Judgey Elevators

Hello my sweet little plums! (Do men call their balls plums? Because I feel like they might and please believe that I didn’t mean to call you, dear readers, a sack of balls. Gross. Why does my mind do this!?) Moving on… 

Not much has been going on in the world of Angela, but the building I work in has decided to upgrade its elevator service! I know what you’re thinking, “WOW! No way! How did you get so lucky!?” I swear, there’s a point to this story. 

In the past few months, I’ve started eating better, I work out more, blah blah blah. I’m not saying I’m now skinny, but I’ve lost some weight and am feeling more confident in myself as of late. Until last week… 

With the jazzy new elevator call buttons comes an oh-so-lovely announcement that the elevator is full, please wait for the next available car. Sounds great right? WRONG! In the past week, on 3 (THREE!) separate occasions, the split second I’ve stepped into the elevator car, I’ve heard “This elevator is now full. Please wait for the next elevator.” 

The first time it happened, the car was relatively crammed so, fine, I can chalk it up to coincidence. The second time, only 2 other people in the car. Today? ONLY PERSON IN THE CAR- DIRECT ATTACK! I am NOT heavy enough to put a commercial elevator at capacity! What. The. Actual. Fuck. 

If it happens one more time, I swear I’m going to beat the crap out of the technicians I see every damn morning. I’m so nice to them- I say hello, make cute jokes, offer to get them a coffee some days. Yet, I feel like they are playing a sick game with me. 

Anyway, fun times on the fatso express- I hope it’s made you laugh because it’s given me one more reason to attend lengthy, costly, therapy sessions. 

Love & slow-moving elevators (because they are struggling with my immense weight),

Ang

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What the Hell, Monday? 

Hello my sweet, sweet apricots!

Did you know it’s been 160 days since I last posted a blog? Of course you did, because you all cross off the depressed, Angela-lacking days on your calendar, amiright?

This blog is basically just a reflection of how much of a joke my life is. Wait, wait… That sounds terrible. How much of a joke I make my life into? Hmmm… How well I’m able to see the humor in my day-to-day? Yes! That’s it! (I’m rusty, sue me). Today provided some of the best inspiration I’ve had in a while. Not because it was a particularly different day, but just because I laughed. A lot.

Chapter 1: Wearing Water

I drink a lot of water in a day. Like… 6 liters of water in a day (aside: I also pee like every 10 minutes so, word to the wise, any important conversations better be HELLA quick) Anyyywaayyy, to get it all in, (hah, you made it dirty, didn’t you? Perverts!) I start right from the car ride to work. So, as I was driving, I struggled to get that teeny, tiny plastic cap off my bottle of water. Of course, I was gripping the bottle too tightly and the cap finally came off. And, of course, the water sprayed (stop picturing sexual things! I know you are and I can’t stop giggling as I type). Naturally, today couldn’t be the day I was wearing a black coat that you wouldn’t be able to see watermarks on. Nope, today I wore a lovely, khaki green knee-length coat. Pro – it was super absorbent . Con – I looked like I pissed myself when I got out of my car. Needless to say, I very quickly ran from parking my car, into an elevator and to my desk. (Retrospectively, I could have just taken my coat off but, it was 7 am, I hadn’t had a coffee, so….Yeah, didn’t do that). That brings us, ever so nicely to chapter two…

** Insert Angela stomping, and swearing. As I was typing the gloriously hilarious ending of chapter 2, my laptop was just like “nope” and shut down. Naturally, Chrome couldn’t restore my session. Seriously, Monday, we aren’t f*cking friends.**

Now, let’s try this again…

Chapter 2: Jeepie Ain’t a Hybrid (Duh)

In the building where I work, we have designated “hybrid only” parking spots and I always respect that (mainly because the spots are tight and suck anyway), but this morning half of the parking level was blocked off for construction, so there was no enjoying my regular spot. So, after circling the level, I found a spot that was open and backed ‘er on in. I’ll be honest, as I got out of the truck, I noticed that a third of the wall in front of the spot was painted green for “hybrid vehicles only” but the other two thirds were blocked by a very large, industrial fan which didn’t seem so “green” to me, so I shrugged and carried on. Majority wins in my books. Also, it was 7 am. Also, I looked like I had peed myself. Also, I wanted coffee – c’est la vie. All day, I wondered if management would put a note on my car or anything so, this afternoon, when I returned to my truck, I wasn’t all that surprised to see a piece of paper. A note from building management? Nope. A passive-aggressive message pour moi? Mais oui! The note, which was hastily (probably furiously) written read…

This spot is for HYBRID CARS only. THANKS!!

