight in chocolate bunnies.


Help Wanted: Need Advice AGAIN

Dear Smarter People Than Me (that would be a majority of the population on Wednesdays and Fridays):

I have a very small, very new candle company. The product rocks. The locals love. I do not sell to stores nor will I. Because the quality must be perfect for me to sell, the cost is higher than that of say, Glade.

I am prohibited from selling them on Etsy. While I select and purchase my fragrance oils, design and create all labels and marketing materials, I have a candlemaker. Which knocks me out of the homemade arena.

  I’ve bought good stuff on eBay. But the candle section leaves me stone cold. I’m not a “Grandma’s Teacup filled with wax” kind of show. So now I am wondering if I just do my own website. If that is the case, where, what, and how much?

Thank you, in advance, for your consideration and input.



*just kidding about the smarter days – throw all seven in there*

It’s Monday: Weekend Insanity Report & Advice Request

I just don’t know what to think. So I’ll just toss it all out there, as usual.

She’s A Bad Mama Jama

In my opinion. This morning, on Good Morning America, there was a story about little boys entering beauty pageants. Apparently, the toddler tiara set is now composed of 10% boy entrants. OK. But I was appalled when one of the boy pageant mothers said, “I can turn my little boys into girls. These are the girls I never had.” This is, to me, a prime example of why some women should never give birth.

Evening of Insanity

That would be last Saturday night. Am not being critical as I was right in the middle of the madness. Actually caused some of it. In my last post, I introduced the electronic yodeling pickle. I call him “Canute” as he is manufactured in Canada. I keep him by the phone; when telemarketers call, they are treated to a concert. I packed Canute along with some adult beverages before we headed out to a gathering Saturday night. Upon our arrival, I introduced the innocent but very talented pickle to other guests. Poor Canute. Before he even got one yodel out, his image was desecrated. “He looks like a green, bumpy d***0 <very personal people pleaser>. And given a new handle, The YoDo. Ridiculous. Improper. Obviously engaged in highly intellectual pursuits, Zorba and ParTay decided to use Canute for prank phone calls. Yes, these can still be done and yes, we stopped maturing at 13. I haven’t laughed that hard in about two weeks. Can’t repeat any more of conversations about Canute but you can be sure that the phrase, “in a pickle” was tossed about in a most unsavory fashion.

At the same event, The Prince asked me why I had so many “blog” comrades who are Brits, Aussies, and South Africans. Well, duh. First and foremost, they are brilliant. And write well. And are hilarious. Then I became thoughtful and realized yet another connection. I have Brit blood. I am obsessed with that medieval bad boy, Henry VIII. My ancestors include Lady Jane Grey, whose nine-day reign as Queen of England ended in yet another headless situation. Which could explain personal insanity, flightiness, and inability to focus on anything (including this topic) for more than two seconds. As well as unwanted comments about my behavior as that of “a chicken with its head cut off”. It is Queen Izzie, y’all. Which has nothing to do with original question.

Latest Search Engine Terms

The terms used to find me are just getting weirder.

  • Car fell off parking garage (obviously an insurance inquiry)
  • Skirt came off my head (not in the habit of wearing my skirt on my head but could happen under the right circumstances….)
  • Plastic panties (mind out of gutter, people)
  • Parking garage facial (hmmmm…no, too bizarre to consider)
  • Chief wiggle eye gluer (can’t fix this … try o-p-h-t-h-a-l-m-o-l-o-g-i-s-t)
  • My boss tucked my blouse in for me (tmi, ever heard of “sexual harassment suits”? Wear one.)

 Enough mischief for a Monday.  Which brings up another question. (Promise to take ADHD meds immediately after this). Ok, new business is a direct result of a blog friends’ suggestion. So, I need some more advice. Regarding marketing. For those late to party, I am selling candles. Great candles.  Am just rolling this out, am still in infancy stage, so my marketing plans has been to contact a few people a week. This has resulted in a nice start on my candle makers retirement fund. The introduction must be handled this way, so she and I can see just how much we can do. Now it is holiday season, people spend more money. Good time to bring out new but not accurate for ongoing sales prediction. My product is under market price. That’s my story and I’m bewildered where/what goes next. Any advice most appreciated.

