As he is standing over the stove browning ground beef for dinner, "Sweetie, I don't think I want spaghetti and garlic bread for dinner anymore. I think I want to eat chicken curry with rice."
I give him the look. "Too late."
"Yes, but Sweetie, I should get what I want because I am The Man."
Last night I received a call from Roger telling me that he had made an "impulse purchase" and would show it to me when he got home. Since we all know that I have NEVER made an impulse purchase (wink, wink), I was quite curious to see what Roger would bring into our home.
As soon as he arrived, he rushed past me, making a beeline for our bedroom. I tried to follow him, but only got as far as the bedroom door when I heard, "Wait! Wait! Don't come in yet!" And that's when I knew that the impulse purchase was really a surprise was for me!
He finally emerged and held in his hand a toy that screamed, "Roger!" and not a delightful surprise that screamed, "Jes!" Still, I must admit that I think the toy is fun. I like that it is so...animated.
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Every time I go to see my dentist, he asks me the same question.
"Do your teeth still itch?"
I have a mysterious flesh-eating disease that causes my teeth to itch and my cheeks to swell and then I begin foaming at the mouth and my dentist just laughs at me. He laughs!
I think I am a compulsive liar. Only the first and last items in that last sentence are true. And of the last selection, not the one about me foaming at the mouth, but the one about my dentist laughing. At me.
For the past several years, I have been complaining to my dentist of itchy teeth. Do YOURS itch? He assures me that both my teeth and my gums are in perfectly healthy condition and that it is either a) my wild imagination or b) a mysterious flesh-eating disease an odd reaction in my nerves.
I just lied again! He told me neither a) nor b). He only told me that my gums and teeth are in perfectly healthy condition.
I don't really consider either of those lying, though. I consider it using my imagination. Because how boring would it be if I didn't shake things up once and again? What if I just told you this:
My teeth itch.
My dentist said my gums and teeth are healthy, and then just laughed at me.
See? See how uninteresting that is? Certainly more uninteresting than you reading about my gums and teeth and compulsive behavior, which is really a much prettier word than 'lying.'
"When I wake up Christmas morning, I would love nothing more than to see a sleek, sporty piece of technology sitting in our driveway that goes from 0 to 200 in less than 60 seconds."
When he woke up on Christmas morning, he found a bathroom scale in the driveway.
Last night Roger told me, "YOU DESERVE ME!"
And I'm not certain that it was a compliment.
Nearly everyone has received a gift at some point in their lives that couldn't be used, particularly, in that recipient's life. Gardening tools for someone who lives in an apartment. A pair of jeans that don't fit and don't have a receipt. A hunting rifle for a PETA lobbyist.
I recently read an article by Jocelyn Noveck (an AP writer) about regifting parties. I think I would like to organize and host one this year.
The rule: you bring a gift (Christmas, birthday, wedding, etc.) that you've received and can't use. You wrap it nicely. Everyone is free to trade (without revealing what gift is inside) until a designated time.
Then a warning bell rings, and within 15 minutes or so, the order comes to unwrap what's in your hands. It's yours. And whatever you get, you can't go home unhappy. You started with something you didn't want anyway.
This morning I attended a seminar at work entitled, "Your communication patterns & style w/ "lunch to die for"."
Number One: I am not surprised by my communication patterns.
Number Two: I am not surprised by my communication style.
Number Three: I would never die for that lunch.
In an effort to unify our team, my company paid for us each of us to take a personality exam. I read through twenty two questions involving four definitions each and marked the definition with which I most and least identified. Example:
Word - Definition
Playful - has fun meeting goals and creates an exciting working environment
Determined - achieves goals despite all obstacles and distractions - LEAST
Relaxed - whether a certain goal is met will not affect your disposition - MOST
Methodical - approach goals in a manner that is systematic, orderly, precise
(These questions were hard for me, because I had to rationalize them:
Do I have fun meeting my goals? Do I create an exciting work environment? No. Do I approach goals systematically? Sometimes. Am I determined to achieve goals despite ALL obstacles and distractions? The word "all" is a qualifier for me. Naturally, the answer is No. If something doesn't get done, will I get fussy about it? Not usually. If it is absolutely necessary for it to get done, it will. I am not task-driven. I am deadline-driven.)
