I Quit!

Do you ever feel like you just can't do your job for one more day?!? Not "will not do," but "cannot do." I feel completely deflated after today's office experience...
Why is it that no one cares to help with a project when they can actually have an impact, but everyone cares passionately about your failures and shortcomings once it is too late to change the situation?

I wish that were rhetorical, but the truth is that I always really want an answer to questions like that. And that, my friend, is 98% of what is wrong with me...

I do sweat the small stuff. I do believe that there is one answer to every problem whereby every person in the universe can be completely satisfied, and I do expect myself to find that answer. Every time. And so, I am destine to one day have my own heart explode out of my chest as I grapple with the question of whether flowered napkins will offend the party guest who suffers from severe hayfever.

Prince Charming better have "high blood pressure" listed among his turn-ons.

Wow, depressing. Um... let me see... funny story, where are you?

Once upon a time, I went to work wearing a fun, new bra--baby blue. I must confess that I was very proud of this recent purchase, as it was my first foray into the wonderful world of underwire. I must also say that my co-workers were impressed with the slimming effect that the new bra had on my figure. You know what they say about pride...

As I was talking with a coworker, I looked down and saw a small white spot on my blouse. Strange, I did not eat anything white for breakfast. When the spot began to dance about my chest in rhythm with my breathing, I was quick to ascertain that it was not a spot at all. Strange, it looked rather like an bit of stray wire poking out from between the buttons on my shirt. Well, I'll be! It was a bit of stray wire poking out between the buttons on my shirt.

No problem, don't sweat the small wires. After the initial shocked scream, I (oh, so subtly) excused myself and stepped into the bathroom where I deftly assessed the situation and determined that there was no way to salvage the wire in the right cup. No problem. I removed the wire from the one side. Unfortunately, the wire on the left side was holding fast and could not be budged. Now, I was a bit off-kilter, but perhaps if I slouched to one side... No problem.

On my way back to my office, I was called away to another, non-lingerie-related work task. Of course, I did not want to be caught with the incriminating evidence, so I threw the C-shaped bit of wire on my desk and buried it under some file folders. No problem.

I did not get as many compliments that afternoon, but I was able to relax, enjoy my work and COMPLETELY FORGET (sorry for the yelling) about my situation. At the end of the day I walked back into my office, ready to pack up and head home. There sat my supervisor at my desk. Now, he was a rather muscular, rather tall, rather bald-in-an-intimidating-sort-of-way African American man, and he was twiddling a rather small, rather C-shaped bit of wire between his fingers. He was not looking at his hands or the remains of my underclothing that he held in them as he carelessly flexed the wire and lectured me about the tidiness of my office.

Just then, a co-worker put her head around the door calling, "Are you ready to ..." She never finished her question. Just then, a small bit of wire pinged off her forehead and onto the floor.

After a round of apologies and the filing of appropriate paperwork, only one question remained...
"What was that funny, little, C-shaped piece of wire?"

When I have days like today, I try to remember days like that of the curious bra incident. You can't tell me that someone up above isn't laughing down on all of us.

My So-called Blog

Blog, blog, blog. Yeah, I think you are seeing what I am saying...

So, another story that does not need to be told, because my readership (total of one individual--thanks for your support, you know who you are...) has already heard/lived this. Still, it is just too good.

I thought VegasBabe was a cute screen name. A bit sassy. A bit sweet. Unfortunately, my cousin did not think an unsolicited email from someone called VegasBabe could be all that sweet. She deleted my invite to join this blog, because as she said, "I thought you were porn."

Britney Spears (Oops, I said it again) AND "porn" all here in one cyber location... I see a future with drastically increased traffic to my so-called blog! Sweet.

By-the-way, I selected this font, because it reminds me of ransom notes and serial killers (not cereal killers). I thought my readers could relate to such things--feeling like an unwilling captive to that evil mastermind known to all as Underdeveloped Prose? If not, stay tuned for our next installment where stream-of-conscious-insanity, faces, off, against, excessive-use-of-unnecessary-punctuation!$%&! Same bat-time, same blog-station. Blog, blog, blog.

Profound is in the Eye of the Beholder

Okay, so I was merely visiting my cousin's new blog and I decided to post a friendly greeting...
Who knew that you cannot post without an account, and creation of said account necessitated creation of an actual blog, which necessitated the making of all kinds of incredibly important (possibly life changing--let's face it, Prince Charming could be reading this right now and deciding to just keep right on riding due to the fact that my sense of irony is way off to his way of thinking) decisions about usernames, blog titles, screen names and so much more...

My name is VegasBabe, and I am a commitmentphobe. Indescribable pressure over these decisions nearly sent me into an emotional tailspin, because, let's face it, it is by these first impressions that we all judge and are judged. The title IS the most important part of the book.

Case in point... What if War and Peace had been named...
Well, I do not know, because (confession time) I have never actually read the darn book, so the only alternate title I can imagine is possibly...
War, huh, What is it Good For?

Surely, the world would be a completely different place if a). that wonderful piece of literature had been titled ANYTHING else or b). if people actually read it (my cousin tells her blog readers that she is close to this lofty goal, but I fear it is a peak few of our generation have conquered).

Anyway, I took some deep breaths, counted to 25 and convinced myself that it ought not try to impress the world with a profound web address. Profound is, after all, in the eye of the beholder (some people actually find Britney Spears (hate myself for using her name here) enlightening, right?). If I got too cute with my title, most people probably wouldn't get it, or won't GET me and think it was stupid (which it probably would be), so... Behold this little story any which way you please, but please don't be hold'n me to blame for this dumb joke!

I hope Prince Charming lists "over-thinking it" among his turn-ons!

Happy Sunday!