Faith

Britain's favorite bad boy, George Michael, is releasing a new album. The songs have been co-written / inspired by my brother-in-law.

The track list for FAITH 2010:

1. Confidence is Sexy
2. Go Grab It
3. (900 Miles) Far From Being Too Far
4. Should Have Stayed
5. In the Wildflowers
6. Love Triangle
7. Pass the Apple
8. It's Becoming a Square
9. Get Over Here / Go Away
10. This Post Could Have Been You
11. On and On and Online
12. Me or the Idea of Me
13. What the Hell?

Guess which version of George Michael is singing these songs... 1987 hot George Michael? Or 2010 hot mess George Michael?

It's All Fun and Games Until Someone Loses a Nut

Thanks to JT for calling my attention to a disturbing and dangerous new trend: "sack tapping." 

I'm sure she shared this news with me so I could, in turn, educate you, dear readers. It couldn't have anything to do with the sacks Marilyn has tapped. One man's foreplay is another man's surgery.

Super-Sized Skinny Jeans?

My 20-year-old brother is living with me for the summer. He recently did some grocery shopping.

Doritos, Pepsi, Ramen Noodles, Cinnamon Toast Crunch... and there was milk of course. His bones are still growing. I could make some jokes, but the truth is that this is more grocery shopping than I've done in weeks. I hope this junk doesn't end up in my "trunk."

Liza Does Beyonce

Take a listen to this fabulousness.

 

What would that nutbag ex-husband David Gest have to say about nutbag Liza's ultimatium?

Sing it with me! You know the tune...


I put a ring on your finger, dear Liza, dear Liza.
I put a ring on your finger, dear Liza.
A ring.

But you're a tranny, dear David, dear David.
You're a tranny, dear David.
A tranny.

How will we fix it, dear Liza, dear Liza.
How will we fix it, dear Liza.
Fix it?

I will imbibe wine and beat you, dear David, dear David.
Imbibe wine and beat you, dear David.
Beat you.

With what will you beat me, dear Liza, dear Liza.
With what will beat me, dear Liza.
Beat me?

With a lamp about the head, dear David, dear David.
With a lamp about the head, dear David.
A lamp!

Misunderstood

Graduation season is upon us! Let's take a look back...

This photo is from my 8th grade graduation and my brother's kindergarten graduation. Michael looks cute as a freakin' button, and Marilyn looks mad as all get-out. Why so glum? Because those bastards at Immaculate Heart bestowed upon me the "Most Christian Spirit" award...in front of the whole class, parents, siblings, family friends.

Oh. No. You. Didn't!!!

I was nothing short of humiliated. I remember blinking back hot tears as I walked to the stage to collect the certificate. How dare they?!

Christian Spirit? Granted, I didn't tease or ridicule my classmates. However, that is more likely attributed to a paralyzing case of introversion than a kind heart.

Christian Spirit? What a terrible reputation with which to enter high school. Would I ever live this down? Why, oh why, could Sister Theis and company not see me for the true rebel I was?

Let me state my case. (I think the statute of limitations is up, but please Mom, stop reading now.) It's true what they say about Catholic schoolgirls. My friends and I would...

• Sneak out of the house and through the back alleys of Ashland to Uni-Mart to buy candy. It now fascinates me that the clerk wouldn't blink an eye at a bunch of 14-year-olds rolling into a convenience store at 1am. But candy sounds pretty innocent, huh? Nuh-uh! I recall a pixie-stix snorting incident at the little league filed.
• Dip into my dad's supply of fish oil supplements (a gateway drug if ever there was one) and see who could take the most without gagging.
• Cut wire hangers into strips, bend them into cute heart shapes, heat them on the stovetop and  BRAND ourselves. I think this was a popular tattoo alternative in the mid 90s. Thankfully, the scars have faded.
• Maybe crack open a brew from my dad's beer-filled basement fridge. He didn't drink much, so the beer was really old. So old that the Yuengling containers were still shaped like soup cans. Hence, my long-standing affinity for Campbell's chicken noodle.
• Play hot potato with a water-filled condom someone got from her older, cooler sister who attended Woodstock '94. Disturbing? Yes. But, For the Love of Marilyn, thank goodness that's all we knew to do with a condom.
• Discuss make-out techniques ad nauseum and pray to someday have the opportunity to fine-tune these techniques on a real human boy. "Lord, please do not let his braces slice open my lip." (Hmm, does that type of prayer contribute towards "Most Christian" status?)
• Convince a priest during a Confirmation retreat that a classmate's nickname was Schlong. "Yes, Schlong? You had a question about preparing to receive the Holy Spirit?"
• [Sidebar: God bless the parents of junior high students. May I one day be lucky enough to be blissfully unaware of my children's extracirricular activities... or perhaps not live in a ghetto.]

That's how Marilyn rolled back in the day! Business 9 to 5; Fun 5 to 9. Only one thing has changed.

Back then I wanted Marilyn to be Mo. Now I'm oh-so-proud that I've managed to carry off this split-personality charade so successfully. Now I'm oh-so-grateful that Marilyn and Mo have managed to live separate lives, each successful in her own way. Maybe there is a little Christian Spirit lurking in me, watching over me, after all. That's not someting I'm going to waste any more tears about.

FSU, Greenville Chapter

It was another great weekend in Greenville, thanks to the History Channel. To prepare for the arrival of my out-of-town friends, the AWESOME Doctors O'Malley, I stopped at the liquor store on my way home from work on Friday. (I tried to take care of this on Thursday night, but apparently South Carolina state law closes all liquor stores at 7pm. What the hell?! I often don't get the urge to buy booze until well into the night. I can't imagine I'm alone in that.) I could not find the firefly sweet tea vodka in the vodka section of the store (I mean... that would just be a silly place to put it). My confusion must have shown. A man behind the counter asked, "Do you need any help?" I stated my problem. Then the man screams, "MOM!!!!!  Show her the firefly vodka!!!"

His very sweet eldery mother pointed out my poison and then rang up the transaction. While verifying my ID, she asked, "So your birthday is in August?" Um, no. September. I wondered if this was a test. She said. "Ok, that makes sense. My birthday is in July, the 7th month. So September is 9. These 2 (gesturing to her son and a small girl I presume to be her granddaughter) have birthdays in August." Phew. If I'm going to patronize a family-owned liquor store, I want to make sure they only have late summer birthdays.

Then the TV by the counter flashed a violent scene and the woman gasped in horror. "Oooh, what are we watching?" Her son answered incredulously, "It's the History Channel, mom!!" Pointing to the History Channel logo in the lower corner of the screen, she said, "Oh, that explains the H. I was wondering... Haaa... haaaa.... haaa." (That "haaa" is her sounding out the letter H). Haaa... haaa! (That "haaa" is me laughing.)

When my friends arrived, we started watching... what else?... the History Channel. Yup, that's how I entertain my house guests. Make your summer reservations now! We spent a few hours learning about gangs like the Warlocks, Satan's Disciples, and our favorite... FSU.