Okay, so those words weren't put in a series together, and I made up the definitions. You get the point. I took the test, and this is what it revealed about me:
I am Expressive / Analytical. This means:
Expressive
I naturally exhibit high-assertive and high-responsive behaviors. I communicate assertively and am more open in my gestures and expressions than the other patterns. I am very people-oriented. I desire a clean and open show of understanding by both sides in communication, and I use persuasion and exaggerated body movements to promote that understanding. (And right now, I'm laughing, because JUST LAST NIGHT Roger got frustrated by me spitting *something* out of my mouth in my own show of frustration. That *something* is a blog of its own.) I am recognized as being energetic, emotional, opinionated, sometimes loud, always ready to take risks and volunteer, playful, fun-loving, I dislike routine and may appear unfocused on my work.
Analytical
I like to get the job to get done right the first time. I focus on facts and details, and can be reserved and controlled in my outward gestures and actions (this is only true at work - not in my personal life).
That's about all from the Analytical results that applies to me. The rest is in direct opposition to my Expressive side, and untrue of how I naturally operate (example: I'm not more concerned with information than with people; I am not always cautious when making decisions; I am not always disciplined with my use of time; I NEVER appear detached from my emotions. I mean, HELLO - are we talking about the same person here?)
How I perceive myself:
How I See Me
How others perceive me:
How Others See Me
How I behave at work:
How I Work
The results also gave a complete listing of phrases that uncannily define me. I have chose a few to share with you:
Things to tell me:
-we need to stay on task
-give me the big picture, and later supply the details when I ask for them
Things to remember when working/being around me:
-if you delegate a task to me, let it go; allow others have a chance to succeed
-tell me when you're thinking out loud
Priorities:
-Maintaining good relationships
-People first, tasks second
-Giving advice and counsel
Follow through:
-Considers facts before proceeding
-May become sidetracked
-May need verbal encouragement to meet deadlines
Conflict Resolution:
-Offers indirect suggestions
-Will hold a grudge when unsatisfied with the outcome
-Tries to avoid damaging relationships
Decision Making:
-Makes suggestions, not demands
-Likes time to make decisions
-Indecisive on marginal issues
Motivations:
-Doing fun tasks
-Receiving public recognition
-Receiving sincere private recognition
Handling Discipline:
-Does not like harsh accusations
-Hates public correction
-Justifies actions
Potential Difficulties (that are phrased so nicely):
-May be prone to making impulsive decisions based on feelings
-Might experience remorse over poor decisions made this way
-Might become conflicted between aggressive and passive approaches; may seem erratic for choosing one or the other
Behavior at Work:
-Group-oriented
-Organizes and implements strategies
-Makes tasks fun for everyone
Things to Work On:
-volunteering for too much and/or too difficult tasks (Roger calls this "climbing every mountain")
-focusing on tasks
-inability to motivate and discipline (yes, and yes.)
See? Wasn't that as interesting for you to read as it was for me? Aren't you dripping with excitement to know more? Don't you wish I'd post the full 18-page report online? Do you feel fully prepared to handle me and understand me now?
Yes? Good.
I don't recall doing it, but I know it must have happened. I bit the inside of my cheek. And now it is swollen. And every time I talk, I bite it more. I can't stop. And I can't keep my tongue off of it. It's like a nervous tick.
I've tried eating ice cubes to help the swelling, but the ice cubes are just too cold. I've tried putting a pen between my teeth to keep me from biting down, but then I'm just biting a pen and my mouth gets sore from being lodged open. I've tried puffing my cheeks out, but then I just look like a chipmunk and my cheeks get sore from being puffed out for too long. I've tried clenching my teeth together, but WHAT HUMAN CAN SIT FOR LONGER THAN 15 SECONDS WITH HIS (or her) TEETH CLENCHED TIGHTLY TOGETHER AND WITHOUT HIS (or her) MOUTH HURTING FROM THE CLENCHING? Are we noticing a theme here? The soreness? The soreness that leads to headaches? Huh? Tell me! YOU try it.
