Scream My Name

k, I realize that I’ve made my job out to be bad, it’s not all bad, and I like my job. I get stuff done, feel some what valued, and still get time for pinterest at least once a day, and I can wear jeans. Jeans are a big bonus for me because I hate dress pants; they give me a fly penis. For those who don’t know what a fly penis is it’s where your fly is really long and makes a gross bulge when you sit down and it can usually be found in mom jeans or dress pants. But here is what I hate the most about my job, besides the fact that it is not what I love to do, my boss has this incredibly annoying habit, besides just smelling bad some days. He just sits in his office and when he wants me he just screams my name. I don’t understand, he just sits there and yells my name and waits for me to guess what he wants. The only time that has ever happened to me is when I am in bed, you know, like with the boyfriend, and it’s usually followed with “Oh God” or other words, but it usually means I’ve done some thing right. But not at work, when it’s used at work it’s like a guessing game and I usually guess wrong. Take today, or most days, he sits in his big brown chair and will yell my name, so I stop what I am doing and say “yes” than he says nothing…absolutely nothing. Then I know it’s game time.

You can imagine my confusion when I first started. I wasn’t used to it any where except in bed and then it was used as positive re-enforcement so I just kept on doing what I was doing, like I would with the boyfriend. Sadly that guess was wrong. He didn’t want me to just keep ignoring him so he would say my name louder and I would follow with a “yes” or “what can I do for you” and than silence. It took me 3 months to figure out that the screaming of my name meant guess what I want and if you get it wrong jump up as fast as you can so I don’t have to get out of my big brown chair. What I don’t understand as this whole situation could be avoided with a “Justine can you please come here for a second.” That is what normal people would do. Right?

Personally, I think that it was very smart of me to figure it out after three months. So now, after I jump up to his screaming of my name, because I’ve guessed wrong, it is followed with some thing that he feels the need to point out. Generally these are mistakes. Generally these are mistakes made well before my time here. But regardless he feels the need to point them out and make it seem like I have made the mistake. I think he just likes to have people watch him work. Like WOW! Look at me put this invoice in the computer! I nod my head and head back to my desk and continue my work.  But what really gets me is that some times it’s just to make coffee. The coffee machine is between us, so I run to his office and he looks at me like I am an idiot for not knowing he just wants coffee and says “coffee?” I could have saved myself 5 steps if you would have followed my name with “could you please make coffee?” I am going to look up how to read minds on google so I can avoid hearing my name screamed 50 times a day, which one would think is a good thing, but when it’s coming from your boss it is not. Unless your boss is Ian Somerhalder, because it would be awesome if he screamed my name 50 times a day, not matter the reason. 

College Reunion 101

Well, it had to happen sooner than later. I received an e-mail today from one of my old college classmates saying that our class is having a get together.

I went to college, mostly because I was getting sick of working mall jobs and thought college would be fun. It looked fun in the movies and college was even better in real life. So much better that I am two courses short from graduating. I graduated from beer bong to keg stand in a few weeks, but it was the actually classes such as stats that really threw me for a whirl; but I still get invited to these shindigs because there were only twelve people in my program and we were a pretty tight group, and people like to gloat so they know to invite me because I can’t one up them. But we were a close group especially the underachievers. But the majority of them were upstanding contributing members to the program and college and life in general. They took school seriously like it should be taken. Yes mom, I learned my lesson.  

But every one knows the person who likes to rub it in your face how totally awesome there life is. Even though most of the time I don’t think their life is awesome. Sure they are more together then I am, but how many Beersbee May long championships have they won? Zero. Me? Four. So who really wins.

Both way there are a few gloaters in this graduating glass, and if you don’t sit there and say how awesome they are they tend to get annoyed.

But really, I am not looking forward to this, because although there were a few of us who kind of coasted along they have seemed to have found good jobs, related to what we actually took in school. I know I am not a pole dancing with my sneaper hanging out but I am not really all that together. In the last two years I’ve gone through my share of bad office jobs, one in oil field (because I live in Alberta and at some point every one works in oil field), one for some kind of finance company (where I worked with the spawn of Satan), one door to door selling job (where I would really just go home and nap), and now this one, where I have been employed for the last 7 months with smelly boss man. 