FSU is a gang that started in Boston, expanded to upstate New York, and spread a little bit further south this weekend. It has a double meaning - Friends Stand United and F*$# Shi!t Up. We did both. Just ask this crumpled up shot glass that survived a few hours in my pocket before being laid to rest on my end table. That S is F U'd. I can't speak for the doctors, but all I prescribe is cranberry and vodka.

The Not-So-Great Wall

Condo #5 in my little courtyard recently became available for rent, and I've been campaigning hard for some friends to move in. No friends moved in. Hmph, some friends! People had been understandably reluctant to move into #3 due to a Thanksgiving day helium suicide incident, but #5 is ghost-free to my knowledge.

BUT this initially seemed to have worked out in my favor. I was outside sweeping my stoop when a man approached me - the new occupant of #5! He is a good (enough) looking, personable, single young lawyer. The wheels started turning. (JT's response when I relayed the details of this meeting: "He doesn't even know he's about to be victimized.")

However, I was self-conscious about the broom in my hand during our conversation. It's unnatural. Stoop sweeping? That's an activity performed by old ladies in housecoats. Then I thought back to a suicide-free Thanksgiving... I baked a pumpkin pie in 2007. The staged photos were so wholesome and domestic that I considered starting a match.com profile. I would attract a husband who wanted an apron-clad housewife... and then I would tell him to bake his own damn pie. Perhaps the broom could be another weapon in Cupid's tool belt.

 
But back to the point... thanks to the vehicles of this quattlebaum of a lawyer and his moving crew (MOM!), there was only one parking spot available in our tiny "lot" on Saturday night. I backed into the tight spot next to the wall without incident, which is a miracle in itself. Getting out on Sunday afternoon? Not so lucky. I maneuvered myself into such a position that my only options were to: 1) back up and rip off my side mirror; or 2) continue forward and scrape the entire back half of the car. 

Sophie chose #2. This is my car... my 2-month-old car... the only new car I've ever owned. The scratches are obvious, but the denting doesn't photograph well. Repair estimates are pending. Good thing I have a G sittin'.

F that S

I still check in with the New Zealand news outlets from time to time, for the sheer entertainment value of their "journalism." Here you have it... a news article that consists entirely of misspelled, rambling, idiotic blog comments on a previous news article. The ratio of letters to cuss-concealing asterisks is approximately 2 to 1.

But Mike D and I hear your message loud and clear, Kiwi kids. You gotta fight for your right to party (insert 28 exclamation points).

Lazy Avo Saver

As a frequent consumer of avocados, I have to assume I am the target audience for this product. But never have I ever thought to myself, "How will I possibly store the 2nd half of my snack?" Tell me, dear readers, when did saran wrap get such a bad wrap?

Hiatus Over

Why hello, dear readers! 2 months? 2 months! You haven't aged a day.

Why did I stay away so long? Bad blogger, very bad. I have been partying like the end of the world is near... like supermarkets are running out of jello... like homeless shelters are running out of Mad Dog (Great, now what I am supposed to do with all these paper bags?). Why? Why not? Couldn't tell ya. Marilyn has been "FACE"ing Mo for a solid 8 weeks (and 28 years). Those 2 are gonna have to learn to compromise sooner or later.

So what has she been up to, in a nutshell?

• Celebrating the off-the-hook back-to-back weddings of my best friend and my sister in the keystone state. I know two very, very lucky new husbands!

• Mourning the one-year anniversary of my departure from New Zealand. 6pm Drinkie Fridays at the Green Room are fun and all, but they're not as illicit as 3pm Drinkie Fridays in a foreign government office. And there are no young Kiwi males with whom to rendezvous in the stairwells (There, Claymate... your long awaited, much requested new blog post :) )

•  Continuing to wonder, on a daily basis, "Who are these nutcases I work with?" 

• Watching the episodes of Oprah that I DVR, on a daily basis. Yep, I said it. 

•  Having my old car towed, due in large part to the antiquity of the United States Postal Service. 

•  Buying a new car. 

• Wrecking said new car (for which I've made exactly ONE payment) into a wall. Approximately 32 people have suggested this happened under the influence of delicious margaritas. Nope. Did that all on my own. 

• Wrapping my brain around the Great Pregnancy Epidemic of 2010. Ladies, the morning-after pill costs $50. Consider it a long term investment. But since that ship has sailed... it's all very exciting!!! The mamas-to-be include 2 of my nearest and dearest (whaddup LB & AHA!). Some of these little cuties have already arrived, and many more are expected before the end of the year. Just when I thought I was over the shock of all the baby news, my sister got a puppy. Equally unexpected.  

• Trying to keep up with the baby and puppy crowd. Guess what? I have recently acquired not one... not two... but THREE houseplants with whom to share my TLC (when I remember). It is an ambitious undertaking.

I intend to stay more current with the blog, but I need some gentle prodding every now and then (um, that's what she said). If you are reading this - and you know you are - please... For the Love of Marilyn... say hello in the comments once in a while.

Quattlebaum

I had a nasty exchange with a young gynecologist this morning. Giant coffee in hand, I swooped into a conference room at 7AM to find it already occupied. (Yes, 7AM. What kind of jerk schedules a 7AM meeting on March 18? Me. Oops. Dark Cloud: I limited myself to a single Guinness on St. Patrick's Day. Silver lining: This one Guinness made me sleepy enough to go to bed pre-midnight for once).

I politely informed the group that I had the room reserved, but the gynecologist tried to tell me otherwise. I second guessed myself, went back to the office to confirm the schedule, and the gynecologist still tried to tell me otherwise. She said they have the room reserved everyday from 7-8AM, which is clearly not true. I resisted the urge to scream - Gynecology isn't even on this floor!! She finally left with the huffy statement: "Huh! I guess I'll just have to check this with our secretary." I guess you will, quattlebaum.

Fast forward to 5:30PM. I'm waiting for the elevator down to the parking garage. The doors open and I'm face-to-face with the same gynecologist. I wait a few seconds for her to exit (we're at the top floor, so she couldn't possibly ride the elevator any higher. It only goes down from here, honey). No movement. Fine. I enter the elevator and reach to push the button. She suddenly squeaks out, "Oooh! This is my floor!" and scoots out of the elevator, almost being crushed by the doors. Quattlebaum.

People Are Stupid

Recent text messaging exchange with my sister, the bride-to-be...

Her: Got your RSVP today! You didn't check what you want to eat. You also didn't check "will" or "will not" attend.

Me: Are you serious? What is wrong with me? I want the chicken.

Her: Yeah you just had your name. It's ok, someone else marked every option but didn't include their name.

Old Man and the Sea

Newport, Rhode Island. 

Summer 2004.

Geriatric Beach Yoga.

A picture that always makes me smile.

 Happy Monday.

Sofa Saga Continued

Furniture salesmen are such flirts!