Later. and merci…

Monday Madness

I’m drinking my coffee and reading the “news”. Ha! It may be early, but the weirdo stuff is already popping up. In our first category of the day – and considering it is Monday – we have work.

Creativity in the Workplace

In a story by Rachel Farrell on, “unusual job titles” are revealed. Some of these include, but are not limited to, Chief Wiggle Eye Gluer, Overseer of Order, Director of Storytelling, and Head Worm Wrangler.  Others listed were Marble Lady, Chief Sparkle Officer,Chief Fun Officer, and my favorite, Director of Chaos. These are real titles at real companies. But I think a few of these could possibly be applied elsewhere as well.

  • Head Worm Wrangler:  Heads of Congress and Senate (duh);  Andy Cohen, Sr. VP of Production and Programming for Bravo, for risking his life to bring us the delightful “Real Housewives of….the Eleventeenth Circle of Hell“.
  • Overseer of Order:  Mothers everywhere (no currency distribution).
  • Director of Storytelling:  Press Secretaries, HR Employment Interviewers, anyone who says, “Let’s have lunch”.

Sparkle? Nah. And the idea of forced hijinks requiring a Chief of Fun at work sounds like a the perfect place for a Wiggle Eye Gluer. I am the Chief of Chaos in my own home and that doesn’t pay well.  I’ve decided the best job in the world would be to work with Peggy, on the hilariously genius Discover Card commercials created by  The Martin Agency.


The other story that caught my eye – and blew my mind – was about an implant removal. A 28-year old woman with a pretty face recently had her size M chesticle implants removed. Yes, that would be a,b,c,d,e,f,g,h,i,j,k,l, M! World’s largest. Excuse me, this just brings up sooooo many questions. How in the world would you a.) walk upright, b.) find something besides a bedouin tent for clothing, and c.) do that to yourself in the first place? Good grief, she’d have to go to a truck weigh station for a mammogram. But that won’t be necessary as she’s suffered from life threatening infection since her surgery in Brazil, requiring removal of implants and most of her breast tissue.

Must take a tonic and lay down. Overwhelmed by nonsense.


Let’s Make A Deal: A Novel Idea

Having recently quit my job, it would be prudent for me to secure another. Have a friend who found a great job through Monster. com;  Monsters scare me, ergo I’ve got other ideas.  Instead of revving up my resumé, networking my ass off, all the while beseeching the heavens above for a massive dose of divine intervention, I’ve decided to take a different approach regarding employment.

Serious employers may apply for my services. I will review all applications and if I think we might be a “fit”, I’ll get back to you. Have been around the block enough to know that a job on paper is NEVER the job in reality. I will address my expectations, my strengths as an employee, and the bottom line.

My Job Expectations

  • This is the Win-Win Process. No time wasted. Nothing lost. No bad coffee, forced laughter, or stupid questions necessary.
  • I thrive in creative environments, wither in Mad Men/Women offices.
  • You will get what you pay for in terms of my output.  I have experience in many areas. I have moments of brilliance. I have quite a bit of experience under my belt. If you appreciate this, encourage me, and pay me well, you will get 110-percent from me. If you are looking for a “deal”, pay less than my daughters make babysitting, please crawl off into the virtual bushes right now.
  • When I work for someone, whatever happens in the office stays in the office. I do not have loose lips. Before, during, and after employment.
  • If I like you and the job, I operate on the Rule of Three: you have a problem and need a solution. I will develop three options, then present them to you. You select one. It works. You are brilliant. I don’t care about the credit because you pay me so well to do what I do. Now that’s a hands-down, flat-out Win-Win. If you don’t understand this, join your friends in the bushes.
  • I get sassy when bullied. And then I cry. You have been warned. Other deal breakers include brow beating, nit-picking, and using a loud voice to make a point.
  • Let me know what you want me to do and I’ll do it. If you have a vague idea, let’s discuss it, hone it down, and get to the meat of the matter. Unfortunately, I was not born into a gypsy family. I don’t know what you want unless you do.  Plus, I would never want to put Madame or the Psychic Network out of business.
  • Part time or very flexible hours a must. For me, at least.

