Men, Women, Whatnot

I went to check my Yahoo! email account last night, and somehow I got waylaid by the main page article – the title of which I now can’t remember. Huh… Oh well, anyway so I clicked on the article, and at some point while I was reading it I got bored and clicked on another link that had something to do with…something. (Note: Yes, this introduction is vague – shut up, I’m sleepy.) And that’s when/how I ended up at this article – 50 Things Men Wish You Knew. It was mildly interesting, and there were even a few things (12 to be specific) that I wanted to comment/ask questions about. Everything else was either obvious (yes, men like to drive – we get it), or had been covered by me in the past (are there women out there REALLY asking their boyfriends for fashion advice?). So yeah, what you’ll find below are the points that I wanted to talk about. For those of you who might be confused about the format of the post, a) get help, you’re stupid, and b) here are the instructions: First I listed a point from the article, then I commented on it. The end.

God, I need to go back to bed. Enjoy:

-Never say, “I know you better than you know yourself.” Nobody does.
Redhead: Yeah, I’ve actually had people say that to me too, and it really does piss me off. Shut the fuck up people – I’m complicated! I’m also constantly surprising myself with the things I think and say, so how someone else could possibly have seen it coming when I didn't is a mystery; oh, and it's bullshit. Fuckers.

-Do not expect to have a conversation via text message unless you use the words “naked” and “waiting.”
Redhead: I HATE text messaging – I’ve actually started boycotting it. I don’t respond to my friends’ texts anymore, and I’ve taken to actively mocking them if and when they try to text other people when out with me. The chances that I’ll have no friends left in a few more months are pretty good, but the chances that I’ll be 80% less annoyed at that point are even better – so I’m psyched.

-You can pick the movie, but have a reason.
Redhead: Is ‘because I want to see it’ a good reason?

-A random unexpected grope is always welcome, even in public. Especially in public.
Redhead: What kind of grope are we talking here? An ass grope or can I get away with a full-on crotch grab?

-Being good in bed means a) enthusiasm; b) a sense of humor; and sometimes c) patience.
Redhead: Wait, I have to be patient or the guy has to be patient? This isn’t clear!

-We love ponytails.
Redhead: Huh? But…why?

-Don’t be afraid to ditch the makeup. Natural is sexier.
Redhead: No, natural makeup is sexier. No makeup only looks good on someone if you already like them a lot/care about them. On a complete stranger – trust me, makeup is better. Just trust me on this one.

-Leave the eyebrows alone. Plucked ain’t pretty.
Redhead: Once again I’m going to have to disagree. I mean sure, I think everyone can agree that the creepy skinny drawn-on eyebrow look is…well, creepy. But have you ever seen a woman who has done NOTHING with her eyebrows? Yeah, pair that with no makeup and then see how often the woman gets hit on. Men have no idea what kind of upkeep an attractive woman actually requires.

-You can have sex with us any time you want. Seriously.
Redhead: Hee hee, this is my favorite fact about men. Damn they’re easy.

-You’re really bad at faking it.
Redhead: Yeah, I don’t think that’s true. I mean I’ve never been called on it before, and that really seems like the sort of thing that a guy (at least the type who would realize when he’s being had) would bring up afterwards. If nothing else he would do this to prove he’s not completely clueless in bed. Am I wrong here?

-Bare, tan shoulders are underrated.
Redhead: Huh…okay. Good to know.

-If you’re truly interested in us, don’t play hard to get.
Redhead: Yeah, instead play no games, call the guy back immediately after he calls, never say no when he suggests going out (even when he calls an hour before he wants to do something – oh, and he hasn’t called in days), and always tell him exactly what you’re thinking, no matter how much he may not want to hear it. Outstanding advice – why don’t you try that and then give me a call to tell me how it works out. Mmmkay?

I’m Tired and Sick

Yeah, so the title of this one sort of says it all – I’m tired and sickly today, so we’re keeping this one relatively short and unoriginal. Starting…now:

-Wait, does this make me more or less shallow?: So I’ve decided that I just can’t date the guy that my friend set me up with. Yes, he’s cute. Yes, he’s rich. Yes, he’s nice. In those ways, he’s the perfect sugar daddy for me. But he’s also a tool – I’ve decided that I just can’t overlook that. I mean, he actually belongs to one of those groups that gets together to play role-playing games. This is NOT someone that I could ever allow to bring me to orgasm. It’s a shame really – what a waste.

