without fail

How can I guarantee that I'll get to walk a lot at work? Wear heels! This is one of those rare days that I lived on the wild side. I wore 2 1/2 inch heels with my jeans.

High heels, or even low heels, are a rare thing for me because I am 6 ft tall. I never adjusted to wearing them daily like many of my pretty little short friends. Because of this, I have about a 2 hour limit in the most comfortable of heels. If I am sitting at my desk all day, I'm good. I can look sexy walking to the bathroom and back without paying the price of bleeding feet at 5pm.

Of course, that isn't how my world works. I take a chance on fashion and pay the price. Every time. It is no wonder that I wear boots, flip-flops, or converse 362 days of the year!

Today I arrived to work in a very cute outfit: black heels, bootcut jeans, and a black and white striped dress/shirt combo. I planned to just leave my office for one event. We walked over to a lecture 3 blocks away on a university campus. No problem! I am a beast! I stood for 30 minutes talking to people at said lecture. 6ft 3inches of sexy in still comfortable shoes! We go to lunch and park 3 blocks away from the restaurant. Okay. A little far. I'm still good. I enjoy seeing my profile in shop windows...I look like other women look every day.

Back at the office, the phone rings. The janitor's wife has an urgent message. Where is he? I walk from one end of the church to another. And again. And then back to another building. And then back to the front office to write a note for his car. Oh, wait, that isn't his car in the parking lot. Walk BACK to the office to leave the note.

Yup. I've walked a mile in my shoes. No more sexy, confident 32 year-old. It is only 3:30 and I am now barefoot and blistered. Tomorrow I'm returning to flip-flops.


p.s. There is a big difference between www.bigdaddy.com and www.godaddy.com. The former is definately not the place to go for church website work.

bugs in my ear

Damn my college roommate. She taught me the wonders of cleaning your ears with q-tips. Before I met her that fateful day in 1997, I had no idea that I am blessed with eargasms.

(In case you didn't know, this is the sensation of awesomeness that us lucky few experience while cleaning our ears. It doesn't happen all the time, but when it does it is GOOD. Like scratching a magical itch)

Now I clean my ears every night, especially after showers. The byproduct of this habit is that I get the occasional outer ear infection. Apparently God made ear wax and we are supposed to leave it there for protection and q-tips can leave tiny scratches in our ears that get infected.**

Now I feel like I have little ants crawling in my ear. Did you know that is what an outer ear infection feels like? I can't bring myself to go to the doctor and wait in a room full of people who have the plague just to get little eardrops. For now, it is me and the imaginary ants.

**That was meant to be read in a sarcastic and bitter voice.

trapped squirrel

SO. Scott, the ex-boyfriend is back at church. This means that I no longer have the ability to avoid seeing him. After two years of absence and a marriage to the woman that he was cheating on me with, he just waltzed back into my world and acted like nothing ever happened.

To put it lightly, it has been awkward. The entire church knows about him treating me like shit. They witnessed his bad behavior as he publicly dated his ex-wife within weeks of dumping me out of the blue. They read his passive-aggressive Facebook posts trying to talk shit about me....even though he dumped me.

Now he is there every Sunday and Wednesday chatting it up with a small crowd of uncomfortable people. Last week, I made peace with this and decided that I'd just say "hi" and ignore him. I've had two years to heal, love other people, forgive, and move on. That doesn't make it less awkward, but it helps me be less angry when I see him forcing his way back into my world.

Last night he asked me out. He timed his exit from church (after I'd already held youth late, hung out outside, hid in the kitchen, and made a run for it just to avoid him) so that he'd walk out with me.

Him: Bye
Me: Bye

Him: Hey, listen. I didn't know if you'd like to get some coffee and talk. Nothing big or meaningful, just coffee and talking. But I'll leave that up to you. I just wanted to sit down and have coffee sometime. But I'll totally leave that up to you.

My first thought? Gee, thanks for leaving it up to me. How generous and super-nice-guy of you to LET me decide if I want to spend time with you.