My Strengths

  • While I prefer to wear jeans to work, I do “clean up” well. You would have no problem with me representing you at The White House or White Castle.
  • Have written so many words for others, I am almost transparent. Can be wonderful or wicked – with words – depending on circumstances.
  • Can lift 10 pounds maximum.
  • Will “just say ‘NO'” if asked to if you ask me to do something illegal. Other deal breakers include requests to pick up drunk wife/husband, children,dogs, or laundry; perform household chores in your household; reveal my business which is none of yours; and I’ll add more to the list if you and your enterprise make it through this first round. *Rethinking the pick up deal – will pick up stated items for $200 per offense. See, I’m a diplomat, too!
  • Can write, think, create, knit, teach yoga, bake bread, make jewelry, and visualize.
  • Love to research. Amount of love poured into research depends on topic.
  • Cannot whistle. Please don’t ask me to. Very sensitive about that.
  • Am a happy morning person.  Every business needs a happy morning person.

Bottom Line

  • My experience is worth the price you will pay me to work for you. No insulting offers necessary.
  • While I cannot apply the optimistic phrase, “the world is your oyster” to my talents at this point, it doesn’t mean I am not optimistic or untalented. I have eaten that oyster. See: experience. Actually, I’m overflowing with joy and optimism that the word “overqualified” will not apply to me again. RE: job. In. this. lifetime. Fingers crossed.
  • See how I’ve avoided talking about the bucks – big or otherwise – until now? I mean, I’ve hinted but … I’ll be straightforward. I do not want to work because I need more stuff. I like to have a place to go in the morning. Am at the tail end of college tuition, etc. One out, one more year for the other. And, have no illusions that after I stamp that last college semester PAID, wedding bells could ring … simultaneously. Then there’s me and the dog.  Fortunately, I am not desperate. And I will be picky. So, if you have good ideas and wonderful offers, bring ’em on. Like I said, I’ll get back to you.


*For the love of God, do not send me anything that is repulsive, gross, explicit, cold callish, telemarketing, blah blah. My “delete permanently” button works very well. Just sayin’.

How I Quit My Job in Three Easy Steps

It’s elementary. When self-immolation is preferable to going to work, something’s gotta give.  Let me think here … oh yeah, my right arm was accidently engulfed in fire when I was seven. Still wearing the evidence. Didn’t feel good then and not a hot look now (no pun intended). So, my choice became crystal clear a week ago today. Here’s how I did it:

  1. Say “I quit.”
  2. Go on a road trip with a bunch of fun friends for at least a week.
  3. Post sign below until further notice:

Pretty much sums it up

As I am nowhere near independently wealthy, the hunt for new cash flow is on.  But first, I need a nap. The thought of hunting anything at this moment makes me sleepy. <Big Yawn>


Customer Service: How to Deal Both Ways

I’ve worked in retail.  Sometimes on purpose, other times out of desperation.  Either I’ve had a breakdown or a breakthrough (a la Kelly Binsimon).  Retail customers with hate in their hearts are drawn to me.  Which means a) like seeks like, b) I’m an idiot savant when it comes to dealing with the chronically horrid, or c) other sales people can run faster than I can.

Fast Food Operations: I know, I know, sometimes the people working behind the counter just don’t get it. Nor do some of the customers on the other side of counter.  I’ll be brief here – don’t act out, throw your weight around, and/or berate your servers.  They are people just like you.  Behave yourself.  As with any commercial endeavor, there are brilliant and dim employees (see: customer service/cable company). It is most important to mind your manners in a food establishment.  You will find yourself way too familiar with the loo, should you decide to throw a bitch fit over a poorly constructed hamburger.