-And the hits just keep on coming: Christine was on her way to the airport on Saturday to go visit her parents (so they could actually see her and determine if she was okay after The Firing), and her purse was stolen on the train! She lost: All her credit cards, a good amount of cash, her license, her passport, and all the assorted goodies that she carries around with her. Since I was out of town for another Jewish holiday, and she couldn’t reach anyone else on the phone, she was literally stuck out by the airport for hours until she could get in touch with someone who would come get her (since they wouldn’t let her on the plane without ID) – she didn’t even have 2 bucks to take the train back to her apartment. I have now decided that she’s a walking disaster area and am keeping my distance until strike 3 hits (am I a good friend or what?).

-Look Ma, it’s a cake baby!: I literally ate so much food while at my parents house over the weekend (like we’re talking my body weight in food – it was an impressive show I put on), that I was sporting this bump that looked like the beginnings of a pregnant belly by the time dessert was over on Saturday night. I nicknamed it my cake baby, since it was primarily thanks to all the baked goods I’d inhaled. Just thought I’d share.

-Careful – Contagious: Despite knowing that both my nephews had colds, I still smothered them with hugs and kisses when I saw them on Saturday. I am now about 90% mucus. But you know what? I’d do it all again EXACTLY the same way – I have the cutest nephews.

-I am such a girl: So I watched the first episode of that new show Gossip Girl on Sunday. I don’t know what it is about me, but I love those soap opera-y shows that take place in high school; I’m actually more than a little worried that I’m now going to be a regular viewer. But shhh, don’t tell anyone.

-Whoopsie: So I’m having a conversation with this friend of a friend who (very nicely) offered to forward my resume along to a few people, and SOMEHOW we get on the topic of older men dating younger women. Anyway long story short, I said something along the lines of, “I don’t know why a 25 year old woman would date a 45 year old man.” “What about why he would date her?” he replied. “Well that’s pretty obvious,” I answered. “It’s because he can…and obviously because he’s insecure.” Cue awkward silence. Turns out this dude is almost 50 (he’s the friend of an older ex-coworker), and he just got out of a relationship with a 23 YEAR OLD. I…don’t think he’s going to continue helping me now. (P.S. Can anyone say ‘midlife crisis’?)

Cool. Talk to ya’ll again in a day or two.

A Funeral, A Wedding, A Rabbi, And A Cat

I got a request on Monday – after I went off on my family’s rabbi – to give the story of my grandmother’s funeral. As I said in the comments section that day, it isn’t exactly a funny story, but if you want it I’ll give it to you. So here goes:

OK, we actually have to go back to my brother’s wedding to lay the groundwork here. You see, my brother – in his infinite wisdom – chose to marry a woman who is strong, intelligent, beautiful, and funny. Oh, and she’s also Irish Catholic. My family, as many of you already know, is Jewish. But since we’re pretty relaxed Jews (and in fact never attend temple – except for my mother and sister on the high holy days), we certainly didn’t care that my brother was marrying outside our faith. (* snicker – no shit *) In fact, organized religion – for most of us, is more of a negative than a positive…but I digress.

Anyway, when my brother and my now sister-in-law chose to get married, they did so with very little interference from anyone else. We were thrilled for them, willing to help in planning the wedding, but unwilling to meddle and put unnecessary expectations on them. If they wanted a big wedding – fine. If they wanted a small wedding – fine. If they wanted to be married by a justice of the peace – fine. If they wanted to be married by a priest – fine. We…didn’t…care. God knows my brother probably didn’t care either.

But my sister-in-law did care. So, she made the (in my opinion incredibly prescient) decision to get married by both a priest and a rabbi. She chose this for several reasons, but I think one of them is that she knew how much it would mean to my grandmother – who was alive then and quite active with our temple. Now my grandmother…she was an exceptional woman. She just...you know what – I’ll get more into her a little later. Let’s just say right now that we were all crazy about her, and since my sister-in-law wanted religion to be a part of the ceremony, she immediately wanted ALL religions to be represented. Cool, right?

Well, with that decision made, my brother and sister-in-law went to speak with our family’s rabbi about taking part in the ceremony. I considered this to be a slam dunk request since my grandmother’s second husband (her first one – my grandfather – died when my mother was young) had been president of our temple, and he had personally handpicked this rabbi just ten years before. He had interviewed the rabbi, had him over for dinner many times throughout the years, and had generally just treated him very kindly. And when my grandmother’s husband died, the rabbi gave a lovely speech at the funeral. My grandmother remained close with him after that.

