Tag Archives: irony

Well played, Martha Stewart, Well Played.

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PINTEREST, I’M LOOKING AT YOU!

**Shakes fist angrily at the sky.**

I am convinced that pinterest was invented by conservative men that are determined to get the liberal, bra-burning, birth control taking wild women back into the kitchen and back to making things “homemade” and thusly created a website to draw them in and incite a crafting wave that has even resulted in television shows about crafting. Why buy chicken at Boston Market when you can raise and create the entire meal by raising the chickens, growing the vegetable garden, and harvesting the tea leaves (for sweet tea of course) yourself, all in the apron you made yourself from a pattern you found on Pinterest? I believe that we’re all born with talents, and it’s ok to rely on the talents of others – say, a person that knows how to cook versus my pathetic efforts – instead of trying to excel in every “pinned” idea on fricking pinterest, as we are determined to swap recipes, share wedding ideas, and showcase our personal clothing style. There is NOTHING wrong with utilizing the Boston Market drive through to pick up dinner for you and your boo while showcasing your style in betty boop pajama pants, sequined yellow box flip flops and a beanie.

 

Yes pinterest, thanks to the “anyone can craft like this, it’s easy!!!” attitude, and the wild, waving-your-carefree-hot-glue-gun-in-the-air website of yours I just dropped $62 at Michael’s tonight.

 

At the cash register I hung my head in shame, and texted the BFE as I walked out the door.

Me to the BFE: “Don’t me mad”

My next test to the BFE: “I just left Michael’s about $62 poorer.”

I got no return text, this warranted a phone call that was basically heavy breathing and one long sigh.

I sighed too.  A $62, pinterest-induced sigh.

 

I also blame Martha Stewart for part of this. Her corporate plot to corner the women’s market in adorable, crafting supplies and organizational tools while charging exorbitant prices is working, and I’m ashamed to admit I have fallen prey to her ploys. It pisses me off that Stewart knows ever shade of blue or blush that I would peronally enjoy, and uses this information to her advantage, forcing me to hand over my Disney Debit Visa (ha!) time and time again at my local Staples. Seriously, she’s making a killing off of the Pinterest crowd.

 

Which brings us back… and PINTEREST I’M STILL LOOKING AT YOU!

First, let’s talk about how you sucked me into your ways by making all of the crafts seem easy and fun. I started looking at ideas in August for holiday stuff, thinking, “ooh, this looks easy!” “oh, I can do that!” “Man, doing that myself is gonna save me soooo much moneeeyyyyy…” Huh.

 

One key thing that most pinterest crafts need: a hot glue gun. Another thing they all need: fricking patience. I did not have either of these things as I ambled into the Michael’s, starry-eyed and excited to produce handmade ornaments for B and I’s first Christmas in our own place.

 

 

Craft #1: Cute, painted glass ornaments

All I thought I’d need: glass ornaments, simple acrylic paint and a small amount of competence.

What I actually needed: glass ornaments, a large amount of skill, and Martha Stewart paint (or so she would have me believe)

 

This is where I say “well played” to our favorite former felon, Martha Stewart. I’m standing in the glass ornament aisle, and guess what brand of acrylic paint is located there? Martha’s! I grab it immediately, ignoring the $3.49 a bottle price tag, as I was so excited to work on my project. As I wonder around the store some more, I start thinking about the acrylic paint I normally buy for projects (yes I’ve crafted before) and how it’s significantly cheaper and also significantly missing from the acrylic paint display next to the holiday ornaments.

I find the rest of the acrylic paint selection on the OTHER END OF THE STORE, no where near the holiday mania and impulse holiday craft shopping on the other side of the store. And guess what? It’s priced at 99 cents. NINETY-NICE CENTS, as in TWO DOLLARS AND FIFTY CENTS cheaper than Martha’s paint. Determined not to let the felon win, I swap out my “glittery gold” Martha branded paint for the “Venetian gold” color that’s the less than a dollar. I did keep the “pond” color, because, well let’s face it – Martha’s color palette really is dead on. So again to Martha, I say, well played, madame. Well played.

