The art of being a grown-up...

Hello my darlings,

Happy Fall!  I LOVE this time of year.  Cool mornings and warm afternoons, shorter days and finally appropriate weather to enjoy soup.  I'm such a dork, but I love soup and it's impossible to enjoy a delicious, hearty chowder when it's 100 degrees outside.  Since I don't really like leftovers very much, soup offers me an additional benefit as it is one thing that I actually enjoy eating leftover. With an upcoming weekend that is forecast to be cool and rainy I have been fantasizing about which glorious soup I should make on Sunday.  FWIW, my life really is pathetic enough that gray skies and soup are part of a fantasy, there might also be a tall, Italian man in this fantasy, but soup is at least within the realm of possibility.   

I officially left my job at the soul-sucking mortgage company on Tuesday, spent the last couple of days running errands and catching up on crap that piled up in the last few weeks/months and today I am relishing in a quiet day at home cleaning and swapping out light summer fabrics for fall colors and warm sweaters.  Did i mention that I LOVE FALL!!!!   This brief stint of unemployment, coupled with my pre-fall nesting and few hours on the couch with my love, Jen Lancaster "Stories I'd Tell in Bars" has me pondering life as a grown-up.  One of the errands on my to do list yesterday was to take my car in for service and get new tires.  Mmmm sexy.  (eye-roll)  

Buying tires is one of those stupid things that no one wants to do, but you do it because you need new tires before you even attempt to drive in the snow that will inevitably fall within the next few weeks/months.  Full disclosure, since I've adopted my new, no-driving lifestyle, I am really hoping I can avoid driving entirely when it snows, but I do have brand new all-season tires on my very sensible (and paid for) AWD Volvo wagon.  Woooooo this really is shaping up to be one super sexy coffee.  (Giant eye-roll)  In my previous life, buying tires was a different process.  Ray was Mr. Research!  He would have googled and compared and price shopped and printed quotes and told me exactly what to buy and how much to spend.  There's a good chance he would have even ordered the tires for me.   Undoubtedly, I would have taken the car to the shop to have the tires put on, but I would not have made the decision about what tires to buy.  Since I suck at being a grown-up all by myself and since researching tires is frankly. a thing I don't even know how or where to begin doing,  I did what I do best -- I made an impulsive decision!  I called on Wednesday, ordered the only ~$100/ea all-season tire they could have available the next day and made the appointment to drop-off my car.  You'll be pleased to know that I was smart enough to have them change the oil and replace my cabin air filter while my car was in, so I don't have to bitch about taking my car in for service again anytime soon.  It's only been 3000 miles since my last oil change, but that was in February, so I figured I should just get it done.  Now I realize you are probably wondering why in the hell I am blathering on about tires, well, I'm getting there, so just cool your jets and keep reading.  

The last few months have been a roller coaster, I finally got all of the financial crap done and handed that off to a fabulous financial planner (XOXO Todd) to make magic happen with my money.  (MAGIC Todd, that's what I'm looking for - don't screw this up!  No pressure!  Pfft)  I spent an exorbitant amount of energy wrapping up a project for a manager that I didn't really trust at a company I didn't like all while continuing to plow through the reality of figuring out how to navigate my new big girl life, which, just so happens, to include doing a lot of shit I don't want to do, like buying tires.  Additionally, I've had an opportunity to spend some time with fabulous friends and their children.  No need to call child protective services, these people aren't fools and they don't trust me alone with these children, though I do think that a couple of them could be pretty great little proteges if provided an opportunity to learn Ronda's Creative Linguistic skills.  OK, so maybe don't place the call yet, but if you don't find the idea of children swearing gratuitously endearing, you might just want to keep that child protective services number handy.  Anyway, all of these grown-ups that I've hung out with and this grown-up stuff that I've been doing has me realizing that I suck at being a grown-up.  In all fairness, I kind of suck at being a human, but I really suck at being a grown-up human.  Here are a few things that I've realized about grown-ups.

