Shoelaces for Josie

My blog layout is messed up. It’s a wonder I ever discovered it since I rarely ever actually look at my own blog.  But I have discovered it and now I’m irritated by it. It’s…stupid.  Such a third grade slam but I couldn’t think of anything better. It’s non-functional and really ticking me off. How are people supposed to leave comments if you can’t tell what you’re clicking on?  Exactly.(people in this instance is you, the reader…)

So I apologize for the inconvenience of my blog being a piece of crap.  Er - my blog layout. And maybe the blog itself.  I’m looking into transporting it onto a new site but I don’t want to lose all my many awesome posties. That would suck. And also mean I’m starting over from square uno yet again.

In other, slightly boring news, I cut my fingernails today. They were beginning to look a bit like a crack addict’s….nothing against ‘em…I’m just not one.

Yep, check it we’re good.

There are some people in this world who are just incredibly good at what they do. And that, my friends, is attractive.

I am surrounded by people who are complete duds sometimes (certainly we all have our duds moments but some people I have come in contact with have more than their rightful share). And then there are the bright and shining stars amongst the staff I work on who are beyond amazing at their job. They are cool, confident - a complete master of everything that is going on around them.

One man in particular just makes me a bit weak in the knees with how good he is at what he does. (It doesn’t hurt at all that he’s pretty amazing to look at as well…I moved…I didn’t become unhuman.) He’s from the south and has an accent and when he speaks, things happen. I think when he breathes, things happen.

Another guy who works in the same office as this Wonder Man has the earmarkings of being the same type of person. I mentioned it to him and he said, “Oh I actually haven’t ever done this before - I’m just faking it.” Seriously?  Way to go Protege of Wonder Man.

I need to be like that. I decided today was the last day I would freak out over things (at work at least…gotta start somewhere) and I’m going to prove that just because I don’t have the man parts doesn’t mean I can’t kick some major office booty.

(It sounds like a cute little family…Wonder Man….Protege of Wonder Man…Wonder Woman - starring me of course…I am such a nerd.)

Good people follow up on things.  Well, I’m not sure “good” is the adjective I’m looking for but…it suffices.

A week ago I mentioned my geographically-challenged self and my inability to find the place where the band practices. I remedied my errors, put on my best pair of sweatpants and sallied forth again this evening in Attempt #2 to find this place. I was victorious. I pulled in, noted the sad lack of cars, tried the wrong, locked door before finding the right door.

Prior to getting out of my car, however, I called my friend that helped me through last week’s geographic escapade to tell him the good news that I had triumphed over my woes. So I was in the middle of my cell phone conversation, rocking the sweats and sunglasses as I open the door to a room I can hear music coming from when I just darn near came close to dropping my cell phone and having a heart attack.

Why?

Oh, maybe because an eighty-pound German Shephard charged me, barking at the top of its lungs. I couldn’t see because I had stepped into a dark room made even darker by my sunglasses, I was still having a conversation on the phone (although at this point, the person on the other end started to fade way into the background - you know how people sound when they try to talk underwater?  Yeah, me either but it was something like that.), this HUGE dog had seemingly jumped out of the guy’s guitar, the owner of the dog was yelling at it, I may have shrieked and the guy with the guitar just stood there and laughed.

I thought I was going there to play music. Guess I missed out on the “bring-your-giant-guard-dog-to-church-practice-in-case-an-evil-man-comes-in” memo. The real kicker is I couldn’t even play because they didn’t have real music. They just had all the words with the chords above them like guitar tabs. When I asked for real music they just stared at me. I thought I was good. I used to be a really good piano player and I certainly felt out of my element tonight although I probably could have kicked all their butts in a music dual with a bit ‘o practice. Except Guitar Guy…Guitar Guru - I think that’s how I shall I refer to him. He has officially been christened.