I've already told you about the young men who sold me sofa #1. Yes, sofa #1. I left work at 1:45pm to await the delivery of sofa #1. When it finally showed up at 7:30pm, it would not fit up the frakking stairs so I straight back to the delivery truck. Grrr.

This brings me to the sofa #2 search. The showroom was pretty empty, so the sales guy hovered around me while I considered my options. Thanks to my indecisiveness, this lasted for quite some time. Then he said, "Is it gay if I sing along to David Archuleta?" I hadn't noticed his humming until he called attention to it. I wouldn't call this "gay" as much as "bad taste." I said I didn't know any Archuleta tunes and he commented that he shouldn't know them either.

So, okay, bad start... but the conversation improved and I'm fairly certain this guy was laying some game on me. He worked in that he was single after ending a 2-year relationship, owned a house, owned a dog, liked the outdoors, had lived in Hawaii, and that furniture salesman can make 6 figures (sure). I gave him my address (for sofa delivery purposes, of course) and this led to a discussion of downtown, good places to hang out, extracurricular activities, etc. He asked if I had met a lot of people since moving here... By this point, I was semi-expecting a non-committal suggestion, invitation, offer to see each other outside the furniture showroom. I mentally considered the pros (he seems like a decent guy) and cons (he is skinny), and decided that I'd probably accept.

Then the moment of truth. I said it was nice to meet him and sincerely thanked him for his help. He stammered a bit, lingered half a second longer than necessary, and said: "Well, you know where to find me if you have any other needs."

Needs? Oh please. Don't be coy. Wimpiness will get you nowhere.

Ask. A girl. Out.

Girls' Night Out

Vroom Vroom Vette

Jerk in front me at the red light

Yo Butt

During my Saturday visit to Jiffy Lube, the mechanic said one of my rear brake lights was out. However, he could not replace it because the whole fixture is missing. There is nothing to screw the lightbulb into. Odd, no? I asked the mechanic, "Is this something I could get pulled over for?"

His answer: "Only if the cop wanted to be a real butt."

Butt!! I haven't heard this insult since the 3rd grade. Butt!! Instant hangover cure.

I'd Rather Date a Spider or a Rat

This is so hilarious that it warrants posting on facebook AND the blog.

http://youmakemetouchyourhandsforstupidreasons.ytmnd.com/

I'm reminded of a boy with whom I exchanged love notes in 6th grade. (However, I hope my notes had better spelling and a punctuation mark thrown in here and there.)

This boy went to a different school, so our mutual friend Liz served as a go-between. After she got off the school bus, she'd meet me in my backyard to deliver the latest note. Always written on paper torn out of a spiral notebook... always folded into some complicated origami triangle. After a few weeks of these epistles, we arrived at the moment of truth. Both of our schools were scheduled to have a field day at Knoebels, the local amusement park. He had written, "Do you want to french kiss in the haunted house?" I answered yes... and then we avoided each other like the plague all day.

Ahh, young love!

Sofa and Then Some

I recently purchased a sleeper sofa on what was a very quiet night at the furniture store. Three salesmen (all approximately age 22) were sitting on (what else?) a sofa doing pretty much nothing. They soon began complimenting my coat. Really, boys... my coat? Is that the best you can do? Did you happen to overlook my rack and hot ass? Maybe I should stop covering up with a coat...

The coat discussion continued long enough to become awkward. Someone asked, "I didn't know North Face had a Summit Series. What's different about that?" I had faked interest as long as I could. I said, "I really don't know. I got this in China. It's not a real North Face." I realize the point of having counterfeit goods is to pass them off as real, but I DON'T CARE.

My admission only prolonged the conversation. We discussed my impressions of China and the quality of a fake North Face coat. It might not do the trick in Rochester, but it is good enough for South Carolina... as long as it's not raining. I learned the hard way that both ends of the hood have the same type of velcro. In other words, it doesn't stick together. You get what you pay for.

One of the guys shared a life-long dream: "You know what? I've always wanted to go to China. I would check into a fancy hotel, get all dressed up, then go down to the front desk and ask... 'Excuse me, do you know where I can get some good Chinese food?'"

He cracked himself up, and his buddies chuckled too. I, on the other hand, still struggle to find a shred of humor in this suggestion. Is it supposed to be funny because he's asking for Chinese food in China? But then why the build up about the hotel and fancy clothes? The guy appeared to be of Chinese descent... does that somehow make it funny?

When finally placing my sofa order, a particularly over-enthusiastic member of the sales team told me he would remember my March 3rd furniture delivery date because "THAT'S MY BIRTHDAY!" And he'll have no trouble remembering my name because "THAT'S MY MOM'S NAME!" Goofy as he was, I'll give credit where credit is due. Calling me by the right name earns you a few points these days.

No Spa Zone

The winter weather is taking a toll on my beauty regimen. No wonder I don't have a boyfriend! That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

A few weeks ago, my 9am Saturday eyebrow session was canceled due to inclement weather. Sort of a blessing in disguise because I didn't have a snowball's chance in South Carolina of making that appointment. Who am I kidding? Note to self: Revise calendar to make all weekend mornings "TBD."

We got more "snow" on Tuesday and wouldn't you know that I had a 5:30pm facial? They called at noon to tell me they were closing early due to that infamous inclement weather. Could I move my appointment up "a little bit, well actually a lot" to 4pm. Nope, I have a job. How else would I pay for this pore maintenance? Again, a blessing in disguise in a way. (That work situation that is "sucking the life out of M" has been resolved in a way that means many late nights for me over the next few months. Trading in one bad situation for another...).

When I finally left the office that night, I encountered... some rain. Silly Southerners. If you cancel my facial at the slightest hint of precipitation, how will I continue to be mistaken for a college student?*

*I've recently decided to embrace this other case of mistaken identity. Marilyn is forever young.

Ring My Bell

I'll let Timberland tell my story (lyrics at 2:15). 

Yep, I'm out of the basement and drinking wine in a downtown condo... complete with the cutest goshdarn pineapple doorbell you ever did see. Not only is the pineapple a delicious fruit; it is a symbol of hospitality. What a way to greet guests! I dare you to resist pushing that button. This doorbell screams out... Come and knock on my door; I've been waiting for you...

That can be a good or a bad thing. Three's company, but when does a gathering become a crowd? Maybe when a self-proclaimed professor of architecture overstays his welcome and tries to crash on your couch. Think about Captain Kangaroo singing folk songs in the pre-dawn hours.

"Summer Wages" sing-along, anyone? I didn't think so. Here's a video so you can brush up on the lyrics.



The professor may have been kind enough to "defer to the hostess," but luckily my friends were not. Goodnight, sir.

Running Ragged

I'm sooo glad to have a few quiet weekends at home coming up before wedding season and more travel. I need to get back on track. For example, I am months and months behind on my TV viewing. Some people might view this as a positive, but damnit, I enjoy watching TV. And I am good at it... which is more than I can say about some other things.

