Making assumptions is something I try not to do. I actually paid attention for a minute or two during some boring, role-playing, work training class years ago to learn that when you assume, you make an ASS out of U and ME. I most likely just perked up when I saw the word ass on a white board. Or it could be that I enjoy acronyms, is that even an acronym? Obviously I wasn’t paying attention in that class. Anyway, I’m going to make the assumption that you’ve all encountered head shaking laziness at some point lately.

I’m not talking about your children not wanting to take the dog out lazy, I’m talking about customer service laziness. Sometimes the extreme laziness of others even amazes me, who is OG lazy (OG means Original Gangster or Original for all you non-cool readers). I was the kid that never really enjoyed sledding because you had to walk back up the hill, and picked which homework I would bring home based on how heavy the books were.

The thing that gets me, is how common place laziness is in business these days. Almost a prerequisite for a job. First question during a job interview, “when confronted with a task the requires the slightest bit of effort do you a) accept the challenge, or b) push it off onto someone else who is ultimately not the correct person?” We all know “b” gets you not only the job, but an office with a window.

Recently I had an issue with a company and the first person I spoke with had no clue how to answer my question, so she transferred me to the wrong person, of course. That person not only didn’t have a clue how to help me, but she didn’t even know where to transfer me to, so you know what she did? She hung up on me! How awesome is that?!? Seriously, she deserves a raise and a turkey at Thanksgiving in addition to her corner window office. Imagine? “Wow, I’d really have to think with this one.” Click.

Are you finding that instead of getting angry, you are just starting to find it amusing. I actually just threw away a refund check for $67 because I couldn’t find anyone that could re-issue the check with the correct name spelling. It’s sad, but I laughed and gave up. The other day I was so moved emotionally by the effort someone gave to assist me that I could barely bring myself to hang up the phone, “thank you, thank you so much, you just made my day, I love you”.

I am very envious of those that faithfully exercise and enjoy it.  I am not now, nor have I ever been, one that enjoys working out.  I have an excuse these days because of some back issues, but even before that I just preferred other things.  Anything really but mostly eating.  My lack of exercise and love of food has caused a tough battle with my clothes fitting.  Some days they do, some days they don’t.  It all depends on if it’s a cottage cheese and fruit kind of week, or a nachos on top of a pizza kind of week.  I choose to believe that despite what my doctor tells me, I must have a thyroid issue.  Many times I’ll tell me husband that I’m concerned something must be wrong with my health because I appear to have unexplained weight gain.  He’ll just wipe the chocolate off my chin and ask me what I’ve been eating lately and remind me I don’t exercise.  Bastard.

So today I woke up depressed that my clothes don’t fit and feeling embarrassed to leave the house.  I decided to go for one of my “power walks” which is basically me walking around the block while wheezing and sweating.  So despite just feeling like I’m an embarrassment, I all of a sudden felt like I was sexy as all hell.  Even though I probably burned 3 calories, my brain thinks I just completed a triathlon.  I’m smiling at people, bending over to “tie my shoes” – you’re welcome.  Thinking about how my next walk should probably just be in a sports bra and spandex shorts.  It’s pretty amazing how in 5 minutes my brain thinks I have transformed my body from someone one cupcake away from not being able to fit through my front door, to a super model.  I can’t be the only one that feels this way, right?  Isn’t it funny how one day on a diet or a simple walk can make us feel thinner?  I know it isn’t true but I’m going to run with it and pick out a new bikini to water my lawn in.

As Americans, we all know that the President is the person we should look to for guidance, information, and to be our role model.  While many of us have been so focused on how negative his behavior has been, because I’m an eternal optimist (insert snorting sound here), I am looking at his behavior in a positive light.  A whole new world has been opened for us and most people haven’t even noticed.   My dear friends, if our commander-in-chief is leading our country with “alternative facts” then we as his humble servants should be living by his example.  Think about how exciting this is, every time we are told something we don’t like we just have to say “fake news” or “alternative facts”.  We don’t have to have any proof, nothing, just “fake news” and done.  Even if proof is showed to us, we no longer have to accept it, it’s kind of like an adult version of putting your fingers in your ears and saying “lalala, I can’t hear you”.

