giddy-up, horsey!

Everyone goes through times when they are put into awkward situations. Sometimes you can run away while screaming bloody murder. Sometimes you have to adapt and deal with that patronizing asshole in accounting. Lifeam I right?

Today I’m sharing a story from hotmessmemoir – a kickass blogger here who has a job where she just doesn’t belong. (Make sure you take a visit to her blog. It’s hilarious.) Read it. Laugh about it. Print it out and rub it all over your naked body. I won’t judge. We’re all friends here.


I wear an A at work (please google the Scarlet Letter movie if you’ve not read the book or saw Demi Moore’s movie).  Aside from a few good seeds, it’s taken months just to get a smile when I say “good morning” or “hello” to a co-worker. I’m not holding my breath for a verbal salutation.

See, I am a stiletto wearing fashionista working for a Southwest company that sells boots, tact supplies and Southwest fashion. I’m the Assistant Buyer for cowboy boots. Yes, cowboy boots. It’s o.k to laugh, I did too.

To be “part of the club” you have to live the lifestyle. Living the lifestyle means either A. ride a horse consistently B. live on a farm C. own livestock or D. a combination of any of the 3. 98% of my co-workers are covered under one or all of these. When I asked them if my former collection of My Little Ponies counted, they were not  amused. When I told them I had livestock and it consisted of a 12 lb, 13 year old chihuahua, they removed themselves from the conversation.

During one of my first weeks, I struck up a conversation with a co-worker. She always wore a smile, was always bubbly and was approachable. When we walked out to our cars one night we made the usual pleasantries.

“So what are you and Tray doing this weekend?” I asked.

“We are going heifer shopping,” she said as if she had just told me she was going to see Star Wars.

“Come again?”

“We are going heifer shopping. Cows.” She explained remembering that I was a foreigner.

I suddenly brought my immature brain back into adulthood and remembered that heifer is the name of a young female cow. But then immature brain could not resist the opportunity and responded with, “If you want to go heifer shopping there is a really seedy bar down the way….” Oh my God, did I just say that?

She was polite when responding to my completely inappropriate comment and just faked laughed.

Another time I tried to be “part of the club”. I found my one article of horse paraphernalia I owned, a shirt from a mud volleyball tournament to raise money for epilepsy.

My father passed away 13 years ago from epilepsy. Every year my younger sister would raise money and organize a team for mud volleyball. Because our father looked like Rocky and even went as Rocky Balboa one year for Halloween, she selected Italian Stallions as the team name. I thought about playing in the tournament. I used to LOVE playing in it as a child every year but then I thought ‘nah, I’ll get too dirty, here’s $25 for a shirt’.

I really don’t know why the “addition” was added to the graphic shirt but regardless, it had a horse on it so I threw it on fully intending to wear it to work. Here it is:

hotmessmemoirToo much?

I texted my sister this picture. She works in HR and below was her response:

By all that is holy, I am begging you NOT to wear that to work. If you wear that to work you will be fired. DO NOT WEAR THAT. Do you copy?

I growled under my breath, rolling my eyes. She was right. It was a little much but I didn’t have any other horsey thing to wear. In the end I changed as I like to keep the electric on and food in my children’s bellies.

So that is one of many stories of attempting to fit in. Stories are so easy when you are the outsider with a sense of humor ;).


 If you’ve emailed me a submission for a guest post  – I will be getting to yours soon. Thanks for your patience/badassness 🙂 I would share my wine with you if I could. But not the cheesecake. No… definitely not the cheesecake.

i set fire to the bed last night

I know I’m not the only one around these parts that enjoys a good poem about bumpin’ uglies. So, I thought it would be fun to share a piece from one of my favorite people on WordPress. She’s one of the nicest people here and she is hilarious. If you don’t know who pixieannie is already, make sure you visit her blog. You’ll find an amazing person there – a fitness lover, animal lover, an amazing photographer, she’s got tattoos all over and has the best workout clothes. (Seriously… can we switch lives, please?)

bedfire

Here’s her short & hilarious poem:


I set fire to my bed last night
the first time I shagged Gary
my ma and pa came in the room
and said that we should marry

I remember from the science class
that friction made stuff hot
bugger me, I’d not have guessed
but blamed it on the pot

roll on three years later
and we have a kid name Boo
he’s a proper little ‘ooligan
filled the petrol tank with glue

I guess it’s safe to say now
that we shag at a slower pace
but just in case the spark ignites
there’s a water bed in case