Riding out the weekend

For those who may not know, this is NOT Tamale.
But this is what you can typically expect to see in a Trini Carnival fete.
Oh, the wonderful slackness!

Not a bad Sunday so far. It's Carnival Sunday here in Trini-land and I am eagerly awaiting the end of Carnival. It sounds blasphemous for a Trini to say such a thing but I am so over it. I had a good run the past couple nights - with friends dragging me out of the house, out of sadness, out of my sundress and into man-cometh outfits as I finally hit a couple of the parties, but I am looking forward to things calming down again. The good thing about these parties, besides the all-you can-eat food and all-you-can-drink premium drinks and cocktails, is that one runs into so many people you have not seen in forever, though last night I managed to run into too many former co-workers. This in itself did not bother me but as my friend, who insisted I had been in the house long enough and bought me an expensive ticket and provided transportation as well, indicated - by Wednesday, when they head back to work, we would somehow go from being friends to a couple.

Is it just that people are naturally salacious that they cannot fathom a man and a woman just being friends? He called me up, knew I was a bit blue and offered to cheer me up. No desire to have sex with me or feel me up even. I mean, he was there to check out the chicks and I was there to check out the guys. I gave him his space so that any prospectives, would not be scared to approach. The opposite could be said where I was concerned cause men don't need an excuse not to approach a woman. The dude next to me was grinding on a very pretty long haired girl, I assumed was his S.O based on the kisses she kept stealing and the territorial way she was gripping his ass. Did this stop him from staring at me all night and mouthing to me, and using his Blackberry to indicate that he wanted my number? No. Did it matter that I was there with someone? Nope. Men are strange creatures. Still, he was really hot, so I took the hunk-induced flattery and my rum-induced buzz home with me in the wee hours of this morning.

In any event, the rain is so indecisive this weekend. It held up mercifully last night, saving me from ruined hair and makeup, but I foresee a lot of the teeny weeny bikini costumes disintegrating in the downpour come Tuesday. I know some of you guys would love to be here for that!

Cinammon for the heart

I took a bite already...

I baked again last night. This time, cinammon twists. Well, I call them apple cinammon almond twists cause that's what I put in them. You can see the almond chunks. I wanted walnuts but the store had none. They are really yummy and went well with my apple for breakfast.

Feeling rather crummy today, so painted my nails, going to put on something cute and I am going to take myself out for the day, hopefully. I dunno if I can spend an entire day wandering around alone, but we will see. I hope it cheers me up.

Pins in the voodoo doll

The relatives are here from the US for Carnival and everyone is going out to a party today. Where will I be? In bed. With a book. God...I am pathetic. I should have bought a ticket and gone too. But at $700 a ticket, and with no psychic knowledge that I would have a job, I passed. But then, on a regular day, $700 a ticket is still ridiculous.

Yesterday I really wanted to tell someone, other than my parents, about my new job. Someone other than GB, who apparently had known days ago anyway (the consequences of living on a small island). Someone other than my gal pals. Steups. It was then I started to get real pissed with you-know-who. Mr “He’s Just Not That Into You”. I mean, how can you NOT be into me? Lol. I’m great!

I was really bummed cause for a while he was a good chunk of my life, and we talked all the time, and then he just-not- that-into-you’ed me. How gross. I wanted to email him and let him know anyway but refrained, cause I am the girl whose girlfriends quake in their high heeled pumps at the thought of coming to me with their man troubles cause I am the do-or-die queen. A usual Tamale response, after the requisite hugging and consoling, to some teary-eyed, snotty-nosed confession may go like this -

What? Girl, pick yourself off the floor and stop bawling. Does he think you’re begging? Is he the last chunk of man flesh on the planet? Don’t get lost in that love bullshit. That’s not love. That is BULL….SHIT! Why are you still with him?