I think I might try this at my next physical exam when the doctor tells me my weight is 467 pounds.  I’ll just say I prefer to use my alternative facts of 110 pounds.  When she looks at me confused and shows me the scale, I’ll just insist it’s fake news and that the scale must have been made in China.  Boom.  How’s that for Making American Great Again?  It sure as hell is!  Then when you are speeding home with a donut in one hand because you’re so happy that you now only weigh 110 pounds without dieting, you don’t even need to worry about getting a ticket.  If you get pulled over for driving 45 in a 20 mile per hour zone, “Sorry officer but my alternative facts show that I was only going 22 miles per hour.  Have a nice day!”  You don’t even have to worry about being arrested because when you give your plea they have to let you go.  “Mrs. Morrison are you telling us you have no proof to back up your claims?”, “Yes, Your Honor that is correct, I’m using alternative facts as my defense”, “Well, ok then, you are free to go”.  I’m telling you, this is bigly.

Bad performance review at work, fake news.  When your bills come just mail in your alternative facts amount.  What are they going to do take you to court?  We already established a plea of alternative facts without any proof shall set you free.  If you are supposed to work until 5:00, now you can leave at 3:00.  Credit score problems?  Not anymore!  Can’t afford something in a store?  Oh yes you can, just give them your alternative facts amount and you will be on your way with your new Burberry bag that only cost you $20.50.  America truly is the land of opportunity.

Have you ever seen the commercials where people wake up smiling?  The sun is shining, birds are chirping, and the people sit up stretching, happy and refreshed.  They look over at their also perfectly rested spouse and say “morning honey”.  Does anyone actually wake up like this or am I the only one that falls out of bed with drool stuck to my cheek in a partial coma that replaces “honey” with a variety of other colorful words.  If it is just me then maybe I should buy that bed, pillow, coffee or whatever it is that makes these beautiful people on television so rested and chipper.  I have this feeling that the only product that would assist me with resting is a partial, or full, lobotomy.  If I ever see a commercial for that I am going to make sure I am one of the first 50 callers when that 800 number pops up.  Maybe I’ll even get a free potato peeler with lobotomy purchase.  I’ll no longer be able to use it but still, free is free.

These might be some of those people I’ve heard about that fall asleep soundly and dream of butterflies and unicorns and wake up ready to concur the day.  Oh how I hate those people.  Not people who have had lobotomies, I think it would be wrong to hate them.  I mean the well-rested people who don’t need brain surgery.  I don’t think I have ever, or will ever be rested.  I’ve pretty much come to accept that fact.  As long as my brain is in pre-lobotomy standing then it is not going to happen.   My mind is always racing, I mean crazy racing like faster than an Indy 500 car.  I would be thrilled if I could at least get my mind to obsess about one topic at a time but instead the topics overlap, and fast.  You know those torture methods where a person’s eyes would be taped open and they were forced to watch a screen with multiple objects flashing at a rapid rate while really loud music was playing?  That’s my brain at night.

I wouldn’t mind so much if my brain was trying to figure out something of importance like how to solve world hunger or make fuel from urine.  Unfortunately, that is not the case for my brain.  Today at 4:00am I was thinking about my new puppy, business inventory at my house, which inventory I should bring to my shop, what I should take out of my shop, how I should arrange what is in my shop, how I need to start exercising, my back pain, how my back pain is going to prevent me from exercising, why the dog is on my head, what I should make the kids for lunch, what to cook for dinner, whether or not I should go to an estate sale today, my allergies, laundry, vacuuming, how best to advertise my business, how my clothes don’t fit, money, doing our taxes, ways to organize my office, how I’m not sleeping, that I really should sleep, that I need sleep, the people on the commercials that look rested, how I hate those people, and that I should just get up, drink coffee and write a blog.  Ta da!

Can you imagine if a doctor ever got a hold of me?  They would spend 5 minutes with me and dollar signs would pop up in their eyes while they thought “I’m going to get rich over this nut job”.  Their findings would become world known and written about in every medical journal.   I can see myself in a glass box with electrodes attached to my head while medical students walk around the box looking at the screen showing my brain waves and furiously taking notes.  Either that or I would end up in a mental hospital which also doesn’t sound that appealing.  Unless I was sedated and got to stay in bed all day.  Hmmm.  I need to go make a phone call.

I am finding that the level of incompetence I run into on a daily basis seems to be growing at an exponential rate.  The largest problem I am facing with this is that I have no patience for incompetence.  None.  No poker face, no fake smile, none.  Some companies must be so desperate for employees these days that they must hire anyone that has a pulse.  I’ve even had instances where I questioned whether or not some people even had a pulse.  You know that look you get when you ask someone a question that they really don’t know the answer to?  It’s kind of a cross between a deer in headlights and the look people get in movies when they realize they have just been stabbed.  I could understand that look if I walked into a Dunkin Donuts and asked someone what the square root of 4,307 was, but this is in response to simple questions, questions about what they actually have and sell in their establishment.  I know I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed but I at least know what I do for work.  I’m referring to instances where an employee would have known the answer to my questions if they just spent a few minutes familiarizing themselves with the products and services their company provides.  I swear some people must just stop into a store to use the bathroom and when they come out they are wearing a name tag and enrolled in a 401k plan.