Ye of Little Faith

I am a middle child (if you couldn't already tell) and my older sisters both have good jobs, one has a kid, the other is married to a perfect husband and then there is my younger brother. He is super smart, super crafty, 14 and has not puked on our mom from drinking, so by all counts, is shaping up to be a better child than I am. I don’t know what it is about the youngest child in families but they are generally the golden child. Than there is me…*pause for slow clap*. Well I was board at work and was texting my mom. She just stopped texting me, she didn’t find my jokes funny and probably got board and went to hang out with her cooler younger son. So I played a trick on her, which in hind sight, was probably not the best trick to play. It went like this

Justine- “mom…why you no texty me back”

*she says nothing*

Justine- “mom…I need to tell you some thing…I am pregnant”

Well… she still didn’t text me back so I went home and had a nap than made supper for the boyfriend and my friend Jade and her boyfriend. Some where in the time frame my phone died and I started drinking wine. Bad combination. I stumbled to bed around midnight and plugged the phone in and passed out. I woke up for work in the morning and being slightly hung over sat in bed checking my phone. TEN text messages, you would have thought that I was Michael Jackson and I came back from the dead by the urgency in these text messages from my mother. They went like this:

“Justine…you better be kidding”

“Are you sure?”

“Justine, I am crying please tell me this is a joke”

“Call me as soon as you get this, we will figure out a solution.”

OK…I know that I am a little lost, still trying to find my way, but I am 23, most of my friends are pregnant and their mothers didn’t sit and cry at the kitchen table!  My mother, ye of little faith. I am not saying me having a kid is a good idea, but I don’t think it warrants 6 hours of crying at the kitchen table. Plus I am not to keen on having kids after reading all the gross stuff that happens and I am not talking the stuff the tell you in health class, I am talking the stuff on mommy blogs. If you wanted kids not to get pregnant make them read those blogs. So I had to deal with the situation at hand, so I texted my mother.

“mom I have an entire army in my cervix, I can not get pregnant. It’s ok.”

Well not even ten minutes later I get a call from my dad, at 8:30 in the morning. Let me first say, my father hardly ever calls me, my father NEVER calls me at 8:30 in the morning. I answer.

Dad- “justine…”

Me- “hi dad. I am not pregnant don’t worry”

Dad- “hahahha…I mean that’s not funny, your mom is really upset”

Than I rant that I am sure I could do the mother thing and that it doesn’t look that hard. I finish by saying I am sorry and I won’t do it again. Being a Friday at work I am doing absolutely nothing, so I decided to make my mom a card because that is what a contributing member of society would do if they messed up. I feel like that was a step in the wrong direction and vow to never tell some one I am knocked up when I am not. 

Organic Toilet Paper. My ass. Seriously.

I don’t do the organic thing, partly because I don’t believe that it actually is organic, but mostly because I am poor and the organic stuff is way more expensive and I’d rather save that money for more important things, like my 70 dollar non-skinny jeans. But my mother is a coupon queen and had a coupon for this organic toilet paper. Usually if I have to buy toilet paper I buy it based on what cute little fluffy animal I think my bum would like better that week. Usually it’s the kittens or bear. But I was especially poor this week thanks to the Alberta Government and their ridiculous penalties for speeding. So I took a trip over to my mom’s house where she stock piles stuff from couponing, not in a crazy way, in a completely awesome free stuff way (thanks mom!). So she went down to her stock pile and got me some T.P. It was organic. Let me tell you. NEVER again will I buy any thing organic. I am allergic to this toilet paper. You can’t even begin to understand the kind of pain I am in. It’s ridiculous to think a person can be allergic to toilet paper, but let me tell you, I am, thanks to my awesome genes.  Also, if toilet paper was organic would it not be leaves? So really you are just charging more for toilet paper and calling it organic. Leaves are the real organic toilet paper, not this stuff causing this really uncomfortable feeling in my lady area. All I have to say is my poor boyfriend. I had to pee really bad and so I did, not even ten minutes later I am running around the house with my pants off cursing this toilet paper. I don’t think he believed me because I tend to be a little dramatic some times so I had to be sure. So after a shower, which helped (in case you are wondering the cure to toilet paper allergies) I decided to conduct an experiment. I made the boyfriend go to the store and buy the cute kitten toilet paper (don’t worry he used a coupon) and I used that, and surprise surprise, no pain in the lady area. Than the next time I used that devil organic toilet paper and it was back again! THE PAIN! So back in the shower I went. So now I can say with complete confidence I am allergic to the organic toilet paper. I don’t know how because organic is suppose to be “all natural” but it’s not, convincing me further that organic any thing is a scam, so even though I am cheap, I now have a valid reason to be cheap. 