• Work Life - Terrible. For over a month now, I've been dealing with a situation which human resources has accurately described as "sucking the life out of Maureen" and requiring "a huge emotional investment." I am not willing to emotionally invest in this and I've had just about enough of this malarkey. Not only are my dictatorial ways driving people to the looney bin... I'm being dragged along with them.
• Love Life - Terrible. I seem to have been dumped by someone I wasn't even dating. That's an extra special kind of rejection.
• Social Life - So "good" that it makes for a terrible next day. It's all fun and games at 4am, but I'm signing a different tune when I'm still in bed in the mid-afternoon. It might benefit me to find the medium volume between my typical "off" or "full blast."

But such is life, and I have a pretty good one overall. On the bright side, I recently slept 7.5 hours on a school night and cooked myself a healthy dinner. That's gotta be some kind of record... a nice record :)

 Fruits and vegetables and chopping, oh my!

Vegas Baby

This is old news by now, but I'd be remiss if I didn't acknowledge a recent trip to Las Vegas... also known as Marilyn's Playground. Fun!!

The trip started with a long flight, but I was lucky enough to sit in first class while my traveling companions roughed it in coach. Ain't none of those first class fliers roughin' it! Consider my across-the-aisle neighbor who stopped the flight attendant to ask, "Excuse me, can you please throw this away for me?" Did she hand her a napkin... an empty coffee cup... a plastic wrapper? Nope. It was a book. A paperback book! Who the heck throws away a book? I'll admit that when I was in my world-traveling phase, I would often leave books on trains or planes or buses or boats or tuk-tuks when I was done with them. This is because I was carrying everything I owned on my back and I was thrilled to lighten my load by 200 pages. However, I always thought I was doing my fellow travelers a favor. The next passenger would come across a little treasure thanks to me! Never would I consider pitching it in a trash can. Wasteful Americans...

When we finally landed in Vegas, the weekend involved a strip mall wedding, a rockstar bus, and a good time had by all :) I danced so much that I lost blood supply to my left foot for approximately 3 days. Curses to high heels! I will share this dancefloor picture because the faces of the not-so-innocent are obscured. Thank goodness for hair.

In more boring (but more appropriate) Vegas news, I ate more in one buffet visit than I typically eat in an entire week. Binging and boozing... I feel sick.

Sorry I can't say more about Las Vegas, but you know how the saying goes...

My New Whip

Chuck Tacos

Does anyone else find this stupid Taco Bell ad as annoying as I do? It started with a SuperBowl commercial, and I've been hearing it on the radio everyday since. AGH! I consider myself a Charles Barkley fan, but the sound of this "rap" makes my skin crawl.

Paging Dr. Quattlebaum

We got some legitimate snow down yonder this weekend, and it is wreaking havoc on the genitalia of South Carolinians.

I've repeatedly heard and overheard the story of a woman who took a spill on an icy street and is now - in her own words - hobbling around with a bruised rectal and vaginal area. WOAH, back up. Did I hear that right? Wait, don't back up. I don't want to hear it again. I am not down with OPP.
 
But she keeps talking... broken capillaries, broken skin, pain while sitting, pain while walking. She doesn't have children so has never experienced an episiotomy but imagines this is a similar situation. HOLY MOSES. I can't think of a more perfect example of TMI (way, way TMI). Please, please... for the love of Marilyn... hush your mouth.

Of course, this begs the question... what could she possibly have been doing when she fell? Practicing a balance beam routine??? I'm equally horrified and perplexed.

I'm not the only one with visualization problems. Due to the awkward anatomical location of the injuries, she is having a hard time assessing the full extent of the damage. Hand mirror, anyone? But for a professional medical opinion, this sounds like a case for Dr. Quattlebaum. Stat!

Cecil P. Quattlebaum is an elderly white-haired local OB/GYN who uses the expression "poot" (which seems to be a substitute for "shucks"). Think about this for a minute and try not to giggle like a 7th grader. I've never met the man, but Cecil P. has provided me with hours of amusement. "Quattlebaum" is well on its way to becoming the hot new word of 2010. It functions as all parts of speech.

• Noun - I need to get my quattlebaum checked after that nasty fall on the ice.
• Verb - I'm totally quattlebaumed (or QB'd) from that nasty fall on the ice.
• Exclamation - Quattlebaum! I took a nasty fall on the ice.

Consider your vocabulary expanded.

Spread the word, dear readers! The word is quattlebaum! In other words, spread the quattlebaum :)

FYI, Fellas

She Always Had Some of that Marilyn Spirit...

Grocery List

I HATE that I have not been keeping up with this blog as frequently as I would like. Please don't hold it against me, dear readers. I'm not only neglecting you... I'm neglecting myself.

Exhibit A: The contents of my refrigerator on day 7 in my new apartment. For the record, that's 4 cans of Miller Lite, 1 bottle of Bass, and 3 bottles of dusty champagne I stumbled across in the basement. (I can't even take credit for the baking soda.)

Facebook Near and Far

The New Zealand Herald recently published this article about "Facebook at work problems." In typical NZ journalism fashion, the article provides no useful information. A social media expert provides the following insightful commentary: "I sort of liken it to when phones were first introduced into businesses, there must have been the same kind of anxieties with that." (I can just imagine it... Oh my goodness, now I can pick up this device and call my co-worker to be in instant communication. The convenience is bringing on a panic attack.)

My company has blocked access to facebook, but where there's a will, there's a way. During office hours, I simply use my blackberry instead of the computer for my social networking needs. In your face, job!! I can't be expected to work all the time.

Interestingly enough, the company's "young professionals" association uses a facebook page as its main method of communication.... even though no one can see it until they get home. Anyway, this puts me in a real pickle. I am interested in this association because they host different social events and it might be a good opportunity to meet new people who aren't ridiculous and aren't 30 years older than me. BUT, for obvious reasons, I can't have my facebook page connected to anything work-related. What to do? What to do?

No Love Lost

Twas the Friday before Valentine's Day and there was a bag of chocolate sitting on the doorknob of every office in the suite BUT MINE.

Bite me, Cupid. I would prefer a bag of Skittles over your Hershey Kisses anyway.

M & M & M's

We're all acquainted with Marilyn by now, and I've come to appreciate my new pal. She's my scapegoat and my confidante. But two identities are enough! I can cope with a split personality, but a multiple personality disorder would present too many scheduling difficulties.

1) A co-worker recently called me Melissa for the second time.

2) A co-worked attempted to introduce me as follows: "Do you know each other?" The woman replied: "Yes, we've met. How have you been, Meredith?"

3) My new landlord attempted to write my contact information on a post-it note. She said, "I know how to spell your name." I watched her print M... A... (so far, so good)... then..D... E... She wrote Madeline. (Note: That was at least the 3rd time I gave the woman my phone number. She sent me an email on Monday saying "I don't have your phone number. Please call me ASAP.")

Hey y'all, that's not my name.