And to top it all off?  I now have giant-guard-doggie hairs all over my sweatpants. Maybe it was a blessing in disguise that I was geographically-challenged last week.  Too bad that blessing was revoked this week…

…if no one knows you are the one the secret belongs to.

That is what I love about PostSecret. This website, hands down, is amazing. People submit their secrets which are displayed for the world to see. Messages are scrawled on post cards and they are anonymous. I think of some of my secrets and someday, someday I want to send in my own hidden truth to PostSecret. Everyone will see it and only one will know to whom it belongs.

So many of them touch a place deep inside if you just let it. This one meant something to me - maybe a different one will mean something to you.

I think of how many times I have stuff to say on this blog ‘o mine and I just can’t put it into words. One day, I may put up a blank post with nothing but a link back to this entry in explanation.

You gotta secret?  So do I.

You know, I’ve been giving out this link quite a bit recently as I apply for blogging jobs on the Internet. Because of that, it has crossed my mind that maybe I should try and spruce up my style, really put out the china just in case any potential employers look at this blog.  And then I thought - no - I put out the china every day for all my regular readers.  It’s not necessarily fine china…but it’s my style of china and that’s the way I like it.

So on that note, I’m just going to say briefly something that all of us have felt at some point, I am sure. If you haven’t, then you’re just simply not living life. Do you ever feel as though you try and try and try but never get anywhere? That’s vague. On purpose. If I make it to specific then no one will be able to relate to it but myself and then what’s the point of blogging about it?

Seriously. If all you do is try and never succeed, doesn’t that defeat the purpose of trying? Eventually, odds are that if you try enough times, you will eventually be successful. But how many times is it going to take? 1? 10? 1,000?  I consider myself a persistent person who doesn’t get beaten down too easily. But sometimes…sometimes you gotta give up the fight, throw up the hands and just take it up the butt.

Woo, a work post! Yeah! Get excited!

This will be relatively short and to the point; it goes something like this.

I like to work - we’ve had this discussion. At my current job (intern takes on a whole new meaning when you are the intern…think Grey’s Anatomy minus the blood and guts) I am limited to a certain number of hours. Occasionally, projects will crop up where I need to work more than my allotted number of hours. Fine, I’m supposed to cut back the next week.

Fine, whatever, I like to work and it’s really quite a hindrance that I keep getting hounded to “keep my hours down.”

How, pray tell, am I supposed to keep my hours down when they keep giving me work to do?  I certainly can not come in under the wire if projects keep getting handed to me.  Sorry Corporate America. You can’t complain about me working too much (completely foreign concept anyway) and then keep handing me work. Something about that picture reminds me of a floaty with too many holes.

The other day I was driving down the road when I saw this girl (excuse me…woman) walking down the sidewalk.  She was wearing a knee-length skirt, a turtleneck and a scarf.  She looked great.  You know, if I was a guy, I probably would have pulled over and asked for her number.  But I wasn’t a guy - and I’m still not a guy - so I didn’t pull over and ask, instead I thought to myself “Why don’t I look like that?”

And so I have entered the preliminary thought process of revamping my wardrobe. It needs to happen, I know that. I’ve known it for about two months - also read as - ever since I started a real job.  I work in a male-dominated business. Exxxtreeemely male-dominated.  I’m not saying I have to be the Addison Shepherd of the workplace but I think a little more effort than khakis and a polo is needed here. My wardrobe gives sad affirmation to the fact that it lacks. In many areas.

So I web-shopped today. I didn’t buy anything - just window-shopping from my chair basically.  I drooled over shoes at Nine West and then made myself go to Payless to see if they had anything similar at a price I could afford. I need to lay out my wardrobe - or my lack of one - and go through it. It could be a painful process but I think I just need to cut the apron strings and do this.

Maybe the next time you see me, you won’t even recognize me, I’ll be that awesome-looking.  Or, more likely, you will be able to spot me a mile off because of my difficulty in walking with 3-inch heels and a skirt.