Ohhhh, double-exclaimed and underlined?! Wow, you must be angry. I wish I knew the jackass who wrote the note – I’d leave a pack of 9V batteries on his/her car tomorrow with a note reading “Here, now you can drive home tonight! You’re WELCOME!!” I’d also like to point out to this jackass, that:

a) Two-thirds of the spot had no marking about which cars could park there, so he/she could eat my shorts and…

b) I LOOKED LIKE I PEED MYSELF

I honestly considered going to the security desk to ask if they had tapes of the parking garage… I so wanted to know, but I also so wanted to get the hell outta dodge, so I cracked up about it all the way home.

Chapter 3: Concrete
(Time travelling back to the morning)

After an hour or so at my desk this morning, I put the pee-pee jacket back on and went for a walk. I was looking at my phone, and went to put it away, thinking I slid it into my pocket. No, this jacket didn’t have pockets where I thought it did. What I had done was, rather forcefully, launched my phone directly into the concrete beneath my feet. Thankfully, I had a case on it, so no major damage was done but I would swear that my heart stopped ever-so-briefly. Also, there were at least 5 people who saw what I did, and I’d venture to guess that at least 2 of them were laughing at me, so I was a little embarrassed (probably 2% embarrassed, 98% concerned that I was going to have to go buy a new phone). Of all the events of the day, this was the one that brought me closest to crying. I keep everything on my phone. I have nothing (NOTHING) committed to memory and so, I was beyond ecstatic that I didn’t manage to destroy it. All’s well that ends well? *shrugs*

Alas, my love-doodles, those were the highlights of my day. I know they are all rather mundane, first-world problems but I hope you laughed, because I sure did. I also hope you drank excessively while reading this, because I sure did!

Love & wine-stained lips,

Ang

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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If I Cared for Your Opinion, I’d Ask! 

Hello my turtles! (Yeah, I called y’all turtles. And said y’all… Deal with it). 

It has been a dog’s age since I’ve written and I feel badly. No excuses or apologies though because… Well, just… No. Lots has been going on- some ups, some downs. Some nights involving more wine than was probably a good idea… So, the usual. 

Anyway, last week I had an experience, shall we say, and I thought I’d share it with you. Hopefully, it makes you laugh in its absolute ridiculousness. 

I was outside on a break at work. I was feeling good, pleased with myself for almost being done a long day at work. I was wearing a (work appropriate) little black dress. And that’s relevant- read on. 

Angela: *twiddling thumbs as man in his 30s approaches* 

Man: You really shouldn’t wear dresses like that! 

Angela: *thinking he’s about to throw out some cheesey, douchey pickup line* Oh, and why is that? 

Man: You’re too chubby for it. 

To say I was gobsmacked wouldn’t even come close to how I felt. So stunned was I, that I couldn’t even come up with a sassy, witty retort a la the Angela you all know (& love. I know you do). This complete stranger felt that I looked so offensive that he had to let me know!? 

Now, the Angela of old probably would have let this bug her. The Angela with low self-esteem and practically zero self-worth probably would have dwelled on this for days. The Angela of yester-year would not have been okay with this at all. But, as she stood there, Angela had a few reassuring thoughts: 

Angela needs to quit speaking in the 3rd person. It’s annoying as fuck. 

Who did this man think he was to try and shame me into regretting my choice of outfit? Who died and named him King of the Fashion Police!? (Joan Rivers, I’m looking at you!) I was happy with my outfit and if I liked the way it looked, then that’s all that mattered. 

