Aw-festi-FUL

It's summer, and I'm all for a festival. Nothing beats drinking from a paper cup in the street, am I right? But not all festivals are for all people. I need to be better about looking for signs.

Before you send me a message about this picture, READ this post.
Or at least the blog DESCRIPTION, re: SATIRE.
Google Satire, research it, and if you can't wrap your head around it:
UNFOLLOW and do NOT read this blog. Thanks, have a nice day.
from dailymail.co.uk

Some have great music, some have the mayor's cousins's garage band that does a fair Steve Miller band cover. We stumbled upon a high school band that really played their hearts out. However, they can't all be gems. Yesterday's trip to VeggieFest, or as my husband calls it's "Yucky-Fest," got me thinking we should probably do some research before we just go.

I wasn't expecting much. The vague description of 'vegetable talks and demos, music, family activities' told me we wouldn't be eating Shark On A Stick watching an aging, though respectable, David Lee Roth perform slowly like at Naperville's famous Rib Fest. 

Just to get IN to the fest from survivorsucks.com

I also thought maybe we wouldn't have to wait in long lines for everything like Rib Fest. George Wrongington. 

Admission was free, and there were a lot of crafts for kids, run by cranky vegans that really needed a good....serving of meat. They had a brilliant little open play place with toys for toddlers. I thought, "Wow, why don't more festivals have that?" Well, here's why. Because: People.

During the half an hour we endured this Tot Tent, we saw TWO different unattended toddlers. One who kept taking all of the toys right out of other kids' hands until I literally had to go pick him up and explain sharing. I don't think he spoke English and he didn't pay attention anyway. Good lesson for my kids. We watch children in our home, so they're used to having to explain sharing, and defend themselves. 

The 5 yr old's signature move is whining "He took my toy!" and breaking down in a pool of tears. The 3 yr old on the other hand is a baller. She yells something like "HEY!" and gets her toy right back. Usually making older and larger children cry. We're working on tact, but we don't worry about her survival skills in the cold, cruel world. 

So needless to say, we left that scene. There were 5 other adults in the tent when we left, so we didn't feel guilty about leaving the already unattended toddlers, still unattended. 2 moms were trying to figure out where the wandering 2-yr old girl came from. I pointed out a "Family Meditation Tent" and said maybe the parents were in DEEP meditation? *puff, puff, pass* might make the food better?

We walked past a long line for face painting, which is Lola's jam, but waiting in line? Not so much. We walked past several tents marked for speeches. Speeches about vegetables? Sounds corny. There were tents of organic products, and castille soap which I already use and my husband thought he was funny running over to look for a list of actual uses (you can make EVERY KIND of cleaner w/castille soap b-the-w.)

from thepoke.co.uk

Other than that, there was a long line for food tickets, huge sign read "NON-REFUNDABLE" and some food tents with long lines. It was over 90 degrees and we were surrounded by people who eat nothing but vegetables and wear natural deodorant, so without brutal detail we jogged to the air conditioned car. 

We went swimming at my sister's house, and that's the BEST SUMMER FESTIVAL I've ever found so far. 

Have you been to any good, or really bad, festivals lately?

Check this one out below, called The Boring Festival.

The chap from the Süddeutsche Zeitung was awfully polite as he quizzed Hamish Thompson, one of the organisers of the annual Boring conference, which took place in London on Sunday. 

He gestured to the Boring buffet: 

bowls of undressed iceberg lettuce, 

cucumber chunks on sticks, 

piles of white sliced bread, dry crackers and 

label-free bottles filled with tap water.

It was undoubtedly a Very Boring spread. 

Yet the conference was sufficiently interesting to attract not just the classier end of the German press but also 500 free-willed people who paid up to £20 each to spend a Sunday listening to a series of lectures on superficially tedious things: the relative heights of celebrities; letterboxes; and the features of a keyboard. Kathy Clugston, a Radio 4 announcer, discussed the shipping forecast.

The Strangle Is Real

Quick post to say "Hello my friends on the internet. I miss you so," and let you know why I've been neglecting you.

It's not you, it's me.

Summer, watching extra kids, taking on extra computer work, dragging my 3 yr old kicking and screaming to the potty 20 times a day, and trying to re-introduce my body to exercise (barf!) have kept me "busier than a puppy with two peters." I feel tempted to include a picture, but also afraid to Google that.

Don't worry, I'm not going all Maria Kang on you. I'd rather resolve to wearing nothing but judges robes and graduation gowns every day for the rest of my life.

It's just that my clothes are at their very limit. They still fit. Much in the way Bruce Banner's clothes still fit The Hulk. They're on, technically. Mostly.

"I WISH I were this tan, though!" from comicvine.com

They're making me quite uncomfortable. And they're mostly stretchy-type clothes so that's really saying something.

I hate shopping for clothing, and the paying for it part is making that not a realistic option. If I go one size bigger than I wear I'll have to have my clothes special ordered. The neckholes will be so large everything will just fall right off. 

