Twelve. Decisions. A Story.

Three different  topics in that title. First, of course, the obvious. That countdown keeps on ticking. Looking forward to Friday.

Next up, decisions. As in, the decision to not work immediately once we move. And hey, what a great coincidence that Busch Gardens has their pass on sale for $60 to go unlimited for the rest of the year. I told hubby that if he wants me to relax and not work for a little bit, then we have to go to BG at least once (but I meant like 3 times). We’ll see how that goes. With the trips, not the relaxing. That’s gonna happen. I’m already envisioning bike rides to the beach, yoga on the beach, parks, trails, and whatever else I figure out.

Story time!

Back in the day, I was a bartender. Not just at Club Med, but also at this little hole in the wall dive bar. This little hole in the wall dive bar in a tiny town with somewhat closed-minded people. You get where I’m going here yet? No? Ok, I’ll continue. I had designated shifts. Patrons knew who was working when. So I can only assume that there was either nowhere else to drink (nope) or they knew I was working and were passive-aggressive assholes (yep). The funniest part about all of this is that they were good tippers. Anywho, a couple of scraggly old dudes missing some teeth liked to come in during my shift. It was only a few of them and me. Remember how I lived in a pretty deep stronghold of, um, rednecks and racists? (Of course not everyone, but damn, a lot.)

I don’t recall the exact song that happened to reside on the jukebox, but it was certainly a gem that dropped nigger in the song. Obviously, I had never heard the song as it was pretty deep country shit. The first time they played it, I didn’t hear it. I just continued to ignore them and their drunk old man snickers. Pretty sure the second time they were in and played it, I didn’t catch it either. Their little inner joke continued. When I did finally catch it, I immediately went and dropped some quarters into the jukebox myself. That song up there. And when it came on, I sang along. And when it got to the best part, I simply looked at them and said, “Fuck you”. “Fuck you.” “FUCK YOU!” Guess what they didn’t play any more. Even as shitty as that particular situation was, I still miss bartending there. Oh, the stories. But those are for another day.

See you on another day.

18 and My WHOLE Life To Go


Even though it’s a different song, people are fucking strange.

On multiple occasions, it seems that the universe has been trying to tell me that everything that’s happening is for the good. Me not keeping this job, hubby not keeping his job, phone calls, interviews, etc.  Of course, I’m thick and I don’t always listen to (or even receive) subtle hints. Ok, I hear you loud and clear on this one, universe. I hear you.

See, last week I asked a coworker a very simple question as to whether or not she knew the date of an event to which she replied that she did not. My initial thought was that this person not knowing was a little odd, but whatever, I let it pass. I said nothing when she wanted to take some time off. I figured it was just to make the long weekend longer. Hey, go for it. I mean, pretty soon, you won’t have backup so take all the time off you can. The issue for me arises when I see someone else take off the same time that she did and that other person specified that she is attending the event I asked the first person about. Why lie about something so minor?!?! I don’t get it. Buuuuuuuuttttttt, *Scarface voice*  THAT’S OK!!!  Don’t even consider asking me for anything over the course of the next month. Bye, Felicia.

Now, I could be totally wrong about that last paragraph, but come one. There’s coincidences and there’s people thinking I can’t put two and two together to get four. Too funny that as I was writing this, she wanted to reach out to just chat. Naw, dawg. It’s a no from me. You get the same one word answers that others are getting these days.

I went back to check my packing schedule from when we moved from Florida out to Colorado. Seems like back then, I didn’t even start this crazy process until 12 days before we were set to leave. Looks like I’m ahead of schedule. Especially considering that this time there is so much less to pack. I feel like I could really get everything done in that last week, but at the same time, I can’t really see leaving it until then. I mean, what if there’s something awesome going on that week and I can’t go because I didn’t finish packing?!?! FOMO on whatever the last things I do here are. (Those things are NOT goodbye gatherings. I know I’ve said it before and folks who would try to make that happen likely aren’t reading this, but if you know them, tell them I said NO!) I guess the biggest decision is do we want to eat off of paper plates for a while, lol.

Sigh. Goals: 750 words. Not making it again. But let’s be real, another 250 words is just me rambling. Peace out.

N-n-n-n–n-n-n-n-nineteen. Nineteen.

Bwahahahahaha. You know that song means I had an interview and I killed it. Like a bawse. Don’t even leave that door open a little bit because I’ll kick that mother right in and make myself at home at a desk. From a not-so-cocky perspective, it did go well and I fully expect to hear back from them. I’m fun to talk to and I made the interviewer laugh. Several times. I also have done this enough to have great experiences and stories for nearly every question. She did throw me with what was your biggest failure and how did you recover and what did you learn. That one was new for me, but thank goodness I remembered last year when I fucked something ALL THE WAY UP at work but it didn’t end up so badly. All that awesome being said, this would kinda screw up the other plan. It would be difficult for me to put stability to the side and instead go for the not sure thing. Oh, the decisions, and thank goodness I don’t need to make them for probably a month. (I ain’t gonna lie, they sucked me right in with no dress code and flip flops and yoga pants specifically being stated as ok. Swoon.)