Anyway long story short, the rabbi said no when asked to marry my brother and sister-in-law. Actually, he said he would marry them, but he would not perform the ceremony with a priest. Essentially, it was either his show or someone else’s. If my brother wanted to marry someone outside our religion, that was fine – but he would only officiate if they were married by just a rabbi. In other words, he revealed himself to be a complete and total dickhead.

My brother and sister-in-law took it in stride, finding another rabbi who would perform the ceremony alongside a priest (and who ended up being great – really funny, and he brought his girlfriend to the reception where he got drunk with my sister-in-law’s family members who’d just flown in from Ireland). Even the rest of my family took it in stride, saying that the rabbi had every right to say no. My grandmother was disappointed but said she understood.

I did not understand. I was (and still am) furious. After all my family had done for that asshole, he said no. In today’s day and age, where religion is getting so fucked up and younger people are becoming less and less religious, he chose to turn his back on a couple that wanted to include it in one of the most important days of their lives. And he didn’t even do it because my brother was marrying someone who wasn’t Jewish – he did it because he didn’t want to share the spotlight! That self-righteous piece of shit.

OK, I’m taking a deep breath and calming down. Now, as many of you know, I tend to not be very forgiving. I also tend to have strong feelings on things. So…yeah, I pretty much lost it over the whole wedding thing, proceeded to mock the rabbi every chance I got, and essentially ended up getting banned (by my mother) from going to temple.

Then my grandmother died.

My grandmother, she was…hell, I loved her (still do) so much. She spoke her mind – which of course I respected. She was loud (even though she was this tiny little thing). She drank martinis with lunch, took up smoking again when she hit 80, saying ‘What do I care now? What’s it going to do – kill me?’ and said outrageous things all the time; I’m talking things that came out of nowhere and made your jaw drop for a few seconds before you pulled yourself together long enough to start laughing uncontrollably. She also told the best stories. And she was fiercely loyal to her family; we knew she loved us and she wouldn’t have it any other way – she wasn’t one to hide her feelings.

As for my grandmother and I…we had a very special relationship. We were always close, but I guess it was when I was in high school that our relationship changed. You see, my parents decided one year to take her with us on vacation. Since my brother and sister couldn’t go, I ended up having to share a room with her. For 2 weeks. In the middle of the ocean (we were on a cruise). Now, (as many of you know) I don’t share space well, and it turns out there’s a limit to how long the whole ‘be nice to your grandmother’ thing can work when you have to share a small space with her. Turns out our limit was about 3 days. After that, the gloves came off. We jumped from grandmother and granddaughter to roommates in no time, and after that my parents just stepped back and watched (probably a bit nervously) while we settled in. And settle in we did, as we bickered AND bonded for 2 weeks.

Honestly, it was the best thing that could have happened. My grandmother became more than just a grandmother on that trip – she became my friend. And when she died…

It hurt. It still hurts.

I held it together (mostly) when she was in the hospital, and when she passed away I kept busy helping to entertain family members and plan the funeral and the shiva – a kind of period of grieving where people come to your house to pay their respects after someone died (there’s lots of food and drinking). Obviously, my mother wanted our rabbi to be there for the funeral – I did not argue this fact as my grandmother would have wanted it too. But my mother was smart enough (and I think sad and therefore crazy enough) to warn the rabbi that I had…a few problems with him. He told her not to worry – that he would be glad to talk to me and discuss my issues with him. My mother was not so far gone at that point as to think that was a good idea (she knows me well), and told him so. She then came home and warned me to be prepared. I sort of listened. Sort of.

Anyway, the day of the funeral finally came, we all gathered at the funeral home before the service, and I…I lost it. I could not stop crying. I wasn’t loud about it, I didn’t want to be a distraction or take away from the meaning of the day (which was rightfully a celebration of life), but the tears flowed for hours. I was, quite simply, devastated. I missed my grandmother already, and I knew – just as I know today – that I was going to miss her forever.

But after the funeral and the burial, we all went back to my parents’ house for shiva. I began to drink, and tell stories about my grandmother, and laugh, and just as I was finally starting to relax, the rabbi approached me (I’d handily avoided him until then). Making an effort to be friendly, he walked up as I talked with someone about the kitten I had just gotten, and jumped in with “Ah, you have a cat. What kind is it?”

Turning and looking at him like he was the village idiot, I flatly replied, “It’s a house cat,” before shaking my head and walking away. One of my best friends witnessed this exchange and scurried after me to whisper, “What was that about? You were so rude!”