1. Grown-ups (especially the ones with children) do NOT swear gratuitously.    I've actually heard them say things like "holy cow" and "are you kidding" without including an f*bomb.  Apparently, "holy fukstix" and "are you f*ing joking you moronic asshat" are not included in the grown-up vernacular.  
2. Grown-ups have the ability to politely observe without interjecting smartass, snarky comments about every mundane occurrence they witness.  Somehow these proper adult kind of people are able to witness one curvaceous adult women wearing impossibly tight clothes and ill-fitting undergarments with n'er a "bitch please, what are you wearing" uttered.  
3. Grown-ups offer a polite retort when confronted with the "this is probably a stupid question..." comment rather than raising one well-manicured eyebrow and snarkily saying "I'd expect nothing less..."
4. Grown-ups concern themselves with things like making sure they have bread and milk rather than taking measures to ensure they have a couple of screwtop bottles of wine available just in case they are unable to locate or too drunk to use a corkscrew.  FWIW - on my resume where I state that I have "exceptional planning skills" that is a direct reference to screwtop wine!  Skillllzzzzzz
5. Grown-ups, when asked to bring wine to a dinner party, politely show up with two bottles, one red and one white, rather than arriving early with multiple bags containing approximately one entire shelf from the wine store around the corner.  Seriously, when I show up at your house in an Uber with wine, shit's 'bout to get real and we gonna drink some vino!   I didn't even bring many varietals, just a lot of different options of Rioja.  FWIW Rioja is delicious and the hosts made out really well because after splint a few bottles (way more than the two that an actual polite grown-up would have brought) I left the truck load of wine that I arrived with.  
6. Grown-ups apparently do not publically declare that they are from a long line of dysfunctional asshats.  This is a big cuppa crazy and I thought you all deserved to know why I am like this... Sorry to those of you that are permanently scarred and/or afraid to be in the same time zone with me after that little declaration.
7. Some grown-ups are not even aware that asshat is a real word!  Obviously, those are only grown-ups that have not yet availed themselves to Ronda's asshattery.
8. Grown-ups are able to witness a gaggle of women donning full makeup, and perfectly coiffed hair enjoying lunch wearing yoga pants without having heart palpitations.  Full disclosure, as I write this I am sitting at my kitchen counter wearing yoga pants and a Wyoming t-shirt with a rip at the neckline and I haven't washed my hair in two days.  Sooooo sexy!  But I'm not out in public, so yoga pants are totally acceptable.
9. Grown-ups don't threaten to "beat a bitch down" because she experienced a momentary lapse in judgment that allowed her to procure and/or wear sweatpants with words on the ass.   
10. Grown-ups do not accost waiters with comments like "buckle up son, I don't know if you realize what you are getting yourself into" when the poor kid approaches the table and says (as he has been trained to do) something innocuous like "Hi, my name is Mark and I'll be taking care of you this evening"  
11. Grown-ups do not utter phrases like "put your big boy panties on" in their out loud voice, in meetings.   Though, I bet they'd like too....
12. Grown-ups do not laugh hysterically when someone accidentally teaches their toddler to say things like "shut yo ass up" which comes out in toddler babble as "you shut ass!" Hilarious!  Seriously, swearing toddlers crack me up.  Weird, but the mother of this child didn't find it quite as adorable as I did.  Maybe I should have titled this bullet point as "Grown-ups have no sense of humor"  so there!

Once again, You are welcome!  I too am delighted with my decision to not procreate because what the world needs now is NOT more of this brand of nonsense.  While it's obvious that I suck at being a grown-up and I probably won't ever achieve anything that actually looks, acts or sounds like a proper grown-up I manage to have a pretty good time and you all know that I laugh, a lot, so maybe it's not such a bad thing that I leave the "grown-up thing" to all of you, er wait, some of you, hmmm probably a few of you!  Don't you roll your eyes at me!  You know who you are and you ain't grown-ups either.  

Until next time...

XOXO

PS - this is a completely extraneous PS because I've had a couple of people question me using PPS versus PSS.  PS is short for Post-Script, so PPS is POST-Post-Script.  PSS would be Post-Script-script and that wouldn't make any sense at all.  

PPS - I do realize that most of the PS's I add are completely extraneous, but verbosity is a thing I do and I do it well.  XOXO

Throat-punching magic and bunch of things I don't understand

Hello my lovelies,

I am feeling like one big ole ray-of-sunshine on this cool late-summer day.  I'm thrilled to be wrapping up this project management job (~18 more working hours until I'm done).  The whole experience has been fine, but I found myself disappointed and frankly disgusted witnessing the mortgage industry from the inside.  Furthermore, the experience reinforced that I now know unequivocally that I do not want to be a project manager.  I hate that I accepted a grant to pay for the PMP certification class.  Now I am obligated to study and sit for an exam to gain a credential for a job that I don't want to do.  YAY decisions!  (FWIW I blame Agrium for this PMP fiasco)  Oh well, I'm sure that a few extra letters on my LinkedIn profile will look very impressive to those Indian recruiters that keep calling me for warehouse management jobs.  

This week I received my official confirmation on the city job!  Signing the acceptance letter was step one, but they don't actually allow you to start until the background check is successful and all of the paperwork complete.  As I was reviewing the benefit options I realized that this job is my destiny!  Turns out one of the benefits is that I get to go to work AND punch things!  How could a job get any more perfect!  BTW -- If you just heard something that sounded like a death wail that was undoubtedly Alex Stefanacci pleading with the universe to stop this crazy train before the clock strikes 7:30 am on Sept 25.  Alex, I just know what an exceptional relationship you have with HR and I look forward to providing you many more opportunities to further develop and enhance that rapport.   XO

Ok, before Jenn is forced to call an ambulance to revive Alex I should probably clarify....  If I'm being perfectly honest I will admit that I've experienced a significant number of meetings that would have immediately been more productive by rendering a bitch mute with one well placed throat punch.  That said I'm not planning to use these punches to improve productivity, I'll be using them to alleviate stress and burn calories.  While it could certainly be very stress-reducing to punch annoying co-workers you will be pleased to know that I will be directing that energy toward a heavy-bag.  One of the "perks" is the fitness center.  They have classes to help motivate my fat ass to move and one of those class just happens to be a boxing class every Tuesday at 1.   I discovered kickboxing a few years ago and I realized I am a much nicer human when I get to beat the hell out of something.  Bet all my Agrium peeps wish they would have known this little secret earlier.  

This newly discovered energy and enthusiasm, as well as being out in public a fair amount has me pondering a few things.  Those of you who've been drinking my cuppa crazy for a while have been exposed to a few of these lists, so just think of this as the latest installment of things that don't (and pretty much refuse to objectively attempt to) understand....  