But don’t think the foolishness ends there.

 

Craft Project #2: Sassy and super cool beaded ornament

All I thought I’d need: Some pretty beads and clear glass ornaments, some level or finger dexterity

What I actually needed: A LOT of fricking beads, clear glass ornaments, A LOT of free time,  A LOT of manual dexterity and… a glue gun!!

 

I got halfway through my trip to the Michael’s before I realized I did not have a glue gun to hold this project together – literally. I finally found a glue gun and glue sticks and then I had to pick a “cute” glue gun (really Peach??) in a cool design. I’m not proud of the 5 minutes I spent in the glue gun aisle, comparing patterns, but it really happened.

 

On my way home, I kept thinking how it would have been cool too add in some blue beads on the ornaments and how I should have gotten some. “No worries”, I thought. “I’ll get them on my next trip”.

 

MY NEXT TRIP – are you kidding me. I’m already planning a future visit.

 

Well played Martha and Pinterest. Well played. I shake my fist at you while simultaneously burning all the fingers on my other hand, and thinking about what color ribbon I need to use for hanging my ornaments on the tree.

See you both again real soon!

The Badass, The Mushroom and The Little Guy

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Sliding into my seat at the Mellow Mushroom tonight, I looked around at my friends Reyes, Love and Bryce and just giggled. I was giddy with the story I needed to tell them, and eventually that giggling turned into full on laughter as I started the story:

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A few days ago while having lunch with my friend Stee she tells me a story about the newest guy in her life… apparently their love was “forbidden”. Well forbidden by company policy at least, and she accidentally spilled the beans to some of her work friends during a drunken night out.

Bear in mind, my friend Stee is one of the most badass people I know – she’s not afraid of anything, speaks her mind without hesitation. She always makes me laugh with the stories she tells about life, boys and work. At our engagement dinner, she had me cackling with her description of how break a guy’s car windshield without getting caught by using a brick tied to a rope. I’ve never asked her how she seems to have first hand knowledge of this particular how-to skill, I just take it all in as part of the Stee Package. The Stee Package is full of unexpected hilarity and by proxy, adventure. So when she starts to tell me a story, I listen, because I know it’s going to be good. There’s also the chance that I’ll learn a new how-to skill. :p

According to her, the gaffe where she blurts out her new dating status came about after her work friends kept talking about the new Moroccan guy, not knowing that they were together… she got irritated after hearing them say over and over:”he’d be so cute if only he were taller”.

I stopped her there. “What do you mean… if he were taller?”

She gave me a funny look. “He’s a little… short.”

“Ok. So? How short?”

“Um… 4’11?”

….?

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I paused in telling my story to my friends at the Mellow Mushroom to gauge their reaction, and just as I thought, they proved why they are my friends. They laughed. Lord help us all, they laughed. Ever since Stee told me this story earlier in the week, I’d been holding in my laughter, knowing that by laughing any more than I already had that I was proving that I was pretty horrible! Granted, I’d already proven I was a horrible person, because of what happened after Stee told me his height:

“I’m sorry, did you say 4’11?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yep, I’m pretty sure. Why?”

I began howling like a hyena. “Because that makes him a little person! You’ve been hooking up with a little person! That’s hilarious!” I continued laughing until I cried. gasping for air, tears squeezing out of my eyes.

“Shut up!!! He’s not a little person!” Then she said the immortal words that sent me over the edge: “Stop making fun of my little man!”

The did it for me. I was screaming, knees buckling, laughing all of the air out of my lungs. We were standing in the restaurant parking lot, and I braced myself on the trunk of her car to keep from falling down with convulsions of laughter. It wasn’t his size that made me laugh, it was just the irony of it all. Of course, she would be the one to hook up with a little person from Morocco! To see her indignant look was all too much. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry – I have nothing against… little people. I have the utmost respect for them. It’s just that you were 5 foot 9, and he’s 4 foot 11. How is it that you never told me about this guy??”