This morning I googled "biting swollen cheek." And the first return was a related article entitled, "Symptoms of the Silent Killer Diseases." MY SWOLLEN CHEEK IS KILLING ME.
I decided to get a second opinion, so I searched again. I googled "swollen interior cheek." And then, HA! All I will say is: There is a lot of information about Kama Sutra on the internet.
And, GROSS! Did you know it is possible to get pimples on your tongue? Your tongue! How do you get rid of them? Can you squeeze them? Do you wash them with a special edible soap? Do you have to go to a dermatologist? A dentist? An oral surgeon?
* * * * * *
Edited 9:30 a.m.
Clarification: I, personally, do not have a pimple on my tongue. It is something I read on the Internet during my attempts to research why I keep biting my cheek when I talk. And chew.
Out of my peripheral vision I could see the CEO standing in the entrance to my cubicle. I didn't acknowledge him and pretended he wasn't there because, technically, I hadn't turned around and looked at him and he hadn't said anything to announce himself.
THUD.
"Merry Christmas."
I turned my head and looked at the big box that now balanced on the corner of my desk.
"It's a turkey."
"Oh. Great. Thanks."
"This is a turkey from a place that is famous for their turkeys. You'll really like it."
"Oh. Okay. Great."
I inspected the box. It was a 10.7 pound turkey. "Refrigerate immediately" was printed in large letters on the box, and being the obedient human that I am, I checked the refrigerator. It was only 2:00 in the afternoon. The refrigerator was full with other boxed turkeys. So I left it sitting on my desk. All afternoon. And when I got home, there were still ice crystals on it from being shipped.
A $45 turkey? That's stupid. I'd rather buy a new pair of shoes for that than a turkey. Or a sweater. Or get a massage. Or buy that decorative pillow for my couch that I've been eyeing.
In other divisions we had Christmas parties, as well. Apparently the entire corporation subscribes to the "No bonuses" policy. At one party, we each received an ornament. From Hobby Lobby. At another party, we each received another ornament. It was the 2005 Limited Edition Swarovski Crystal star ornament, which is actually very pretty. The ornament was more expensive than the turkey. At this point, I'm rolling my eyes. WHO ARE THE EXECUTIVES OF THIS COMPANY??
The multi-billion dollar company I work for spent over a hundred dollars buying each employee two ornaments and a turkey. Something seems very wrong, and yet ironic, about that.
I realize how petty and ungrateful this must sound. I'm sure the turkey will be very tasty. And the ornaments are pretty, and most importantly, they are sparkly. But I, for one, would rather just receive the cost of those items as a bonus and decide for myself whether I want to spend it on two ornaments. And a turkey.
Go ahead, you who will inevitably send hatemail. Tell me how selfish I am, tell me that there are starving children in Ethiopia or people who don't even have a tree to hold such ornaments. Remind me of those whose lives were ruined by Hurricane Katrina. Tell me to sell it on eBay and - Oooh!! Sell it on eBay!!
Dear Katie,
JUST BECAUSE I DIDN'T ANSWER MY PHONE WHEN YOU CALLED, IT DOESN'T MEAN I WAS SCREENING YOU.
Please. Stop. Go back. Did you read that first sentence? Yes?
READ IT AGAIN.
I was at a work holiday party last night, and didn't think it appropriate to answer my phone while sitting at a four-star restaurant with a table full of executives, which is why I turned my ringer off.
It's nothing personal, really, because I didn't answer anyone's calls. And you were only calling because you were bored while you were driving. Perhaps if you had a severed your jugular vein, I would have answered, or at the very least I would have checked my voicemail and returned the call. But if that was the case, I have a feeling you wouldn't be calling ME.
I am sure you understand.
Love,
Jes
I am purposefully not drinking any water today, other than what is minimally acceptable to prevent me from slipping into a dehydration-induced coma, though perhaps that coma sounds alluring considering how busy I am at work, how messy my house is due to the ribbons and bows and rolls upon rolls of wrapping paper strewn around the living room because I have yet to learn the "clean as you go" method, how many gifts I must wrap and which I cannot wrap because they STILL HAVEN'T ARRIVED VIA THE UNITED STATES POSTAL SERVICE, and speaking of, I'm in a fight with the USPS - we're not getting along so well right now.