What have we come to as a society when we think it’s okay to approach people like this?! This man was clearly fit to be excommunicated from the sociality of society. (Side bar: sociality – real word? Don’t know for sure, but I hereby deem it one!) 

I told a friend this story and his response made me laugh, and think; his thought was that I should have kicked this man so hard in the nuts that he’d never be able to have a daughter. I’d take it a step further and say he should be kicked so hard that he could never produce any offspring- no daughters to condescend to & to body-shame and no sons to raise to be complete pigs! 

Anyway, laugh at it for what it is because that what I’m doing & just be kind to others. Remember when your mom told you that if you hadn’t a kind word to say, to keep your mouth shut? Yeah, it still applies as an adult. And it’s an adage that I think bears repeating. 

Laughs & good riddance to d-bags, 

Angela 

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Speed Post: A Laugh for Your Friday

Hello my pets –

Happy Friday! Let’s all toast to the weekend right now. Like, RIGHT. NOW. No, I don’t particularly care that you’re at work…. Doesn’t everyone have a hip flask for exactly this scenario?

I had an entirely different post lined up for today. It was about relationships and advice I’ve recently doled out. For those of you who know me well enough to know my relationship history, you’re rolling around on the floor laughing right now but, I swear, this past week I’ve heard myself say some really intelligent things (which is rare on any front, let alone on the topic of relationships!) Mind you, most of the advice I spouted are lessons I’m still trying to learn to apply to my own life, but no less… Learning, people. Learning. Anyway, I decided that the post was too much of an emotional roller coaster about half way through, and so I figured I’d take you in a different direction today. Maybe I’ll go back to the post another day, maybe I won’t. That’s the beauty of this blog – it’s all mine and you can’t make me do anything! HA!

This morning, I went downstairs at my office complex to get a second, very strong, very large coffee. I like my coffee like I like my men… Hah.. You all saw that coming didn’t you? Well, on this adventure, I decided to do without my spectacles which was the first mistake of the lot. I am blind at 10 feet, so I really should just keep them on. Or invest in contacts. Or laser surgery, but also ewwww… Lasers in eyes. Ick. The notion makes me sick just thinking of it. So, I got my coffee and was meandering around in the lobby when I saw someone I knew. I smiled my brightest, broadest smile and waved frantically and the gentleman smiled back and started walking toward me. As he approached, I turned the color of a very ripe tomato… He was no one I knew and in fact, at closer range, he didn’t even remotely resemble the person I thought he was. Oops!

So, how does one gracefully explain this situation? I wouldn’t know because I assure you that I was something much less than graceful. In fact, he probably noticed that I kept sweeping my hair from my face (a maneuver that is also effective for discreetly wiping sweat from ones brow, take note). I stuttered out and apology and explained that I am actually pretty bad at the whole vision thing and begged forgiveness for making him walk all the way over for nothing. I expected him to scoff at my idiocy and maybe he was just trying to put me at ease, but at the end of my oh-so-embarrassing account of the events that had only just transpired, he said this: “Well, I figured I didn’t know you but when a girl smiles like that at you, you don’t turn and walk away.” Okay, so what do you do when said girl is now dripping in sweat in front of you? I’d assume the answer would be “RUN!” He proceeded to ask if I’d care to join him for a coffee now (I held up my coffee as proof that his timing was askew) or at a later time, if I’d be so kind as to give him my number.

Now, my sweets, you all know me. I am awkward with the whole being hit on thing. I rarely pick up on being hit on (probably because I’m too busy trying to make sure I don’t have any visible sweat stains!) and today was no exception. I guess I’m just out of practice… This is certainly not a regular occurrence for me. Sure, he was a nice enough guy (or at least seemed so based on the fact that he didn’t point and laugh at me for being a loser), but I didn’t feel comfortable giving him my number. So, though I know I could have just been honest and thanked him along with my declination, I simply laughed and said “Oh you’re sweet! Have a great day!” and quickly did an about-face and headed back to the safety of my office.

So there you have it, you beautiful readers you, my gift for you this weekend – a laugh at my expense. Now, here’s hoping that he doesn’t work in this complex and that we never accidentally cross paths again. Could you imagine if I did this whole thing over again a second time?!