I might be the epitome of white and nerdy. I get excited about old books and I collect records. (Yes, those records. The ones for a record player. Vinyl. Yay!) Sometimes I dress a bit nerdy - get me in my glasses, a wool coat and sneaks and you’ll be whistling the tune from Revenge of the Nerd.

I also just went through and counted the number of blog posts since I started this little chunk of heaven-on-web. 155. 155 entries - give or take a few considering my counting skills are significantly lacking some days. That seems…like a lot to me. 155 of anything is a lot - 155 pennies, 155 cans of tuna, 155 strands of hair (doesn’t look like a lot but it probably is)…you know?  It’s a lot.

Now I feel motivated to keep this little project going. Not that I was planning on quitting it anytime soon but now I’m thinking in terms of years. I don’t really believe I was thinking in terms of years when I started this blog eight months ago.  I don’t think I was thinking in terms of anything other than relieving some boredom and having an outlet for the words inside me.

Simply amazing what can happen when you start with one and keep adding another one on top of it at a steady rate. Eventually you get to 155. How cool (and nerdy in terms of the level of my excitement) is that?

Oh - I also just discovered the “horizontal ruler” - the line breaky thing above this paragraph. I had to insert it to see what it looked like and I think I’ll just leave it in. It adds character, I think. An air of importance - like what comes below that line is some top-secret, super-insider-cool information which I don’t really have much information of that caliber except - ehrm - look both ways before you cross the street?  I’ve heard that it really isn’t like the cartoons and that once you get flattened, it takes a bit more than the neighborhood air pump to peel you off the asphalt.

I tried to revive the past and made my way to the local high school’s football game this evening. I didn’t bother to pay to go inside (I’ve been getting in free to sporting events for so long that I struggle when I actually have to pay these days) so I was that creepy person leaning against the chainlink fence and peering in to see all the action.

Well, the revival didn’t work. It didn’t bring back old times at all. Looking through a chainlink fence and being on the sidelines with a camera are two totally different things - and two drastically different views. It didn’t even really evoke any warm, fuzzy memories. If anything, it brought up a few nostalgic twinges I could have done without.

High school football is just…boring? Or maybe Iowa high school football just kicked some major Washington high school football’s booty.  Standing there watching a scene I used to love made me want to yawn.  They kept trying to force the run straight up the middle and they got stuffed every time. The one time the quarterback tried to drop back and dink a pass over the line, the receiver dropped it or almost fumbled it…he fropled it.

Maybe it is because I don’t know anyone on the team. Maybe it’s because I was standing on the outside looking in.  Or maybe it has something to do with the fact that I’ve been watching Division I Pac-10 football from both the press box and the sidelines. Maybe it has something to do with the way I was on the Seahawks field and in the Buccaneers locker room. 

Nah - couldn’t be any of that. Musta just been a shaky night for the Washy High footballers.

I went to the greatest little corner pub last evening with some mates. (Yeah, the Aussie/UK/Irish theme has carried over.) But it really was a pub and not a bar. There is a difference. Pubs are - more casual, more cozy, more small-town, more me. Bars are a lot more open, a lot more - bar-ish. This pub, Rico’s, was just totally me. It had a long bar on one side, great wooden furniture and *drum roll* books!  It was like somebody had built a pub around an old, abandoned library. Awesome! (E-Beth…think Filthy MacNasty’s style with an American twist.)

We sat in some old-school stuffed chairs around a wooden coffee table, sipped on our beverages and listened to the live jazz band. I went straight from work so I was wearing khakis and a polo with a sweater. I was thinking - “Crap, I am way overdressed.”  But no - I accidentally walked into this pub with the perfect clothes on.

Come visit me. I’ll take you to Rico’s. We’ll order black opals and talk about the finer things of life.  Although, if you have the philosophy of one of my co-workers, you might want to rethink that.

Co-worker’s philosophy: “I can’t go to a bar with books.  It’s against my religion!”