1. The "man bun"  that back of the neck man bun was/is a ghastly trend, but this new top knot man bun is ridiculous and hideous.  I really feel like I need to carry scissors with me everywhere I go. 
2. Bluetooth speakers.  It makes me crazy being forced to listen to someone else's music, because the little shitbags won't use ear buds and instead blast their obnoxious rap/techno/metal bullshit via a Bluetooth speaker.  FWIW, this happens a lot on the train.  Amazing coincidence these same assclowns frequently wreak of pot smoke.  I know weird, right?
3. Crazy-ass diet plans. There's a dude in my office that is doing some crazy diet where he fasts for two, non-consecutive days then eats bizarre food combinations on the day between fasting.  After the second fast he gets to eat real food for three days, then he starts the whole thing over again.  He explained that is intentionally a six day plan, to rotate the fasting days. (Spoiler alert, I didn't actually care about that detail, but thought some of you might question the 2+1+3 knowing that there are actually SEVEN days in a week.  Yay math!) This week for his jacked-up food combination he was allowed to eat grapefruit and boiled eggs.  WTF?  I like eggs and grapefruit is alright, I prefer it in juice form with vodka, but hey that's just… no, that's not just me, I'm pretty sure there are a whole lot of you nodding a big ole hell yes to grapefruit juice and vodka, but I digress.  The point is grapefruit and eggs do not belong together.  He is supposed to continue this crazy-ass diet for 10-weeks.  The theory is that this diet puts your body into "pure fat burning mode!"  Supposedly this diet allows your body to burn stored fat rather than the sugar reserves that most of us live on.  (Full disclosure there have been a few weeks this summer where I am certain that my body was solely fueled by the toxic sludge my liver was pumping out.  Sorry liver, I love you again!  most days...)  In reality, what this diet actually does is makes him an irritable dick with funky body odor.  Shocking that fasting then eating eggs and grapefruit then fasting again would arouse some odd bodily funk.  The stench wafts through the air every time he walks by my desk, which coincidentally is about 4000 very smelly times per days.
4. The brand Skinny Cow.  Apparently, most of my office is on a diet right now, so earlier this week a woman was singing the praises of Skinny Cow Ice Cream and what an indulgent treat it is.   WTF!  I don't get it.  For starters it's diet ice cream, maybe you should forego ice cream if you're on a "diet" or here's a thought, just say eff it and eat the real thing if ice cream is what you really want.  The marketing for this product is trying to make you believe that if you consume this "diet" brand of ice cream you won't be a fat cow any longer.  So, I'll be a skinny cow?  I don't actually want to be labeled a cow at all.  PS, This fat girl loves me some gelato.   MOOOOOOOOOO
5. Twitter.   Now I'm not an expert, but this seems to be a platform where a bunch of people with nothing valuable to say, say extraordinarily little, very frequently a few characters at a time.   What I really want to understand is why can't/won't the Twitter-gods shut down Trump's account already!  Only 93.7% of the world HATES us currently, pretty soon those final third world countries are going to get the interwebs and read what this jackass is tweeting.
6. Hackers   Clearly these jerkstores have skills why can't they do something productive.  My primary Visa was compromised this week. I think I caught it early enough that there's no real harm, but it's still a colossal pain in the ass.
7. Snapchat!  I know many of you love this application, but I do not get it.  I recently observed two 30-something woman that clearly cared enough about one another to get dressed, put on makeup and go out for breakfast together.  So why would these attractive, seemingly intelligent women waste the first 25 minutes of their time together making kissy-face and puppy dog eyes into their cell phones.  What have we become!  I wanted to slap both of them and remind them that they were in public, with a human!  This is a grand opportunity to engage, to talk, to laugh, to gossip and make fun of other people around you, but for god-sake JUST BE HUMAN!  ….and seriously, can we stop with the f*ing selfies already.  
8. Hipster beards.  Don't get me wrong, I am a woman who loves facial hair.  I think a man with well-kempt facial hair is incredibly sexy!  Those nasty, long, scraggily hipster beards are terrible.  For some reason these men think it's cool to look like a Neanderthal with a shaggy beard and a top knot man bun.  It's not!  It's terrible!  
9. Risotto!  Damn you delicious creamy, decadent rice whore, I want to love you, but I can't figure you out.   I can cook a lot of shit, pretty darn well, risotto fails every time.  I want to master this, so decided to sign up for a class to learn how to make risotto.   When I called to sign-up the perky little bimbo on the other end of the line cheerfully exclaimed that risotto is a "date night" event at the cooking school!  Yet another risotto FAIL!   I take this as proof that the universe does not want my fat ass to make risotto. 
10. The porn-star-'stache    Again, facial hair done well is SEXY, a creepy-ass mustache is just creepy.  Maybe I should carry a razor with my scissors. 

Until next time...

XOXO

PS - My life is nearly complete.  Jen Lancaster released one new book already and has another coming out in October.  I heart you Jen Lancaster!

Yay Sports!

Hello my lovelies,

WOW!  It has been such a day I just had to take a moment and share a bit of my fun with all of you.  

Kicking off the day was a meeting with the uber-nerdy IT guys that I work with.  Since today officially kicks off the NFL season, the company decided to allow three, count 'em THREE consecutive days (Thursday, Friday and Monday) where employees can wear sports wear to "show spirit for your favorite team!"  Yaaaayyy?  This concept seems completely ridiculous in a company where there are employees, that on a regular basis, wear slippers to work.  Seriously, these assclowns can't even manage to put on shoes, do we really need to three days of Broncos crap, but I digress.  Since I am ambivalent about sports I wore the clothes that I typically wear to work.  Today I wore jeans, a wine colored shirt and Danskos.  At the 8:30 meeting one of the over the top sports geeks asked why I didn't wear my "sports wear."  

With a deadpan look I said, "What do you mean, I did!  Wine IS my favorite sport!"

Stunned silence, then laughter and finally the ops manager said "That is the best response EVER, I agree, but I'm not sure I am prepared to go head to head with you and wine."