Skinny jeans are a fat girls nightmare

So we all know that skinny jeans are “in style” right now and have been for a while and it looks like they are here to stay. They look super cute with heels, tucked into boots, paired with a cute little top! Skinny jeans seem to go with everything, except a big ass. I have been blessed with my father’s ass. HURRAY for me. Not. My body is like Kim Kardashians except I don’t have a shit ton of money to pay a personal trainer and I also love salt and vinegar chips and red bull. So it’s a little bit bigger than Kim’s. I wouldn’t say I was fat, but curves are plentiful on this girl. One time after I got spray tanned I got asked if I was half black. So I stopped spray tanning so there wasn’t any confusion. So thanks for that DAD, I got ever good gene you and mom had, rolled into one cute, big assed package! So now that I’ve painted that lovely image in your head here is my dilemma! I can not find jeans. Please other bottyliscious girls unite and help a sister out.

This is what I don’t get. I am not that fat! I don’t have a gunt. I am not a size 6 but I am also not big enough to shop at plus size stores, even though they say size 14 to what ever, there 14 is completely different than the 14 at H&M. I’ve come to the conclusion that I am in-between. I am 10 donuts away from plus size stores, and 2 solid months of working out away from normal jeans. Either way when I go to buy jeans they are all skinny jeans no matter what size! For pete’s peppers if you are over a size 10 do not put skinny jeans on, do not even entertain that thought because you just look like an ice cream cone. And I’ll be the first to admit I love ice cream, but that’s what got me into this skinny jean problem and I don’t want to look like an ice cream cone. So I am stuck with blah jeans that are way more expensive than the skinny jeans you can get at H&M or Forever 21, that do not look as cute when paired with heels, flats or any thing else. And for the record even if I was a size 6 my ass would still be big and skinny jeans would not look good on me. So I am fucked. I go to stores and try on jeans and they are all fucking skinny jeans. Skinny jeans in blue, pink, purple, yellow, white, they have skinny jeans with patterns and cute little rips and tears then there is one style of bootcut and maybe one flared that usually sit on me like mom jeans and I just want to go punch all these women grabbing there 20 dollar skinny jeans from H&M while I am saran wrapping my ass to fit into boring 70 dollar flared jeans. Skinny jeans can suck it.

And this is the part that really irks me. I was at a party one night with my friend Dana. Dana is an excellent drinking partner by the way, even if she has a kid and is an excellent mother, she still manages to have questionable morals after 4 beers, and that is what I look for in a friend.  If you are looking for advice on how to lead a balanced life between kids and well, still having a life, Dana has nailed it. Kudos to her. So I am at a party and it’s mostly her friends, who also have kids and are a lot older than me, but they still drink like champs so I like them. Any ways many of them are bigger in the pants area than I am, so after a few…to many… Palm Bays I asked this one girl I call Fluffy where she gets her pants and this is the conversation.

Me: Where do you get your jeans, because I can’t find jeans ANYWHERE!!!!!!

Fluffy: Mmmm I really like bootleggers jeans, they fit really well.

Me: Weird, I hate them. (I am thinking to myself how does fluffy fit into these so called bootlegger jeans, they stop at size 32?)

Fluffy: Ya I usually do size 32 in bootcut try that.