My gym shoes feel like they have my feet in a headlock after about an hour. If I opt for the next half size up, they're too big for someone already very clumsy. So I tough it out. By afternoon I'm dying to take them off and throw them out the window. This must be why you see shoes abandoned on the side of the road. The Foot Strangle Is Real y'all.

There are entire Pinterest boards
dedicated to abandoned shoes.

I am thisclose to just wearing crocs every day, but since I'm not a famous charasmatic TV chef I doubt I could pull that off.

Whatever, I love this guy.
from gawker.com

I started participating in something called The Gravity Challenge. It made me cringe at first, you have to weigh yourself and send the picture of the numbers to your friends. Who PUBLISH that picture on the internet.

from pragmaticobotsunite.com

I thought I didn't care about the numbers, but just SEEING them for the first time in 2 kids and then thinking about OTHER PEOPLE seeing them freaked me out a little bit. The image of that number haunted my brain all through the day for a good 3 days. It made me not want to eat anything. How did it get so bad so quickly? So yeah, time to start at least thinking about thinking about it.

I started by just making better decisions, a little less sugar, a lot more water. I throw down a salad now and then. I do, however, remain firmly against kale. 

I am at least a Colonel in the War Against Kale. I can't find that meme I made that says "Kale tastes like f*cking spiders" but know that it still does. 

I said years ago, before Jim Gaffigan put it in his stand-up routine, that if kale is the only way to avoid cancer? I'll take the chemo. Every time. 

Kale is grown by heartless people in haunted caves and that place where Voldemort hid the necklace horcrux, and I do not need that level of evil inside my body right now. I would definitely go all Ron Weasley and start saying terrible things to people about their dead parents and whatnot. I'll pass.

This is me when I tried kale. I'll stick with lettuce and spinach. With fattening salad dressing because let's face it, I'm not going for a shiny magazine shoot anytime soon.

More water, kaleless salads and a few less carbs were enough to knock a couple pounds off just by itself. I know that can't remain enough, so I'm trying to fit in a workout or two every week. On top of our casual family walks and that kind of thing. 

I know I have to start slowly or I'll abandon ship pretty quickly. I once got a free week with a personal trainer. The dic--dude I mean, told me he would start me 'slow' and I could barely walk the next day. Yeah, that was the end of that week. And ever even talking to a personal trainer again. Buh-bye.

I've lost a lot of weight a few times in my life and I know for me I have to limit calories and exercise. That's the only way weight ever comes off. The slower it comes off, the longer it seems to stay off. I've started posts about this but never finished.

I can't diet food away. Well, I can with the help of pills that are either illegal now, or should be. As soon as I stop taking the diet pills? (Which b-the-w almost rendered me completely insane, yes even worse,) the weight comes back and brings friends. Not worth it. 

Don't believe the "miracle pill" hype. It's a system designed to create yo-yo dieting lifestyle. You take the pills and if they work? You lose weight. You stop the pills, you gain weight back. So guess what you need again? The pills. That's how they make money. 

Realistically you can't take any pill forever. Your body gets used to any pill you take, then you need more and more to have the same effect. At that time the side effects will cause major damage somewhere. Besides that, the ones that actually work usually mess with your sleep. Bad things happen when you don't get restful sleep. Trust me, having a job, and people who talk to you, is more important than fitting in those skinny jeans.

Soooo, I sadly will start trying to fit more exercise into my life. The only possible time I can realistically fit that in is the morning, which used to be the time I used for blogging. D'oh. Hopefully I'll work out a balance at some point. You probably don't want to read the angry things I would say after exercising anyway. 

You know how people say they hate words like "panties" or "moist?" Here are my most hated words:
Lunge
Squat
Plank (ESPECIALLY THIS ONE!)
Kale

Anyone have any suggestions? What has and hasn't worked for someone who hates exercise and refuses to "diet?"

The 4 Quick Things You Need To Do If You're Not A Feminist

It's no secret I'm not a fan of writing about topics that aren't ridiculous, but sometimes someone has to.

Feminism is one of those things that I tend not to think about. I live it, I have just never had to chose it consciously. I was raised in a matriarchal family of strong, smart women. We actually need to pay special attention to our boys. Like the Polish Kardashians, but without all the plastic surgery and money. 

It's not something anyone in our family has to think about. That is, until I see an injustice or see someone who needs some information. The "someone" is a lot of people, actually.

It seems there are people, even young and smart women, who feel like feminism is synonymous with hating men. 

First thing you should know: It is NOT.

Feminism doesn't mean anything negative about men at all. I'm a feminist and I chose to be married to a man. I chose to take my husband's last name, to stay home with my children, putting my career aside to be the homemaker, diaper changer, CEO of Toilet Cleaning. That was a choice we made together, my husband and I.

Most of the time when someone talks about feminism, or being a feminist, really all that means is they believe, as do I, that women and men should have the same rights and opportunities.

This is from MiriamWebster.com

from miriamwebster.com

In case this is too small on your phone, it reads:
"Feminism
   noun
: the belief that men and women should have equal rights and opportunities."
: organized activity in support of women's rights and interests

That's really all it is. 