“He’s an asshole,” I replied – remember, I don’t forgive or forget – and then dismissed the incident. But that rabbi…he’s a moron. He actually came back for more, saying something along the lines of “If there’s anything you would like to talk to me about, I’m more than willing to listen.”

Again having to break off a good conversation to acknowledge him, I turned and said, quite simply, “No.” Now was it a mature reaction? Not really. But I was understandably upset that day, and I won’t apologize for reacting honestly toward him. I won’t apologize for not pretending to feel something I didn’t.

I didn’t like him, and I didn’t want to talk to him. Easy, clear, and straightforward – pretty much pure, undiluted Redhead. (I will admit that I usually have a bit more tact than that though.)

And that’s it really – the story of the rabbi. Why I hate him, and how – even in times of extreme pain – I will always hate him. Agree or disagree, I don’t care. You don’t fuck with my family, and in my eyes this guy fucked with my family. Period. The end.

Damn I’m coming across as a nice person lately. OK, Monday – something funny.

I Think I’m Still Drunk…And Other Randomness

-So I went to the Yanks game last night with John – minimal weirdness between us; he even called me a freak of nature (my hands can get really cold while sitting outside on a perfect lovely night – really…cold). Anyway, since I didn’t have to get up early today for work or anything, I fucking went to town on the beer last night. And…yup, I’m pretty sure I’m still drunk.

-I’m taking Christine to see the Yanks tonight (damn, this unemployment thing isn’t so bad). I normally wouldn’t take her – needless to say she proved herself to be untrustworthy the last time I invited her to a game; something about going off for food and not coming back for 7 INNINGS – anyway, since she’s depressed and unable to be alone, I’m dragging her to Yankees Stadium and getting her drunk. (It’s amazing – I don’t know what else to do with her so I keep giving her alcohol; I think driving her to substance abuse is a great way for me to prove my friendship.)

-My parents went to see Jimmy Buffett last night, and when Cheeseburger in Paradise (a personal favorite) came on, my mom called me on my cell at the game and let me listen. It was a good moment.

-Red Sox lost last night…hee hee. (And that’s ALL I’m saying – I refuse to do anything to jinx…anything. Stop talking now!)

-I fell UP the stairs to my apartment building last night after returning from the game. Admittedly I was a little hazy, but I do remember going up the stairs to my front door (keys in hand) when I misjudged a step and missed it. As I started to list backwards, I – in a gross overcorrection – quickly threw myself forward (with a little more force than was advisable) and…collided with the brick stairs (thankfully I kept my face away from the hard stuff). Oh, and the best part of this was that even as it was happening, I was peripherally aware of the Italian restaurant with OUTDOOR SEATING right next to my building. Outdoor seating which was still (at 10:30 on a Tuesday night) filled to capacity. And everyone was watching me. It was AWESOME.

-Is there anything better than Quaker Granola Bars? I can eat like 10 of them in a single sitting (yes, I realize that’s not what I’m supposed to do, but fuck that – they’re really good).

-I need to get a birthday present for my nephew (the older one) – he just turned 2. Any suggestions?

-So I threw on my favorite jeans last night, and they were literally falling off of me; this vegetarian thing is making eating really difficult. The problem is I don’t have the money to buy myself an entirely new wardrobe right now (or even just a few new pairs of jeans – at $180 a pop they aren’t cheap), so besides gorging on coffee ice cream – which I am totally willing to do – I’m starting to get a little worried. Does anyone have any suggestions here? Is it possible to gain weight in a healthy way? I’m not so good at healthy. I keep leaning towards the idea of just eating pizza and m&m’s all day long, but that seems…unwise.

-There’s a movie called Accepted playing on the HBOs, and I have to say – I love it. At first I thought it was just going to be one of those stupid, mildly offensive, and only slightly entertaining college movies (which is fine by the way – I’m not really high class in my movie choices), but it actually turned out to be…great. Funny, cool concept, some really good lines, and the whole message of the movie (yeah, it has a message) really worked for me. Two enthusiastic thumbs up people!

I’m Not Mad

Contrary to some theories (mcbias), I did not drop off the face of the earth last week because of insecurity. You see, it was suggested after my last post that the best part of my blog is the comments section. Then, when I didn’t post for the rest of the week…

Calm down people! I am not that sensitive. I think it’s great that you guys can entertain yourselves (and me) in the comments section. I couldn’t care less if you think my posts suck (they’re a good way for me to vent/work things out – see, I do this for ME!). And I was not feeling unappreciated. I was simply…not thinking about you guys last week – that’s why I didn’t write anything. Sorry. Instead I was dealing with ‘life drama’ – otherwise known as ‘other people’s problems.’ And you know how I feel about ‘other people.’ Kidding.