With a nod, I replied "Smart man!  So getting back to what we are here for....."

An hour or so later I was at my desk working when the CIO storms into my cubicle and begins loudly exclaiming how disappointed he is that I am not responding to customer reported issues.  At the exact moment he was there I was updating the FAQ with the answers the connectivity issues that had been reported over night (I'd already spoken directly to the end users and to close the loop I was just updating documentation.)  Now remember, I have only 10 more days (9 more now) at the company, I am a consultant and I don't like this man.   I was polite, but direct in informing him that he is grossly misinformed and I'd like to understand what specific issue has not been addressed.  Turns out that buried amongst half-a-dozen real issues in an email that I received on Aug 22, was a comment that emojis weren't working in Outlook.  I didn't give the comment much credence because in the email where the user was reporting that emojis aren't working, he used numerous emojis and all of them rendered perfectly.  On top of that the user that reported it is kind of a goofy guy, so I focused the team on resolving all of the actual problems, logged the emoji comment as a low priority item in the issue log and updated the communications to ensure that the issue resolution messaging was clear and concise.     In a nutshell - I DID MY JOB!

Jackwad CIO then starts on a tirade that he's been experiencing this issue since his PC was upgraded two weeks ago and he's is livid that I am not considering the impact this type of thing has on employee engagement.  WTF!  Somehow I managed to have enough self-restraint to not inform him that his shitty leadership and the ego-maniacal asshats that he employs have a significantly bigger impact on the shitty morale in this company than the f*ing emojis.   After he stormed away, I called my technical escalation guy and apologetically told him that apparently smiley faces ARE the biggest f*ing problem right now, so I need him to look into it.  

I've never been happier in all my career to forward the CIO a link to the Microsoft site stating that emojis rendering as blank squares is a bug that has been fixed in the latest release.  I also sent him an email that received on Aug 25 from the same customer that reported the issue letting me know that rebooting his PC seemed to resolve the emoji issue.  

This evening I very enthusiastically completed the background check information for my new gig, because I am beyond ready to get out of this company!  Now if you will please excuse me I need to pour myself a big old glass of "sports!"  Pinot Noir is my team tonight, though last night at dinner with the girls, I was a big fan of team Rose` and I cheered for team Rioja as well.  I have to say, as much I enjoy rooting for Team Rose` especially when the weather is hot, I look much better in Team Rioja's colors!  YAY SPORTS!  

Until next time...

XOXO

Why I'm like this...

Hello my lovelies,

I'm in a contemplative mood these days.  For those of you that just felt your sphincter tighten at the sight of those words all I can say is, damn you people know me too well. Oh and YES, Townsend, "contemplative" does translate directly as TOO MUCH TIME IN MY OWN HEAD! 

I read an article this week theorizing that we subconsciously sabotage ourselves when things seem to be going too well.  I sort of believe that is true.  I think we do have a tendency to get in our own way and unintentionally (sometimes even intentionally) screw things up.  I can certainly look back on times in my life where I see that I have done precisely that.  This time, however, I don't think I caused this, but now my busy brain can't seem to stop churning.  Here it goes…..

I recently heard from a high-school classmate inquiring if I was alright because she heard that I might be going to jail.     WTF!  Are you kidding me?  Apparently, one of my idiot siblings started a rumor that I'm being investigated, because Ray's death was suspicious.  I haven't spoken to that bitch since my aunt's funeral in July 2016. FWIW, she is the hairy, bearded wildebeest that wore a strappy yoga top with dress(ish)-pants and flip flops (displaying her nasty-ass toenails) to a funeral. (FYI -for those of you that weren't on my email list before I posted that coffee on the site this morning as well.  It's called "Mysteries of the universe")  You might remember that NONE of my six living siblings attended Ray's memorial service.  Fine, I have no issue with that.  We are not close and I'm not in the camp of let's put the "fun" in funeral, which, to these people means a church potluck with nasty ham and numerous varieties of jello-salad.  (BLECH - I seriously almost vomit just typing the words jello-salad)  I think, that since these people don't really know me or anything that is going on in my life, they should all shut the F*UP, but somehow that doesn't seem to be happening.

You're probably asking yourself what the point of that little diatribe was.  Well, this seems to be the latest episode propelling my mental loopty-loops and NaNet has been imploring me to write about my family because she'd heard the stories so many times and things it is worthy of archive.  I suspect it's secretly a way of making her feel better about her own overflowing cuppa familial chaos, but either way here is the story of why I am like this….  (NOTE - I'm the youngest of EIGHT kids, so grab a beverage and get comfortable this is gonna take a while.) 

Full disclosure, this is probably going to be more painful than funny, but I have to do something to get out of this spiral and writing is therapy for me.   Thank you all for serving as my unpaid therapists!

My parents, Bill and Doris, were both poor kids from farming communities 10 miles apart.  One day the wheel broke on my mom's covered wagon, just kidding, that's not actually how it happened.  Turns out my dad had the hots for my mom's sister.  (FWIW I'm sort of the little protégé of aunt Delores, that woman is a high-energy, prank-playing spitfire. She has macular degeneration and is legally blind, so she stalked the DMV office in her little town until the young girl was gone, because she knew she could convince the old lady that worked there to renew her license.  It worked! I LOVE HER!  Full disclosure I realize that a blind woman driving is probably not a great idea, but the ingenuity and perseverance of stalking the DMV to make it happen is awesome.)  Delores had ZERO interest in my dad, but my mom was sorta cute and totally available, so Bill settled for her.  Aw, ain't love grand! 