“It’s no big thing – it’s not like we’re dating or whatever. I’m getting transferred to another city, so we always knew it was only temporary. I just don’t see the big deal.”

“Ok, ok, fine. I’ll respect your … little relationship… bwahahahahaha!” I just couldn’t help myself. “You’re hooking up with a little person!”

“He’s not that little! He comes up to here”, indicating the base of her nose. “I only have to bend down this far to kiss him… see?” She inclined her head down, as if ducking under a low doorway. It looked like she was trying to break her own neck. I just laughed harder, if that was even possible.

I begged her to let me blog about it. “Don’t make fun of me and my little guy!”

I tittered, “can that be the title of my blog?” She ignored me. I laughed some more.

By this point we’d made our way into the restaurant for lunch, and had taken a seat. I was determined to compose myself and finally pulled it together. We chatted about other topics, and things were back in track until Stee started looking over my shoulder with a funny look, then looking at me, then back over my shoulder. Finally, I look over my shoulder and see… a littler person waiting to be seated with some friends. I looked at Stee, and she burst into laughter. It’s like he’d been placed there, at that moment, in that restaurant just to drive home the point. We are horrible people.

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When elating this story to my friends at the dinner table, I was a little nervous that they would think I was a horrible person, but as I told them the story, they responded as only my friends would: by laughing like howler monkeys. I turned to Reyes, telling her that I’d been worried all week about telling any of my friends, in the event that they would think me a horrible person. Earlier in the week, I’d told the BFE about about it, adding that I planned to blog about it. Being the kind, good-hearted half of me that he is, the BFE cautioned me against it, since some people might be offended. At dinner tonight Reyes reminded me that I’m not friends with any of those people. All of my friends would find it funny.

I explained that I wasn’t sure how to tell the story, as much as I wanted to share it with others. How to relate the details? To give the gist and cadence of our conversation? Telling it as I told my friends at dinner tonight was the only thing that made sense.

I don’t know why but after relating my story to my friends I relaxed and smiled. I think it’s knowing that I have such appalling friends that would laugh at my story really made me feel better. I know – I’m terrible for laughing at my friend’s shenanigans, and there will be some people reading this that will be appalled and offended by my post. All I can say to that group is that at some point, everyone has a moment of political incorrectness, and if they’re lucky, they’ll have friends around to laugh at them and tell them it’s okay.

Two things came out of this: I have exactly the kind of friends I should have, and love & attraction can be found anywhere, even between the badass and the little guy.

The Rules

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This evening while I was doing my part to get us packed for our big move in 2 weeks I came across a cache of dusty self-help books on one of my bookshelves.

 

One book was “Sexy at Any Size” (a really good book actually), another was the Bridget-Jones inspired “Becoming a Goddess of Inner Poise“…still yet was the snarky “He’s Just Not That Into You“. DID NOT LIKE. THAT BOOK.

 

Then I stumbled across self-help GOLD.

 

My copy of “The Rules: Time-tested Secrets for Capturing the Heart of Mr. Right“.

 

Yeah, that’s right. Like many single women, I was handed this book by a well-meaning friend, and actually tried to live by some of the bat-shit crazy rules in this book until I realized trying to live my life by rules set forth on a paperback book was insane and made me look like a controlling social engineer from the depths of crazy-land.

 

It’s funny, it specifically talks in the book about how if you break the rules in this book, you will not find a successful relationship. I personally believe that if you don’t break a few rules in this book, you’ll walk around like you’ve got a stick up your ass. Following this list of arbitrary rules didn’t really work for me. It wasn’t until I broke a few of The Rules that my dating life actually got interesting, and went from the “wishing and reading the Rules” stage to the “living and laughing and leaving the Rules behind” stage.

 

Some rules I effed up on:

 

Broken Rule #1 – Be a “Creature Unlike Any Other”

Hmph. This rule was mostly about keeping a certain amount of mystery in your relationship. I guess I broke that one the first time I peed with the door open. He literally screamed. Now he tries to hand me bank slips to look at while I’m in there with my underpants around my ankles, having personal time and reading Adele’s article in an old Rolling Stone. I’m all like,”What is this?! What do I do with this?!” and He’s all like “I dunno.” Neither of us finds it strange that the interaction is happening while one of us is pantsless.

