Working 9 to 5

I was really hoping to win the lottery last night so that I could call in "rich" to work today.

Shrinking Violet

I always took great pride in the fact that I am 5"6 and 3/4's [I always stressed the "3/4's" part too]. I took solace being "tall for a girl". In my heels (which I ALWAYS have on my size 7 and 1/2 feet) I knew I towered to 5"10. Easily.

Yesterday I was filling out my passport application, and the answers to their very rude questions. I mean come on - asking a girl about her age AND weight...it’s dangerous territory. Not to mention the whole "what’s your hair color" question. What if you’re a color chameleon like me? Red usually but with occasional stints as a brunette.

I was literally sweating. One wrong answer and my passport could be denied. I decided I’d better double check on my eye color, so I asked my coworker Camey. She answered with a confident "Gray." Ok, good. That’s what I thought. Better double check on the height. Again, I asked Camey. She stood up, saying "You’re about the same height as me [with a hand measuring motion], so about 5"4."

WTF.

Horrified, I forced my coworker Evan to measure me. The proof was in the measuring tape. I am 5"4 and 1/2! I’ve been lying to myself for 10 years. All those times I told dates I was 5"6 and 3/4 - wrong! How is this possible? I mean, I was off by 2 and 1/4 inches. That’s more than a little bit. That’s quite a bit. My whole "kinda tall for a girl" identity is shattered. I’m a short little thing. Vertically challenged. Petite.

Today I couldn’t even bring myself to wear heels to work. I felt like an impostor. I decided to wear flats and embrace my shortness.

Perhaps I should weigh myself while I’m at it. Maybe I only weigh 115, and all these years I’ve been thinking I weighed 135.

Thunderstruck

Over the weekend, I bought two CD's! ACDC Live and ABBA Gold. Double AA's [just like my training bra in elementary school].

I've got the ACDC cranked in my car, and at home. There's just something about "Thunderstruck". It makes me want to drink whiskey, smoke a cigarette and give a really great lap dance.

If I was a stripper it would totally be "my song." And, if I was a WWF wrestler. Or, a race car driver.

It's "the shit." Not to be confused with having "the shits."

And don't even get me started on what "Gimme Gimme Gimme" does.

Hand-y

I sometimes wonder how I come across to guys. My coworker Rowan has already informed me that men find me intimidating. I think he's just trying to make me paranoid [ok, it's only half working]. When I think I'm being all Wonder Women-esque, are men thinking I'm more Wonder Bread-esque?

Case in point...

[I find "case in point" a weird saying, probably because it reminds me of "case of beer" which is even funnier because I haven't been able to drink beer since I got horribly sick off a tall-boy can of Keith's when I was a mere 14. To add to the "color that is my life" I find a man drinking out of a beer bottle amazingly sexy and impossible to resist].

To my mum who is probably reading...the whole beer thing was my first time drinking. *wink*

Oh wait, you just read that wink didn't you?

To my mum who is probably reading, I didn't mean to wink. ;)

Moving on.

Remember when I kicked all kinds of handyman ass and put up a new mailbox for my Nana? Well some of the local fuckos* admired my handy work so much they stole the mailbox. And the wooden post it was attached to. And the wooden post that wooden post was attached to, and nestled in the ground.

So Sunday afternoon I took my Nana to the local hardware places to scope out something more...durable. I thought it would be funny to get one that would deliver an electric shock to anyone who is within shocking range for longer than 10 seconds. But they were on back order. Instead we opted for one of those plastic looks-like-one-piece but are actually many pieces mailboxes. I liked this option because it comes with almost everything you need. Everything except a 4" x 4" piece of lumber.

Being newly single, it was time to brush up on my flirting skills. And what better way to get back at 'er than with a hunky hardware guy. I sauntered up to the counter and was greeted by the biggest sly smile I've gotten in a while. He was so rugged looking - shoulder length dirty blonde hair (nicely conditioned), scruffly semi-bread, rippling muscles and a golden tan. Like a guy who works outside a lot. Or a golden retriever. And sure he was missing a few of his fingers on his right hand (so safety isn't his thing ok?). But still. Mmmmm...

Wait, where was I?

Ahem. Yes, wood. Er, a wooden post. So he helped me pick the length (I opted for an 8 foot post cut down to 6 feet). My Nana was questioning what tools I was going to use to dig a hole big enough for the post and to assemble the mailbox. I kept telling her it'd be no problem and that all I needed was a shovel, a drill, a screwdriver and a socket wrench. The hunky hardware guy seemed impressed that I knew my tools (boy, do I!). By the time I got to the cash register, I was sweating. And it wasn't from any heavy lifting (he did it all). Even my Nana was checking him out and making highly inappropriate comments (thank goodness I was the only one in ear shot).

In retrospect, it took just shy of two hours to dig (down almost three feet) and assemble the finished product. I ended up sawing the 6 foot post down to 4 feet. But man-o, that thing looks ****ing awesome. And there's no way some fucko* is lifting it, let alone walking away with it.

