One blonde and three turkeys

Made it through Thanksgiving, barely. Met the "other" family (for lack of a better term). Ate with my boyfriend's family first: his immediate family and his 42 closest relatives...Holy Hell...made it about 10 minutes before I asked Matt to go grab me a beer, and not a light one.

I like to think I mingled pretty well, didn't have to hang on his arm the whole time. They're lovely people, it was just extremely intimidating to meet EVERYBODY. Does my family even have 42 members? Not ones that would regularly eat Thanksgiving together.

There was no Uncle Tim, VegasGustan, but there was an Uncle Drex. I shake his hand and he says, "It's a good thing you're a Georgia Girl (UGA Grad), because I hate car salesmen." My mouth just hung open. No response. I could have said I just got laid off and put the proverbial final nail in his coffin, but I just flashed my sweetest smile.

Then we drove from Peachtree City, the city I vote "Most Likely To Be Taken Over By Aliens," to Marietta to do it again with my mother. There were 6 family members there, so I think Matt had an easier job. That and my mother just loves him, maybe a little more than I do (it's not a jab or anything just that I think my mom would literally eat out of his palm if he asked her to do so, she's always giving my advice on wifely duties now and how to be a proper lady in a relationship, which, in her mind, is one from the 1950's).

So... full...now... might... throw... up... and do it all over AGAIN at my Dad's house! No, I called him and canceled because "the CDC told me I shouldn't have 3 Thanksgivings this year."

I've been preoccupied the past week. Got laid off last Wednesday. I'm okay, really. I worked impossible hours and stopped enjoying life. Business became slow and I wasn't making enough money anymore, so I may have not been able to afford still working there!

Thursday and Friday I took "sick days." Next, I figured I'd go straight into Thanksgiving break, and maybe roll right into Christmas vacay after that. I sold my customers to another salesman and I have some savings, so I'm not freaking out. I also qualify for unemployment!

Just wanted to give everyone an update with me and please send your employment offers to [redacted].

Name that girl

During my Diet Coke Break today (Sadly, no there is not a hot shirtless guy washing windows across the street from my building or however that commercial went) I have decided to open a forum to give me a cool nickname.

I have realized that I have no cool nicknames. Sure there is "James," "Jame," "Jamie-James," and the lesser favorite "Himes, and Himee" (spanish.) But there is no "Geronimo" or "Yellow Dart": something distinguishing.

So here we go folks! Name Me!

Got a booty call 1:30 in the AM. I forgot how funny they are when you're stone sober. You just hear the agony and the ecstasy on the other end of the line.

Then you just hear the agony when you turn him down...

Spending the weekend in Peachtree City.

Oh Holy God...I've done lost my mind.

"My job consists of basically masking my contempt for the assholes in charge, and, at least once a day, retiring to the men's room so I can jerk off while I fantasize about a life that doesn't so closely resemble Hell."
***American Beauty***

"Well, I generally come in at least fifteen minutes late, ah, I use the side door- that way Lumbergh can't see me, heh- after that I sorta space out for an hour... Yeah, I just stare at my desk, but it looks like I'm working. I do that for probably another hour after lunch too, I'd say in a given week I probably only do about fifteen minutes of real, actual, work."
***Office Space***

In the spirit of VegasGustan's funny blog about work and exactly how little of it we do, I would like to take you through my day yesterday, and what will most likely be my day today as well:

Roll in at 9:00AM. Late person buys breakfast for the entire office so we actually are pretty punctual around here. Well some of us are. I eat a lot of free breakfasts. We order the food, wait for it to come, and then sit in front of the TV while we eat it and talk. Next we brush the crumbs off and go and make balloons for the showroom and parking lot and then put them out.

Now it's 11:00AM. Time for coffee. After a leisure cup everyone sits down at his desk and pulls out yesterday's customers and reviews who to call. Make about 3 phone calls and don't leave messages when no one answers. Check e-mail, blah, blah, blah.
Between 12:30 and 2:00PM I take everyone's order for lunch and drive around town to get it. Eat in front of the TV once again. Afterwards talk to a customer who ends up having bad credit.

4:00PM and the lot is dead again. Starbucks time! Get money and run to Starbucks where I inevitably blow money on books for myself as well. Take another customer. This one owes more money on her trade than it's worth and can't get financed.