On 4th of July I pulled  a prank that involved telling him to lift my leg (pantsless of course) and then farting directly into his face. Again, he screamed. And gagged. And laughed.  Almost a week ago and I still cry with laughter about that, and so does he.

Speaking of pantsless… I guess introducing him to my “Pants Off Friday” celebrations probably blew up Rule #1… unless it actually supports #1. I’m pretty sure dancing around without my pants on Fridays makes me a “Creature Unlike Any Other”

 

 

Broken Rule #5 – Don’t Call Him and Rarely Return His Calls

I always returned his calls. I was always so excited to hear from him that I didn’t have the self-control to be coy and all not-calling-back right away.

 

 

Rule #6 – Always End Phone Calls First

Um… yeah, like the first 2 months he was ALWAYS the one that hung up first, usually because he fell asleep while I was talking excessively. See Broken Rule #5

 

 

Broken Rule #14 – No More Than Casual Kissing on the First Date

I guess now’s the time to tell the Story of the Cold.

The BFE and I met through online dating. When I finally bullied him into asking me out, we jokingly came up with a code: if he tried to kiss me, and I wasn’t feeling it, I would just say “I have a cold”.

Our first date was a movie… while we’re sitting there, he leans over and is all like “Hey, I don’t have a cold”… I laughed and kissed him. I haven’t stopped kissing him yet. 🙂

Our good-bye kiss after he walked me to my car lasted about 25 minutes. I don’t think I ever left so happy. I guess technically it wasn’t “casual kissing”. 🙂

 

 

Broken Rule #17 – Let Him Take the Lead

Are you kidding me? What is this, 1925? See Broken Rule #14… he kept beating around the bush so I finally got him to ask me out. I kinda let him believe it was his idea. So in theory he took the lead… right?

 

 

Broken Rule #22 – Don’t Live with a Man (or Leave Your Things in His Apartment)

Whatever. He moved in with me, so I didn’t actually move in with him. It was the best thing we ever did.

 

 

Broken Rule #31 – Don’t Discuss the Rules with Your Therapist

That smacks of someone desperate to hide their crazy. I’ve said it before, and I’ll said it again: “In the South we don’t hide our crazy. We sit it on the front porch and give it a cocktail”. My friends are my therapists, and the idea of having to hide some element of my nutjob personality from my friends is exhausting. I once tried to explain the rules to my friend Kev, and I could visually SEE part of his life force draining away due to the sheer tedium of all the rules.

 

 

I guess each person has to decide for themselves if The Rules is something they want to do. I just felt it was a bit antiquated for me and my lifestyle, along with somewhat crazy and most importantly, a set of rules specifically designed to hide the best parts of yourself from your partner.

I mean, yes, some of that stuff is common sense, and is designed for those girls that get so excited with each new prospect that they shoot straight for Stage 5 Clinger. I agree – you probably shouldn’t go all stalker-y on potential new date guy, but seriously? Why should I hide who I am? How could I NOT share Pants Off Friday with the dude that might end of being my Baby Daddy? If you can’t take me at my worst, you don’t deserve me at my best. And that means no Pants Off Friday for you!

Oh Yeah? Watch this.

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Unlike most people, I’ve already come to terms with some of the more spiteful elements of my personality… and unlike most people I just choose to embrace and revel in them occasionally as opposed to feeling bad about it.

 

For people who don’t know me, sometimes my obsessive (possible petty) behavior over minor stuff  can come as a shock. I don’t think it’s that big of a deal. It makes me interesting, and is (mostly) harmless. And for the people who totally get me, my antics can make for great blog posts.

 

I am a social media addict. I post on Facebook religiously, I tweet, use google plus, and keep my LinkedIn account regularly updated. I was totally into GoWalla before it disappeared, and was a foursquare junkie even before I had “friends” on foursquare to share my checkins with. I’m a social media freak!Another oddity that I’ve come to terms with.