A number of years ago, right after I graduated from college I applied for a part-time job at Filene’s Basement.  Mind you, I had a college degree and a full-time job at a publishing company.  I was turned down for the job because I wasn’t qualified.  I’m not really sure what qualifications are needed to put pants on hangers but apparently I did not possess those skills.  It appears that some companies have become quite lax when it comes to qualifications.  I’ve asked a waitress a question about an item on a menu and they have turned the menu so they can see it and read me exactly what was written.  I guess they must have assumed I wasn’t familiar with how to use a menu or I just looked like someone who doesn’t know how to read.  How about taking the menu home and reading it yourself before you start taking orders from customers.  There have been times I could have been at an Italian restaurant and ordered a chimichanga and the waitress/waiter would have spent 10 minutes at the computer trying to find the chimichanga button between cannoli and clams.  “Does anyone know where the chimichanga button is?”, yeah at a Mexican restaurant.

Yesterday, I was on the phone with my pharmacy asking some questions about a medication, simple questions about cost nothing about chemical makeup of the drug itself and I was put on hold 6 times and still given the wrong information.  This person had no clue.  Why do they let him answer the phone?   This is what you do for a living, how can you not answer these simple questions?  The worst part is that these people will tend to give you wrong information instead of taking the time to find out the answer you are seeking.  Which is exactly what I received on this phone call.  Here’s another perfect example.  I received a new debit card in the mail and when I called to activate the card I was unable to because my bank had entered a random date of birth in my account.  When I called the bank to ask them to correct the problem, I was told all changes of birth dates needed to be done in the actual bank. Really?  Are people changing their date of birth often?  I somewhat politely explained that my date of birth had not changed and it wasn’t that I thought June 23rd seemed more fun that October 7th, it was that the bank had made an error and that they needed to fix it.  It was fixed over the phone.

What is going on these days?  Is it laziness?  Are companies so desperate for employees that they will just take anyone?  I know that people no longer have the pride they used to in their job but come on.  I tried to buy a coffee at a fast food drive thru recently and asked for milk instead of cream.  They honestly didn’t know how to handle this, they told me everyone just gets cream.  That’s nice but I want milk.  Two people had to talk about what to do.  I was then told that I would have to buy a milk to put in my own coffee.  Really?  No.  Open the damn milk and pour some in my coffee.  How hard is that?  I’m sure my obvious lack of patience probably got me something else put in my coffee as well but I’m trying not to think about that.

There are two kinds of people in the world, dog lovers and those other types of people who don’t really matter much.  When you are a dog lover you find yourself smiling at dogs when they pass by like you do with babies.  It is only other dog owners that understand how much you truly love your dog and the pain you experience when you lose a dog.  Others may sympathize but they can’t truly empathize.  Nice placement of two “thize” words in one sentence, huh?  I’ve always been a dog lover but it wasn’t until the other day while leaving the dog park that I actually heard how I was talking to my dog.  It was a little shocking, truth be told.  I hadn’t realized that I had gone from a normal dog owner to one of those people that would be carrying my dog around in a pouch if I didn’t have back problems and he didn’t weigh 35 pounds.  When did I transition into this person?

We were walking to the car and I was saying, to my dog mind you, “did you make a new friend”, “you played nice with Lucy”, “mommy is proud of you”, “we need to clean you off when we get home and get you a treat”.  Ummm.  Yeah.  Then when I got home I realized I had taken more pictures of him playing with other dogs than I did of my children on their first day of preschool.  Between you and me, if I had run out of memory on my phone I would have deleted those preschool pictures.  I’m not proud of that, I’m just being honest.  I was taking videos, smiling from ear to ear, praising him, and acting like a proud parent.  “Yes, I know, thank you, he is cute”, like I had something to do with it.  I always knew that I talked to my dogs like they were able to understand me but never realized the gravity of it until that day.  Why do we talk to our dogs like this when we know perfectly well all they hear is “blah, blah, blah….treat”.  I guess the fact that I still know that they can’t understand me is a good thing, right?