Equal rights. Equal opportunities. Period.
Women should have rights.

Yes, we're also fighting for equal pay for EQUAL work, and it's hard to even figure out what that means sometimes. We know men and women are different, so you don't have to come at us with tired old examples like,
"Oh, so men should be surrogate mothers and wet nurses?" 
*eye roll*

No one is suggesting a woman run for Chief Output Officer at the Sperm Factory. We're just saying that in general if a woman has the same education and experience as a man, they should be on the same pay scale. That's it.

They should be able to apply for, and hold, the same positions.

Yes, there are a lot of factors that tip the scales, different college majors, maternity leave, etc. WE KNOW. Most feminists just really want a more equal opportunity.

Part of the solution would be for women to ask for, and demand when necessary (it's almost always necessary) to be paid what we are worth.

I've had to fight, I've had to demand. I've left jobs that told me "You're already at the top of the pay scale." Then when I found another job and gave my notice, hey all of a sudden it turns out they CAN actually give me a raise if I'm actually going to leave. Well, whattayaknow? I never studied finance, but is that a supply and demand thing? Not sure.

I don't want to bring up crazy quotes from celebrities who really just don't understand what words mean. It might not be the best idea to look to television actors or actresses as an example to live our lives. I'm actually trying to help us here. A little information goes a long way.

Whatever you do or think, don't hate the idea of feminism. 

Especially if you're a woman. Why root against yourself? 
You don't think you should have rights? Please explain.

Feminism is about choices. If you chose to get married or not, or have children or not, or change your last name or not, or have a career or NOT, it should be YOUR CHOICE. Period. 

That's it. 

Just let us have the same choices.

We're fighting for what men just automatically get. You don't have to choose that, but why shouldn't it be available? Even if you don't believe in equality in general, maybe just don't stand in the way?

My point is this:
If you don't think men and women should have equal opportunities and rights, that's your business. Here are 4 things you need to do RIGHT AWAY though:

1. Close your computer. (After you read the rest of this.)

2. Cancel your internet provider.

3. Sell or donate all of your electronics. Especially the ones that help you communicate with people.

4. Churn butter for the rest of your life. 

It's obviously the 1800's in your head, and hey awesome, it's your America too. But please do make yourself useful. Butter is delicious.




Yes this is a celebrity, but it makes sense.

from feminspire.com

LOVE Is Legal and I Forgot Everything Else I Was Going To Say

I had planned to write something this weekend, so many ideas swirled around like fallen twigs clogging the sewer drains all over the Midwest causing all the flooding. What to write about that anyone else would care about, but my funnel of thought was BLOWN AWAY by SCOTUS' decision to lift every ban on same sex marriage across the United States. 

Way to go, USA! Finally a step in the right direction, however long overdue.

My social media feeds were more filled with rainbows than this weekend's Pride Parade. I really needed to see that, too, because Thursday we went to Brookfield Zoo's first ever Pride Day and got there late so we didn't get our rainbow fix. We saw one rainbow flag in the whole place. No signage. Nothing on their social media channels. Hmmmmmm. 

Anyway huge step for Team Human. And don't tell anyone but I cried a little. Well, YOU read this and try not to cry. 

And if that doesn't make you cry, don't tell me because that means you're dead inside. And my particular hollow insides are always attracted to those kinds of people, so let's just HIGH-FIVE finally having one damn good reason to be proud of our country.

I hate that it took this long, but I am also thankful it's done. Let's move on to the next thing. 

Like taking down the confederate flag everywhere that isn't a museum or a sad footnote in history books. Don't come at me with Southern nostalgia. We all know the creator of this flag wanted it to be the symbol of white supremacy and segregation. We all know that past and current hate groups literally use it as a symbol of hate. Racism and hate trump your nostalgia. Done. Next issue.

Oh I love when things zip along.

I'm thankful with each year of my life, along with losing muscle mass I gain the wisdom to make decisions more easily and move on. I'll take that trade. Especially since there isn't much I can do about it. Except exercise, but let's focus on GOOD things we're thankful for right now.

We're getting End of Times rain and flooding in the Midwest right now, so the Silver Linings there are:
It's not snow. 
We're not in a drought. 
We finished our basement repairs just in time. Not one drop of water got in! 
Well, except for a little condensation from leaving the windows open. Did I mention we can OPEN the windows now?! Huzzah!

So many good thankfuls I need to focus on right now. I thought we were going to be good work-wise for the summer, but decided the new family wasn't a good fit for us. It bummed me out for awhile, but it's done. It was the right decision. I need to focus on the positives and forget the rest. 

I don't want to be negative, so I'll just say I like to keep my group small so we can do a lot of things: From walks, parks, games, arts and crafts, books, all kinds of things. This isn't just a business, this is my family. I like them busy, learning, having fun, getting TIRED. Certain people/situations make those things difficult. I can handle almost any kind of kid, but there are certain kinds of parents I just can't work with. 