Bill and Doris got married the day after she turned 18, because my dad swore he wanted to get married on a Sunday rather than a Saturday.  Right!  Then 13 short months later she popped out the first of the eight f*d up children they would produce.  Within six years Doris would birth four more kids - three boys and two girls.  Holy fukstix that poor woman had FIVE kids in SEVEN years.  She was only 25-years old, with FIVE kids.  F I V E!  OMG - hearing stories from all of you about how challenging it is with two or three I can't even imagine why anyone would keep doing that.  Hands down Doris is the toughest woman I've ever known in my life.  She was not a sweet, loving, doting mother, but that bitch could get shit done!  Often this was accomplished by bossing other people around rather than actually doing the work, but it got done.  Oh yeah, Doris was also a hoarder.  If you've seen the show with houses where they have crap piled everywhere and little more than a path to walk through, that's pretty much how I grew up.  She was a depression era baby and never knew when she might need that thing again, so she kept it.  We were also ridiculously poor, so she probably couldn't afford to buy a new whatever it was, though when she needed that thing, there was little chance in hell of her actually finding it.  Enough about that yuckiness, why don't I give you a rundown of my siblings.  

I wish I could say that I was switched at birth and that I don't really belong in this group of misfits, but sadly, that's not the case.  Since my parents are both dead I am willing, however, to put myself up for adoption if you know any family that is interested in adopting a mostly functional (or at least able to fake it most of the time) 44-year old with decent earning potential, a whole lotta baggage and a closet full of fabulous shoes.  Hmmmmm no takers.  Wierd!  Maybe I'll try Craigslist.....  

Susan Joy (we all have a J middle name, isn't that sweet - eye-roll) married to Floyd. Twice!  Susan is almost 18-years older than me.  I was born on the day she graduated from high school.  She and dipshit got married within the first year I was alive and they almost immediately started popping out screwed up, intellectually inferior little rodents.  Their oldest, Paul, is only two-years younger than me.  After they had three kids together, Floyd decided to leave the marriage.  He, a 30-something assclown, left with a girl, just out of high-school, ran off to Nebraska and had two filthy little beasts together.  When the youngest of those kids was still a baby he came back to Susan, with the kids.  It's weird that when mom goes to prison the only options are the idiot sperm donor or the foster system.  Not sure that sperm donor was the best candidate in this case.  Susan and Floyd remarried, and had one more kid.  Fast forward a few years to Thanksgiving 1997, Susan had just gotten her CDL, so she and prince dumbdumb were going to head out and be over-the-road truck drivers together.  During that dinner Floyd announced that since "Mama got her license" he wanted us all to call them by their handles.  We were instructed to call him Phantom, because his CB handle is Phantom 309 and her Mama, because her handle is Mama Teddy Bear. (FWIW they are still truck drivers and those are still their handles)  Probably not too surprising to learn that I responded with a curse-word laden response indicating that I would continue to call her Susan and him Floyd, because I didn't give an eff about their handles and those are their actual names.  Doris didn't allow cursing, ever.  Meh, I was over it and luckily I had a residence to return to, so I took a plate of leftovers, threw my bag in my car and returned to Fort Collins.  As for the six kids that they had, as a result from a couple of arson charges and a sexual abuse allegation, or actually four, all of those kids became wards of the state.  Good news - every single one of those hoodrat kids procreated!  Yeah, those are the seeds we needed to spread.  The children of my idiot sister and the jackass she married twice now have, at least, 12-children among them.  Isn't human reproduction magical....and that's how Donald Trump got elected!

Ricky Joe - his legal name is actually Ricky, poor guy!  This is one of the two siblings I actually like.  Rick lives in Texas and has an amazing wife.  I adore Amy, given the option I would give Rick back, but I would totally keep Amy.  My dad kicked Rick out of the house the end of his junior year, so Rick couch surfed throughout his senior year then joined a religious cult and we didn't hear from him for about 10 years.  He and Amy have been married for 25+ years, they have three kids and two grandkids.  Amy is an Occupational Therapist and Rick is her freeloading husband, who occasionally takes on menial jobs and babysits the grandkids a lot.  Their oldest daughter, Hannah and her husband bought a house on 3-acres with an artist studio in Waco, TX.  Rick and Amy live in the artist's studio and they are planning to put a modular house on the other side of the main house for Nolan's parents, so they can have a family compound.  I'm happy that they love their kids and grandkids, but that shit is weird.  I have no idea why children would want to live next door to their parents (and in laws) or why parents would want their kids that close.  

Leland Jay - this is my favorite brother.  We aren't very close anymore, but we've always had a special bond.  Lee used to use me to pick up girls in high school.  In fact, when I was leaving my job at IHS a few years ago, I had coffee with Polly Plum only to learn that she was one of the girls that my brother used to hit on.   Come on her name is Polly Plum, can you be anything other than adorable with a name like Polly Plum.  She is super sweet, sadly, that's not who Lee married.  He married Kay.  Kay is tiny.  She's only 4' 10" tall and weighs 85 lbs.  The only time in her life she weighed over 100 pounds was when she was pregnant with her two kids.  Kay talks endlessly about being tiny.  She constantly talks about how little she eats and how small her shoes are and on and on and on.  Seriously, we can see you.  We know that you are tiny, I also know that I am a giant fat-ass, now can we please stop talking about this.  Lee and Kay have two kids, Josh and Amanda.  These are definitely the favorites of my 18 nephews and nieces, but even with that we are not close.  I talk to Amanda maybe once a year and Josh only when I we were at family functions together and since my parents are both dead now, we don't do those any more.  Oh yeah and both Josh and Amanda have three kids.  Josh is the father of all three, but Amanda's kids have three different daddies.  I am from one fertile family.  It's with good reason that I've been on some form of birth control continuously since I was in college. 