Love and weekend naps to come,
Angela

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Why Do I Do It?

Hello my peaches,

I hope you all had one hell of a weekend or, at the very least, had some time to catch up on sleeping, drinking… the essentials. Mine was filled with Southern Comfort and wine… & that was just in the wee hours of Saturday morning so, yeah, #gohard.

Over this weekend of mine, I was asked why I write and was sort of prodded about the fact that I’m an irregular writer (in terms of the timing of my posts… or at least that’s I’m hoping was intended in the question). It was tough to answer on the spot, so I’m pretty sure I just mumbled a semi-coherent answer and quickly changed the topic, but it’s something that I thought a lot about for the rest of Saturday and most of Sunday. It’s hard for me to put into words, really, but there is a method to my madness, so I’ll try to get it down here… I guarantee exactly zero success in this matter. If it works it works. If it’s a rambling mess, c’est la vie.

Some people have blogs with sections – mine is just a smorgasbord. A lot of what I write about is purely for comedic value – I like making people laugh. Is me telling you about a bad experience at Tim Hortons going to alter the course of my existence? Unlikely, but it might make you laugh for a few minutes and maybe it will improve your day and that’s more than enough for me. Do you really need to know about the trials and tribulations of my bra shopping? Nope – in fact, you probably wish you didn’t, but it’s relatable for other women and it has moments of humor sprinkled in with the terror and disappointment, so I write about it. However, sometimes I write for an entirely different reason and if you know me well, you can probably pick out the general direction I’m headed for.

I’ve suffered with self-esteem issues for as long as I can remember. I was never the girl who told herself that she was beautiful and smart – I was the one who was never good enough. Am I intelligent? Yes. Am I a good person? Also yes (most of the time… okay, some of the time… I’m not an altogether bad person… fine lines, people. Fine lines). Rationally, I know that I’m okay but in the back of my mind, there’s always the voice that says “you’re too dumb/ shy/ fat/ ugly… etc.” and it’s a voice that I have never really been able to silence. Despite my education, my efforts at improving myself, hearing nice things from others, I’ve never bought into the notion enough to quiet “that voice.” And so, I write some more. There are posts that are entirely meant to get things off of my chest but since I’m too scared to say these things upfront, I coat them in sarcasm and wit (or at least, what I perceive to be wit). Hey, if people are laughing at the post then I’ve sort of turned a negative into a positive, right?

And this is where it gets sticky… Why do I not write often? Well, writing for comedic value is tough because a lot of days, there just isn’t something funny to write about. I’ll start writing a post and then decide that no one will think it’s funny and so I save it as a draft that will sit in my WordPress file until the end of time… it won’t be touched again once I’ve decided that I can’t pull out enough humor. But I won’t delete it, either… it just sits in limbo. In a similar fashion, if there’s something that I need to get off my chest, I’ve always had the feeling that I had to make it laughable because I didn’t want to disappoint anyone with a sappy, self-centered post about whatever it is I’m trying to deal with. Vulnerability is rarely funny and so, up goes the comedic armor to protect me – if I make it humorous, it’s just easier to deal with sharing, I guess.

So, dear reader, if I haven’t lost you by now (seriously, I wouldn’t have blamed you for abandoning this one), here’s what I’ve come down to. I write selfishly. Yes, I want to entertain you but there’s also an aspect of vanity in knowing that I was “good enough” to do that and, if I’ve managed to do it while getting something that’s been bugging me out of my head, then that’s an added bonus. I write with humor because it protects me – I can still be vulnerable, but in doing it behind a wall of comedy, I don’t have to be afraid of admitting certain things. And I know that I could just stop being afraid that what I say will be taken out of context or in bad taste, and I’m working on it. I think that this post is at least a good start to that process.

I never set out with a mission statement for this blog – it was always just something to do but, after thinking on it for a while, it’s all been for me. I write for myself, even if it doesn’t always seem to be the case.

Love & a very large coffee,
Ang

(PS, I’ll try to make the next one funnier… or not… We’ll see how it all plays out, I suppose!)

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