Kids need a little guidance, structure, to know what their boundaries are. They NEED boundaries. They will always have them, different everywhere they go, there is nothing wrong with that. Parents have to be strong, have to be in charge and make the rules. Otherwise it won't take long before kids walk all over you. Then when they get to school it takes them longer to get with the program. 

They can't learn if all the time is spent getting them to catch up with the others in terms of sitting in one place, following very simple rules, eating real food in a calm manner. If you don't even want to try that? I can't fix it in a couple hours 3 days a week. Neither can teachers. You HAVE to start, however small. If you're not even willing to try? Have a nice day, somewhere else. I don't have the patience for that. Nor should I have to. 

My kids will only be this age once. A couple dollars isn't worth making them wait around for other kids to get with the program. Parenting is hard enough. Keep your village tight with the right kinds of people. Like my sister says, get rid of the weeds before they poison the whole garden. I'm thankful for her guidance in this way, and that my husband is understanding. I'm sure he'll be bummed at the paychecks this costs us, but seeing his kids active and happy is worth it. 

I'm forever thankful I have these options. That I live in a place where we won't go hungry, however tight the budget gets. I'm also thankful I was able to get some side work from a friend of mine to get us through the summer. Work at home has unique challenges. I'm glad I can do it and be home with my kids, no matter the ups, downs and WTF's! Soon enough they'll be teenagers and off with their friends and doing their own things and I'll be forever grateful for this time.

That has to be more than 10! I have to bring my son his phone he left in my car and go enjoy our time to be together and go things before my house gets filled with kids and reasons why we can't. 

Sorry if takes me awhile to hop around and answer comments lately. SUMMER!

Pleasant Leibster from A Pleasant House

And now for something completely different....

Smells like CHLOROFORM 

No, not like that. More like this.

I'm still unpopular and unread gracious and humble enough to be over the moon when someone nominates me for ... well, for anything. I'm a lot like my 3 yr old, even negative attention is better than being ignored. But this isn't negative at all. The lovely writer of A Pleasant House blog (that's a link, and it's as lovely as it sounds) was kind enough to acknowledge my existence. I know, I was pretty hard to deal with when it happened. And since my last line of posts came to a weird halt, this seems like a good time to start fresh.

This works as follows:
The nominator asks questions and tags bloggers to answer, the nominatee answers the questions and tags other bloggers, and they tell 2 friends and they tell 2 friends and we all wash our hair in a grid like the beginning of the Brady Bunch. 

It was called Faberge shampoo.
I had this hairstyle, we all did.

Wait, no, that's a shampoo commercial.

Anyway, here are the questions.

1) How did you decide on the name of your blog?

That was the easiest part. My husband's house that he lived in was one of those old, really comfy houses where you could do anything and it was okay. Like he full-on SMOKED inside the house. And you could tell he and other people had for years. You had to see the house where I grew up, but that made me feel right at home. Immediately. We had a pretty messy mashed potato fight one night and left it all there for like 3 days. But since I moved a lot for years before we met, and it was so comfy and filled with memories, it almost immediately felt like home to me. Just driving there I started to feel more calm, happier. It had good juju. 

We strive to continue that everywhere we live. Nowhere has matched the original Comfytown in terms of comfy-ness, but we try to make it a state of mind. You could drop spagetti or spill wine here, and it would be totally okay. S'aul Good, man.

2) Where does your inspiration come from?

Day to day living, past memories, and years of being raised by television. I come from a big family of weirdos, so there are just so many funny stories. I wanted a place to get them down, and to share them. And to have a sense of community. Being home w/small children is where I wanted to be, but it's also very lonely. These kids do not get me. It's like Monty Python jokes go right over their heads.

3) What is it you most love about blogging?

The community. The comments are always more funny than what I've written and a lot of times whole extra conversation comes about in the comments.

4) What is your favorite food?

Tacos. Forever.
Though lately in my middle age I've broadened my horizons to include:
Chip tacos (or do you call them nachos?)
Taco Salad

5) What is your favorite drink?

Beer.
But if I'm driving:
Juice w/water added because I'm weird.

6) What item can’t you live without?

My van.
Yes, really trying not to be a suburban cliche I have a minivan, but it fits my kids and extra kids and extra stuff I find at Goodwill, furniture people give me, stuff I drive by at garage sales, stuff people throw in the garbage, or leave momentarily unattended...etc. I'm very che----FRUGAL.

7) If you could live anywhere, where would it be?

I love London and the surrounding area. Not sure if I could be that far away from our families though.
I love living near Chicago, the city, the people, so many parks and things to do. Even though the weather proves if there is a deity? He/she hates this area.
We say when we get older we'll move somewhere warmer.

8) If you could meet anyone from History (past or present) who would it be?

Frank Zappa. That guy is hilarious.
.
9) What is your favorite outdoor activity?

Floating in the lake behind my sister's lake house in Michigan. In a big tube. With a beer.
Bonfires. With beer.
Hiking, slow and easy terrain where I can bring a Capri-Sun bag spiked. Especially if we're stopping to have a picnic lunch.
Yeah, I'm all about outdoor drinking obvy.

10) Where do you see yourself in five years?