Sandra Jean - Oh lord, where do I start with this one.  Sandy is an odd bird.  I suspect that she was dropped, repeatedly, as a baby.  She is hideous!  I know that sounds terrible, but I will find a picture and prove it if necessary.   She wears overly revealing, ill-fitting clothes, copious amounts of blue and purple eye-shadow and she has no teeth.  Not sure exactly why, but they all fell out.  She has dentures, but they don't fit right, so she doesn't wear them.  Fun fact, when you don't have teeth that little pink V between your two front teeth begins to sag and then you have a hangy-down thing that flaps when you talk.  EEEEEEWWWWWWWWWWW it's seriously repulsive.  Sandy has been married a few times, one divorce, one just disappeared (she was able to get that marriage annulled) and the most recent odd-fellow was killed when the mail truck he was driving collided with a grain truck.  That was heartbreaking!  This incredibly strange woman finally found someone equally as strange as her and after only a few of years of what seemed to be a blissful marriage, he was killed.   

William Jeff - he goes by Jeff.  Jeff is an idiot.  He's the brother that called to cry on my shoulder about his divorce, that happened five years ago, the week I was planning Ray's memorial service.  Jeff has three kids, through he gave up parental rights to the first one during a nasty divorce.  The other two are sweet girls.  I enjoy seeing them on the rare occasion that I do, but I don't go out of my way to keep in touch with them.  Jeff, however, if I never see him again that will be fine with me!

Peggy Jane - sadly, Peggy died of a massive heart attack at 38-years old.   She left behind a deadbeat moron of a husband and three kids, with three different daddies.  Peggy meant well, but she was socially awkward and painfully shy.  She worked at Wal-Mart for 20+ years before her death.  Her kids seem to be doing OK, but I don't hold out hope that any of them will accomplish much in their lives. 

Pamela Jill - Ray use to call Pam, Chia-Pam because he always swore that she could grow a full beard faster than any man on the planet.  Pam moved out of my parents house for 6-months, got knocked up and moved back home where my parents helped raise her daughter, who now lives in the home that I grew-up in with her mom.  When my mom died she left the house and all of the mounds of hoarded crap to Pam.  That is the best gift I've ever received in my life.  Not having to deal with that house, that crap or that idiot is more precious than all the stuff in the world!

Finally, Ronda Joan - I'm not sure exactly when or how, but fortunately I realized at a fairly early age that I had to get out!  As I said before Doris was not a kind, sweet, caring mother.  She was weeks away from her 38th birthday when I was born and she had no energy for a pain in the ass teenage and menopause at the same time.  I have one of those vivid childhood memories when I was probably 16-years old, arguing that my curfew wasn't late enough and in an exasperated torrent told me that it was fine for me to stay out as late as I wanted, all she needed me to do was not get knocked up, graduate from high school and get out, so that's exactly what I did!

I'm now nearly nine months into my new big-girl life.  There are aspects of this new world that are so amazing that I can't believe it's even real and there are parts of this that are so lonely and scary and empty that I can't imagine how I am even going to survive.   Lucky for all of you right now, rather than worrying about any of that I need a shower and some food.  I've consumed a lot of coffee while composing coffee, but I despise the grocery store, so aside from a can of tomatoes and a box of dry pasta I don't really have many options.  

Until next time…

XOXO

PS -- In case any of you are concerned about the whole investigation crap being even remotely true I can assure you it is NOT.  The day I found Ray, I was very definitely interrogated and rightfully so, there was a dead 47-year old man on the couch in the living room!  However, I don't think I was ever really suspected of anything and two days later when I received the call from the coroner, informing me that his heart was huge and that Cardiomegaly was the cause of death I most certainly was NOT considered a suspect.  Moreover, when I got the call in late January that toxicology had come back negative any remaining doubt was gone.   It's repulsive and so incredibly hurtful to think that anyone would be so callous as to start a rumor like that.  People SUCK!

PPS -- I seriously thought staying off of Facebook would protect me from having to ever associate with anyone from high school, but somehow stories about dead husbands are cannon fodder to asshats in small towns…. OH, and they do love their prayer chains! 

PPPS - my stupid spellcheck wants to autocorrect ASSHAT to SASHAY. I think my spellcheck needs a lesson in why I'm like this!

Mysteries of the universe (or at least MY universe)

Hello my darlings,

It's been a while since I sat down to pen one of these and I am sure you have all been dying to know if I completed Ronda's Magic Butt Ride 2016.  You couldn't possibly have anything better to do than to sit around thinking about ME, right? HA!  I am thrilled to report that I did in fact complete all 500 miles.  My grand total was 503 miles or 809.5 kilometers for my Canadian friends!  I had 7 miles to go on the final morning and I intended to do a much longer ride to boost my total, but my bed was very lonely and needed me to stay in it a little longer.  

What can I say - Laziness always pays now!   

My other exciting news is that I FINALLY got my notice from work.  My severance package is much better than I'd expected and my end date is Dec 1 (which is subject to change depending on the speed of the actual transition) so I still have five months of paychecks and a decent little stack of cash to live on if I can't find anything immediately.  It's a HUGE relief to finally know the end date and it's nice to know there is more than a couple of weeks of pay sitting there when that day finally arrives.  

