My Life as a Hotfessional

This is a string of emails from the past couple of days. This is the reason that I use the phrase “Oh Mah Holy Hell” about seventy-eleven times an hour.

Dear Hotfessional:

I understand from Sue that Bob (from Company D) wants to keep the reports that were created for Company C. Since Company D no longer owns these reports, I’m not sure what we should do.

Signed,
Joe

Okay, so Sue is once again causing a panic about something she knows nothing about. Bob cannot have access to these reports. Legally, Bob’s department has NO RIGHT to the reports any longer. Sigh. I’ll take care of Sue later.

Dear Joe,

As you have indicated, Company D no longer has any legal right to keep these reports. Additionally, below, you’ll find that Bob’s manager understands that and has indicated that it is perfectly fine to delete those reports. Please proceed with the plans as defined - delete all copies of those reports. Company C (the new owners) have what they need.

Sincerely,
The Hotfessional

What Bob’s manager actually wrote was, “We don’t need the reports. Delete them.” (Could he have been any more clear?)

Dear Hotfessional:

Are you sure that Bob is okay with this?

-Joe

Um, Joe? I don’t really give a shit what Bob is okay with. Legally, (may I repeat myself?) Bob has no right to this information. Bob’s manager agrees that Bob has no reason to need these reports. Bob is a moron. Joe, you are a bigger moron.

Dear Joe,

Bob’s manager is fine with it. Legally, Company C has NO right to this information. I have provided Bob’s manager’s approval. Please go ahead with the plans to delete the reports.

Thanks again.
The Hotfessional

And OMFG! Please come to my house so I can stick my pencil through your right eye and out your left ear.

Dear Hotfessional,

I just want to make sure you realize, once deleted they are gone for good and can not be recovered.

Joe

Sigh. And I can put my letter opener into your right ear and out your left eye. Really, stop by anytime!

Dear Joe,

Just delete the fucking things already. I told you we have no right to the information. I told you that I’ve gotten everyone’s okay. I don’t know if you think I’m a liar or just plain stupid or what, but if you don’t delete the damn things, I’m going to take whatever tapes/disks/flash drives/pieces of freakin’ paper they are on and shove them, individually, up your ass! I understand.

The Hotfessional

—- I was afraid that once I started working from home I would run out of stories of idiocy for this blog. Obviously, I was wrong. —-

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Are you going to BlogHer? Do you want to take her with you? I hear she drinks like a fish and has lovely shoes!

 

 

 

Y’all are so sweet and kind and I wish I could give you all hugs and kisses for the wonderful comments I got yesterday. Mr. Hot took me for Japanese food. (Lyvvie, I thought of you since I ordered the Kaisheki Bento Box.) Shortman and 24 gave me a gift certificate for a massage. (I think I need to make an appointment for very soon.)

I found out that a Lemon Sake Martini (yes, one!) will go right to your head when you’re eating raw fish.  And that octopus is kinda rubbery, but you can actually stick them to the side of your plate when they’re served with their suckers still attached.  And that I’m much more capable with chopsticks than Mr.  Hot, but since he’s missing his right-middle finger from the top knuckle up, he’s at a disadvantage….the bottom stick kept falling off his hand.  Snirk.

In work related news, our “big initiative” that I wrote bitched about here has some minor “issues”,  but nothing too terribly bad that I can tell.  Some stupid crappe because people weren’t thinking or paying attention, but all in all, (knock wood), I think we’re going to come out relatively unscathed.

Which is a good thing, because, srsly, how am I supposed to get any work done when this is going on right in front of me?

Yea, I know.  “Hotfessional, we thought you were, um, more professional and mature than that.”, you’re saying.   “You’re supposed to be an executive level manager or some shit.”  (Okay, so maybe you wouldn’t say shit, but when I put words in your mouth, you tend to speak like me.)

Well, okay, so there is that whole “kick them out of the office” option. Or, “stop taking pictures.” Or, at the very least, “Oh mah holy hell woman, stop freakin’ captioning them.”  But, oh noes.  That would be no fun at all.

—- Thanks again for the birthday wishes…it may take me a couple of days to get through the emails and stuff, but I will!  Love to you all. You are truly the best. —-

You Act Like You Are 31 Years Old

You are a thirtysomething at heart. You’ve had a taste of success and true love, but you want more!You’re responsible, wise, and have enough experience to understand a lot of the world. You’re at the point in your life where you understand yourself pretty well.You are figuring out what you want… and how to get it!

What Age Do You Act?

Funny, because this:

turned 45 today.

Forty-freakin’-five.

—- Shoot me.  Tell me Happy Birthday.  Just don’t tell me how much younger you are than me.  Snort. —-

It’s a gorgeous looking day. The sky is that amazing light blue with really high, wispy clouds and the trees across the street are busting out in leaves and flowers. I have absolutely no desire to be sitting here looking at this pile of expense report receipts that I have to submit while I wait for my next meeting to start.

