Woops!

August 25, 2009

You've gotta love it when the President of the Board is sitting in your office, and the following picture scrolls across your screen saver:
Yes, he noticed. Yes, he commented.

Most excellent.

A Lesson in Professionalism

August 4, 2009

Yesterday afternoon I had a long day at work. Usually I'm off the clock by noon, but yesterday I decided to sit at my desk and grind away until 4:30.

I know, you are simply bowled over by the intensity of my work ethic.

Around 1pm, when I started feeling hungry, I decided to take a break and head over to our brand spankin' new grocery store to pick up a couple of things: milk, bread, eggs, Twizzlers, powdered sugar, rainbow-colored sprinkles--you know, only the basics.

When I arrived at the store, kid-free mind you, I instinctively grabbed a cart and hurried up and down the aisles (wanted to get back to work and tie up my loose ends before the Tyra show came on--she's got a bangin' body ya know).

Now I'm not sure if I've ever mentioned this, but the population of our town tops out around 6,000. So basically, anytime you set foot outside of your living room, you're bound to run into someone you know.

And sure enough I did. I ran into our neighbor from two houses down (hi, hello, whatever), another parent from James's daycare (damn I hope my hair looks okay), my husband's PR guy (don't let him see my coupons--must act rich), and the president of a local savings bank--who it just so happens I've been trying to finagle $5,000 out of at work (must. act. like a frickin. rock star.).

I didn't want to bother the guy, but truth be told, he said hi to me first. We talked about the Red Sox, we shot the shiz about the weather, and for one-and-a-half seconds we talked about the five grand donation.

I wrapped it up, verbally acknowledging what a wonderfully busy man his is, and strutted away trying, trying, TRYING to make my ass look professional yet fabulous. I don't know, I'm still hashing out this whole working world thing--but I'm sure it couldn't hurt, right?

As I rounded the corner to the checkout, we came face to face again--so I smiled, cocked my head, and let out a delightful yet confident giggle. You know, just to say, "Hello! I'm still here! I'm still charming! I still want $5,000 of your hard earned money!"

As I pulled into the checkout lane I thought to myself, "These damn rocketship carts are so hard to move. Stupid, useless, no good piece of sh*t." I leaned into my turn, and with the rear wheels dragging sideways across the floor, finally got that oversized hunk of crap just where I needed it.

And that's when it dawned on me.

I was pushing a rocketship cart. Without my child present. For five or six lightweight items.

Now seriously Mr. Banker--let me tell you who you can to make that check out to.

Helluva Mood

July 16, 2009

I'm not sure why, but I am in quite the mood today.

For example, a few minutes ago I got an email from "Wells Fargo," telling me that they needed to verify some information on my bank account--specifically my social security number, my account number, and my password. The return email address was something like xyz6272@yahoo.com.

Mmm hmm.

On an average day, I simply delete those type of emails--as well as any messages I receive from orphaned African royalty (Don't you know I already wipe my ass with dollar bills? Why would I bother myself with your silly, little inheritance?). But today is different. Today, ignoring must have fallen right out of my tool box of coping skills.

So, instead of hitting delete I hit reply, I typed "Fu*& You" in the message box (except I used the real word), and then I hit the send button.

I can't say that it completely cured me of my crappy mood, but my goodness, it gave me a genuine rush for a second or two. I felt fabulous.

And now, to continue that fabulous feeling, I'm pretending to be my own secretary. It basically goes like this:

1. The phone rings.
2. I pick it up and say, "Hello, this is Amy Lawson's office. Can I help you?"
3. The person says, "Yes. Is she available?"
4. I say, "I'm very sorry, but she's not. May I take a detailed message and have her return your call?"
5. Then I hang up and call them right back.
6. Then they seem confused that my secretary and I sound so much alike.
7. Then I dismiss their comments with a professional sounding laugh.
8. Then I feel powerful.

So far it's working, I still feel fabulous.

And if that feeling of fabulousness starts to fade? Well friends, that's when a gigantic ice cream sundae will enter stage left.

Colorful New Neighbors

June 10, 2009

Anytime you go into business for yourself, there are risks. They range from small things like choosing the wrong paint color, to the big things like losing cash, assets, your house, your credit score, your shirt--you know, the stuff you can't take to heaven with you anyway.

On the other hand, when you go into business for yourself, there are some pretty serious benefits, too. For example, it's 100% guaranteed that you'll never be laid off, no one ever has to approve your vacation plans, and there's absolutely no question as to whether or not you'll be able to attend your son's school presentation at 2:15 on a Tuesday--and that memory, the one of my kid spelling the word barn with the letters F-A-R-T, that's sure to carry over into the afterlife.

Ups and downs, goods and bads-- it's just like everything else in life.

This week, Jared and I have been faced with a bump, a down, a trial, a poopastic hand of cards--call it what you will. But, bu-ut, I'm bound and determined to be a good sport, make the very best of this situation, and work it in our favor.