36 Hours in Philly

Oh my gosh, where does the time go? Sometimes life gets in the way of my blogging. I'll try not to let it happen again.

I recently had bachelorette parties 2 Saturdays in a row, and wow, those tend to turn into all-weekend affairs one way or another. The latest party involved a trip to the City of Brotherly Love, where I got to catch up with 2 things I haven't seen in a long time:

1) My very best friends! I missed them! It seems like wedding-related events are the only times we get together as a group anymore.

2) Snow. I did not miss it! It was nice and pretty to see for one day, but I'm sure glad I don't have to deal with that stuff anymore. I came back with salt-stained shoes. Yuck.

I booked my flight to Philadelphia over a month in advance, but somehow failed to realize until the day of departure that my return flight on Sunday was at 9AM. I had thought it was 9PM... and I spoke in detail to many people about why I booked 9pm. "Sure, it sucks to get home that late at night, but my only other option is 9am and Marilyn doesn't stand a chance of catching that plane after a night of partying." I am a moron.

At approximately 3:30am on Saturday night/Sunday morning, my friends and I made a group decision that I would pack my suitcase and sleep in my clothes. The plan was to get 3.5 hours of sleep, get out of bed, slip on my boots and slip out the door. When the cell phone alarm clock struck 7am, I woke up to find a voicemail waiting for me. In what can only be described as a case of divine intervention, US Air had called to notify me that my flight was delayed by 192 minutes. Hallelujah! I was so happy that I woke up my friends to share the good news. They didn't appreciate that. I climbed back under the covers, got 3 more glorious hours of sleep and was back on South Carolina soil by 2pm. Couldn't have planned it better!

Marilyn's friends greeted her at the airport with this awesome sign.

We frolicked in the snow.

We forgot to buy mixers so I spent about $40 on little juice bottles at Dunkin Donuts. That was a financially irresponsible Marilyn decision.

I bought a "large" soda in the Philly airport and was immediately ashamed of myself. Isn't this gross?? The lid compartment could hold a small soda on its own. No wonder this city has an obesity problem.

Superfan

My beloved Coke Zero cans have been hijacked by Avatar! This stupid logo makes it appear as though I'm consuming a hyper sugary energy drink, when I'm really drinking a sugary soda. Avatar is everywhere, but I have zero desire to see this movie. I seem to be in the minority if you pay attention to the box office... or to my fellow employees.

I recently had to attend a silly "leadership" type of class. One of the many ridiculous activities involved dividing the class into pairs and assigning each group a particular management concept. Our task was to come up with a way to visualize this concept that would help the class remember it. (Yes, this was a colossal waste of time). My group's concept was "share thoughts, rationale and feelings."

Me (wanting to get this over with): What if we picture someone laying on a psychiatrist's couch sharing his feelings?
Her: What about the Wizard of Oz?
Me: What about it?
Her: What did the tin man want?
Me: Um, a heart.
Her: Maybe I'm thinking of the scarecrow.
Me: He wanted a brain. But what about picturing someone on a psychiatrist's couch?
Her: Or maybe something related to Avatar. Have you seen that yet?
Me: No.
Her: Would you believe my husband went without me the first time? I swear... I'm raising an 8-year-old, and 9-year-old AND a 40-year-old.

It went on like this for approximately 5 minutes. She referenced Avatar no less than 4 times, none of which had anything to do with "sharing thoughts, rationale and feelings." In the end, we settled on a mental image of kindergartners sitting around a show-and-tell circle. I still think the psychiatrist's couch would have worked just fine.

Later in the class, the instructor asked for a volunteer to share an example of a bad day. The point, I think, was to show that people have personal problems that can potentially interfere with work and you need to find a way to separate those parts of your life. (This is high level stuff we're learning, people.) My Avatar partner raised her hand and rattled off the following (hopefully hypothetical) BAD day:

• "Your cat is pregnant by the dog. Your husband is in bed with a man. The refrigerator is broke. Your dad is a transvestite. And your kid was killed in a car accident."

Yipes. Think about that the next time you're tempted to complain about your life.

I wish you all a GOOD day, dear readers!

No Use Crying Over Spilt MILK

Figures that as soon as I reveal my MILK secret (money.id.lipstick.keys) to the world, the whole acronym falls to shit. I was a few hours into Saturday night when I came to the sad realization that I had forgotten my ID and credit card at home. This is what I get for making a hasty switch from my giant work purse to my slim "going out" purse without going through the MILK mental checklist. But Marilyn wouldn't let that little snafu hold her back! Quick detour to pick up her ID, and she's back in the game! Gotta keep on keepin' on.

Seeking validation, I said to the bouncer: "Hey, funny story. See how I just got out of that cab? Well, I was already downtown earlier in the night, but I had forgotten my ID. People told me I couldn't get in here without my ID, so I went all the way back home to get it. Is there any way you would have let me in without the ID?" His stoic response: "Absolutely not." He was clearly uninterested in my backstory, but I babbled on: "Okay, so you're saying I definitely made the right decision?" He had already moved on to the next person in line, and barked at me, "It's $5 to get in." Ouch... in my FACE.

This leads us to an examination of the MILK hierarchy. Clearly, I is the most integral component. You can't play the game if you can't get in. M & K are a toss-up. Both are important, but if you play your cards right, you can probably get away without them. What about L, you ask? That's recently been knocked down a notch.

You see, Marilyn's life started out with a serious weight problem. Please stop feeding me! I can't move my face. She seemed destined to be plagued by body image issues.

However, by age 3, she had slimmed down a bit and started looking to cousin Kelly for make-up tips. I'm in awe of your beauty. Teach me how to apply lipstick.

From that day forth, L became an important part of the equation. (Okay, maybe not that day forth, but you get the point. There's a reason a lady goes out with MILK, and not just MIK.) All that primping and preening and coiffing. Does it really matter? Apparently not.

Because you know what, Marilyn? Even when the lipstick wears off... you're still pretty :)

South Cakalackey

Marilyn had an honest-to-goodness southern/redneck experience this weekend. Friday night involved wings and beer at Hooters. The only other time I have been to a Hooters was in Ocean City, MD immediately after high school graduation. At that point in my life (having only lived in Ashland, PA and being under age 21), the Hooters experience was somewhat risque and daring. This weekend, it was just sad. Wings: tasted bad. Beer: tasted like any other beer. I spotted the following sign handwritten in sharpie marker on an 8x11 sheet of paper : "Try our cheese sticks and Bud Lite." Mmmm... delectable!

The Hooters experience was followed by a sweatpants-mandatory house party. This initially sounded super cozy and casual. Upon changing from "real" clothes into sweat clothes, Cousin Patches observed, "I'm only marginally more comfortable than I was before." Come to think of it, I agree. Sure, sweatsuits are soft and all, but are they THAT much more comfy than your daily clothes? If so, consider whether you might be buying too-small pants (BTW: I'm not buying too-small pants. I'm simply not buying pants because I refuse to acknowledge that I may have gone up a size since I last bought good dress pants.)