I am avoiding the restroom like the plague because I DON'T WANT TO HAVE TO PULL DOWN MY PANTYHOSE, if only because it took me TEN MINUTES TO PULL THEM UP THIS MORNING, AND WHEN I SAY, "PULL THEM UP," REALLY, IT WAS LIKE PULLING A CRANE UP THE SIDE OF A TWENTY-STORY BUILDING WITH ONLY A THICK ROPE THAT KEPT SLIPPING BETWEEN MY HANDS, AND WHICH CAUSED ROPE-BURN ON MY PALMS. IT WAS THAT HARD.
Roger sat in bed and watched me during this process, the process wherein I started sweating, not like a pig because pigs don't have sweat glands and that phrase doesn't even make any sense, but the sweating more resembled what you might see on a late-night BET video. I was sweating and wriggling and was nearing explicatives, AND I HADN'T EVEN BEEN ABLE TO PULL THEM PAST MY KNEES YET, when Roger asked, "Are you sure those are your size?"
I gave him "the look" and then checked the chart on the box to make sure I had purchased the correct pair, and I had, and now I must complain to the Hanes factory and to the Internet because these pantyhose are more like a children's size small than an adult's size CD. This morning, I lost all hope that Roger would only see me as a perfectly-maintained lady, because he had witnessed the wriggling and the sweating, and he couldn't help but stare in disbelief, despite me snapping, "Do you HAVE to stare at me?" Except if I had been in his position, I would have stared such a sight, too, and right now I'm actually considering buying him pantyhose and making him wear them for a day, just so he can empathize with me.
I finally did pull them up all the way, but not without putting a run in them, BECAUSE WHEN HAVE I EVER PUT ON A PAIR OF PANTYHOSE WITHOUT RUNNING THEM? And after I accomplished the morning's task, I announced to Roger, "I hope I don't have to go to the bathroom today. If I do, I'm totally cutting a hole in the crotch."
There's no way I can pull these up again, IN A BATHROOM STALL, without (a) wasting ten minutes of my already-busy day, (b) all of my coworkers wondering why I'm wrestling an alligator in the women's restroom and (c) four pounds of deodorant or perfume to mask the sweating that will invariably occur.
Last night, I discovered the spirituality held in women's clothing. Men don't have this problem, because nearly every article of clothing they purchase is sold in measurements. Measurements cannot be tampered with.
Jeans? 34 x 32. Shirts? 17, 34/35.
Alternately, for women, clothing is often labeled in random numbers such as 6, 8, or 10. But what are these?? Where did they originate? They certainly aren't measurements. A size 8 at JCrew and Victoria's Secret is the same as a size 6 at Ann Taylor Loft, Juicy Couture and Target.
I hate going shopping if only because I have to try on four different sizes of the same article of clothing, just to see which one fits! And then I start getting cranky, BECAUSE WHAT WOMAN WANTS TO SEE HOW MANY ARTICLES OF CLOTHING SHE CAN PULL PAST HER THIGHS?? And then I begin talking exclusively in all caps, which are nearly always punctuated with multiple exclamation points!! I CAN'T HELP IT! IT'S A VICIOUS CYCLE!!!
I realized last night that clothing is the epitome of evil. IT'S TRUE! In the Bible, this is what God has to say about LOVE:
CLOTHING is not patient or kind. It does not give even half an inch, but clings in all the wrong places.
CLOTHING boasts - it is proud and rude. It laughs at those who try to wear it with confidence, those who try to wear it with purpose.
CLOTHING delights in evil, is self-seeking and self-glorifying. It smugly hangs in the boutique window, taunting would-be consumers to try it on. And cackles as female after female replaces it on the hanger and dejectedly leaves the dressing area. Each woman's head is hung low in shame, each has made a short-lived resolve to subsist on water alone for the next two weeks.