I can't help but wonder what the hunky hardware guy was really thinking when he was helping me. I hope he wasn't thinking about toast.

* The word fucko was first coined by Peter DeWolf.

Things That Make You Go Hmmmmm... #3

A certain blogger friend of mine who shall remain nameless rhymes with Heater is into tracking people who visit his blog.

I thought it would be interesting to see who was reading obsessively fixating on mine [yes, you like me, you really really like me]. Anyhoo on rhymes with Heater's recommendation I signed up for the handy dandy randy services of "My Blog Log".

One of said services is what I like to call a "web crumb". Much like Robert Downey and Britney dropped rehab bread crumbs to find their way back to Oz - a web crumb shows how readers found stumbled upon your site by complete accident, whether from a google search or via site link from another equally well endowed scripted blog.

And since I can't make **** like this up, I decided it was definately list worthy.

Things People Are Searching For With Google & My Blog Showed Up in the Results:
- redhead sparkly signs
- sluty figure skaters
- wedgie techniques
- hot lady next door
- angry ferret photos
- cute redhead at the office
- medicinal use of ketchup
- what would brian boitano do
- men answering door in bra
- sexy msn addys
- top 10 things to look forward to after 50th birthday
- strip scrabble
- office cubicle decorating
- sluty redheads
- sexy laryngitis voice
- erika with a k
- hungrey joes wives, and my personal favorite...
- big boobs jello wrestling

And to think, I'm the one common denominator in all this.

V Is For...

Houston, we have a problem.

On Friday, I got lucky! A co-worker was selling tickets on a romantic weekend getaway package at a local chalet, and a gift certificate at a fancy restaurant. I was feeling lucky and purchased two tickets. One of which was the winning ticket. Two thumbs up.

My co-worker Rowan teased that now I just had to find someone to take. Uh huh. Without missing a beat, I told him it wouldn't be a problem and winked.

Except that it is a problem. Well, not a "problem"...there's no expirary date (on me or the getaway/ gift certificate). But there isn't anyone right now that I would take.

Which reminds me, things have been grounded with the Pilot. This is actually a good thing. He didn't make me want to throw up. This is actually a bad thing.

So, if you're keeping track, feeling like you're going to throw up when with a guy = good, not wanting to throw up when with a guy = bad. Everyone wants to feel those butterflies and not an empty void.

Also, in case you're keeping track - Valentine's Day is three days away. This year, I want to receive flowers from a secret admirer (or maybe a not-so-secret admirer). Not roses mind you, they're so overrated and cliche. Maybe a nice bouquet of daisies or something. Like he put some thought and personality into it.

Can you believe that some single women actually send flowers to themselves on Valentine's Day and pretend it's from a potential suitor? I could never imagine doing that [*cough cough*].

I've been reminded over the years on Valentine's Day how truely sweet and thoughtful guys can be. I think one of the best gifts I ever received was from my coworkers at the university radio station where I used to have a morning show. The guys chipped in and bought me chocolates and the sweetest card. I ended up finding out later that while they all adored me (naturally), they were actually from the station manager who secretly had a crush on me.

Sigh. Is it possible to get lucky twice in one week?

El Brrrr deseo que yo fuera en Miami

Right now it is hovering around -31C outside. Es bastante frío congelar pelotas de cobre de un mono.

[I sure hope that translated ok. If not... awkward.]**

See those two over there on the left (or up above, depending on your browser preference)? Yeah, them. That's where I want to be right now. Paraíso.

[Ever notice how everything sounds so sexy in Spanish? Incluso hablando de indigestión rancia.]

This little scenario (courtesy of my unlimited and never ending imaginación) can be summed up in three letters: GSR. And no, I'm no talking about Gun Shot Residue (there is life after CSI). I'm talking about a Guy, a Sunset and a tall glass of coconut Rum and cran-raspberry juice. I guess that would be more like GSTGCRCRJ but some how that's just not as catchy.

Mmmm...Adam Rodriguez (muy atractivo) serving me drinks of coconut rum would be nice. Sin una camisa en. Don't forget the little paper umbrella thingys.

A hammock built for two. Little paper umbrella in my drink. A gentle breeze carrying the rhythmic sound of the waves lapping at the sand's curves. [Sigh] Perfecto. I'm well aware that this is the first official imaginary sunny-destination vacation I've had. Unless you count that one time in Cavendish...

It is only now that I feel warm enough to trudge out into the blustery night and shovel my driveway. ¡Ay! mierda, who am I kidding? I think I'll stay in and watch the Family Guy (esto da una patada al asno).

**For free and easy language translation, click here. The Redhead-Next-Door is not responsible for any [mis]interpretation that may be a result of [mis]using this service. For best results, use in small amounts. Preferably while serving drinks with little umbrellas. Adam Rodriguez optional.