The thing is, I don't know.
Probably still living here in these boring but safe suburbs. My kids will be in school full time so I'll have more options of where I'll be job-wise. I'll have to be somewhere with a paycheck, but again I'll have more options.
Blogging? I'm not sure. There are parts I love about it, and so many parts I hate about it.
I hate having to constantly promote myself to get anyone's eyes over here, it's exhausting. I hate click-baitey writing and things like:
1. Numbered Lists in blog titles, "12 Reasons Why You Will Die Horribly If You Don't Read This, click here"
2. Open Letters to __________ people I don't care about.
3. 13,000 people's exact same thoughts on the SAME subject matter
4. Bucket Lists
BARF! If you like that kind of thing, awesome. I can't swing that way.

I think there is another part to this, I have to go back and get the rules. But in the meantime, you get the jist.

Ta da!!!

Summer of Discontent. Ish.

I haven't posted in awhile and you're welcome. I probably should have changed the day I had designated for posting. Monday is usually the day I can wake up early, feeling refreshed and sit to write. For 10 weeks, thanks to the rapey weirdos at HBO, I would wake up each Monday tired and confused.

WTF HBO?

In case you don't know what I'm talkin bout Willis, Game of Thrones is on Sunday nights. For 10 weeks anyway. p.s. when did 10 hours become a SEASON? 
I guess when each episode takes $197 million dollars to film.

Don't worry anyone who hasn't watched, only vague spoilers laid down here.

George RR Martin promises on his blog, Not A Blog, that the show and the books will end up at the same place in the end. Why he keeps getting interviewed everywhere instead of FINISHING WRITING THE NEXT BOOK? Is beyond me.

"Shireen did not leave the cockadoodee castle!"

However.

What/how they the shows get to the end? Is apparently left up to a group of people including Bill Cosby and the creepy guy who sang Blurred Lines, the national anthem of rapists.

Don't get me wrong, I know the books are hella violent. I know that medieval marriage was quite different from today. I know that GRRM has a unique way of writing that rivals Waterboarding for inhumane torture. It just really seems like the writers at HBO only know ONE TRICK for getting us to hate a character.

Someone up in there REALLY needs some counseling.

Let's take one example. Ramsay Bolton. There are so many other ways to get the audience to hate Ramsay. Their HOUSE SIGIL is a person about to be flayed, in which they have their skin cut off while still alive.

Ramsay is a special brand of family insane. He likes to physically hunt people before flaying them. But that's not enough for HBO writers. Nope. What could we do to really drive home how awful he is? He needs to rape someone. WHAT THE HELL?

There is one scene in the 9th episode. I do not understand in any way. I hate to spoil it for people who have say, read the books but haven't watched the show. I'll be very vague.

There is one guy who calls himself "The One True King." And, by law, and thanks to his murder of a sibling that would inherit the throne, he actually IS supposed to be the king. Except they don't have Jerry Springer to throw down a DNA test and tell Cersei,
"He is NOT the father!"
and have everyone do that victory dance they do when they get the results.

So, he takes it upon himself to conquer the world. Then, this show would have you believe he orders the death of the only possible heir to his throne.

WHUUUUUUUT?

Why in Seven Hells would anyone do that?

Can anyone help me out here?

_________________________This post was interrupted by the person whose child(ren) I watch, who had given me a schedule showing this week and next OFF, and then inexplicably pulled into my driveway. Good thing I was awake and had some actual clothes on. Pajamas, but my all of my clothes can double as pajamas so no one noticed.
SURPRISE! I don't have this week off from them. 

Bitchen Camaro, Bitchen Camaro (I Hammered A Cop, Part 3)

This is the 3rd post of a lovely series I like to call,
"I Think I Hammered A Cop"
because my life is poetry in motion and always has been.

Here is a link to the previous post in case you're a glutton for punishment. And if you are, I'm so glad you're here:
http://www.comfytownchronicles.com/2015/04/the-thing-i-remember-that-happened.html

The triggered memories continue. My First Car, among other embarrassing things.

This memory was triggered by the unraveling of the cable knit sweater that was my first office job.

After I had worked there for awhile, kicking all forms of butt, the VP talked them into writing me a 'bonus' check for $1,500 to get a new car. Why? Besides all the kicking of butts, the VP liked me for whatever reason. Also, and most importantly, somehow she happened to get a look at my Camaro, and she insisted I take this check and immediately go get another car. ANY other car.

I have no idea who called her attention to my car, or how she knew this car was mine, but I'm guessing it had something to do with one of two things:
1. I was the only teenager who worked there. Remember the movie "Don't Tell Mom The Babysitter's Dead?" Kelly Bundy had to get a job after the babysitter died, and she pretended to be an adult, but really she was in high school, and this whole period of my life FELT EXACTLY LIKE THAT.
Actually for the most part? My life still feels like that.
2. Many times I would arrive at work super early (long story) and be the first person there not in the royal family. The CFO, the VP's dad would say,
"Joy, you get the worm!"
Therefore he knew my car was the only car in the lot he didn't recognize. That make sense?