Since then I started paying attention to how I act with my dogs and think  I may care more about what my dogs are doing than what my children are doing.  Don’t tell them I said that, ok?  My children bring home grades and I’m like “yeah that’s nice honey” but my dog sits for a treat and I’m like “what a good boy, who’s a good boy, mommy’s so proud of you, wait until daddy gets home and we tell him what a big boy you are” and continue to pat him for 4 minutes while my children are shaking out the toaster trying to find something to eat.  My dog had an upset stomach yesterday and I was like “do you have a tummy ache?” and “let mommy make you some special food” while I made sure he was comfy on the couch with pillows. Today one of my children woke up not feeling well and I said “you’re fine” and sent them to school.  I think it might be time to take a step back and make sure my priorities are straight with who is most important in my life.  This is going to be a difficult conversation with my children but it needs to be done.

We have all had good years and bad years, but I don’t remember a year when so many people have expressed that it was a bad year.  However, I don’t remember much of anything so it may have happened every year for all I know.  I also don’t really care about that many people and maybe I just never asked.  Alright, the truth is I’ve never had to scroll through so much 2016 negativity on Facebook, that’s pretty much what happened.  But seriously, some man started a Go Fund Me page to keep Betty White safe, what the heck??  It’s like this past week everyone just ran to their fallout shelter and won’t come out again until midnight.  “Ok everyone, 2016 is gone, it’s safe to come out.”  It will be like the scene from the movie Twister when the tornado is gone and the bulkhead doors in the ground all start to open and everyone sees the sun, except it will be midnight and it will be dark but let’s just go with the sunny image (already feeling more positive).

Everyone must admit this year has been a very strange year.  It has just felt weird, almost as if we were being controlled by aliens or some higher power.  All the notable deaths, terrorism, and let’s not forget the results of the election.  If that isn’t proof of a mind controlling higher power then I don’t know what is. It has also been a very emotional year for many including myself.  As if we are all part of an alien video game where they knock you down, see you start to get back up, giggle, and zap you back down.  “Almost missed that one, haha.”  If I didn’t have Facebook I would just assume that it might be time to have me committed, but this time it isn’t just me.  Yay, there was a positive in 2016.  Honestly, the only thing that has kept me going this year is that for some strange reason radio stations have been playing “Stacy’s mom has got it going on” more than it has in recent years and in my version the song is “Sara’s mom has got it going on” and that little frequent reminder is definitely uplifting.  If it wasn’t for that and the fact that I’m allergic to cats, I would probably be a crazy cat lady by now.

I never make New Year’s resolutions but this year I actually am, I am hoping that once the force field comes down I will be able to change it up a little.  I weigh more than I ever have, my liver is like a wet sponge, I look like I’m 20 years older and my idea of exercise is squatting down to pick up the cookie I dropped fast enough so it stays in the five second rule.   I am ready to make some positive changes in my life, go from sexy to off the charts sexy.  Only look ten years older.  Keep my talking to myself to a one-sided conversation.  I still don’t want to talk to people but I am hoping to read positive posts on Facebook this year. So 2016 can kiss my white Irish butt (there’s plenty of it so it can’t miss).  Here’s to a great 2017!  Happy New Year!

Recently I made a comment on a friend’s Facebook page referencing my pole dancing, as I often do, it’s become a joke among friends.  I received a response from a man I do not know about “how had he never met me” and it made me think, do some people actually think I am serious???   Let’s look at the definition of pole dancing for a minute and see if any part of it could actually pertain to me.  Pole dancing: erotic dancing that involves swinging around a fixed pole.   Erotic – nope.  Dancing – not by the true sense of the word.  Swinging – um dizzily falling maybe. If I ever were to get swinging my breasts could potentially tie themselves in knots.  Fixed pole – germs, germs, germs.  Not to mention the whole concept pretty much defies gravity for me.  If some miracle ever allowed me to get both feet off of the ground and onto a pole, let’s not even think about the parts of my body that would be sagging and scraping the ground.  Bad visual right there.

Let’s further debunk this myth.  Those of you that don’t really know me or haven’t seen me in a while probably picture this really fit woman walking around in a sports bra and spandex with rock hard abs right?  That is pretty much what you would need to look like to work a pole, right?  I’m pretty close but not quite there.  So let’s address those that have actually seen me recently.  Do I really look fit or coordinated enough to swing what God gave me around a pole?   Let’s put it this way, last week I was in Lululemon and asked the sales woman if they sold clothes for people like me and she did not have to think twice about whether I meant the pole dancing type.   I walked out with a nice comfy pair of joggers that happened to be a size 8 and it was a good day.  Not a pole dancing kind of day but a needing only one seat on an airplane kind of day.  I’m not 100% sure I could even hold myself up on a pole even if I was standing on a ladder next to one.  I tried once but slipped when I had to take one hand off to reach for another donut.