I wish I'd had the presence of mind to say "no thank you."

Instead I just froze. One foot in the car, one foot on the ground. My butt hovering in the air mid-sit. I clung to the car door and froze. I think I mumbled "oh, okay" and then got in the car as quickly as possible.

There is no concluding thought about this episode from my life. No insight, no wisdom, no venting. This is my present state of misery.

I hate Christians

This week I've decided that I don't want to be a Christian. This will eventually be a conflict with my career of choice. I have a feeling that this is not my first post of this nature, but it is still a problem.

Why are people such assholes? How am I supposed to love people in the church who are racists and bigots?

First, there is Black History Month. For white people who've never left small town North Carolina, Black History Month is apparently a way of being forced false history and a political agenda. I've come to resent Black History Month because it makes me realize that the people I love 11 months out of the year are actually horrible, horrible racists. I am SO SORRY that someone asked you to learn about the heroic work of people that you'd rather hang from a tree (a little dramatic, yes, but I'm pissed). How do you look a friend in the eye after they post racist comments on Facebook?

Second, there is bigotry. Two weeks ago, a gay child moved from the public school to the private school. At the public school, he was being bullied, beaten, and threatened on a daily basis. He turned to the Christian school in desperation because Christians will at least be held accountable to treat him well. Right? No. The teachers and students treated him like shit. After 2 days, he returned to the hell of public schools. This teenage boy turned to Christians for safety and found them to be more cruel than the gang members he was trying to escape.

The abuse of a gay kid hurt me deeply because kids in my youth group go to that school. The headmaster, co-headmaster, coaches, and teachers of the private school are also active members of my church. These are people whom I love and respect. They showed hate to a gay kid for being gay and used God as their excuse. "He wasn't even a Christian, he shouldn't have enrolled." Really? What about the 1/3 of your student body who is not Christian but who attend your Christian school because of other educational, social, behavior, or sports-related issues? Your 4th grade girls gave another child a dildo as a welcome present but you didn't kick them out. Would it have been different if they were lesbians?

I hate Christians. I hate that I can't shame people because they sign my paycheck.

I've heard of this happening

Ex-boyfriends show back up. Just when you get good and comfortable in life....happy with who you are and happily forgetting your bad past decisions....the ex-boyfriend calls.

Felipe called on Christmas Day. I answered because I'd erased him from my phone, so I didn't know the number. Sitting in my parents' house in Texas, far from the worries of North Carolina, the ex-boyfriend called for the first time in 7 months. On Christmas Day.

S. H. I. T. I pulled a trick that I hadn't used since high school. Mom walks through the room and I motion to her to call my name. "Jenny! We need you in the kitchen!" Oh, damn. I've got to go. So sorry. Bye now!

Now I'm settled into January and no longer worried about the ex of 2010. All is well!

No. All is not well. Scott shows up to church. Scott, who I haven't seen in 2 years and who isn't even a blip on my emotional radar, walks into church and talks to everyone as if he never left. He came back 2 weeks later with his son, going to both Bible study and worship.

F. U. C. K. Actually, the most appropriate reaction is WTF??? This is what I've had whispered to me, texted to me, and mouthed across the room as all of my friends now have to make small talk with the ex. He now goes to community games and sits with my friends as if he'd never cheated on me, broken my heart, married his ex, and been gone for two years. While he is NOT my problem, he is now a thorn in my side. A thorn that must be in the middle of his second divorce to the same woman...the only reason that he would show back up to my church.

Why can't bad decisions stay in the past where they belong? I've moved on. Why can't they? Why should we bother to grow and learn with age if assholes from your past can just up and call on a major family holiday or walk into your church?

Um, hello! Leave my family and friends alone! I wasn't a great girlfriend! Find somewhere new to park your penises!


p.s. the only thing more tragic than my life right now is Pierce Brosnan singing on Mamma Mia. Who knew that music could suck the sexiness out of such a beautiful man?

the comfort of a good chain...