The sweatsuit cannot boast about its comfort NOR its warmth. Sure, I see the insulation properties of a form-fitting fleece top. However, an XL sweatshirt or hoodie provides no such benefit. Without direct material-to-skin contact, there is no warmth advantage. Refer to my past analysis of the NZ burrito vs. taco sleeping method for further explanation. What is the point of swimming in a giant poncho of a sweatshirt?? None, unless you're trying to conceal a figure flaw.

In the aftermath of the sweatsuit party, I found myself in the parking lot of a South Carolina gas station at 1:30am. Three young big-boned girls wearing daisy dukes (in January) with cowboy boots were being oogled by an old man who held the door open. Exiting out of the same door was a sweatsuit-clad man carrying a newly purchaed case of Miller Lite. "Geez, this place is full of white trash," I thought. Then I looked down and saw that I was wearing an XL sweatshirt emblazoned with the Miller Lite logo. Ehhh... Marilyn's judgments exclude present company.

For the love of comfort and sweatsuits, here are a few of my oldest and dearest girlfriends: Nic, Erin, and Kel.

This picture was taken on New Year's Day 2005 on the beaches of Atlantic City. This would be a natural segue into my thoughts on Jersey Shore, MTV's new hit reality show... except I am the only person in America to have not yet seen an episode of this show.

Complete and Total Mystery

I got a chuckle out of this article from The Onion:
"Roommate's Work Schedule Remains Complete and Total Mystery"

I've had my fair share of roommates over the years. Some were great and some made me wish I was homeless. Take, for example, a girl I lived with my sophomore year of college. We will call her T. I blame that entire miserable year of life on my friend Jess. We were supposed to live together sophomore year, but Jess decided to transfer schools at the last minute. I had no one to room with and was forced to enter the housing lottery on my own. The housing gods matched me up with T, a freshman who had apparently never done a single thing for herself other than shop. To make matters worse, we were in the smallest dorm room on the entire campus. To make matters even worse, that wishy-washy Jess didn't transfer after all but those housing gods would not let us change room assignments. (By the time Jess and I finally lived together in senior year, I had almost forgiven her).

T was having a torrid love affair with her 26-year-old chemistry lab supervisor Grant (cannot believe I still remember his name). I got to hear all the details via her tearful phone conversations with her friends... and her mom. Seems like an odd conversation for an 18-year-old to have with her mom, but this family was weird. Her older brother was a Blue Man. That's just not natural.

T's nighttime routine involved stumbling into the room drunk, banging into furniture and turning on all the lights. At least I had the common decency to stumble and bang in the dark! T's morning routine included a blowdryer and CD player (typically India Arie) 5 feet from my sleeping face when there was a full bathroom 15 feet down the hallway. She would often comment that she didn't have enough "alone time" and college was hard for her because she didn't have to share a room with anyone back at her parents' house. Me either, bitch.

I was pushed to my breaking point when T asked if we could make a schedule to allocate room time. For example, if she wanted to hang out alone from 1-3pm on a Thrusday, I should simply find another place to be. HA. HA. HA. I pointed out that my weekly schedule was always taped to my desk, available to peruse at her leisure. This schedule included a full-time course load and 2 jobs, so you can see that I must have spent loads of time "hanging" in the room and breathing her air.

In some cases, the "complete and total mystery" is the bratty roommate, not the other roommate's work schedule.

Busy Bee

Gosh, it's been almost a week since I last wrote you, dear readers! Time flies. I've been busy... a good busy.

1) Marilyn has been enjoying the weekends!

2) Maureen has been work, work, working. As of January, I think I'm officially done my moonlighting job... a job I originally tried to quit in July 2008. They kept sucking me back, which was mutually beneficial. It is with mixed emotions that I finally say goodbye. The additional money was nice, but man it sucked to come home from work and keep working. The end of job #2 comes just as job #1 is really starting to pick up.

3) I'm suffering from a combination of writer's block, time constraints and guilt. My job in NZ was such a joke that I always blogged at worked. No can do now. Sadly, I have real duties to fulfill. Don't get me wrong; many aspects of this new job are joke-ish and it gives me SO MUCH material. However, it is a good career opportunity and I must tread carefully. Mama needs to keep her jobby job.

Always a Bridesmaid

Here's an oldie but a goodie for your amusement. This is me as a junior bridesmaid in 1992. Thanks to this atrocious photo, I was a 2007 People magazine finalist for "Ugliest Bridesmaid."

What a pastel disaster! God knows you couldn't buy this mess of a dress off the rack. The bride had these dresses custom made by a tailor. I clearly remember going to the tailor's house... and going into his bedroom for a fitting... and, uhh, sitting on his water bed. In retrospect, this seems suspicious. I can't remember if there was wood paneling and a home video camera, but it's possible. Perhaps the "tailor's" glaring lack of fashion sense should have tipped me off that his design business was a front.

The devil is in the details. The dress features a giant 3D pink rosette flanked by puffy sleeves the size of my head. It was like wearing football gear. Each car could hold only two bridesmaids due to our large wingspan.  The bodice had pink piping that went up around the hips and came to a point right where it matters. Gotta accentuate the positive! Oh right, I was 11...pervy tailor. The look was completed by baby’s breath in the hair, white stockings, and white boats on my feet.

If I looked awkward as an 11-year-old girl, imagine the grown women forced to wear this dress. Brace yourself.

Raindrops on Roses and Such

From time to time, I will share some of my favorite things with you, dear readers. How exciting! Maureen might be on a budget, but Marilyn's money is burning a hole in her pocket. How exciting! Let her help you spend your discretionary income.

At some point in every girl's life, she learns never to leave home without her MILK. I first heard this term as a college freshman and I still use it as a quick check before a night out on the town. As concerned as I am about the health of my bones, osteoporosis is not my main concern on a Friday night. The MILK I'm talking about is...

•  Money
•  ID
•  Lipstick (Or, more likely, lip gloss. Lipstick is often too Aunt Ethel for my taste.)
•  Keys 

Unzip your purses, ladies, because I'm about to throw a new weapon into your arsenal. Drumroll please...

COLGATE WISPS!

You'll have to come up with your own acronym. I can't think of a catchy way to add a "C" or "W" to milk.... KWILM?

These mini disposable toothbrushes are the cutest oral hygiene product I ever did see! And, bonus, they're highly useful. Each wisp comes pre-loaded with a dollop of toothpaste, and the end of the tiny handle is fashioned into a toothpick. Each is individually packaged so you can slip it right back into its foil wrapper if you don't have immediate access to a trashcan. I keep at least one wisp in every purse and I've also added them to the emergency supply kit I keep in my desk. (Note: Said emergency supply kit was assembled to address a bad hair day or hangover, but not an earthquake. Just one way in which South Carolina differs from New Zealand.)