I want to be outside, laying in the peninsula hammock with a good book - drifting off to sleep with the birds chirping and the breezes blowing through my toes. A nice glass of wine on the table next to me - some kind of instrumental music playing softly in the distance - near enough to hear and enjoy, not close or loud enough to be distracting.  Vaguely aware of the donkeys that live behind us braying every once in a while. It’s such a happy sort of sound….especially when mixed with the nicker of the horses.

Wait, what? You’ve never heard a hammock referred to as a peninsula? Snort. Seriously? C’mon. Snirk.

Okay, then. Let me tell you about Sam and the Peninsula -

Once upon a time, in a little suburban neighborhod made up of small, tidy homes and small, tidy yards, the Hotfessional family had neighbors that they hung around with.  The best next door neighbors in the world (BNDNITW) had three kids. Boy1, Boy2, and Girl. Boy 1 and Shortman were nearly the exact same age (within 3 days.) Boy 2 was a couple of years younger. Girl’s name was Sam.

Sam hadn’t yet started Kindergarten when this happened. It was summer - that gorgeous kind of summer day when the sun is up until 9:30 at night and the temperature is in the 80’s and no one has baseball or soccer or work to deal with. Hot dogs and hamburgers are everyone’s favorite food - the sound of the ice cream man brings joy to all hearts.

On one of those very special days, the Hotfessionals and the BNDNITW were outside having a cookout and drinking lots of beer water. The adults, Sam, and Poopy the Puppy were on the Hotfessional side of the fence. Poopy the Puppy was most likely sacked out in the shade - and the boys (Shortman, B1 and B2) were playing basketball in BNDNITW’s backyard. The grill was going - the cooler was full. It was all shangri-la and hummingbirds and butterflies.

Boy 2 decided to take a break and come over to the Hotfessional side of the fence. He climbed onto the hammock. Poopy the Puppy jumped into the hammock with him (which, actually, is a snort-worthy sight all by itself). They snuggled down together and looked very content, if a bit, oh y’know, weird.

Sam, who had been sitting on her mother’s lap, suddenly looked at all of us and announced:

“I want the peninsula.”

We looked at each other. What the fuck? We all know that “If you seek a pleasant peninsula, look about you”, and crappe, but none of us could figure out how to wrap up the State of Michigan and hand it over to this spoiled-ass rotten absolutely adorable four-year-old.

Sam’s mom looked at her and said, “Huh?”

“I want the peninsula. Now.”

The adults looked at each other and shrugged. Obviously the beer water and the sun were playing tricks with our heads and we were rendered incapable of understanding. Mr. Hot was willing to risk the wrath of all 3 feet 4 inches of blondeness as he bent closer to her. “What honey? What do you want?”

Sam straightened up and looked him in the eyes. She smiled her sweet little smile and twisted a strand of the pure honey gold hair around her finger.

Y’all? You know the kind of lung capacity a 4-year-old has? Of course you do. Well, imagine it here.

“I want the damned peninsula! Now!!!!! “

and she pointed. At the hammock.

“I want to sit up there with Skeetah* on the damned peninsula!”

The force of the soundwaves knocked her brother off of the hammock and sent Poopy the Puppy flying for cover behind the garage.

All of the adults (except Sam’s saintly mother, who knew better was trying desperately to teach her daughter that the correct word was “hammock” and not “peninsula”) stood up, walked over to the side of the house where Sam couldn’t possibly see us and laughed hysterically.

She knew, though. Oh, did she ever know. And from her perch up on the hammock peninsula, when we re-congregated back on the deck, she told Mr. Hot, in no uncertain terms.

“Now, I want Skeetah up here in the peninsula with me so I can lay with him like mah brutha did.”

—- I’m still disappointed that they didn’t follow us when we moved to Ann Arbor - I miss the weekends hanging out, the shared dinners when we cooked too much, or they did. I miss the game nights and the trips to Tiger games. But whatever else, that thing will forever after be known as the peninsula. —-

 

*Poopy the Puppy’s real name is Skeeter. Hence, my other, not-so-hot nickname. “Skeetah’s mom.”

That Grateful Guy, who just started a new blog, tagged me. So I’m it.

First, we must go ahead and play by the rules:

1. The rules of the game get posted at the beginning.
2. Each player answers the questions about themselves.
3. At the end of the post, the player then tags 5-6 people and posts their names, then goes to their blogs and leaves them a comment, letting them know they’ve been tagged and asking them to read your blog. Yea, you know I suck at doing this, so I’m not even going to pretend.
4. Let the person who tagged you know when you’ve posted your answer.************

1) What was I doing 10 years ago?

10 years ago? 1998? Wow. I was just getting ready to turn 35. I had been diagnosed and was fighting my first bout with this. Mr. Hot, Shortman and I were living in a “garden-level” (dark-ass basement) two-bedroom apartment and wondering how in the world we were going to afford child support, rent, and y’know, food, if I lost my job after our buyout by a much larger bank based in Chicago. Mr. Hot had taken an early retirement to be a stay at home dad in 1996 and we were pretty much broke.

It was, all in all, a pretty crappy year. (Bald and on the verge of possibly losing my job…..hmmmm, it’s deja-fuckin’-vu. )

2) What are five things on your to-do list for today?