Also, my car stuck out like a broken cartoon thumb just smashed by a carnival hammer.

My first car was a bitchen Camaro my sister gave me. Super sweet, coolest first car EVER, that is until I spun it like a top in the rain and slammed into a guard rail. Totally sober. It spun all the time in the lightest of rain. That car was just front heavy and some bags of sand in the trunk didn't make a difference.

This was NOT it, but look how much CAR is in the front compared to the back. Right? collectorcarpricetracker.com

After that, the hood would never go all the way down. So we had to have a huge, metal chain wrap around and lock under the car to hold it down. And it didn't fit all the way back down. I wish I had a picture because now? Looking back? It was hysterical.

At the time it was embarrassing. Anywhere I went, everyone for miles around knew JOY IS HERE. When people arrived at places I was, the big joke was, 
"Is Joy here?"
or sarcastically pointing out that I was, in fact, there, met with a response like,
"Oh, I was wondering whose car that was"
and whatnot.

For the VP of this company, I'm sure it was what a layperson might call "an eyesore."

Butt, it was paid for and I didn't have money to get it fixed. I wish I did have a picture, this was after Polaroids and before digital cameras so I think I have a TOTAL of 8 pictures from these decades. Dropping off film to be developed was hard, man.

I also had to crawl underneath the car and unlock/unwrap that giant, comical, medieval chain each time I needed to lift the hood to check the oil. Which was about once a week, because it was always low.

So the car looked a little like the one above. Except no blue stripes, and there were now dings and dents and oh, also? The hood was always open a little bit.

It always looked like the car was just smashed by a car, or I had just came from an accident. NBD right? Unless you saw it.

Also UNLESS you happen to be driving in an area where there was a hit and run. That story is the one from my Scary Police Officers post, where I got pulled over and the cops scared me half to death because they thought I just hit someone and drove away. But I didn't.
Tangent story, but it happened with this car.

Anyway, when word got out that the Camaro was mine, it brought all the characters out of the woodwork.

A lot of people needed to hear why the hood wouldn't close.
What happened?
Was anyone hurt?
Did I get a ticket?
Was I drinking?
Like everyone asked that one. But I wasn't, and I still have a witness.

It was the talk of the place for awhile, which drove that love-r-ly Lisa girl crazy as you can imagine. This was an office building, so the lot was full of station wagons, various family trucksters and sedans, your Toyota Celicas, Chevy Cavaliers and whatnot, and then my steamping heap. Changing the whole look of the place from Professional Office Building to Indoor Flea Market with black market back alley deals.

Most of my co-workers put up a supportive front, especially dudes because:
Camaro
GIRL driving old Camaro
Picture that scene in Vacation. Ok no, not really, not really at all. Totally different league. It just popped into my mind and made me laugh.

Anyone who knows me now will definitely laugh hysterically at that, but back at this time? I took the advice of an older woman and bought a bunch of dresses and high heels to wear to work. Apparently that + Camaro was the formula for attracting the unwanted attention of every dude in the Midwest in the 90's. I hated almost every disgusting minute of it.

If every guy just went away and left me alone when I asked him to? I probably would have loved it. Maybe I would be a pleasant person today, who can say. Instead? I will never drive a sports car or wear dresses pretty much ever again. My husband is lucky I even decided to keep dating dudes. Instead of murdering them with a hammer, which would have been understandable in my situation.

This was the first place I learned about how persistent and sneaky dudes can be when they want to date you. Even if you've told them you're not interested. Or that you're already dating someone. Or that you shouldn't date because you work together. Or whatever. Guys don't care what you think or what you want a lot of times. It was even worse then.

One guy, let's call him Jim, was one such dude. He always acted like the office Nice Guy. And maybe he was a nice guy, I don't know. All I know was how he suddenly changed, turned things around on me, and how mortified he was that I didn't eat up his bullcrap.

He made it a point to come around and talk to me and ask me questions, like,
"Does this tie match these pants?"

Jim was (probably still is if he's still alive) completely color blind. That was literally the most interesting thing about him, in his own mind anyway. He said he really could only see shades of black, white and brown. So EVERY photo was sepia-toned to Jim. Lucky!

However, this meant Jim had a hard time picking out clothing and knowing what matched with what. Jim told everyone he ever passed on the street this story. As another co-worker guessed, it probably got him a lot of attention, if not sympathy.

His mother had to sew cute little tags into his ties and pants for work, triangle for blue, square for red, I think rectangle for green. You get the idea. This way he could just pick a triangle tie with triangle pants and be on his way. Pretty genius actually. But he still used this whole thing to ask chicks if he matched. The sympathy card maybe, or just an excuse to start a chat.

Anyway, Jim did thing that a lot of dudes I would work with tried over the years:
The "work outing."

As in, they want to date you but instead of just asking for a date, they pretend it's just a couple of co-workers you know, just hanging out. No big whoop.

I was only 17 so I had no idea this was even a thing. Seriously, if you have young kids, cousins, or family members, let them know about this trick. It's a trap!

