Where’s Julie?

DAYUM.

It’s really been since June 28 since I posted last? But wait, I can explain! It’s been one of three things:

1. A Nigerian prince contacted me. He had a large inheritance coming to him, but needed a U.S. account to launder his money. I said that I’d do it, on the condition that he give me 25 uncut diamonds from unregulated mines. He doubled down, and said he could meet my terms, but only if I opened a link to a virus-ridden video of Kim Kardashian apologizing to the universe. I told him I would click on the link if he would acknowledge that he won the Facebook lottery and claim his prize. We ended up meeting at a Holiday Inn in New Jersey to work out the details and spent the last month hitting local buffets, watching “Lost” (the entire series) and shopping for Crocs. I’ve adopted him.

2. I took the tags off of mattresses while I was in college, and was arrested  just a few months from the statute of limitations expiring. I finally have my life straightened out, but had to leave Current Husband to serve my time. One woman called Crazy Ears who can hear everything tried to make me her bitch, but I resisted her and won everyone over with my prison-brewed gin and tonics. I’m writing a book on my experience called “Really, Really Dark Charcoal Gray Is The New Black, or How I Can’t Wash Clothes Properly.” The sequel will be ”Light Gray With Yellowed Pits Is The New White.”

3. I applied for the job of my dreams as a writer for the corporate communications department of a Fortune 500 company in mid-May. It was absolutely all I could think about for weeks and weeks, and I grew old waiting, and then I interviewed in early July, which blew my mind because seriously, I think everyone in a 100-mile radius applied for it. It was a FOUR HOUR interview with five different people, and I had to produce a new set of writing samples four different times, and when it was over my frontal lobe literally exploded all over my navy suit. I delivered my hand-written thank yous. Then I waited. And waited. And waited some more. Paralyzed with the fear of not getting it, and then of actually getting it, last week I found out I got it. WHAT THE WHAT!?!? So I wanted to be all yelly about it, but had to keep it on the DL until this week, but the announcement finally went out today, so WOOT-EFFING-WOOT. I will hopefully work at this company until the day I retire. I love it there that much.

So obviously it was option #2.

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Thanks for your patience, Wifers. I hope your summer was full of kick-assery-ness.

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Foot In Mouth Hall of Fame

Recently, a co-worker was putting together a directory of our department, and we were supposed to give one word to describe ourselves. I’m always tempted in these situations to give a word that makes people think, like “Wizard” or “Badmintonress”, but I like my job so I refrain. I gave her the word “Unfiltered,” and then realized how very unfiltered that is, so I asked my boss what word I should use. He said “Team-Builder,” which is actually more like two words saved by the hyphen, so I told him his word should be “Rule-Breaker.” Which was a little unfiltered of me.

In another example of unfiltered behavior, we had a couple over last night. They’re the parents of a new good friend of Youngest Daughter, so the girls wanted to keep hanging out and Current Husband had just opened a bottle of white wine, so they parked for a bit. Are you cringing yet? Because I already am.

They are both incredibly lovely people, which means they probably won’t be hanging out with us long. The husband played college basketball for a rival team to mine, so I like to razz him a bit about the rivalry. The NBA Draft was the night before, and I was still worked up about the Iowa State players getting passed over, so while CH and the wife talked about skiing, the husband and I talked basketball.

After about 15 minutes of basketball talk, I said to him, “Have you ever thought about coaching?”

He looked at me for a minute, kind of confused, and said, “Do you mean on the college or professional level?”

I said, “Yeah. I mean anywhere. After you finished college ball.”

He said “Not really, I like what I’m doing now.”

Oh. Okay. That’s neat.

We chatted a bit more and then they gathered up their daughter and they left. As the door shut, Oldest Daughter looked at me, HUGE grin on her face, and said,

“Mom? FYI, he was the boys basketball coach at our school for 12 years and won a state championship. Just so you know for next time you ask him if he’s thought about coaching.”

What. TheHeck. Have I Done?

So I Google him, like any respectable person does in a time of panic.

Oh Holy Shit.

He coached the boys tennis team for four or five years and  won a state title there. Then he coached girls basketball. Then he coached the boys team, won a state title for our school, and then just a few years ago became Activities Director, which is when I started working with him.

So I basically said to a guy who played Big Ten basketball, coached three sports and won two state titles, “Hey Buddy, ever thought about coaching? And by the way, I’m a complete dumbass. For the record.” This is a bit like running into Obama and saying, “Hey, you should think about getting into politics!” but on a more local level. I’m sure he’s incredibly grateful for my career advice.

Seriously. Foot in Mouth Disease. It’s real. I hope it’s curable. Does anyone know where I can buy a filter?

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Father’s Day, Stereotyped Through Cards

This morning as I left for work, I realized the kids hadn’t signed the Father’s Day cards yet, so I laid them out on the table. Then I realized I didn’t need to leave a note, because based on the front of the card only, they’d be able to tell which card belongs to which of their three grandfathers.

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I’ve type-casted the dads.

I don’t make the stereotypes, I just adhere to them.

Hope all of you dads have a great weekend, getting waited on and having people make you meals and treating you like a king.

It’s what the rest of us call “Being a dad every day of the year.”

As a side bit of entertainment, here is a Father’s Day card piece that re-ran on In the Powder Room. It was not written by me.

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Go N’Syde Mariah Carey? Hard Pass.

I’ve tried to behave, really I have. But I can’t help myself here.

EARTH TO MARIAH CAREY: We’re sort of over it. Pics of you and your kids? Adorable. Pics of you trying to be a sex kitten? I guess I’m just not buying what you’re selling. But okay, I have some time. I’ll try.

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She’s aged well, I’ll give her that. But then she does something like launch her new drink line. It’s called Go N’Syde Butterfly Beverage.

Does she mean “It’s too hot, you’ll get sunburned, go inside” or is she talking about her vagina? I’m going to vote vagina. Where she keeps her butterflies. And while I”m sure Mariah’s vagina is very clean, I’m going to take a hard pass on lapping up some Go N’Syde Butterfly Beverage and stick with my current drink “Get The Fuck Out of my Pants Cabernet.”

Who named this fine beverage? I’m looking at you, Prince.

 

OD: “Think of other drink names like that.”
ME: “Like what?”
OD: “You know, like Mariah Carey’s drink, Come Inside Me. Or whatever.”
ME: “Dear God. That’s a horrible name for a drink.”

And yet, apparently sold everywhere during Happy Hour.

BOOM!

Happy Hump Day Wifers. I miss you!

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