Now here’s the big debunker of the “Stephanie’s a pole dancer” myth.  The be all, end all, even if I were fit and coordinated and my breasts stayed where they were supposed to, reason why I would never find myself on a pole,  I am a huge germaphobe.  Let’s think for a minute what kind of germs would be on a pole.  I use a gallon of Purell after touching a railing on an escalator and women’s no-no zones aren’t typically sliding on that railing.  Can you imagine the coma-like shock I would slip into if I actually had to touch a used pole where others zones have slid?  Do they clean those poles?  Are there people that use Wet Ones to wipe them down between pole swinging sessions?  Can you bring your own pole or have a sign designating whose pole is whose?  So unless that pole was brand new you will never see my bad self saunter over to a pole and screeeeccchhhh down it.

So here it is, the day after Christmas.  The day that I realized the entire month of December has been a blur.  The day that I feel mixed emotions of sadness and gladness that it’s over.  Sadness because I was just too busy to enjoy what really mattered but glad because I am exhausted.  Exhausted to the point where the only dinner I have energy to prepare is leftover cookies with a side of gravy.  I added the gravy so my children won’t have the same thing for breakfast, lunch and dinner.  I’m thoughtful like that. The day I try to get what used to be a Christmas tree out of the house with at least one brown needle still attached to the trunk.

I’m going to go out on a limb here, but I’m pretty sure this is not what Christmas is supposed to be like.  Last night my family watched It’s A Wonderful Life, as we do every year,  and every year I cry happy tears at the end.  Tears because it reminds you that friendship and family are the true meaning of the season.  Not excess.  Excess eating, spending, drinking, giving, wanting, doing, etc., which is what Christmas has become for most.  I am very fortunate that I am able to live a life of excess (thank you Visa), but how I envy the days of simplicity.  I bet Mary Bailey didn’t have to wrap herself in a bed sheet the day after Christmas because she ate so much over the last few weeks that she couldn’t squeeze herself into her clothes.  I’m pretty sure that my own personal consumption of butter increased Land o Lakes’ stock by 14%. That’s only butter, let’s not forget everything else.

What happened to the days where people were happy to receive one gift on Christmas?  Now we spend way beyond our means so that it takes hours to unwrap all that is under our tree. So much so that I have found myself the day after Christmas at the blood bank hoping to donate enough blood to help pay off my credit card debt while wrapped in a sheet.  I just keep telling people that I am preparing for my role as Caesar in a play.  Et tu, Brute?  I would normally just try to pick up a few extra pole dancing shifts but they can’t turn the music up loud enough to drown out the sound of my thighs on that pole.  It’s like fingernails on a chalkboard.  People just won’t pay for that.  Maybe next year I will find a way to simplify or at least cut down on the thigh noise.

My husband and I have a pact that if I am ever convicted of a crime I didn’t commit, he is to be my alibi even if he wasn’t actually with me.  Sounds crazy, huh?  Maybe a little paranoid?  Well folks, you haven’t met me.  I am the person that could be in a coma and would still be blamed for doing or saying something that I didn’t do.  Yup, I’m actually surprised I haven’t been arrested for robbing a convenience store in El Paso even though I live in Mass. and don’t fly.  I literally walk around most days laughing and SMH, which means “shaking my head” and not “shit in my hat” like I thought it meant for years.  I know, I have no idea why I thought that and it makes no sense.

Anyway, I feel like the majority of my days are filled with me saying “what did I do now?”  I struggled for years trying to figure out what I could have done that was so bad to make my husband’s family truly despise me.  Years.  Agonizing.  Questioning myself as a human being.  Then one day I actually got the opportunity to try to clear my name and find out what I possibly could have done.  I needed to right the wrong I had committed and repent my sins. Well guess what, it wasn’t even anything I did.  Nope.  BUT, there’s a big BUT (not BUTT even though I do have a big butt) no matter what I say, ever, about anything to clear my name, it doesn’t matter because the damage is done.  It’s my fault and I must have said it, meant it, done it, thought about it or was about to think about it.

I’m not writing this blog looking for pity.  Au contraire my blog reading friends.  I am writing to let you know that if I’m going to get blamed anyway, why not actually do and say the things that I am constantly getting blamed for.  Look out convenience store owners in El Paso because here I come.  Until I get used to the new, bad me I’ll leave money for anything I steal, but I’m stealing it.  Just let me feed the squirrels and birds in my yard first, then I’m going to get nasty.  There’s no stopping me now.