Let me explain: On Tuesday of last week I got a phone call from Christine. She’d just been fired. For the second time this year (ouch). And it left her feeling a little…insecure. OK, that may be the biggest understatement I’ve ever written. Christine was a mess. She was crying (I HATE crying). She was depressed (I finally yelled at her to “Stop saying you suck! It’s not true, and if you say it one more fucking time I’m hanging up on you!”). She was unable to be alone (so she was constantly over at my apartment last week – I finally resorted to telling her I was going out of town on Saturday night just so I could get a night to myself). And she was just altogether…needy. (Basically the exact opposite of how I was when I was laid off.)

Now you may not realize this (if you’re, oh I don’t know, brain dead), but I don’t respond well to needy. In fact, one of the main reasons that Christine and I get along so well is because she’s not needy. She doesn’t need to hug when we haven’t seen each other in a couple of days. She doesn’t cry (normally). She doesn’t spend all of her time putting herself down and needing pick-me-ups (normally). And she doesn’t mind if I drop off the face of the earth for a week of two because I need “me time” (normally). Unfortunately, now is not a “normal” time. And it’s KILLING ME!

As my mother and sister commented when I called to complain last week, it’s times like this that bring out the true meaning of friendship. Christine needs me now, and I have to go above and beyond the call of duty. Let me be clear: I KNOW THIS. I am not complaining to Christine. I am not blowing her off (Saturday night excepted). I am giving the pep talks (minor blow-ups excepted). I am allowing her to cry. I am letting her come over to my place whenever she wants (hell, I even cleaned for her). I am doing all the right things. And I am suffering in silence.

But I’ve got to tell ya – it’s not easy. I give myself another week and then I’m not sure what I’ll do. I’m…a bad friend. I know. I know.

Some other reasons I was too busy to deal with you guys last week:

-Rosh Hashanah – that’s the Jewish New Year. Now, I don’t really talk about religion here, and I don’t really want to now, but I do want to mention how I LOST A DAY OF MY LIFE last Thursday while I was stuck in temple. So…there you go. Now, let me say right off the bat that I’m not into organized religion. I was raised Jewish, but no one in my family (with the exception of my mother and sister) even goes to temple on the high holy days. Unfortunately, Rosh Hashanah is a high holy day; my mom was going, and my sister wasn’t home to do her daughterly duty. So that job fell to me. Godammit!

Some thoughts: The fucking service lasted FOREVER. And about halfway through it, my mother remembered why she had banned me from temple a few years ago (not that I really went before that). You see, I HATE our rabbi. I mean, I think he is a first class jackass, and I tend to express those thoughts by mocking him relentlessly whenever I see him. (Somehow I even managed it while devastated emotionally at my grandmother’s funeral years ago.) Long story short – I was in top form last Thursday, and I embarrassed my mom. Ah well.

After temple I got to go to my aunt’s house where I dodged questions about my job for a few hours, avoided the food (my aunt can’t cook to save her life), tried not to laugh when my dad made fun of everyone under his breath (it was my mom’s side of the family), and drank heavily. So yeah, I had fun. Hmmm, what else…

-Oh, you guys wanted an update on my sugar daddy search. Well, that one’s actually a little interesting. Cliff notes version: I got sidetracked from my search initially because of an old friend/booty call, and then I got even more sidetracked thanks to this absolutely delicious Irish bartender from a pub near my apartment (besides giving me free drinks and being gorgeous, he – unfortunately – doesn’t really fit the bill). But about a week ago, a friend of mine came to the rescue and told me that he had a guy he wanted to set me up with. His sales pitch went something like this: ‘He’s tall, he’s good-looking, and he can afford you.’ Ah, it’s so nice that my friends think so highly of me.

Unfortunately, I was meeting this new guy right after Christine had gotten fired. So instead of a one-on-one meeting (which can be awkward when you’ve never met anyway), we all decided to go on sort of a group thing – me, Christine, the Guy, and the friend who set us up. Sadly, I made the mistake of letting Christine choose the meeting place (hell, she’d just lost her job; I though I was being nice). Obviously in need of some entertainment, Christine told the guys to meet us at the bar where the Irish bartender works. Oops. The entire thing was…weird. For me. Everyone else had a good time. Well, everyone except for the Irish bartender that is – he didn’t seem to appreciate the fact that I was flirting with some other guy the entire time I was there. Thankfully, he kept his cool around everyone and limited himself to calling me later to ask what the fuck I had been doing. I lied and said ‘nothing.’ (I see this all working out REALLY well.)