I'm not the only one who has taken notice of the Colgate Wisps. I was recently watching The Tonight Show, and Jay Leno made some crack about how Americans are too fat and lazy to squeeze out their own toothpaste. Now, come on! No one is suggesting you use the wisp as your primary toothbrush. In fact, that would be gross. Jay is so obviously out-of-touch with the young demographic that NBC is booting him right out of the 10pm time slot.

Perk up your ears, Jay, and let me tell you why the wisp is perfect for a gal on the go.

• Say you've been drinking coffee all morning, ate tuna for lunch, and have an important 1pm meeting. No worries. Whip out a wisp!
  
• Say you're out at the bar and need to slip away to "poke yourself in both eyes at the same time." No problem. Whip out a wisp!
• Say you can't quite make it home on Saturday night and have to crash at your cousin's house... No cause for concern. Whip out a wisp! (And by "cousin," I mean... cousin. Sadly, this is not a euphemism.)

Noon, night, and morning needs for a convenient disposable toothbrush. You'll soon be wondering what you did before the wisp. Okay, maybe you used those Oral-B Brush-Ups finger cover things. Whatever, this is better. 

Wanderlust

Marilyn's grandparents on their honeymoon... at least I think I remember hearing that. Or maybe they're standing on their front porch? Either way, it's one of my favorite family photos of all time. The shades, the tie flapping in the breeze, the gaze into the horizon, and the wide open road ahead. Life awaits.

“What is the feeling when you're driving away from people, and they recede on the plain till you see their specks dispersing? It's the too huge world vaulting us, and it's good-bye. But we lean forward to the next crazy venture beneath the skies.” 

So very Jack Kerouac!

Food Fight

That oh-so-appetizing pink stuff is:
A) ham
B) spam
C) cheese

None of the above. It tastes like strawberries. The debate raged on for minutes until everyone put aside their differences and danced until 5:30am. Thank you, Lady Gaga, for diffusing the situation.

Happy Birthday Jess and Marwin!!

Hickey: The Ghost of Kisses Past

This week at work, I was having trouble with a certain file, so I tried to google "how to convert..." for help. My finger slipped and I typed "how to cov..." At that point, the google search predictor thingy took over and the #1 suggestion was "how to cover up a hickey." Hmm, I thought. That's odd. Are hickeys really that prevalent? Are tweens taking over cyberspace? (Toothpaste is a popular suggestion. File that away for future reference.)

When I was a little girl, I watched a lot of TV that was probably inappropriate for a little girl... high school dramas and the like. I couldn't wait for the fabulous teenage years ahead of me. I also blame Molly Ringwald for these high expectations. Bras, make-up, purses, joy rides, make-out parties... it was going to be totally awesome! I envisioned wild scenarios in which my mom would block the doorway and fold down my turtleneck to reveal a hickey. "Just where do you think you're going, young lady!" I'd storm out of the house,  jump into my boyfriend's car, and break curfew. Oh, the angst.

That never happened. The reasons are twofold:

1. Curfew? Ha. In hindsight, I realize I could have run a brothel out of my bedroom and my parents wouldn't have blinked an eye.
2. Turns out that hickeys aren't all that easy to come by. They require a Hoover-like suction, which is strangely not so pleasurable.

At least that's what Marilyn told me. I certainly don't know anything about pre-marital kissing, but that Marilyn lady has had 2 unfortunate run-ins with The Ghost of Kisses Past.

Run-in #1 occurred in high school when a boy came at me with an overabundance of gusto. This was more of a "joke" kiss (aren't they all?) than a romantic kiss. Think about an Italian grandma planting a big wet one on ya. He held the smooch too long, and I was left with a big hickey. SMACK DAB IN THE MIDDLE OF MY FOREHEAD.

Run-in #2 occurred when I was a young college co-ed. Spring break in a foreign country... some things in life are inevitable. At least I finally got to use that turtleneck trick I had been dreaming of since childhood. It worked fairly well until I had to slip into my clubbing clothes. (One's chances of acquiring a second hickey decrease significantly if she wears a turtleneck to the bar. My momma didn't raise no fool!) I thought I had done a decent job with the concealer, but then a cute bartender who had been chatting me up asked if I was from Transylvania. I panicked. "Oh my god... Transylvania... vampires... biting necks... sucking blood... I can't believe this guy is calling me out..." My face turned red enough to blend in with the hickey. I froze. The bartender pointed to the Pennsylvania ID I had given him, and repeated: "You're from Transylvania?" Then it hit me... He wasn't referring to the hickey. He was attempting a geographical joke. Lame. And, thus, Marilyn quickly ruled him out as a contender for run-in #3.

 Yes, London is the tropical spring break destination to which I refer. It would be weird to wear a turtleneck in Cancun.

Curious Sidebar: The 3rd google search suggestion for "how to cov..." is "how to cover a book with a paper bag."

Brrr!

There has been a cold front sweeping the nation recently, and Marilyn couldn't care less. Thirty degrees may be cold for the south, but it is close enough to paradise for me.

New England: Terrible.
Upstate New York: Excrutiating.
New Zealand: No central heat.
South Carolina: Ain't no thang.

No snow, no slush, no subzero temps, no whipping wind! I actively appreciate this Every. Single. Morning.

When I lived in Boston, I walked over a mile to and from work... every day... in the snow. I won't make the cliche claim that it was uphill both ways because that would detract from the stark reality of the situation. To prevent frostbite, I dressed to cover all areas of skin other than my eyelids. I'm talking about the type of cold that just plain hurts.

When I lived in Rochester, I had a car. No more walking. Sweet! Except that I once missed an entire morning of work because all 4 of my car doors were frozen shut. Ice cream.

Those childhood winters in Pennsylvania were no picnic either...

This photo shows a young Marilyn sledding through the streets of Ashland in 1983. Notice that she is being propped up in an empty case of MICHELOB BEER. Oooh, so that's where Marilyn gets it.

Fast forward to the winter of 1985. My little sister has been bundled into my hand-me-down snowsuit (right down to the light pink accessories), while I've upgraded to a sleek bright pink ensemble. My 3-year-old buddy put it best: "I am a penguin. Waddle, waddle, waddle."

You might be wondering about the hockey goalie gloves that enlarge my hands to the size of my thighs. These are my Freaky Freezies, beloved winter accessory of the 80s. The full design of the glove did not emerge until it was exposed to cold temperatures. Put these gloves on in the house and you see only the torso of a peacock. Borriingggg. Walk outside and the plumage explodes into color! Freezing feathers! If that doesn't freak your freak, I don't know what will! That girl is pretty wild now. That girl's a super-freak.

Early exposure to alcohol and freakiness... this explains a lot.

Thank you, family, for my my awesome new scanner! This Twistmas gift will entertain us all :)

Get Your Feet Out of My Wine

Sometimes Marilyn has to take a backseat to that other lady during the work week.  I know... I hate it too.

For now, I leave you with a video that is many years old, but still makes me laugh out loud every time I watch it.

