Is there some Newtonian law that I missed where it states that, no matter where you work, there must be one person who will exceed at sucking, soaring to incalculable levels of suckdom?

I'm pretty sure we've all been obscenely angry or hurt before and we've all seen or heard this advice at some point in our life - write them a letter, tell them how you feel, but don't send it. 

Does that shit really work?

Their World

Once you tear that piece of paper up and start moving on with your life, do you miraculously forget about all the bullshit the next time you see that person? Does it play out like some slow motion movie scene, you're each running toward one another, arms open, and ready to reconnect?

My World

 I dunno. If it were to play out like that for me, they'd be running directly toward the heel of my foot (which would preferably connect to their face). But again, that's just me.  

  Just the thought of a good face kick brings a smile to my face...

What is the deal with being a suck monger anyway?

Really, what the frig is it? Do people just wake up in the morning and decide that they are going to be dealers of suck? Or does sucking run much deeper, perhaps the members of the Suck Guild are they just born that way? This is ground breaking shit right here, this is the choice versus genetics discussion we should be having.

I think where this runs deepest, however, is in the office (or in the field, at the plant, or wherever the hell it is that you work).

I'm sure everyone can identify with having at least one asshole in the office (or maybe to even being the asshole, if you're up to coming to terms with that). I can confidently state that, out of the three permanent personnel in my office, we have a staunch asshole population that sits right around 66%. Basically, the bullshit to sanity ratio is a bit overwhelming.

What I find hysterical though is that I cannot identify who the bigger dillweed is, depending upon the day, the alignment of the planets, and how tight my underwear is, it could go either way. I guess if I had to find the benefit in it all, it's that the asshole Suck Guild keeps me on my toes. The problem with that is, their assholishness never stops surprising me either.

Just when I thought you couldn't be a bigger dick, there you go proving me wrong...

I was actually hung up on by a co-worker today...I repeat, hung up on. I immediately had flashbacks to the 10th grade when Shmessica Shmeikel (name poorly changed to loosely protect the idiot involved) called me to scream about how she was dating my ex now and that I needed to stay away from him, followed by lots of hysterics, then an actual click (you don't get those anymore, damn cell phones). A totally unnecessary situation, seeing as he was my ex for a reason, I was more than happy to oblige. None the less, this was 10th grade, not Grown-up Ville where people with real lives and responsibilities live. 

It went down like this, the supreme governing body of my agency aggressively requested some information, the data of which I am not directly involved. So, as a responsible employee, I contacted to person who maintains this data...apparently asking someone to do their job is highly offensive. The call basically ended the same way it did with Jessica, I mean Shmessica, and the aftermath was just as confusing. 

While this member of the office Suck Guild fulfills her suck responsibilities with gusto, even this surpassed her normal range of absolute douchery. Ultimately, I had to call the supreme leader back and find an adult way to tell him that the individual who coordinates that data was unable to assist. Oh how I would have loved to have highlighted what had transpired, but alas, this is what being a responsible adult is all about - getting walked all over like a urine soaked NYC subway grate. Ultimately, an important lesson to revisit and teach my kids. 

I think, as time goes, I may have to delve a little bit more into the Suck Guild and its members, it sure would make for some solid amusement (at least for me). Until then...

Oh the irony!

So if you read yesterday's post, then you are well aware of my pathetic level of excitement about starting a new workout program. 

Really, I couldn't have been more excited. Which is good, because my tubby existence is facing some serious issues lately - I lose my breath just by taking a breath, lifting my arms above my shoulders is now considered grunt work (fortunately I haven't had to do much of this since boot camp), but the worst part is that my overloaded ass literally affects my ability to maintain a normal pace while walking anywhere. The only time I can manage get myself going at a decent speed is when I hear the microwave 'ding'. Okay, that's not entirely true...okay, it is. 

So after the empowering moments spent writing yesterday's blog, working myself up into a cyclone of exercise excitement, all fueled by the amazing thoughts of no longer having my underwear cut off my circulation - I got an email. 

WHAT THE F?&$!!!

Without explanation or even a shred of apology, my hard earned coin that was intended for my "Body Revolution" had been refunded. With that, my dreams of a less lumpy body shattered. 

The room got dark and things got quiet - it all got me thinking...the whole life and its hurdles business, what doesn't kill you only makes you stronger, and all of the other cliches that follow suit. Apparently, you are able to get in shape without this program. So, instead of forking over $80 bucks to purchase it from a reputable website, I decided to forgo my body revolution and opt for a more obtainable method - bootleg versions posted on YouTube from sources of ill repute.

So take that, life!

For what it's worth, I managed to stay within my 'target calorie range' yesterday and I didn't die...so I guess anything is possible. 

The Fat Quest

Enhorabuena! Usted es llevan pantalones! 

So my Rosetta Stone New Year's "goal" has been working out pretty well, I've completed the first unit in the program and I can now confidently walk around telling everyone what they're wearing - this is an extremely important conversation tool. Of course it makes for a very brief conversation, but at least I could walk away knowing that someone was fully aware they were wearing pants. Because who hasn't been in that situation before? 

My life's goal.

I know I have much more to learn and that the second unit will have its challenges. But I'm sure that I will soon be able to tell my cat she's terrible in a new language. *fingers crossed*

Help! I've dropped it like it's hot and I cant get up!

My new goal has also prompted me to want to do some other fabulous things this year as well; things like forcing myself to embrace the reality that everyone I work with will always be an asshole, and maybe try to stop judging people by their Facebook profile picture and the things they 'like' online, and perhaps genuinely accept the fact that some people will just never understand the difference between your and you're (this last one is probably going to be the toughest). But the one I'm striving for most is to significantly reduce the amount of fat on my ass...and my legs, and my arms, even my wrists, ankles, and ears. I'm ashamed of my 'me too' goal, but not as ashamed as I am when I attempt to button my pants.