CLOTHING is easily angered, particularly during the holiday season. Its seams begin to split in violent protest to last night's dinner: filet mignon, garlic-rosemary mashed potatoes, roasted asparagus and creme brulee.
CLOTHING keeps all records of wrongs, revealing how stretched-out it became last time it was worn, or arrogantly hanging in the back of the closet, savoring its new place among the other cast-offs of too-small, too-tight, too-constricting pieces.
A = B = C. Clothing is everything that love isn't. The opposite of love is evil. Therefore, clothing is evil.
THIS IS MY NEW MANTRA. And still, I continually give in to it when it is displayed on a mannequin, perfect hugging the mannequin's curves, perfectly hanging off the mannequin's shoulders. And in a moment of both hope and desperation, I try it on. In four different sizes.
You know, I treat you well. I buy you high-quality products to keep you in perfect condition. I give in to cleansing rituals and facial masks. I pamper you and lovingly remove the dirt that you continue to collect. And still, you became blemished. Blemished!
No amount of quick-treatment lotions, no foundation, no powder is strong enough to keep you from glowing. Not to say that I won't try.
Simply said, I don't understand why you would do this to me. Why would you sacrifice everything that I've done for you, all the gifts I've given you and photographs I've framed of you? Why could you not have chosen another area, maybe a bit more concealed, like in the corner of my forehead where my hairline would carefully guard you from the public eye? Why must you allow it to occur in the most prominent area of my face? Just above my red lips? AND MY RED SWEATER!
Don't you know that so much red is a fashion faux pas? You draw attention to yourself and then wonder why people are staring. Red wrap-sweater and red lips are classy. BUT THE NOSE?!? This is almost as bad as dreaming that you're walking into work naked.
That's the first thing I thought just now, when I saw something that made my eyes light up like a fire in my toaster oven.
Six months ago, a friend and I would often eat together in the gardens outside our office building. We generally purchased Diet Cokes, if only because THERE ARE NO CALORIES. Plus, I prefer the taste of Diet Coke to regular Coke, and of Skim Milk to any other kind of milk.
The added bonus is that I can win things from Coke, without even entering a sweepstakes online! I just took a sip of a Diet Coke that I purchased today, and remembered to look under the cap.
IN SIX MONTHS OF DRINKING DIET COKE, I FINALLY WON!! It says:
The wind chill in Dallas was 20 degrees this morning. If only it had been raining, it would have snowed! And I TOTALLY would have had a snowball fight.
A friend must have read my thoughts, because she sent me a game to play (even while knowing that I am easily distractible). Thus, I challenge you to a Snowball Fight. May the best aim win.
Last night Roger and I went to Home Depot Nursery to pick up a fresh wreath for our home. I love the scent of pine at Christmastime, but not the scent of PineSol, which is quite offensive to my scent and not so fragrant. Or, rather, maybe a little TOO fragrant. Much like an odor left by the passing of a certain animal.
We wandered through aisles and aisles and aisles of six- and seven-foot trees. We found no wreaths. There was only one miniature tree, which was beat-up and looking frail. We later discovered that the wreaths won't be arriving for another two weeks. Don't even get me started on why they were advertising them in their newspaper flyer last weekend. I may not work in the HomeDepot marketing department, but that makes no sense to me.
We stood around for a while, disappointed. There was an enormous pile of mixed branches that had been sawed off already-purchased trees - Scotch pine, Douglas fir, Fraser fir, Virginia pine, etc. Eyeing the pile, we asked whether we could buy branches. The answer was, "No. But you can have them for free. We're just going to be throwing them away."
We dug around in the mound of branches and filled Roger's trunk with a giant pile of them. I don't know how long they will last - probably only a couple weeks. (Though I'm considering spraying them with water every few days.)
Roger had a vision for what to do with the branches. I was naming off things I could do (but would probably never get around to doing) with them: make a bouquet in a vase to use as our table centerpiece, create my own wreath by somehow tying them together in a circular fashion, and adorning them with bows, etc.
Admittedly, Roger's vision was the better one.
Roger did this centerpiece for our coffee table, too. Except it was my idea to add the miniature branches! Isn't it lovely? It makes me feel like I contributed to the festive decorating.