Anyway, I have another date with the Guy on Thursday – if it goes well I might let you guys vote on a good nickname for him. In the meantime I’m going to try giving the whole ‘be a good person’ thing a chance. Wish me luck!

Hammer, Meet Nail

So it turns out I’m not “handy” – get your minds out of the gutter people, I’m talking about using power tools here (I SAID get your minds out of the gutter). So, while I’ve had inklings over the years that I’m not…handily inclined, the full extent of my incompetence became shockingly obvious over the weekend.

You see, I recently got around to having a Van Gogh print I’d bought when I was in Europe framed (I love Van Gogh). It looked great – and it should have considering how much it costs to have something professionally framed nowadays (what a rip-off). Anyway, about 2 weeks ago I finally hung the little fucker up; no problem so far. Then, on Sunday, I learned the hard way that I must have done something wrong in the hanging (admittedly not a complicated thing to do – for most people). Horribly, horribly wrong.

This truth became clear to me when the whole kit and caboodle came crashing down. For no discernible reason (besides my obvious incompetence that is). Glass everywhere. Loud noise – check. Nice new scar on my wooden floor – check. $150 framing cost down the drain – check. Another example of my inability to do any home repair work effectively – check. I…am…useless.

Want some other examples of why I should not be allowed near any tools (power or otherwise)? Okay, let’s go back to my Ikea experience after graduating from college. Like a lot of people, when I graduated from college and got my first non-furnished apartment, I made a trip to Ikea. Ikea means cheap furniture that (fuck) you have to assemble yourself. BUT, my mother was helping me put everything together – she loves doing shit like that; it would have been nice if she’d passed that particular gene onto me – so I was feeling pretty confident. She was in charge of putting together my dresser, my entertainment center, and my bookshelves. All I had to do was put together my little nightstand. Good plan, right? Wrong.

In the time it took my mother to put together all the aforementioned furniture (correctly), I put together my nightstand (incorrectly – several times). Long story short I tried to put the door for the nightstand on backwards. When it didn’t seem to fit, I got out some nails and just tried to make it fit – but then the door wouldn’t open (surprise, surprise). So I had to tear all the nails out and start again. After a few more tries I finally ended up with a nightstand that looked like it had been through a war – holes everywhere, torn wood everywhere, and more than a few dents from my (erratic) hammering. BUT, I still have the little fucker – I let my cat sharpen her nails on it (it looks like crap anyway) – and I’m damn proud of it (since I did it all by myself), so shut up.

Or what about this story – it really is the piece de resistance (spelling?) of my tales of destruction anyway (we can’t spend time going through all of them after all – think of this post as a cliff notes version if you will): Picture this – I’m in college. In a moment of complete lunacy, I decided (during my senior year – I was way ahead on credits but didn’t want to graduate early) to take a set-building class for the theater department. I guess I thought it would a) be fun, and b) be a good way for me to learn how to use power tools (yeah, I AM a moron).

Anyway, one day I was in class – goofing around as per usual – when I hit the button on the power screwdriver thingamabob I was holding. And…I guess I had forgotten to pull my hair back before class that day. Now for those of you who don’t know me (basically everyone here), I have REALLY long hair. And…um…some of it got caught in the twisty thing on the screwdriver. Like, a huge chunk of the right side of my hair (right above and behind the ear – a very sensitive area I don’t mind telling you).

Now I tried to remain calm once I realized what happened. Huh, I thought. Maybe if I hit the reverse button it will just unwind and release my hair. Good plan. So, I hit the button.

Bad plan. Bad, bad plan. My hair WAS NOT being released. Repeat: My hair was NOT being released. It was still being sucked in. Power tool near my face and skull. Trying not to panic. Trying to remain calm. In rather significant pain.

In that moment I knew I was well and truly fucked, and that the time had come to alert the instructor (oh, the shame) to my predicament. So I called him over, made him aware of the situation, and waited for him to work his magic. His magic (as it turned out), involved him first trying to pry my hair out of the machine one strand at a time. Hell, I could have tried that.