BoutiquesIt’s been quite awhile since I worked in a very upscale boutique.  One customer stands out.  She was a shrew, a purple-wearing harridan with quite a mouth on her.  Whenever she pulled into the parking lot, someone would scream, “Velma!” and the salesgirls would run for cover.  They were faster than me.  So I had to help Velma.  She would stomp into the shop, huffing and puffing, while searching for someone to shred.  That would be me.  My first go-round with Velma left me in tears.  My second adventure with her was wonderful.  The minute she started to berate me for being alive, I said, “Velma, shut it down.  I have some new purple togs over here that would look fabulous on you.”  She was putty in my hands.  She was lonely and angry and had no one to take it out on, so she went shopping.  And everyone was mean right back to her.  She was shocked I didn’t cower at her fire-breathing antics.  And as long as I worked there, I was her girl.  Am not bragging, all the salesgirls still ran and there I stood… abandoned when a flash of purple was spotted lurching through the doors.

Men’s Store:  This was one of my favorite experiences as men are so much easier to deal with when it comes to clothing.  On the outset, I would tell each and every customer, “I don’t do inseams”.  Just so they knew.   I could have put  tutus on all those men – if I gushed over how fab they looked in their tiny tulle skirts – well, one word comes to mind. SOLD. Easiest job ever.  With two exceptions. Lockjaw and Big Fatty.  Lockjaw entered the store with a major attitude.  He was picking through the savagely bright-colored slacks.  I asked him if he was a Longhorn fan – I mean, he kept going back to the same pair of bright orange – UT colors.  He looked down his pompous nose at me, jutted his entitled chin out and said, “I went to Dartmouth.”  My brain said, “You prick”, but my mouth said, “Hmmm…Dartmouth …. never heard of it.” His Ivy League abuse continued until I crossed my eyes and stuck my tongue out at him. Very mature, but it tamed his inner beast. Big Fatty was another story all together.  My boss thought it would be really funny to hook me up with this perfectly nice man/customer.  “He’s rich”.  Like that means squat in the whole scheme of things?  He may have been, and he was nice, but he had a serious weight problem (like he’s probably dead, really), his english wasn’t too great even though he hadn’t ever left Texas, and he looked at me like I was a sizzling rib eye right off the grill. No, no, no!  My *&^% boss gave him my cell number, which he called.  Being the perfect coward I was, I never answered.  One day, I saw him headed into the store.  I ran in the stock room and hid under a pile of rejected clothing.  My boss brought him in there, uncovered me, and left the room.  Mr. I’m-Gonna-Have-A-Heart-Attack-Any-Second loomed over me and said, “Why won’t you go out with me?”.  I told him the truth. “My issues have issues”.  That was all it took for him to make his escape, but I think I heard him mutter, “Crazy Bitch”, under his breath.  I promptly confronted the boss man, told him I didn’t need a pimp, and walked out the door.  Men!

On the flip side, after too many FAILS raging at customer service agents, I changed my tactics.  If I have an issue, I do not stop until I talk to a human. Have actually spoken to a person at Google, that is how persistent I am.  When said human answers phone, I always start with, “Hey Bon Qui Qui, how’s it hanging?  Having a good day?  How are the kids?  Always make nice, then the followup:  “I know this isn’t your fault at all, but I have a problem ….”.  Transfer call, transfer, transfer … could be transferred 20 times – and could  be on the phone dealing with one problem for 10 hours.  But this process is lined in gold; by the time I get to the top of the transfer heap, the company is terrified by the sheer number of call monitors on one customer and my wish is granted.

Guess I’m having a Rodney King moment here … it may be easier to be mean and ugly (Guilty!), but being nice, on purpose, is the high road.  I said, AT FIRST.  If you are nice and still encounter attitude, all bets are off.