Dick around, make a few more phone calls, update inventory list. It's 6:00PM and I'm outta there.

Yeah, fifteen minutes sounds about right...

Dear Bloggers,

I haven't posted in awhile. (I have been holding onto a piece of unintentional porn I found in an owner's manual at work that I wanted to post, but I'm too damn lazy to fire up the scanner. I will get to it this week, I promise.)

I've felt uninspired since the recent smack down I experienced at the election polls. My roommate, friends, and entire family are republican so I've had my face in the mud for quite some time now. That's okay, I forgive you.

Hope it's hot enough in Hell for you.

After looking at an old scrapbook last night, and once again seeing it today, I would like to talk about my last name and how I've never seen it spelled right. For the record it's of the German/Austrian nature if you're interested. I'm so freaking sick of seeing misspelled that I can't wait to get married and dump this name.

Potential suitors- you must meet the following criteria:

• Last name can be no longer than 2 syllables.
• If it's true love, the last name can be 3 syllables, but must also be extremely English. For example, Worthington or Patterson.
• Last names cannot be hyphenated. I do not want to be a Frost-McArthur. Trading in 1 bitch of a name for 2 small ones won't work.
• As appealing Smith or Jones is at the moment, I also don't want to be one of those because that means you used to have an awful last name that Immigration was smart enough to change. Even a history of a confusing name won't do.

Giving blood and then going to karaoke and consuming the same amount of beer for a fun night does make.

Sup'Man!

Yesterday we took a much needed day off (my first in 14 days.) The other sales reps and I decided to trek down to Six Flags and blow off what we refer to as "the month where no one made any money."

My slight fear of heights had me as the object of everyone's laughter (as well as the butt of everyone's jokes.) Apparently not everyone gets off the roller coaster and visibly shakes for minutes afterwards. But, be proud, I rode every roller coaster that was open: I looped the loop, free fell from amazing heights, and then we saw THE SUPERMAN.

I wouldn't even categorize The Superman ride as a roller coaster. The best I can come up with is "Jamie go fast and high and head almost went boom." That was about the extent of my English afterwards. My body's shaking also created a bit of a studder.

Let me take a moment and describe this monster ride which makes me swear that they hire psychotics to design these things. You sit in a chair that is suspended from a single rail. Oddly enough, this was the most comfortable ride of all the things I was strapped into that day. They lock you in a shoulder harness that comes over your shoulders down to your stomach. In addition, the harness has padded fabric that covers your entire chest. This should have been my first warning sign. I didn't notice the weird bondage ankle cushions, that when they lock your shoulder harness into place, metal plates also cuff your ankles into place, so you can't move your feet. Thus is the occurrence of warning sign number 2.

The attendants then walked around and removed the shoes of anyone whose shoes weren't tied or weren't strapped around the ankle. These people had to ride barefoot: warning sign number 3.

Once everyone was bonded into the chair (which was a 5 minute process) the floor drops away from you: my heart went with it. Next the chair your strapped into similarly to the electric chair swings back so that your back faces straight up and you are looking at the ass in front of you. It felt like some weird sexual position. Now I understood why they strapped your feet in. At this point I was so far away from warning signs that my body was in full survival mode.

We pulled away from the station and I realized that we're going through this head-first. I was told I chanted "I changed my mind I changed my mindIchanged mymind" while we were climbing the first hill. And, holy crap, we were off. Loose change was flying and Ben, Casey, and I were doing corkscrews, looping, and at one point, lying on our backs staring straight at the sky with no roller coaster in sight. Oh Holy God. Next time you see a Superman cartoon, watch him fly because that's literally what we did.

I screamed so hard and so loud and so violently that Casey and Ben were cracking up throughout the whole ride. All I could hear was my own shrill screams and Casey's cackle.

The ride stopped and my heart was somewhere below: it had long since fallen out of my body and now lies on the ground at Six Flags, still beating so hard I could feel it even though we were dangling in the air while the next people were still loading in the second set.

We pulled back in the station where our seats swung back down and our asses were no longer jutting out in the air. When the floor rose back up to meet us, I fell out of the chair and stumbled to meet the smart people of our group who chose not to ride The Superman. (Earlier they experienced much taunting from my end.) My body was shaking and my eyes were tearing and I couldn't find my heart.

That is no roller coaster, my friends.