1. Plant seeds.
2. Weed around the Wiegela bushes.
3. Call Mom.
4. Help Mr. Hot scrub the glider/swing for the backyard.
5. Give myself a pedicure to make my toes pretty for spring. ( it’s a half-assed job, but I can’t do half-a-checkmark.)

3) What snacks do I enjoy?

Almonds. Vodka. (Shush, it does count as a snack!). The yummy banana bread I made yesterday. Vodka. Mr. Hot’s earlobe. Dark chocolate. Limeade (with vodka.) Wine. Tortilla chips and homemade guacamole. Cheese.

4) Things I would do if I were a billionaire?

Buy Shortman and 24 their own house and a Nanny to keep an eye on them so Mr. Hot and I could go live on a beach by ourselves and run around naked all the time. Set up a foundation that provides scholarships for young women getting into technology fields. Visit the major cities of Europe. Retire and spend my days reading and writing.

5) Three Bad Habits

1. Smoking my three cigarettes/day (yes, dammit, I do have to add that qualification every time I admit I smoke),
2. not putting my clothes away after Mr. Hot washes and folds them (I know, you’re jealous, I don’t even know how to work the stupid machine, hee.),
3. and swearing (besides my tag line up there, “fuck a duck” is one of my very favorite phrases, and I call 90% of the other drivers on the road “shithead” at any given time, just because I like to. “Dickhead” is another good one.)

6) 5 places I have lived…

1. Town 1 in Wayne County, Michigan
2. Town 2 in Wayne County, Michigan
3. East Lansing, Michigan
4. St. Albans, WV
5. Huntington, WV

7) 5 Jobs I have had

1. Katie and Tommy’s babysitter
2. Brigid and Erin’s babysitter (Katie and Tommy’s cousins)
3. Mucker of horse stalls at a daycamp (didn’t get paid, but I got to ride)
4. Scrubber of stainless steel animal cages (a.k.a. Veterinary Assistant)
5. Poopy the Puppy’s protector (from the noisy trucks going down the road)

Six EightSeven suckers, er people I want to know more about…

Nah, sorry….I can’t do it. But, if you want to steal this, go ahead….and let me know in the comments and I’ll link back to you here.

—- Did you know that having your laptop on your bare, sunburned thighs hurts like a mo ‘fo? —-

One day, I got an email from an Author. A real-honest-to-goodness Author who reads my blog. After I finished blushing and I picked my ass up off the floor, I ran through the house telling everyone “An Author is reading my blog!!!” and “She’s published!” while jumping up and down and waving my arms around.

Then a package arrived in the mail, and it was from said Author (see, I revere these people! I use Capital Letters!). And it was a copy of her book - with an autograph and an inscription and everything. Then I picked myself up off the floor again, and hugged the book to my breast and danced around the kitchen some more.

The book? “Goddess in the Groove - Musings From the Goddess Within“. The Author? Heike Boehnke-Sharp.

It’s such a lovely book to read. Heike relates stories from her life - stories about herself, her mother, her daughter. Like when I read blogs, I found myself nodding - agreeing with her insight. Relating to the words and the underlying feelings of those words. And, of course, grinning.

Thanks so much Heike, for the gift of another inspirational book for my library.

Plus, check it out y’all. I was so inspired by the whole “goddess” feeling I was left with, I channeled some of that into something I never, ever do! I baked.

Okay, so the bananas were blackening on my counter and I couldn’t stand the thought that I paid for bananas that were going to go to waste. Of course, I had no flour, or baking soda, or baking powder, or shortening (can you tell we NEVER bake?) so to keep from tossing $1.69 worth of bananas, I went and spent $20 on the other the other ingredients I needed to make banana bread.

—- At least I cleaned up the kitchen AND washed the seventy-eleven bowls and measuring spoons it took me to make it. —-

Grinding my back teeth,
The anger is testing me,
Will I break or scream?

Do you ever have days when you’re on the verge of having a huge-ass hissy fit all day long? From the time you get up in the morning until the time you go to bed (or, at least, lock yourself away from all other human beings?) - you feel like if one more person says one more word, or walks past, or looks at you, or fuckin’ BREATHES - you’re going to explode?

That’s pretty much how I feel right now.

Everything is pissing me off. From the 27 emails I had waiting for me this morning reminding me that we have a huge initiative happening next week that absolutely, positively, must be flawless (Gee, sorry, I had no idea….dumbshit) to the fact that Shortman just walked out of this room without turning off his Teamspeak headset so I hear a bunch of 16 year old boys screaming at each other to “Shoot him, shoot him. Dammit.”.

I’ve wanted to haul off and punch the crappe out of, oh pretty much the entire world. (Well, except you all…no, seriously, I wouldn’t punch you….you’re the greatest. Stop.Backing.Away!)

Ahem.

So, that’s my mood today. I need to go to the grocery store and run over some perfect strangers with my cart and stock up on the vodka buy some beautifully scented aromatherapy candles and some bubble bath.

—- Meh. That’s all. —-