Pretty sure I would want to SuperSize...

A few weeks ago I received a late night call.  You know the one.  Where a completely platonic male friend has had way too much to drink and decides, while driving drunk to some other girl's house in an effort to get some ass, decides to give you a little call at 2:35am.  So the phone rings, and incidentally I was up.  I see it's my friend Teddy.  Now, Teddy is a strictly/completely/nowayinhellanythingisevergoingonbetweenus friend.  But he likes to talk a big game about how great he is in the sack, and I like to laugh.  So it works out.  Now to give you the visual, Teddy is a short guy.  And I'm a tall girl.  Like, you need to be at least 6' to ride this ride.  So he calls me, and I answer, and I'm kind of laughing.  He asks if I have anyone over - I secretly love that he thinks I'm getting ass like that - and I tell him I don't.  Then it starts!  He tells me "You know, I think you are the kind of girl who would appreciate what I'm bringing to the table.  I could give you so many orgasms a night.  Probably like 10 a night.  And the things I would do to you, I would do some kinky stuff to you.  Hang on a second.......can I get a number 6, two tacos and a medium root beer"?

Yeah.  Teddy interrupted the orgasm talk to get his late night drunk food fix at Jack in the Box.  That. Just. Happened.

Words of Wisdom

If you are old enough to vote, you are too old to wear Abercrombie.

Screw you, Bridget Jones - volume 1

My co-workers are amused by my new single status.  Since most of them are married, they find it highly entertaining to listen to me ramble on about my bad dates, and lately there has been a lot of "you should blog about that" going around.  So in an effort to recapture the horror that is now my dating life, I am starting the new installment - Screw you, Bridget Jones - in order to chronicle the hysteria.  Brace yourselves, people.  It's gonna get bumpy.

Scene:
Valentine's Day, restaurant in Eugene, Oregon, packed with people who actually appear to like each other, or at the very least know each other. 

I agree to meet my friend Ryan's blind date set up - who we will refer to as SPJ - for a drink, maybe some food and a friendly "hi, how are ya".  The fact that it's Valentine's Day is not lost on me, so I run home and dress for the event in head to toe black.  Because I'm an optimist like that.  I text SPJ on my way to the restaurant, he says he will put the menu upright on the table so I know it's him.  Someone has done this before.  I walk in and see him right away.  Cute enough, bald, blue eyes, wearing a dressed up hoodie and jeans.  Suddenly my all black slacks, turtleneck and flats (he said he was 6', he's not) seem overdressed.  We sit and chat, have a few drinks, it's fine, but there's NO SPARK!  I keep drinking, in search of the elusive SPARK, I don't find it in the bottom of yet another Jack and Coke.  I don't want to be rude, but this is going nowhere.  He pays, we walk to the parking lot, he hugs me goodbye and makes a comment about how he likes hugging me???? and we are out.  I'm not even out of the parking lot when I get a text from him saying "Well, what did you think?"  About what?  A resolution for peace in the middle east?  I'm not sure I know what we are referring to at this point.  We go back and forth a bit, he says that he thinks I'm fun, blah blah blah, but he can tell I am sexually aggressive (good to know I'm putting THAT out there) and he wants to be straight with me about something.  I was like, ok, let's hear it.  He then goes on to tell me that he has a small penis.  Um, ok.  I reply with something brilliant/tourettesy like "Just how small IS it?"  and he goes on to say it's pretty damn small, and it's been a problem in his relationships.  I say something about how I'm not concerned (because I'm not - I wasn't going down the penis path to begin with, buddy) blah blah yada yada.  He travels for work, doesn't come through Eugene often it's been pretty easy to avoid a second date, though he does keep inviting me to visit him in his hometown, which is like a 3 hour drive - not happening.  Not to be a bitch, but I drive a Jeep, and gas prices are up there!  Nice enough guy, just not for me.  Poor SPJ.  And just for the record - you guessed it - that stands for Small Penis Jake.  Because his penis came with a disclaimer....like cigarettes.

Ok, ok, ok, I can't commit....

It's the truth.  I can't.  To much of anything lately.  Coming out of the last 20 months of a nightmare relationship, I can honestly say that I'm going to attempt blogging again.  I think it's a good way to get my thoughts out.  Those of you who read this, hang in there, this may get bumpy.

I've started running, and came across SR of SkinnyRunner.  This girl is divine inspiration for me at this point.  I'm just pounding out miles until I feel better!

Words to live by

We just had an older gentleman, who is a plumber, come in to do some paperwork.  He is going to be working for us part time (this tends to happen with the older crowd, so they can collect social security).  Our receptionist was explaining to him how things work and she was telling him about insurance benefits and how payroll works, etc.  He then decided to give us some advice.  He said "You girls know the three things every plumber needs to know to get through life?  Payday's are always on Fridays, wash your hands before lunch and shit flows downhill".

I love my job.

We can dance if we want to...

I've worked in the recruiting/staffing side of things for quite some time now, but it never ceases to amaze me the things I can learn. While interviewing a lovely young lady the other day she disclosed to me that she has bad knees and cannot be on her feet all day. Good to know. Being the curious person that I am, I asked if she had injured herself (and in my mind I was thinking, was it on the job?) and she said that her knees were simply "worn out". Before I could even reply she leaned in, put her hands around her mouth and said "I used to be a DANCER" in a tone that implied clear heels and brass poles....

In retrospect, that's what we call an overshare. But, I did learn something. If she had said it without the whispering tone and hand motion I would have assumed she meant a ballet dancer. I guess it's all in the delivery.

She starts her new job through our agency tomorrow. I know she's a hard worker and she's honest. Both of which are good qualities to have in a temp.

No.Pictures.on.RESUMES.

Please. Please please please people. If there is one trend in resumes right now that needs to GO AWAY it's the picture on the resume. There are numerous reasons I can't stand this. One, does it really tell me anything? REALLY? Let me answer that for you. NO. It does not! There is a good chance you might look like the former boyfriend I hate. Want to know what happens to your resume then? I will give you one guess where it gets filed to. Maybe you think you are attractive and you aren't. There are a million and ten reasons this is a bad idea. People discriminate. It's illegal, but it happens. Make your resume the best possible reflection of who you are, your skills, your volunteer work, your licenses and qualifications. Highlight great things you have done with your life. But do not put a picture on it. I don't care how cute you think you are. Of course, if you look like David......