Five Guys Surprise

Marilyn recently had her first taste of Five Guys Burgers and Fries. Yummm, greasy goodness! I've been trying to watch my diet, so I regretted eating it even while I was still in the act of eating it... yet I continued to eat it.

When one approaches the counter of a restaurant like Five Guys, she expects to be greeted with, "Hello, can I take your order?" Instead, I was hit with this: "Are you here to apply for a job?"

Excuse me?

Granted, I was bra-less, hungover and hadn't washed my hair in two days, but since when are you allowed to judge a book by its cover? I thought this was America.

I politely clarified that I had entered the premises as a paying customer and I proceeded to place my order. Eager to nip this case of mistaken identity in the bud, I took care to ensure my words were clear and eloquent to counteract the stale tequila breath coming from the same mouth.

I moved to the side to wait for my order and reached into my bag for my Blackberry. Nada! I had forgotten it at home. To my chagrin, I had to stand there with nothing buy my own thoughts for a solid 10 minutes. Torture! No texting, no web browsing, no Facebook stalking... how do people live like this?

I considered pulling out my book and knocking out a few pages, but I worried this might appear condescending. Is it appropriate to flaunt your literacy in a burger joint? I could already feel the cashier's glare... "We get it, Marilyn, you don't need a job here. I hope this burger makes you fat."

Hi, My Name Is...

In case you are not lucky enough to be one of my current 201 dear Facebook friends, let me introduce you to Marilyn by way of a few months of Facebook status posts. While we're on the subject, who actually has 201 "friends?" And who am I kidding to think that anyone beyond those 201 "friends" will care about this? But I'll humor myself...

Continuing confusion about my name has conditioned me to respond to any name that starts with M. I'm Pavlov's Marilyn and I'm often mistaken for an adolescent.

• Just opened the door to someone who asked if my mom and dad were home. Unsure whether this offends or flatters me.
• Saleslady: You must hear this a lot, but you have a face just like the girl from Family Ties. Me: Justine Bateman? Lady: No, that show with Kirk Cameron. Me: Tracy Gold? Lady: No, the little girl. Me: Oh. Chrissy... the 8-year-old.
  
• Flying south for the winter! A TSA agent asked if I was ready to go back to college after visiting my parents for fall break. I wish.
  
• Was just carded while attempting to buy wine STOPPERS. Sigh.
  
• Is both amused/annoyed by 2 40-something orientation-mates who make continuous irrelevant references to their collective 3 ex-husbands, 5 children (ranging from 8mos to 28yrs), and 2 grandchildren (with 1 on the way). After 2 days, the new BFFs refer to each other as "babe" and plan to hit the bar tomorrow in celebration of "Working Women's Wednesday." I will now develop a Thelma & Louise-esque sitcom about 2 overworked and underpaid middle-aged nurses. They take care of patients at work and kids at home... something's gotta give! So on wed nights, they let loose with bud lite, line dancing, and start a crime spree in hopes of seducing police officers (bc I'm told nurses, of course, mostly marry cops).
  
• Fielded the following pertinent questions at work this morning: How old are you? Do you have a husband? Do you have a church? And I'm the sucker who smiled and answered politely.
  
• Today at work, I was informed that when someone looks into my office from a certain angle, they see only my hand. Due to my fair complexion, this apparently resembles a skeleton wax hand from a bowl of Halloween candy. WHO SAYS THAT?!
  
• Someone shared that her husband is a materials engineer specializing in absorbency. He hold several patents for tampon "innards," some of which are framed in their guest bathroom.
  
• A person I've worked with every day for the last month just greeted me with "Good morning, Marilyn!" I was angry for a half second until she followed it up with "you look cute today."
  
• The lady at work referred to me as Marilyn again today... this time in a written email... even though she had to find my address by searching for my real name in the directory. This is starting to get awkward.
  
• I overheard the work lady whisper, "What's the name?" Then she came to my office and said, "I am so sorry for calling you Marilyn in that email. I just got back from cruise to Guatemala, and well... you know how that goes." No, I do not.
  
• While attempting to dress a 3-year-old, I accidentally put both legs in one pant leg. His response: "I'm a penguin. Waddle, waddle, waddle." He was really thinking: Get it together, Marilyn.
  
• A would-be big sister engaged me in some "straight talk" due to our perceived similarities. Her: People think I'm ditzy, but I'm very smart. This isn't PC, but I'll be honest. You're going to be challenged because you're a woman and you're young. Me: I know. I'm surprised that people think it's ok to flat-out ask my age. Her: Yeah. Sooo...how old are you anyway?
  
• A perfectly hot stranger stopped me in the hall to say he likes my glasses. Finally, some sense around here! I may never wear contacts again. Spexy!
  
• Was disturbingly close to responding to questions for Marilyn at a meeting today... until I realized there was a real Marilyn in the room. That would've been tough to explain.
  
• 8am banter from the woman who calls me Marilyn: "Girl, that's why I have a pistol in my nightstand and I'll blow up anyone who comes in my bedroom." I think I'll let her call me whatever she wants...
  
• My Boss: Jane is going to the lunch on Mon. The Woman: Is Marilyn going? My Boss: Um, Jane is going. The Woman: But what about Marilyn? My Boss: Um, are we talking about Maureen?
  
• My dept has taken to referring to any type of preliminary analysis as a "quick and dirty," so that people are always asking each other to "do a quick and dirty." I seem to be the only one who finds this inappropriately funny. My grounds for a lawsuit are growing, and I hope to retire by 30!
  
• During a 1-hour meeting, there were no fewer than 4 references to attendance at church events this weekend. I thus limited the description of my weekend to "pretty good."
  
• People discussing the "cold" SC weather (current temp: 45) referenced the "phenomenal insulation" of wolves that allows them to survive temps of 50 below. 1) I doubt this is true. 2) It is 100 degrees warmer than that! You need a cardigan, not a wolf coat.
  
• Isn't it ironic that a woman named Marilyn is the one who realized everyone forgot to invite Maureen to the Christmas lunch?
  
• It was worth coming to work today just to hear this exchange. Woman: "Let me tell you something about women to put in your 'future wife' file. Acrylic nails are too thick to work necklace clasps." Man: "Do you know what use that is to me? ZERO."
  
• Back at work and opening mail addressed to a Maureen Coyle.
• A lady just asked me, "Melissa, do you bake?"   
• Someone just tried to tell me that balance is an oxymoron. Reply: "No it is not, my wise co-worker." 
• Was asked to distribute a Crime Dog McGruff pamphlet about the rising rate of homicide in the workplace. Who could do that with a straight face?! The pamphlet also addresses human trafficking, which I didn't realize was such a problem in this town. Here I was thinking McGruff only dealt with lighthearted crimes like stolen lunch money.  

During my morning commute, I often sing a personalized version of the Cheers theme song: "Making your way in the world today take's everything you've got... sometimes you have to go where nobody knows your name..."

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