Tubby, tubby.

I'm actually surprised that it took nearly three weeks of January to go by before I got on the fat to fit train that's been steaming through the New Year's Resolution line since the ball dropped in Times Square. I guess it's because I'm not really hoping to go to the extreme of fat to fit, I'm pretty good with just going from fat to less fat. 

Pretty close, but not me. I could
never pull this off. 

I fondly recall the days where I could slide those size 2 jeans on like they were cut just for me, the button easily snapped closed, and there was even room to spare. Now putting on jeans involves a small team of polymer engineers and at least two crane operators. The laws of physics are firmly tested and subsequently defied each time I manage to pull denim over these thighs. Once I manage to actually get them buttoned, I have to wait at least 15 minutes before attempting to breath or walk up a flight of stairs. After it all settles (by 'it' I mean all the extra skin, fat, and cellulite that adorns my body), I cover what I can with an oversized sweater and then live in an overly aggressive state of self-consciousness until I am able to get myself back into a sassy pair of sweatpants and hide within the confines of my own home until daylight strikes again.

The plan.

Okay, I don't really have one of those. The last time I lost a bunch of weight was right after I had forced a human out of my body. I wish it were that simple now...well, if I was totally wealthy and lived in Southern California, I'm sure it probably would be that simple - instead of a human, it'd be all the fat...sucked through a tube. Alas, my husband and I are both government workers who make about 11 cents an hour so it looks like I'm going to have to do it the old fashion way - by being healthy. 

I was able to score a wicked deal on the Jillian Michaels Body Revolution whilst perusing the website nomorerack.com. It's a 90 day program with workouts that run about 30 minutes. Unfortunately, my whole 'I don't have time' argument doesn't really work here...the 30 minutes I spend going back and forth to the fridge once the kids are in bed to pack my gourd full of junk that I don't need can easily be replaced with this program. I've done p90x and Insanity, both successfully I might add. But alas, if I tried either of those now, I'd most likely suffocate in a pool of my own vomit, but that's only if a heart attack didn't get to me first. Granted, these exercises don't seem any easier, it just appears that there is less time for them to try their hand at killing me than the other two. 

I don't think having abs is possible, looks like I'm in luck.

I'm excited to start the program, that is if it ever gets shipped. The downside of scoring a sweet deal is apparently waiting an eternity for it to get shipped. I ordered it over a week ago and it hasn't shipped yet, of course the other items I ordered have (like the remote control helicopter that my husband desperately needed). At least I have time to mentally prepare (or force) myself to get out of this rut (by 'rut' I mean, using my mouth as a veritable garbage disposal). 

So there you have it...me, a couple crane operators, and some jeans, all ready for an easier 'getting my pants on' routine, but more importantly, a less lumpy looking butt. Cause really...yuck. 

Aspirations, goals, and...cups

As I was scrolling through my Facebook newsfeed this morning, I noticed that someone had posted a link to a video. Generally I don't click on links, mostly because I'm too lazy to commit to watching or reading anything beyond the standard drivel that makes Facebook what it is. Nevertheless, this one caught my eye. 

                                      

It's 600 or so students and educators from the Coláiste Lurgan, an Irish Language immersion school in Connemara, singing the Anna Kendrick hit, 'Cups,' from the movie Pitch Perfect. Spoiler, this one is in Gaelic - and it's amazing. 

I think the reason it resonated so much with me is because I take my heritage pretty seriously and I embrace where my family came from. Yea, I'm an American (cue Lee Greenwood), and while I'm equally proud of that, I sometimes feel like the legacy of the Irish is acutely underrepresented or, at the very least, a little misunderstood.Regardless, I probably shouldn't read too much into the fact that most Americans don't know about the terrible things that happened in Ireland; basically because, beyond what I was taught in school, I am not up to par with what went anywhere else in the world.

To my point, which has obviously taken me a while to make - seeing these kids sing in Gaelic meant a lot to me. It's a sign that Ireland is taking the steps to regain the identity that was ripped away from them 500 years ago. I remember when I was last there, it was nice to hear the announcements on the Iarnród Éireann (Irish Rail) in both English and Irish, but seeing it become more of a 'thing' is rather uplifting. Okay, I say nice, but let's be honest, Gaelic is not always the prettiest sounding language, but it's their language.

After watching the video, I decided I needed to learn a language. Five years of spanish and two years of Italian and I can remember about three sentences (useful ones of course, such as, 'why do we swim in the beans,' and, 'did you know spiderman is my boyfriend?') So after taking a hard look at my heritage, it should come as no surprise that I chose to learn...spanish. 

While I initially thought learning Gaelic would be awesome, it would serve me little purpose in my everyday life (less a few witty phrases and the funny looks from passersby). Mandarin

seemed like a terrific option, until I remembered that I work in the hollows of state government and not at an international conglomerate. After Googling the most spoken languages within Massachusetts, my options dwindled to Spanish or Portuguese, both stellar choices. I opted for Spanish because, from what I recall, it's a great foundation language. When I did transition from Spanish to Italian, I remember it going rather smoothly. So, after some scouring, I found a great deal on the Rosetta Stone Spanish package, and so began the creation of a New Year's goal (I loathe the word resolution, I resolve to never use the word in relation to myself and my intentions. Never using it means I can never fall short after January 1st!) 

The package should be here tomorrow or Friday. What that basically means it, I'll be fluent in time for the weekend.

Adios!