OK! Unless I am delusional fluffy is not a size 32. This girl has a bigger gunt than my  grade 9 math teacher who's nickname was Mrs. Gunt. AND HER NICKNAME IS FLUFFY!  So you are not a size 32 hunny. I am sorry if I made you uncomfortable about your size, I just wanted to know if you had the same skinny jean problem I have and where I could find jeans. I am not saying fluffy doesn’t rock her fluffiness, because she does, but don’t lie. I hate liars, especially when I am looking for help and I felt like she could help me out. So some one who doesn’t lie please help me where can I find cute, non-skinny jeans. Because I may burn down the skinny jean warehouse so I don’t feel left out any more.

I'm cursed. No really, I am.

There is this movie called Good Luck Chuck with Dane Cook and Jessica Alba, basically the long and short of it is that you have sex with Dane Cook (aka Chuck) and the next guy you meet you fall madly in love with. Well ladies and gentlemen I have a similar curse! Except with mine you become my drinking partner and you get pregnant. I swear I am not crazy, I have proof.

It started when I was 19 I had a friend named Aimee, we were inseparable.  We hung out together, we worked together, and we partied together, dated guys who were best friends, needless to say we are one in the same. Even more so because we have the same birthday! 

But Aimee was a little dumb when it came to birth control; let me be the first to say the pull out method does not work! So she was the first in our group of very close friends to get pregnant. At 19, which worked out well for her but I still recommend getting yourself some proper birth control so you don’t get a surprise one morning while sitting at work praying that the little stick you just peed on give you a no. We quickly lost touch with each other. If you have ever had friends get pregnant at a young age you understand. Suddenly we did not have a lot in common any more. I was still doing what I do best, drinking, and she was now learning all about motherhood and birthing, which at 19 did not interest me. Hell, at 23 it still doesn’t interest me. It terrifies me and I have to support this fear with actual facts about why birthing is terrifying, besides the obvious pushing out a watermelon argument, which people claim is a miracle.  So there was the first one friend down and lost to the world of babies.

Than there was Sheena. We grew up playing soccer together and again, we close friends. Not so much for a while there because she tends to be on the self centered side Either way we started to become close friends again after I moved back to Shitville Alberta. Well not even one month back into our rekindled relationship and BAM! The news hits me like a ton of bricks and she is pregnant. Right before summer, which sucked for me because she is the one who I could call on a Friday night and she would come and drink with me, and Canada’s national sport is beersbee, not hockey, and our season is from May to September so I was down a teammate.  So that’s was it best friend number 2 down for the count.

So I started noticing a pattern but never really thought I was cursed until Jenna. Oh Jenna. She had been with her boyfriend for 5 years and he had stayed with her through her on going battle with cancer and general sickness in the lady area. Jenna is the sweetest nicest girl and no one ever says any thing bad about her because she is just that nice. She looks like Marilynn Monroe and is girl next store sweet. Sadly after battling cancer the doctors gave her a 25 percent chance of ever conceiving, which is all she’s ever wanted. I tucked her away in the “we are never having kids, going to sit on a beach while a hot pool boy named Pablo brings us drinks.”

Then one Friday afternoon we had plans to go out for cocktails after a long hard week of shitty office jobs, she calls me and says she can’t come out for drinks. My response to that is man up, put your big girl panties on because my boss smelled especially bad this week and I needed a drink to forget the body odor so I could come back to work Monday. She says she can’t drink because she is PREGNANT! I am over the moon excited for this girl. But then it hits me, this girl has been having unprotected sex for years, because of her low chances of getting pregnant it wasn’t suppose to happen, now she is pregnant. So what changed you ask? Me. She was my drinking partner. Leading me to believe I am cursed. You become my drinking partner and than you become pregnant. Maybe it’s Gods way of saying “Justine you need to stop drinking, so I am going to take away your drinking partners.” Seriously, I wonder if this is how Mary’s best friend felt when she magically got pregnant. It wasn’t God, it was a cursed drinking partner.

So for all of you trying to conceive if you are looking to get pregnant come find me, be my drinking partner for a while and you will become pregnant. Also, most of my friends now have babies or are pregnant, or decided to move to the other side of Canada so I am looking for drinking partners. Please apply if you are in no shape or form a contributing member to society and can put up with my mood swings.