Staying true to form, I find it very productive to observe and poke fun at other people's problems, while continuing to avoid dealing with my own.  My therapist would be so proud that I spent all that money talking to her then failing to heed any of the advise I paid so dearly for, but I digress.  Since snark and sarcasm are such good friends of mine I decided to give you a list of things that make me say "What the hell?" or "You've got to be kidding me?"  and of course there are a few "Oh, no she din't" thrown in for good measure. For your reading pleasure I decided to lump them all together into an entry titled "Mysteries of the Universe" which I admit is a bit grandiose, since they are really just Ronda's ramblings, but it had a nice ring to it and grandiose is a thing I do!  

You probably all know that I like to think that I am fairly smart - ah, who am I kidding, I like to think that I am f*ing brilliant, but even I know that's a stretch, so I will settle for smart, but there are a number of things that people continue to do that I just cannot and will not understand.  Spoiler alert I've ranted about most, if not all of these in previous coffees, but they keep happening and I STILL do not understand them and it's me at the keyboard, so deal with it!   Love you kiss, kiss!  

Today's list of things I do not, cannot and will not understand:

1. Dick pix - really, I will NEVER understand why anyone wants to send or receive these!
2. Men who miss the toilet (seriously that hole is HUGE, somehow when motivated (or perhaps I should say allowed) to do so you are able to find one that is MUCH smaller, so why do I continue to step in pee on my freshly cleaned floor)
3. Leaving the toilet seat up   (Remember boys, what goes up must come down and if you can manage to get that one down I certainly will not be looking to get anything else up...)  
4. Leaving coffee and other random spills on the counter in the break room at work
5. The desire to eat donuts (or other random, barely identifiable, food-like substances) that are at least a week old from the office break room   (Note: If someone had to tape a sign above the food that read "Eat me, please!"  I think it's advised to avoid that, in EVERY context, just avoid that!) 
6. Snakes as pets
7. Spiders as pets
8. Fat-free, Non-Dairy, Frozen Yogurt  -- Blech - IMHO that is a big ol cup of WHY BOTHER!  (FWIW - for this fat girl, Gelato is really the only option, though I heard about a local dairy that is selling goat-milk ice cream that I probably need to try.)  
9. Sexting - I think this is just a colossally bad idea... for everyone, regardless of marital status, age, income or sexual preference.  I put sexting squarely in the category of things that will probably end very, very badly.
10. Why does the dog always vomit on carpet and never on an easy to clean, hard surface? 
11. Why does the dog only vomit (and yes, still always on the carpet) when I am either dressed up or in a hurry to leave?
12. Why do I only spill coffee on myself when I wear white pants?
13. Really short shorts!   Consider this a public service announcement to all of the girls and ladies out there -- very few women actually have the legs to pull those off and if you aren't one of those lucky ladies for the enjoyment of all of us please buy longer shorts!  I'm not faulting a girl for being a little fluffy, just cover the fluff!
14. GAH!  Yoga pants are NOT actually pants and should be considered acceptable attire at the gym only!  Note: Target, Starbucks, The Lowry Beer Garden, Bonefish Grill, RV3 of the Agrium Loveland campus and MANY MANY other places are NOT THE GYM, but for some reason I keep seeing women wearing yoga pants to these places.  This needs to STOP!!!!!
15. Spandex or any sort of workout wear at a funeral.  I am disgusted to report that my very fat, very ugly sister committed this crime at my aunt's funeral on Saturday.  Bitch please!   Side note: it's very nice to hear relatives and family friends state repeatedly that I am the pretty one in the family, but when I'm the "pretty-one" compared to the fat lady with a full beard wearing a much-too-small yoga top at a funeral, I'm not really sure hearing that I am "pretty" is much of a compliment.  
16. Strapless maxi dresses - they are cute in theory, but in practice wearing a strapless dress when there is a high-probability of stepping on the front of said dress and displaying your bazingas to the world is really a bad idea.  Side note:  I also witnessed such an event at my aunt's funeral.  Golly, that Chadwick clan sure can put the FUN back in funeral..... F*MYLIFE!
17. Neck tattoos - Seriously, no one in the history of time has ever utter the words "that's a very classy neck tattoo you have there"  NO ONE!  EVER!  Soapbox - I really think these 20-somethings need to think about the permanence and visibly of their tattoos.  I have a feeling there are going to be a lot of regrets about many of these tattoos in a few years.  Hmmmm - Maybe I should look into starting a tattoo removal business?   Nah, that would involve touching people in places I don't want to know about, so probably not the job for me.....
18. Platform flip-flops with dress pants.  Frankly I could have just stopped at platform flip flops OR Flip flops with dress pants, but I just witnessed the whole platform flip flop ensemble, so I put them both together.
19. Knee-high boots with a dress in July.  The look can be fabulous (it can also be a total miss if it's not done well) in January, but right now it's July and it's really hot outside.  Put your damn boots away and buy an attractive sandal, or heel or even a cute flat (Soapbox:  I love flats, mostly because my gimp foot is still a mess, so I am forced to only wear flats, but done well the look is cute and it's certainly much more sensible then knee high boots in 100 degree weather.)
20. Post-funeral luncheons.  I think this may be a small town thing and I know it's done with the absolute best of intentions, but it is truly awful.  This has been a year of death in my family and I am sick of seeing relatives that I really don't like and I am beyond sick of being expected to sit with those same relatives and eat that nasty-ass potluck food that the church ladies bring.  Seriously, who actually considers Jell-o a food and Jello-salad (there were four of them on Saturday in that hellish little town I grew-up in) takes something nasty to a new depth of hell.  You'll be pleased to know I took a tiny bit of food, pushed it around my plate while the hogs seated all around burrowed in their troughs of pot-luck vomit, then I politely covered my plate with my napkin and devoured a Kind bar in my car while I sped out of town.  