 

As a social media freak, I got turned on to the idea of being the “mayor” of as many of my favorite haunts on foursquare. I’m the mayor of my house, the local dunkin donuts, and for three glorious days, the nearby Chipotle. As work I’m the mayor of my company as well as the events department (where I work specifically), the Sales department, PR and the Boardroom. In all fairness I pass through all of those areas on a regular basis, so it’s perfectly reasonable that I “check in” to each of them daily.

At one point during the summer, the PR intern became mayor of my department. WTF!?! He didn’t even know where it was! So the vindictive me taught him a”lesson”: I became the mayor of the PR Intern’s Desk! Suffice it to say, he was never mayor of my department again. Grr.

 

Recently I’ve kinda slacked off of checking in on Foursquare. No big deal until I got an email recently that a new girl was now mayor of my department! She also became mayor of the Sales Department, the Boardroom and the PR Intern’s desk! Dangit!!! So I started checking into my department on Facebook again, but I also decided to check into hers.

 

Turns out new girl made her desk a location on foursquare, so she’s making it easy for me. She’s mayor right now – but not for long. According to foursquare I will be the mayor of her desk in 5 days.

 

Also turns out this is the same new girl who never speaks when you pass her in the hall. I used my swipe card to let her in one morning – I had an armful of items – she just opened the door and walked in ahead of me and didn’t even say thank you. So I’m taking some supreme pleasure in reclaiming my domain from non-helpful at the door girl.

 

I may have laughed out loud maniacally once or twice while checking into her desk.

 

Now tell me I’m not vindictive.

 

I know it’s crazy. I know it’s a meaningless silly little social media app. For some reason though, having a newbie not even been working there for 6 months new kid become mayor of my “work hood” is not sitting well with me. Especially when said new kid doesn’t even have the decently to respond to a friendly salutation.

 

Turns out, it’s not sitting well with her co-workers either! I got a high five from someone on her team, who is my friend on foursquare and saw what I was doing. She wished me luck. 🙂

The Story That Won’t Die (or, Why You Should Never Say the Word “Ejaculate” at Work)

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Ejaculate.

Yep, I accidentally said that word at work two weeks ago.

It’s been a while since I’ve written a blog post. Hopefully this story will make up for it. Just try not to judge me too harshly for my stupidity.

 

It all started when I accidentally told my VP to shut up during our weekly department meeting.

I used it as slang, a way to express my surprise. She said something surprising to me, and without thinking I said “Shut up! Are you serious?”

 

Right after I said it, my face melted into a look of horror, as if I’d just accidentally eaten a child. The room was quiet (there were only 5 of us in the meeting). She made light of it, and was probably honestly not offended, but my face was burning with shame.

 

Shame which quickly turned into embarrassment when, after the meeting, she teased me by telling her assistant that I’d told her to shut up! She teased me on and off for the rest of the afternoon. I thought by the end of the day the story would die.

 

NOPE! It was revived the next day, which was Valentine’s Day. the BBE sweetly sent me flowers, and they were sitting on my desk all day. The Associate VP, who is the Queen of the Dirty Old Ladies Club, noticed the flowers and pounced on them and began to tease me, asking “so… what did you have to do to get those flowers??”

 

I am NOT a member of the Dirty Old Ladies Club (if only by the sheer lack of age!) but I work with enough lifelong members that I didn’t hesitate to answer ” I did what I had to do to get them!” This response set off a shit storm of cackling and good-natured ribbing amongst the DOL (Dirty Old Ladies)… which would have eventually abated had my VP not piped up with “She’s been sassy all week! Yesterday she told me to shut up!”

 

I tried to defend myself, explaining that, in our meeting yesterday, I was so surprised by something that I ejected the words “shut up!”

 

Well in my MIND I said “ejected”, what I really said was… EJACULATED.

 

Yep… EJACU-effing-LATED.