A side note after reading this I do realize that my friends aren't very smart about birth control and that may be a contributing factor but I still fully believe I am cursed. 

Who am I you ask? I have no idea

I thought I should maybe give you a background into me, before I start unloading pages upon pages of my life. I am completely average on every level. You know that movie Easy A (if you don’t stop what you are doing, crawl out of your rock, and go watch it), Emma Stone plays a girl that know one really pays attention to but than she fakes having sex and all of a sudden everyone knows who she is. I am like that girl, except I don’t have red hair, I’ve never lied about having sex, and I just stayed average, except at drinking. Which some may think is a bad thing, but really, I excel at drinking. I would put it on my resume, but sadly, employers don’t find that a hirable quality.

Anyways, I am average, one time when I was ten I went to a camp with my best friend and they handed out awards at the end and some people got awards for crazy hair day, craft day or horse back riding skills (bet the girl who won that award now has 5 kids or Chlamydia if you know what I mean)…I got an award for being average. Being ten, that has a really big impact on your life and I still blame those two camp councilors for labeling me average and that, my friends, is why I've never went on to be some thing really cool like a resort waterslide tester (YES THAT’S A REAL JOB I GOOGLED IT!)  and am stuck at a shitty office job with a boss that some times smells bad.

Also, I have an addictive personality, but not in the way that I am so awesome people are addicted to me, in a way that if I find some thing I like I can’t physically stop talking about, doing it or reading about it. Like weddings. I absolutely love weddings. Seriously, I reached a whole new level of obsessed when it came to weddings. I would actually call places up and be like “hi my wedding is August 2013 and I am wondering if you could send me packages with your pricing information.” Yes. I know. That is a new level of crazy, and let me tell you, that is probably why my boyfriend (o yes I have one of those) will NEVER NEVER NEVER ask me to marry him.

I do have a boyfriend, I don’t know how, but I do. And he is hot. Girls tell me that, and he isn’t imaginary, like my wedding. One time I got high fived because he is so good looking and she was impressed I actually "landed" him, although I am not sure how I feel about that because that just verifies how exceptionally average I am. But besides being hot, he  also has really good ninja skills. So he is pretty much the full package.

I also have friends, but most of them have their lives way more together than I do, but I will say, that they are just as messed up as I am. But, for the most part they have all recently embarked on this new thing called life accomplishments such as graduating university, having babies, getting married, or for some, all of the above. And I must say, I am happy that I have one friend, who is just as lost as I am, and we rock at it. So take that life accomplishments.

Also, I have a family. I blame them for most of my bad qualities, because most days, I am sure my mother wonders how I beat all the other sperm to her egg. I love my family, growing up my friend used to call us the Canadian Osbornes. That is the best way to describe my family. Oh! And my mother coupons, so that allows me to say “MY MOMMA IS A COUPON QUEEN” in the same voice as honey boo boo child. 

Please God, don’t let me be the only one…

Over the past year, thanks to bad office jobs, I’ve indulged in the blogging world. From blogs about home crafts, to weddings, to babies, and through each of these blogs I read I became…mildly obsessed with each. Seriously. I can’t tell you the hours I spent crafting, reading horrific birthing and toddler stories, and I have even become a certified wedding planner, all thanks to blogs. I think I became obsessed with all these blogs mostly because I was a 22 year old girl who was lost and confused with what to do with her life and searching for answers every where, trying every thing not to fail and seem like I have it together. But I don’t, I still don’t, hopefully soon, but probably not. So for the time being at least, I am going to write a blog. A blog about what my life is like, being 23, the ups and downs of trying to find yourself and figure out how to be a contributing member of society.

Every one tells you how awesome being a young adult is; you know the age between 17 and 21. Where you can make catastrophically horrible decisions and your parents still bail you out or when you are in your late twenties and you have every thing figured out and you've stopped making those catastrophically huge mistakes. But what people neglect to tell you is there is a group of us who float along, watch their friends get married, have babies, get promotions, and travel the world and there you are, working at a shitty office job, with a boss that wears the same outfit 4 out of 5 days a week, and smells a little weird and occasionally hits on you. So hears to us, the ones that don’t quite have EVERYTHING figured out yet.