I'm sure I could think of many more things to yammer on about, but I think 20 seems like a nice round number at least for now!  

Until next time....

XOXO

R

The type of person that...

Hello my lovelies,

It's been awhile since I've done this.  I feel like this is only enjoyable if I'm snarky and sarcastic and frankly, I've been in a bit of a funk lately.  I finally got all of the Fidelity nonsense worked out and I met with a financial planner.  I'm pleased with who I found (XOXO Finnigans) and I am thrilled that someone is finally going to have everything consolidated and in someone else's care, but it's been an emotional process.  The poor financial planner got to play therapist when I had a complete meltdown about how disgusting it felt to reduce 18-years of life with someone to a spreadsheet.  Fortunately, he tolerated my tears, gave me a hug and the damn fool still decided to take on my cuppa crazy as a client.  Poor man -- he has no idea what he's gotten himself into.  Now I've spent hours logging into accounts and downloading statements and signing forms and generally dealing with all of the administrative detail crap that I despise, but I think it's nearly done.  At least I hope so, otherwise this poor guy's gonna get himself some full-on ugly cry and ain't no man want any part of that.  OK, ain't no living creature want any part of that!  

You'll be surprised to see that I am not complaining about the overly-entitled 20-something children that inhabit my apartment building, nor am I ranting about their incredibly appaling pet husbandry skills.  I'm not even going to fuss about the freaks on the train, well, OK they might make a cameo appearance because seriously, those people provide so much coffee fodder.  Today, for your coffee pleasure, I am going to rant about work, not so much about my job, but about the people that I work around.  Enjoy!

My desk at the depressing mortgage company is situated between the Learning and Development team (L&D) and a team of developers and QA testers.  One side is very upbeat and cheerful, the other side is non-stop geeked out chatter about some sort of mortgage related field or feature that isn't working or the users are too stupid to understand or any of the other bizarre, geeky things IT developers talk about.  The list includes, but is not limited too, Star Trek, Star Wars, The Big Bang Theory, Powerball, the odds of winning Powerball, if buying two Powerball tickets doubles your odds (news flash - NO JACKASS, it's statistic - buying 2 tickets gives you a 2 in whatever-completely improbable number rather than 1)  Full disclosure: I may have muttered precisely those words at a more audible volume than intended.  (Oopsy -- Teehee)  

The L&D ladies are very cute and chipper and lovely, but they recently launched a program (I think this is part of a Diversity and Inclusion program, but I'm not certain) where the participants have to declare something using a statement that begins with "I'm the type of person that..."  Since rolling out this program I hear them starting sentences with that horrific phrase fairly routinely.  It seems to me that starting any sentence with I'm the type of person that, is really just an abhorrent way of pseudo-discreetly exclaiming something that most people don't want to know, a feeble attempt at making yourself sound way classier than the asshat you really are or a platform to share entirely too much information without officially announcing to the world that you are a complete deviant.  Since you all know that I am the type of person that is a complete and total asshat, jerkstore with a few potential deviant tendencies lurking not far below the surface, I thought I would do you all a favor and translate of few of my favorite "type of person" statements that I've heard and a few that I wish I would hear because that shit would be hilarious.  

These "translations" are sort of like Google translate if it could translate English into Asshattery. It can't - I've tried! 

I'm the type of person that tells it like it is!

Translation - I'm am self-righteous jackass that doesn't listen to or care about anyone else's perspective because I am seeing and spewing my opinion about any-damn-thing I want through my own rose colored glasses.

I'm the type of person that avoids confrontation at all cost

Translation - Wimp!

I'm the type of person that engages in confrontation at all cost

Translation - Asshole!

I'm the type of person that needs to feel loved

Translation - oh your poor little thing you are going to be walked all over your entire life.

I'm the type of person that feels everyone else's pain.

Translation - I'm a nosy, gossiping carp that likes to hear all of the juicy dirt and details of people's live that I don't really like or care about, so I can beckon my prayer group to "raise them up."    See also - Grace and many of my siblings

I'm the type of person that loves Justin Bieber

Translation - Bitch PLEASE!  What ARE you saying?

I'm the type of person that loves sex, drugs and rock and roll

Translation - The 80's are over and you were never actually that cool, so why don't you just go ahead and cut that stupid-ass ponytail off rather than stroking it like some sexual deviant.

I'm the type of person who loves sex and needs it often

Translation - Congratulation you're human, probably male and you have a pulse, but by now you've learned to appreciate cold showers and/or batteries you know for the beekeepers among us. Bzzzzzzz

I'm the type of person that is allergic to Taylor Swift's music

Translation - AMEN SISTER!

On a personal note, I thrilled to say that I officially accepted a new job!  Beginning Sept 25 I will be working for the City and County of Denver.  My new commute will be a 1.9 mile walk rather than a 1.7 mile walk and a 34 minute train ride.  I'm so excited to be working downtown among people that I like, trust and respect.  I'm delighted at the prospect of feeling like I am a part of something again.  I miss having fabulous co-workers to have lunch or drinks with and did I mention I'm working downtown and I live DOWNTOWN.  YAY!!!!!

Until next time....

XOXO

PS - I just got my lease renewal letter.  They actually lowered my rent a little bit and since I love my cute little apartment and since I'm going to be working downtown I am signing a year-lease.  That's great news for all of you who haven't made it down to see me yet.  You now have 14 more months to get here.