Exercise! Some moons ago (a lot of moons), I used to run. I trained for a Thanksgiving 5K. Did it. In a pretty decent time too. But then I stopped running and when I tried to start again, my body flipped me all kinds of the bird. Even though I was close to 10 years younger then, that training and running, which only equated to about 30 minutes a day, did everything I wanted it to do from a how you lookin perspective. Now I don’t wanna run, but I want that look. Heeeeeeey, Shaun T! I see you over there with T25. Not taking up all my day and not making me lift weights, but the sweat is no freaking joke! And it’s thinning me out some which is all I wanted. Since I’m on that particular train though, I keep shoveling coal into the engine. After the Shaun T visit, walk the hood. Dual purpose in more exercise plus getting steps because I constantly get blown away in Fitbit step challenges. Competitive much? Oooh, and I went ahead and ordered fancy schmancy jump ropes. I shall be a beast. Lookout, Florida, cuz I’m coming for ya.

Hey, guess what? I’m not packing! No, it isn’t done, but now that I have that full week of no work before we head out, I figure I will simply get it done that week. Now that I think back on it, I am pretty sure that this is how I handled it when we came out here. Now, that’s not to say that I might now start tackling (more) of the kitchen before that week, but I am releasing all stress about the packing situation. Woosa, bitches. The kitchen will certainly be the most time-consuming part. So many dishes, glasses, etc. I wanna just have a plate and glass smashing party, but I don’t wanna buy all new shit so I guess I have to pack it. My life is rough, right?

I think that’s all I have for today. Let’s come back and count tomorrow, shall we?

Twenty.

Hey there. The last time we met, I believe the score was me, no job; hubby, maybe a job. Update: neither of us have a job, lol. I’ve known about my part for a few weeks now, but hubby just found out. He’s that much time behind me in the process of coming to terms with a place you’ve spent two (in my case) or EIGHT years with a company and in 2018, they can’t see their way fit to have you continue working for them.

Hubby is still in that angry, fuck those guys, if they don’t want me stage. I’ve already moved past that stage and am on to what’s coming up next. Hell, I have an interview on Monday. That may or may not work out and I’m not honestly concerned. We are a strong team and we’ve got this shit under control for a long time. In the meantime, I’ll be obtaining my real estate license because from what I’ve seen, the area where I’ll be living has plenty of realtors, but ain’t enough of us brown ones there. Come on through, brown folks! I got you! (Y’all light skinnedidid folks can come through too, I ain’t a racist. LOL!) Many moons ago, I had done the class to become a realtor in Florida, but I never moved forward with it as other things came up like going to school and getting sucked into corporate America like a dummy.

I feel as though I can do well at this. It’s super cocky, but I feel like I could do well at anything that involves me talking to you and you perhaps buying something from me. You know you love talking to me. I’m a funny motherfucker. You also know that I have cool shit and an eye for cool shit, so yeah. If you know someone in southwest Florida that needs a realtor, send them my way in 3 months. Or sooner so they can start to experience my general magic.

If you can believe it, I’m still packing. The funny thing is that we are moving to a considerably bigger place and it’s gonna be pretty empty. I consolidated us a lot when we came out here and when we had to downsize from a 3/2 to a 1-2 a few years back, some more stuff went away. Now we’re going back to a 3/2 (but one room is my pole/yoga room) I think it’s gonna be a bit empty. Also not a bad thing as we start to collect and create for when we buy. Mmmm, new bedroom set. Twice, lol.

Ok, I’m done here. I’ll check you out later.

21 Days To Freedom

I know I haven’t posted in a few days, but even still, you can do simple math and see that the number up there doesn’t quite match up with the last post. Of course, that is if you’re following along, and that’s probably like 2 of you. Today, the command decision was made to bump that last day back a coupla few days. I mean, how crazy is it of me to think that I could work that last week and then come home and finish the packing before we head out on Saturday?!?! That’s just dumb on my part. Not any more! And honestly, in the grand scheme of things, four days of pay is neither breaking the bank nor is it worth the stress.

21 day fix to lose, eh, about 150 pounds. Bwahahahahaha, I’m probably being nice on her weight. 21 days to a new habit. A habit that doesn’t include this stress! Hahahahahahahaha! But for real, I’m not in the least bit excited.

You know how me and plans go. But I’ve got full on support. We’ve got a plan. I know what the hell is up. Go us! There are even timelines in play here people. Shit got real.

I really thought that I was gonna have more to say today, but instead, I’m just gonna do the happy dance for four less days of work and boogie on outta here.

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