He had an "extra ticket" to a baseball game and would I want to go? Just a work outing, no pressure. But then he wouldn't take any money for the ticket. And then insisted on buying my drinks. Which, in my dumb mind, he had to because I was only 17 and I couldn't legally buy beer, but he wouldn't take any money for it later.

Then, after 2 of these such outings when he tried to kiss me, and I wouldn't do it, he acted like I was the worst person in the world for going on two "dates" (suddenly they were dates because ANYONE could figure that out, duh) and wasn't I just such a young dumb dumb.

The weird thing was, we may have eventually gotten to that point if he wasn't such a jerk about it. We got along well enough. We had enough in common to have good conversations. Clearly I was willing to go places with him and we had fun. I wasn't initially attracted to him, but I always (and still do) liked people for the way they made me feel more than anything else. At first he made me feel smart and funny. He got my dry humor, we talked about books, current events, Andy Rooney, weird stuff I couldn't talk about with dudes my own age.

I was also......how do I put this?

Not one of those girls that was hard to get. I know what you're thinking, that is NOT how you would say it. I was a bit of what you might call a tramp. If you were religious, judgmental, jealous, or afraid to use the word whore. But at least all of my shenanigans were on my own terms. This is what feminism is about for me on a personal level. MY choices, MY call. I was just more of a tomboy and acted more like a dude about a lot of things. And that was okay. However, this Jim situation threw me for a loop.

He tried an immediate audible Friend Zone/Co-Worker switcheroo, and this was the first job I really cared about keeping. To me it was totally out of left field, keeping with the baseball theme. I was dating someone else, was naive in the ways of men (spoiler: Lots of them are really gross.) I was going through a tough time in my personal life, and I totally misread this situation like the 3rd base coach was waving for me to run home, and I stayed firm on 2nd. A real home run of a situation badly handled.

Jim didn't understand, or handle it like a nice guy. Or the older person. Or a human person. Months later when I took the guy I was ACTUALLY dating, like with my own real consent, to an actual work outing, Jim pulled him aside and warned him that he shouldn't be dating me, because I was "really young." 
Barf.

I mean, I was really young. I had to be either 18 or 19, maximum, because the company crumbled when I was 19. But the guy I was actually dating was only a few years older than I. Also the guy I was actually dating wasn't trying to pull any stunts or trick me into anything I wasn't down with, so my age wasn't a factor. At all.

I also, not long after this, dated someone who was almost 10 years older than I was and that was fine and dandy like huckleberry candy. No trickery, no problem. I guess that's the lesson.

Young people: Let there be NO gray area with consent. People around young people: Make sure they know.
Dudes trying to trick people: Anything without consent is illegal.

So after this happened, then at work, this once seemingly super nice guy would walk by my desk and sarcastically ask about the guy I was actually dating.
How was he doing?
What does he do for a living?
And the like.

Oh relax, I know not ALL colorblind people are evil. Just all men.
from Imnotrightinthehead.com

Jim found out somehow when this guy I was actually dating and I were going through a rough patch I was dating someone else, and it was a complete nightmare.

I could not avoid Jim, or this never-ending line of intensely uncomfortable questioning, because I was the receptionist so I was stuck at the front desk. Not only stuck there, but I had a brilliant idea about how everyone could get their mail, by coming up by ME in a huge tickler file I created. I cleaned out an entire drawer of a filing cabinet and put a file with everyone's name in it, where I filed their mail. Every day.

Which seemed like a good idea, until everyone from the company actually started to come up and get their mail, usually after I had to remind them 20 times, and then would strike up conversations with me. Worst idea ever. I learned everything about people's lives, the fake stuff they wanted to brag about anyway, and they asked questions about mine. I learned how much people in Chicagoland really give a frick about the WEATHER. So much.

Remember, I could not just get up and walk away. I just had to sit there like a bartender, but without drinks. I was like Sam Malone without Carla and Norm to entertain me. This isn't where I started to hate people, but this clinched it for sure.

In my defense, I HAD to do something in terms of the mail delivery because the old system? Was driving Lisa just completely insane. The old system was:
The receptionist would walk around delivering everyone's mail to their desks. While this happened, people would chat me up and inevitably the switchboard would ring so I would have to answer it using other people's phones, and try to find people while not at the switchboard, etc. This process not only took forever, but it was obvious that every time I chatted with someone, especially Jim, Lisa would die inside a little.

Jim would come 'check his mail' or 'check for messages' at least 4 times a day, always with comments and chit-chat. I would find out later (long story) Lisa may have had a thing for Jim. That's at least another post or 7, but this may have explained her absolute hatred of me, since Jim was always talking to me.

Like Jim with Pam from The Office. The American one. Even though, very unlike Pam, I just sat there, smiling as politely as I could and saying as little as any human being with a mouth could say because I hated Jim by this time.

Lisa was the roommate of Melissa, who was the head of marketing and having an extra-marital affair with the much older married president of the company. I take back the much older part, just the married part really bothered me.

I should probably give these birds fake names, but I don't know, I can't think of any right now and who cares if they find this blog. All of this was 100% true and those biotches were totally mean to me so they deserve their stories to be told. Anyway, somehow Lisa convinced Melissa to convince the president to put Lisa in charge of the receptionist and all of her doings.

