Here’s the thing. Its not that hard to just NOT be an asshole.

Just don’t be a dick.

It’s really that simple.

It takes just as much energy, less even, to be nice to someone instead of treating them like shit.

Here’s the thing. I’m a firm believer in treating people in a way that I would want to be treated myself. I get that this is a long standing “thing” but it is true. I don’t have to go out of my way to be nice, I’m just not openly antagonistic. Just acknowledging people and thier presence is sometimes enough. It works and I get better results.

I left my last job because I didn’t feel valued. I didn’t feel like my contributions meant anything to anyone. And now my staff if following me because if I was the only person in the department that made them feel valued and supported, that’s just sad.

I also don’t understand why people are pissed when their employees get better jobs/promotions/raises. People grow. They want to develop and as a manager, that’s what you’re supposed to be fostering. I don’t understand, then, why people feel betrayed. Be happy for them that their lives will be better and you helped them get there.

I’ve also seen a lot of shitty behaviour recently in stores and in food service establishments. Don’t do this. Let me repeat. This is not okay.

I’ve worked both types of jobs in my lifetime and I hated both. Not necessarily because of the actual work but because of the people you encountered while working. Retail at christmas literally gave me a stress twitch at the coner of my right eye. Its now a trigger response that when the corner of my eye starts to twitch, I know I have to take a moment to pause and get my head straight.

Why people think that treating retail and service workers like pieces of shit or that they are somehow beneath them, is beyond me. Trust me, I used to work in a fast food restaurant. You don’t want to know what some petty teenagers will do to your food if you’re an asshole to them. Do you really want to take that chance? I sure as hell don’t. Because they will, and I repeat, WILL tamper with your food. Spit in it. Step on it. Make it wrong. Trust me. There are a lot of things they could do that you wouldn’t necessarily even notice.

So, here’s the lesson kids. Just don’t be a dick.

This is my public service announcement.

It was our anniversary last week. I’m not sure which day, they’re all a blur. We didn’t really celebrate with a dinner or anything. In fact, I think Ross was working so I’m pretty sure it was just me and Scarlett on the 6th or 7th of October. Here’s the thing, we were either married on 10/6/2007 OR 10/7/2006. I have no idea which one. This means that we’ve either been married for 15 or 16 years. Dyslexia is a bitch! I’ve just started saying that “we’ve been married for like a 100 years” and that seems to cover it. I know we started dating in 2004. The ONLY reason I know this is because that’s when I started working at my current employer and the year is LITERALLY in my employee ID number.

So, to celebrate this anniversary that neither of us can remember . . . we bought a new mattress and boxsprings. Our anniversary was really the justification for the purchase since I’m pretty sure we bought that mattress before we were married. There were divets in the mattress where we had slept for the last 100 years (see how that works). It was like crawling out of a pothole every morning. Also, I don’t want to think about how gross that mattress was.

We went to the same place we bought the other mattress and got the same thing. I need to sleep on a slab of granite. Anything soft and I either won’t sleep or I wake up stiff. I walk in the door and ask for the firmest mattress they have. You don’t bounce on this thing. It’s wonderful.

Here’s the thing though. Its so GOD DAMN HIGH! I feel like I might need a guardrail so I don’t break my neck if/when I fall off. I then went and bought a fluffy mattress pad (which is amazing) and just made it higher. I was really afraid the sheets wouldn’t fit.

Side note – the new height of this bed has made it really easy for the hefty cat to get up on the top of the headboard. I’ve woken up a few times to a cat staring down at me which is unnerving.

Even having a pair of orangey eyes staring down at me hasn’t mattered though because I have passed the fuck out which has been lovely.

Anniversary success!

Here it is folks! The thing you’ve all been waiting for….

After my post from a few weeks ago, I know you’re all waiting on pins and needles to see the latest school picture from my lovely daughter. Well, your long wait is over.

Behold

1. Why does she look like she’s being hypnotized?
2. WTAF is on her face? It looks like ketchup but I don’t pack her anything wtih ketchup
3. She told me when they came in that they had their pictures taken after lunch and recess! WHY? Just WHY?
4. After playing outside for 30 minutes, that’s what the sun does to my child’s face, a perpetual sunburn on her cheeks

That’s three years in a row with less the optimal school pictures.

I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. This is just how my girl rolls.

I was accused yesterday of being a book hoarder.

I don’t know how to deal with this. Or even if I should.

This whole conversation began because a friend of mine and I were talking about moving and how I was never moving again because, it took so long and I had hired movers the last time. Part of the problem was that I scheduled the movers, when we sold the house which was 30 days or more before closing and I still had to pack. If any of you have hired movers, they ask you the size of your house (how many bedrooms, bathrooms, etc). Then they ask you how many boxes. How the hell am I supposed to know how many boxes? I said 100 because that sounded like a lot.

Turns out, that’s not that many. I had almost 60 boxes just of books.

That’s when she accused me of being a book hoarder. My response was that I had a library – very defensively by the way.

It is true. I do have a room dedicated as a library. And maybe I do have several copies of the same books (for various reasons that I shall not disclose here because I don’t want to-LOL). I’ll be honest, there are just books everywhere. We’re not tripping over them and, quite frankly I still have space left on my shelves so I feel like I’m good.

In case you’re wondering…

Then I have my office bookshelves…

Then the books just lying around…

Then the books that I’ve stockpiled and haven’t read yet…

For this box, Ross and I like to play a game when I pick one up where he guesses which year it was published and how long I’ve been sitting on it.

Okay, now that I put it like that, I might have a problem. I’m not sure that I care though and it won’t stop me from buying more books. I am willing to embrace my book stash and claim my status as a book hoarder.

But the reality is that I’ve decided that I’m never moving again. They’ll have to remove my cold, dead body from beneath the mound of books that collapsed on me and crushed me.The only way I’m leaving this house is if we win a bagillion $$$$. At that point, I will just start fresh and the only things I’ll be taking with me are my books. At that point, I will just buy everything new and expand my library to epic proportions.

My house is a mess.

It looks like a hurricane went through here. There is just random shit everywhere. I’m not going to lie, i’ve kinda given up arguing with people to pick it up.

There are toys everywhere. Scarlett’s room is currently oozing out into the hallway.

There are dirty socks in places they don’t go because both Ross and Scarlett just take off their socks and leave them places.

There are bits of legos all over the floor. One of the cats stepped on one the other day, jumped because if you’ve stepped on a lego you know that shit hurts, then gave me a dirty look-like, those are my legos. Those cats know better.

Also, I don’t understand why no one knows where anything goes??? They live here. They got it from somewhere. Why can’t they figure out how to put it back?

This is a conversation that often occurs in my house:

Ross or Scarlett: Mommy/Sweetheart, do you know where X is?

Me: Yes.

Ross or Scarlett: Where is it?

Me: You left it X.

Ross or Scarlett: Oh, okay. Thanks.

Me: There’s a trick you can use to know where all your stuff is.

Ross or Scarlett: What?

Me: PUT. YOUR. STUFF. AWAY.

This is now my life. I always wear shoes in the house (flip flops, Toms, or slippers – nothing that goes outside), because I know the dangers of what could be on the floor.