Today I found comfort in a girly drink and over-sugary grilled chicken in a chain restaurant. Sometimes it is wonderful to have mediocre food and a girly drink that tastes the same way it did 10 years ago!



I walked into TGI Fridays feeling sad and vulnerable in the unique way that you only feel after a bad pap smear. Bad results? No. Everything is healthy as far as I know. I just don't think that there is such thing as a GOOD pap smear.

Nurse:

Hello. Go to the room on your right. Okay, now if you can please take off EVERYTHING. This tiny blue piece of paper is for your chest...open in the front. This other white paper is for your lap. The doctor will be in shortly.

Now that I am in my 30's, I know that the doctor is never in "shortly." They leave you sitting on a table in a cold room wearing nothing but paper and your socks. I had my favorite childhood book in hand to keep me company while sitting naked in a tiny room that left my buttcrack exposed to the busy hall every time someone opened the door.

Today my previously kind and gentle doctor was having a bad day. He frowned a lot. Everything he did in the test department hurt. A lot. Apparently, the pain is worse when no one has been in your nether regions in almost a year.

After the gracefully short exam, I put on my clothes and went down the hall to meet with the doctor. It wasn't his normal big, warm office. We sat in a tiny space with a peanut shaped desk that had zebra-striped marble on the top. A huge painting of a swordfish filled the wall. It looked like it was a high school art project.

I sat clothed, but still aching inside where the doctor had his hands only minutes earlier. Awkward. He talked at me for a few minutes without looking away from my file.

"I recommend that you lose weight. Even just a pound a month will put you in a better place (no shit, Sherlock)."

"There are a lot of options out there for birth control...we really just have to keep experimenting randomly until we find something that solves your problems."

"Although there is contraversy, I don't think you need to be on this perscription for that ailment. I doesn't really help."



I finally talked a bit, forcing him to look at me. Even so, I left the tall medical complex wanting to find a cave where I could hid in the fetal position until the world faded away. I get that we all have bad days, but it seems wrong that an OBGYN's bad day occurs while their fingers are deep in your vagina.

Anyway. A girly drink and 1/4 of a bad meal later, I drove home feeling slightly better. Thank you, TGI Fridays. You medicated my aching soul with alcohol, starches, and sugar.

pickle jars and weakness

This morning I had a good cry because I have no strength in my hands. Of course, the cry was helped by a lack of sleep and a very stressful 24 hours.

You see, the tire on my car has been going flat. I re-filled it with air as the weekend unfolded, hoping to make it to Monday morning. It got worse as time passed...duh.

I really didn't want to call AAA. The local guy (the ONLY AAA guy in the area) is a creepy old man who ran his hand across my ass the first time he came to my house. I try to hold off on calling unless I am really desperate.

So I took my car at 1am in 25 degree weather to the sketchy gas station near my house. I refilled the air. When I got home, I could hear hissing out of the hole made by a nail. Thank you, construction crew near my work.

I tried to do a quick cover with a hot glue gun. It just blew bubbles in the glue. I tried to cover THAT with packing tape...no slowing of the air. Tried to find my fix-a-flat. No luck.

At 3 am, I realized that I have a new car! All of the parts are there to change the tire myself! Yay! I am saved!

But no. At 8 am, I enthusiastically went out to solve my own problem only to be reminded that I am a weak woman. I can't open the lid of a pickle jar.

My weak hands were unable to snap open the cover that held the jack to the car. I tried for 10 minutes. I cried. Tried again. Cried again.

While on hold with AAA, I kept trying to snap off that damned lid. Two hands, one hand, with a towel, with just thumbs. No luck.

So, because I am a weak woman with weak hands, I had to call Mr. Creepy to my house.

Wait 1 1/2 hours.

Try to avoid physical contact.

Watch helplessly as he changed my tire. (He didn't use my jack...no need to remove the stupid lid)

4 hours later, Wal-mart had my car all fixed up. Unfortunately, my soul and ego are still feeling victimized. Creepy old men in overalls can do that to you.