Lisa would follow me around, correcting me, telling me to go back to my desk, listen to my conversations and constantly tell me the same things over and over. She called a meeting once with me, her, Melissa for reasons still not known to me and Dee, just so she could talk about how I shouldn't be making personal calls.

This happened because ONE TIME my grandmother called me at work to see if I could come take her to the store later. Lisa heard this because she was always watching me and listening to everything, and I had to speak loudly to my grandmother so she could hear me.

The phone conversation lasted all of maybe 90 seconds. The meeting? Was over an hour long.

Before this time, Dee was 'in charge' of my comings and goings and daily tasks. Dee, in case you missed the earlier posts, was the secretary to the president of the company. Dee and Melissa did not get along, which surprised me. Dee was having an extra-marital affair with my dad's super drunk waste of skin BFF, Dwayne, so you would think they would have shared Gold Digging secrets or get pedicures together or something. 

The early 90's were a super romantic time to be alive, I guess. The divorce rate was lower, no doubt because everyone just stayed married and had affairs with each other? Is that better, religious people? Clear it up for a girl, would ya?

I don't know, I was just a dumb kid obvy.

How and why a different secretary suddenly had to watch my every move, listen to my every conversation, and go out of her way to tell me I shouldn't be spending so much time 'talking to people,' I don't know. I also don't know why she thought it would be a good idea for a receptionist to be rude to people who came to talk to her, but this is exactly what she told me to do.

Things like,
"You can say 'Hi' back, but then let people know you have work to do."
Even though I really didn't.

I was always asking people if there were things I could be doing when the phone wasn't ringing. You know, since Lisa made sure I couldn't get up from the desk to deliver mail and faxes to people anymore.

Yes, let's go back once more in the way-back machine to a time when people sent faxes! On curly fax paper that came out in ONE LONG ROLL, so you had to physically CUT the paper into page-size pieces. TRUE STORY.

punch.photoshelter.com

When I first started, Dee told me to call people when they received a fax and set it in their phone message tray.

What's a phone message tray?
Weeeellllll, before voice mail actual people (me) answered switchboard, transferred calls to certain extensions by PUNCHING IN NUMBERS with actual meaty, flesh fingers, and if that call didn't get answered?
That's right.
The call came back to ME.
If they wanted to leave the person a message, I had to write it down, like with a pen, and put the paper in a place where they could come and get it when they got back from lunch, meeting, wherever.

Every employee would walk by my desk in the morning, when they got back from lunch, or out of a meeting and come to check the wheel for messages and/or faxes.

We had two of these, with every person's name on a slot.

When taking a message, it was my job to ask the caller for their name, company name even though 99% of the time the caller would say,
"They know who I am, and they know what this is regarding."

Then when I gave people the message, they would ask me,
"WHO is this? What company are they with? What did they want?"

So even though no caller out of a thousand wanted to take the time to tell me their info, I had to press them for the spelling of their name if I couldn't figure it out, their company name, phone number, what the call was regarding, and various other questions people would later ask me.

Like,
"Did he sound mad?"

Most of the time my answer was the same,
"I don't remember because we get probably thousands of calls a day and I take at least 50 messages a day."

This was almost never an acceptable answer.

People also couldn't comprehend that if they lost their piece of paper with their phone message on it, that I didn't somehow still have that number.

That's when I discovered phone message books that made another copy. This made me several people's personal hero.

Just by writing on these, you made a copy you could keep.
My book was 4-up, but you get the idea.
from sunriseimports.com

I didn't invent them, but I ordered them and you would not believe how happy people got. I could not only flip back through their own old messages, have the phone number, name, date, time, etc., but also that I would let people flip through this book while I was answering other calls and they could see other people's messages!

I'm not sure if every office was like an episode of Dynasty in the 90's, but a lot of the ones I worked at were. This was everything to a lot of people.

A lot of things happened after this, but for purposes of wrapping THIS up:
I bought a sensible 4-door blue Corsica. Good car, great gas mileage. Though after a Camaro, my bar was low.
Lisa gave herself MS, or maybe karma gave her MS, for real. She had a diagnoses from a doctor and was on medical leave when the company blew up.
I dated that guy I dated with consent, on and off and on again for a loooong time.
I may have, later, kind of, dated a different dude from this company for a short period of time. Welp.

I have to stop at this point. I'm sure this post is 'too long' as my husband would say, and I need to go back and clean it up. But also this old laptop is starting to freak out. Literally if I hit BACKSPACE right now, it actually closes this post and does not save anything from the last time I manually clicked "Save."
This has happened twice, and unlike the message books of the 90's, I don't have another copy.

I need to take a bat to a fax machine in a field right now, so until next time, peace out Home Skillets.


__________________________
If you haven't seen the movie "Office Space" and you've ever worked in an office, with pretty much anyone, you really need to see it. Just don't watch it too many times if you still work in an office. Sometimes it just feels too good to be a gangster.