 

The caw-caws of the DOLs were so loud that my VP boss, the CFO of our company, came out of his office to see what was going on, just as one of my coworkers was repeating my statement… so he walked up just in time to hear – you guessed it – the word “ejaculated”. He simply shook his head and walked away.

 

At this point, I packed up my purse and went home (it was past my out time anyway). I was horrified. As I drove home, I curse the BBE’s thoughtfulness in sending me flowers, cursed whoever thought up the Valentine’s Day as a holiday and cursed myself for accidentally saying the wrong word. I prayed to the baby Jesus that they’d forget about this story and it would never come up again.

 

Ha.

 

It came up again several times over the next few days. At one point, someone sent me an email calling me “Penny”. Puzzled, I responded back, asking why I was being called Penny. “For penny-tration! Get it? Penetration?” har har har.

 

The final piece de resistance came when we had an after hours dine around event for work, and the CFO retold the tale… to the HR Director and Manager of our company.

 

I was so embarrassed that I nearly cried. I’m still waiting to be called into HR. I’m also pretty sure this will be brought up at this year’s Christmas party. You know, in 9 months.

 

Pray for me… and try not to ever use the word “eject” at work.

 

Sincerely,

 

Penny

Private Space

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Interesting. I’d like to hear your thoughts on this. Do yall think I went too far?

 

I got a LOT of flack for the post I created last night… so much so, that it’s now password protected.

 

I’ve heard everything from “why say such mean things about people to make yourself feel better” and “why use such vulgar language” to “what if that post re-surfaces and bites you in the butt later when you’re looking for another job, etc”.

 

The last concern was what finally made me decide to password-protect the post. If you want to read it again, just ask me.

 

What I’m struggling with is the guilt that I now feel for expressing myself in my personal space. I see Sunburnt Peach as my place to vent, share thoughts and share stories both hilarious and strange. I don’t like the idea of being constricted by people’s expectations or disappointments in my behavior, and I’m ashamed to say that I fall victim to it all too often.

 

My original intention when creating this blog site in April of last year was to have  a place where I captured all of my “stuff”: the good, bad and ridiculous. It’s been suggested that I could lose friends over what I wrote… I counter that with “if I lose you as a friend over one post, I have to question the friendship.” If you’re my friend, I will do anything I can for you – before you even ask. We would never get to the point of the situations I listed in my blog, because there’s open communication between friends, even ones that don’t talk every day. Furthermore, FRIENDS don’t do use other friends. 

 

I still think it is wrong for people to take advantage of others in thoughtless, self-serving ways. I still plan to say “NO” a lot more often (which will be easier now that I no longer have perks to give out to people). I’m still sick of being nice while people walk all over me because I’m too much of a pansy to stand up for myself. I can be a pushy jerk sometimes, but when my back’s to the wall I will cave. I know other people who do this as well, and I’m sick of watching it happen to them too. It’s unfair that nice people lose so often, because of the crappy people who ruin it for everyone.

 

…and posting what I wrote yesterday doesn’t mean I’m not “nice” either. No one’s perfect, and everyone gets fed up at some point. If you think less of me for what I wrote yesterday, I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I offended you, and I’m sorry that one post would make you think so less of me.

 

Not to be arrogant but I am a smart girl. I don’t think that using four-letter words denotes a lack of intellect or vocabulary. In fact, I think that four-letter words are frequently a more apt and succinct way of sharing your emotions with fewer words. Maybe it makes me vulgar… and I’m offended by being called vulgar… but I do my best to pick the time and place that I use any language. I wouldn’t use 8-syllable words around 2nd graders, and I wouldn’t say sh!t while sitting next to an elder in church. I’m not stupid, I’m not new to the world, I just need a place to write down what’s going on in my head.

 

Moving forward, I don’t think I’ll be publishing a post quite as spectacularly full of fireworkds and shock as what I posted last night. But hear this: if you continue to follow me, it’s gonna be quite a ride. I can’t promise every post will be sunshine and puppies and hugs, but they won’t be mean-ness and anger either. They will be… me. So you’ll have to take me as I am 🙂