Chepooka.com

The Co-Worker who Peed.

It just won’t disappoint.

In other news, congrats, Tas, to makin’ the big time.  Plus, guess we’re blogging again, eh? 

I can only conclude from this that regular water is making me fat.  Has been making me fat.  All these years of fat-assitude due to my habit, nay addiction, to water.  Oy.  Sadly, I can’t get those back, but at least there’s new hope.

Excuse me, does anybody know what this says?

I started keeping a small dry erase board by my desk to minimize paper waste and clutter.  I have notebooks filled with to-do lists from 2002 sitting in my closet, stupid. Anyway. 

The problem is, and this has nothing to do with the dry erase board, but I can’t read my own handwriting.  This is a real problem sometimes, especially when I have to take notes at business meetings and so forth.

I missed my calling as a doctor, my dad was right all along.

I fell asleep on the couch a week or so ago, it was a Saturday night.  Circa midnight, my new-fangled smoke detector slash carbon monoxide alarm went off.  No wait, first my dog woke me up for a midnight peepee session and that’s when I heard it.  Squeek!  Squeek! 

SQUEEK!

SQUEEK!

Since it’s new-fangled, I had never heard the sound before so I wasn’t sure where it was coming from.  I was all, WTF? as you do at midnight half asleep upon hearing a new, loud, piercing SQUEEK!

Then, a voice came on as if from heaven.  “Now dialing.”

In my half-asleep state, I logically concluded that my smoke detector was calling someone.  But who? 

911!  It must be dialing 911!  It’s carbon monoxide, I must wake up Brian and get outside immediately!!  FIRE FIRE FIRE! 

I call 911 and they send somebody right out.  In.  A.  FULL.  ON.  HUGE.  LOUD, HUGE, CAN BARELY TURN THE CORNER HUGE FIRE TRUCK COMPLETE WITH FIRE BRIGADE. 

Read On »

As I’ve said before, I work in waves.  Right now?  I’m experiencing a serious girlie wave.  I’m buying shoes, googling “best anti-aging night cream” (any suggestions?) and scouring through sephora looking for the perfect everyday lipstick (this has been a lifelong quest, BTW).

Maybe, just maybe, this is it?  (in berry)

I think this all started when I noticed that when I smile, I see ... I see ...

Wrinkles.

Age has been kind to me, I’m lucky to have good genes (lord knows it’s not lifestyle) so I don’t look my age, well, I certainly don’t look older than my age.  But time to face facts, I’m pushing 40. 

Let us pause for a moment and let that sink in.

Aaaaaaaand we’re back. 

I’ve already embraced how magnificent it is to be this age.  I’m more at peace, more comfortable in my own skin, more independent and confident.  Dare I say, I’m less emotional than I was even a few years ago.  I don’t let things rattle me like I used to.  I take better care of myself in every way.

Except ... girlie stuff.  My wardrobe is pathetic.  I mean seveeeeeeeeerely lacking.  If I take time to put on makeup it’s a miracle.  I walk around looking like a hobo most days and I’m kinda over it.  I feel I shouldn’t spend money on myself, that it’s self-indulgent or vain or a waste of money.  Kinda over that too.  I’ll drop $200 on fonts at the drop of a hat but I’ll walk around in bad shoes?  Gah!  Maybe I just don’t want to think about the way I look, so I avoid it.  Who knows.  But it’s going to change.

I am going to determine a budget for “girlie things” and stick to it.  We’re talking shoes, we’re talking $32 under eye concealer, we’re talking clothes people.  And not from Old Navy either.