Unfortunately, after a few minutes it became clear that this was a futile task. So, he broke the news to me: He was going to have to cut my hair out of the screwdriver. Oh fuck no, I thought. And in a moment of panic, I hit the power button again. And as I struggled to keep the power tool away from my face, I TORE ALL THE HAIR THAT WAS CAUGHT right out of my head. I honestly think I saw stars at that point. It was…fucking horrible! Never have I felt anything like it. The closest I can come to describing it is to say that it was like getting a bikini wax – in hell.

Everyone (we’d drawn a crowd at that point) stood there for a moment in silence, just staring at the hunk of hair and scalp (yes, scalp) now hanging from the freed screwdriver. Finally the instructor collected himself enough to clear his throat (kind of looking like he was going to throw up), and say, “Well, this is why we ask that everyone with long hair please pull it back before coming to class.”

Fuck. You.

After that I had to deal with having a bald spot for like a month. I also became the most half-assed student the set-building class had ever seen, and I haven’t used an automatic power tool since (they certainly didn’t let me use one in class after that, that’s for sure – not that I wanted to). Anyway…bygones. So, anyone else have any good stories to add here? I have to run out and see if I can get my Van Gogh reframed – hell, I’m fired, might as well start spending my severance.

One Bad Interview, and Other Work-Related Faux Pas

Yeah, so I had an interview yesterday; without getting into it, let me simply say: It went fine. I didn’t say anything horrible, I didn’t embarrass myself (I don’t think), AND (of course) I didn’t really want the job. But whatever, good practice and all that shit. However, the interview did get me thinking about other interviews I’ve had in the past. One in particular stands out as a shining moment of incompetence on my part.

Let me set the stage: I had recently graduated from college, and like most 21 year olds, I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life. Somehow I had stumbled into a possible job with a major television network, and after a fine first interview I was called back for a second. Unfortunately, the timing of the second interview was…not good.

What happened was, I was going to a wedding on the Saturday before the interview. And since I’m a spoiled brat, I went for a pedicure that Saturday morning. Half-asleep, I sat there having my foot rubbed when I decided to hit the massage button on the chair (fuck I love those massaging chairs). Things then went awry when the pedicurist (is that a word?) hit a point on my toe that made me jump. And I guess I jumped wrong – right into one of those massaging, sticking out, whatever thingies in the chair, AND TOTALLY THREW OUT MY BACK. I mean, I needed three scotches that night in order to even stand up long enough to get dressed for the damned wedding (which ended up being wild by the way.)

Needless to say, by Monday I was not better. And since muscle relaxants didn’t strike me as a good idea, I instead hopped myself up on Advil (which did NOTHING for me), and headed off for my interview pissed off because I was in a shit-ton of pain. Things didn’t get much better when I arrived to find that I was going to be interviewed by four fucking people! (Seems like overkill even now.) Anyway, around the hour mark of this torturous event, one of the guys (total smartass dickwad) asked, “What is one thing you want to accomplish in your life before you die?” And just as I opened my mouth to answer, he added “And don’t say write a book.”

Well that prompted crankypants (me), to reply with a totally straight face, “Write a book.” I offered no further explanation (I thought my point was pretty well made, don’t you?). Let me reiterate here that I was in a lot of pain, and I had been sitting there answering stupid ‘interviewee’ questions like “Tell us about yourself,” “What are you NOT good at,” and my personal favorite, “You say you’re a writer – pretend you’re a cereal and sell yourself to us,” for over an HOUR. And you know what? I DO want to write a book before I die. So back the fuck off, I figured, and left it at that.

Shockingly they didn’t seem to appreciate my sarcasm (no sense of humor). Between that moment and my comment at the end of the interview – I said something along the lines of “Fuck I’m glad to be out of that chair” when I was finally able to stand up (what? I thought I said it quietly!) – it really wasn’t a surprise that I didn’t end up getting the job. But whatever…learning experience.

Some other horrible things I’ve done on the job: Called my boss fat. Okay, I won’t actually take full responsibility for this. Yes, I said it – but I really didn’t mean it the way it came out. You see what happened was, about a year ago (so it had NOTHING to do with my recent firing), my boss was getting ready to go on vacation in Japan. It was the day before she was leaving, and she mentioned that she hadn’t packed yet. Since I never pack more than a few hours before leaving (what can I say, I’m a good pressure player), the following conversation took place:

Redhead: Don’t worry about it. What’s the worst that can happen? It’s not like you’re going to be in the middle of nowhere; if you forget something you can just go out and buy it when you get there.
Boss: Well, not clothes.
Redhead: What do you mean ‘not clothes’? They don’t have clothes in Japan?
Boss: Not in my size. They don’t really have clothes over a size 4 in most places in Japan.
Redhead: What, they don’t have FAT people in Japan?