When we leased Jared's office space, he was sandwiched between two upscale hair salons and adjacent to the funkiest restaurant in town. Excellent. He was across the street from an eye doctor, who's next door to a wine & gift shop, who's next door to a pizza shop. Also excellent.

We knew we were taking a risk, moving into a downtown area that wasn't completely thriving, but definitely on the upswing. "Let's be part of the solution," we thought, "let's do it." So we signed the lease, hung our shingle, and commenced with the cracking of backs.

After we moved in and starting giving driving directions to Jared's patients over the phone, we learned something new--we weren't renting the old Greyhound Bus building like we'd previously thought, we were actually inhabiting the former space of an adult book store. According to his baby-boomer patient base, it was "the best damn dirty bookshop this city's ever seen."

The word on the street tells us that it's also been a shoe store and a computer training center. Anyway you slice it, thank goodness we ripped out the carpeting. Anywho, we love our former XXX book store location. The renovations are beyond beautiful and so far, it's serving us quite well.

But here comes the challenge...

About a month ago, the hair salon to the right of Jared's office up and left for new rental space. Fair enough, but I was bummed. After all, they were fantastic haircutters and really fun neighbors for Jared--but most of all, that FOR LEASE sign was freaking me out big time.

Deep in my heart I was hoping to see a candy shop or a high-powered personal injury attorney move in next door, but, as with most things in life (including my bowels and bladder), this situation was totally and completely out of my control.

Welp, yesterday afternoon, Jared had the pleasure (no seriously, he says that they were super, super nice) of meeting the two young men who will be opening their business right next door. Their names are Something and Something Else (Jared sucks with names), and they're tattoo artists.

When Jared called to tell me, I was like, "WHHHAAATTTT!!!!????" Then, after I had a chance to catch my breath and sop the urine off my kitchen floor, our conversation went something like this...

JARED: I swear Amy, they seem like great guys.

ME: Great guys who are naming their tattoo parlor 'Discount Scrotum Art' or great guys who are naming their tattoo parlor 'Main Street Ink?'
JARED: I don't know, I didn't ask.

ME: Well there's a big difference between those names Jared.

JARED: Right now the contractor is painting the walls bright red. But don't worry, it's not an evil red.

ME: Red? Oh geesh! What's their sign look like? Are we talking a spray-painted boob on a hunk of plywood, Jared?

JARED: I don't know, it's not up yet.

ME: Did they learn how to tattoo while incarcerated?

JARED: Okay, that's enough.

And the conversation went on for about sixty-two more minutes.

So, I've slept on it, and I'm feeling a whole lot better this morning. Tattoos schmattoos--as long as it's not a dive, this whole situation should be fine. And based on the not-cheap rent they're probably paying, and super-cheap rent they could have gotten one block away, I think it's safe to assume that these are upscale tattoos--no Bic pens involved.

With that said, I have made a list. It's my list of great things about working next to a tattoo shop.

1. I like tattoos.

2. I love Kat Von D.

3. Maybe they'll make this place into another tv show.

4. Perhaps tattoo artists have terrible backs and excellent insurance coverage.

5. I think that tattoo artists and clean-cut Mormon chiropractors are a virtual match made in heaven as far as friendship goes.

6. Maybe these guys have fantastic wives who will want to be my friends.

7. I bet they're fun.

8. Maybe I'll have them pierce my nose.

9. I need some spice in my life.

10. Increased traffic is never a bad thing, right?

Go ahead, give me an 11, 12, 13, and 14 in the comment section. Please. Please?

Thank you.

...and this officially concludes the hundreth post in my ongoing series of negitive-nelly musings. Tomorrow? Unabashed happieness-- I guarentee it.

HELP, HELP, HELP!!!!!

June 8, 2009

Obviously, I need your help.

Today, since Jared is out of town fishing, I took the liberty of signing up his business (a chiropractic office) to enter a float into the frignormously huge 4th of July Parade that passes right by his office.

Even though it promises to provide buttloads of free advertising to a captive audience of thousands, I absolutely guarantee that he will detest this idea--after all, he hates all manner of holiday fun.

I signed him up on a whim, without any plan of attack, and this is where I need your help.

I need ideas for a float, a TASTEFUL float, that will leave the masses lining up for chiropractic care from the dashing Dr. Lawson.

Here's are my guidelines:

1. It must be catchy.

2. It can be funny, but definitely not inappropriate--that's what this blog is for. As much as it saddens me, I will not even entertain the idea of incorporating potty humor into our fantastic 4th of July parade float.

3. As much as I like the idea of oiling the roads or love-tapping innocent bystanders with our vehicle, we cannot injure people as a means of getting them into our office.

4. No, no, no--we won't drive the Blazer.

5. Nothing bigger than a tractor trailer truck (I'm laughing out loud over here).

6. Yes, we can throw things to the crowd.

Now please, please, please...HELP ME!!!