Cue horrified, shocked look on my boss’ face. Now, my boss is (was)…a rather large woman. And I’ll admit that it did SOUND like I had called her fat. But that wasn’t what I meant! I wasn’t talking about her personally (I’m not that stupid), it was more of a general comment than anything else. I found the idea of an entire country being universally skinny kind of baffling, and so I…said it. Badly.

Anyway, there were witnesses to my brilliant comment, and half the office teased me about it for months afterward. Apparently it sounded as bad as I thought. Moving on…

Oh, there was the time I almost poisoned the president of my division. You see, on a day of mass layoffs about a year-and-a-half ago (good timing on my part – I’m not above kissing ass), I brought in cookies I’d baked over the weekend. I had chocolate chunk, oatmeal raisin, and linzer cookies. As the president guy walked by my desk, I decided to get a few brownie points and offered him a cookie. Reaching for one, he pulled back and asked if there were nuts in any of them.

“No” I replied, “I don’t like nuts so I don’t put them in my cookies.”

“Good,” he said, “I’m allergic to nuts.” He then proceeded to choose a linzer cookie, take a bite, tell me how good it was (my linzers really are melt-in-your-mouth good), and walk away. Simple, right? Yeah, it was. Until about ten minutes later that is, when my head shot up.

“Oh shit!”

“What?” the woman who sits near me asked. (She had witnessed the entire previous exchange between me and said division president.)

Gulping, “The…um…linzer cookies. They have almond extract in them. I totally forgot!”

Silence, then laughing. Lots and lots of laughing (have I mentioned that it was a mass layoff day?!). One woman who had just been laid off walked by, and we told her what I’d done. After more laughter – and a discussion on whether pure almond extract (yes, I used the pure stuff) has more or less almond…essence (?) than actual almonds – the recently laid off woman went off the find out if we needed to call an ambulance. Unfortunately he wasn’t in his office, and we couldn’t find him for like two days after that (he may have gone out of town though – he traveled A LOT!). Either way, he never said anything when he got back, so I’m assuming nothing happened (that’s my story and I’m sticking to it).

And then there was the time…

Ah fuck, never mind – that’s enough for now. What about you guys? Any work-related faux pas you want to share? Ever called a boss fat or tried to send one into anaphylactic shock? Anyone? Anyone?

Random note: Raising Arizona was on tv last night – one of the best movies ever. Just awesome. If you guys haven’t seen it in a while, I suggest you watch it again.

A Look Back

Alright, alright – I realize I should have written something for you guys over the weekend, BUT…I didn’t. I did go shopping though, and thanks to the generosity of my parents (shut up), I am now the proud owner of: Two new suits, three new blouses, a perfect little black dress, a new pair of shoes that make me want to whimper with pleasure, and a new purse. All of this looks absolutely fabulous with my new manicure and pedicure if I do say so myself. I feel…refreshed (and spoiled rotten – my favorite state of being).

Still, I know you guys don’t want to hear about that – you want pain, discomfort, and humiliation on my part. Well, aside from a killer hangover after a rather…interesting Saturday night, I’ve got nothing new for you. But I do have old stories – so it’s time for a flashback to some of Redhead’s more horrifying moments (recycled post-style – yes I’m giving you another half-asser, bite me). Ready?

-Men and women as friends doesn’t always work out the way it should: Part 1

-Men and women as friends doesn’t always work out the way it should: Part 2

-Green beer + one more guy than necessary + Redhead’s bad judgment = St. Patty’s Day

-Why drinking half a bottle of Rumplemintz is never a good idea.

-A life lesson: If a guy approaches you in a bar and spends an hour talking to you, it’s best not to assume he’s gay.

-Yup, I’m weird.

-An important rule: You NEVER know what’s going on in another person’s head – so don’t take anything personally.

-Turns out, not every guy wants me – when the fuck did that happen? Kidding, kidding. Oh, and I need to stop drinking in front of my family.

-Never date anyone who lives near you. Just don’t.

-Boy did I get ripped for this one.

-If you have a death wish, driving with me is a pretty good idea.

-I had a little fight with a spider a while back, and…um…it won.

Good God – and that’s not even all of them! Ah well, hope everyone had a good weekend. I’ll write more…eventually. I’m in cover letters and resumes up to my ass right now.