Yeah. That sounds about right. And my friends are so predictable – they avoid me and get so silent when they are tolerating some shit they know perfectly well is bullshit – no calls, no texts, no emails, no drive-bys. And especially after the infamous BT, my horrendous ex with the sex addiction and issues with honesty, I sometimes seem to border on rabid, froth-at-the-mouth, red-eyed, snarling man-hater. Of course I am not, cause I truly am a soft marshmallow type - all sweet and gooey inside, but you get the picture. So I was not going to go against the Tamale grain and email this fucker who clearly does not know a good thing when he sees it. I mean, there is being busy and there is just ignoring a girl and this is ignoring. It cannot be preoccupation with work. It cannot be the constant travelling. That never stopped him before. That’s why he has a Blackberry. I stopped initiating contact, hoping to have him prove me wrong, but he has not contacted me at all. Am I going to sit and wonder if I did anything wrong? No. Why waste that kinda time? I am so done with men and their failure to communicate. I don't see why if you're not that into me, you just cannot tell me. I am a big girl. I can take it. Unless he's dead, I don't understand this behaviour.

So I sat with my “got the job” news in my empty study, watching my silent phone, my empty inbox, and cussed him in my mind. Pins in the voodoo doll.

Faith

I signed the job offer and I got my paperbacks. I am happy once more. Nothing makes happy like a brand new book to read.

Last week, when I went to visit a girlfriend, I sat in the car as we talked and told her about my job hunting and joking about job hunting being like prostitution. She, however, was not joking along with me. She was very alarmed about me being without a job now and this is such a bad time to be looking and generally rather worried, while I sat there checking in the mirror to ensure my cheeks weren't shiny. Truth be told, I get bored very very easily, and my frustrations the past couple weeks were not cause I was worried about being unemployed, but because I was bored with my life and being at home, with no job to keep me occupied just emphasised the emptiness. I told her then that I knew I would be employed by March 1 and I am. That was the easy part. But does that change much? Nope. I may still be bored tomorrow. lol.

I think with faith, I don't place enough faith in the other parts of my life. When it came to battling the recession and unemployment etc, oh yeah....I knew, I KNEW that this would not last long. But I often forget to place more faith in myself and the other things that bother me and I need to start doing that or I may never find peace of mind. So now that my faith has sealed the job deal, time to work on the rest of Tamale. Or else I will be forever bitter. Forever spinster. Forever like this.

Save Tamale from becoming the little woman

Welcome to my life! Yep. I baked today. After an hour or so of going through different recipes, I created an easy recipe for garlic parmesan breadsticks and I got out my yeast and my flour and baked some breadsticks. They were super yummy, nicely flavoured with garlic and herbs - not too overloaded with cheese, but nicely riddled with cheesey flavour - and the crust was just right - not too hard but crispy and crumbly. I doscovered the secret to a perfect crust is putting a pan of water in the oven while the bread is baking. Oh, the joys of free time. They went really well with the chicken, pasta and apple juice for lunch. It kept me from starvation and also from boredom. Tomorrow, I may bake something else.

I also worked out this morning - if you can call it working out, cause I almost passed out on the elliptical. Seriously out of shape but I have promised to not be so breathless within the next 2 weeks. I had planned to go work out this evening but then, there is no water here at the homestead - some burst main - and I cannot spend the next 2 days running to my brother's every time I need to shower. Fucking Third World water company.

Housewifing is hard work. While waiting for my dough to double in size, I turned on good ole Oprah and teared up a bit as she and her man, Nate, brought joy to some woman who had lost everything in Hurricane Katrina. Nate fixed up her house and I sat there looking at ideas for my room - colours and furniture etc. Gave me the idea to go to the store tomorrow and pick up a few things. But I draw the line at soaps, and instead watched the Law and Order: SVU marathon, while crunching on my hot breadsticks. I did leave some for breakfast in the morning, so not to worry.

During my supermarketing yesterday, I thought of how I must have looked, in my too tight pants and heels, idling in the cookie aisle in the middle of the day, and I thought to myself, "wow, Tamale, you have the healthy look of a kept woman." Clearly I must have looked like some kept hussy, with my eyes done up in Mac eyeshadow and purse matching my shoes, and Motorola at my ear, shopping in khakis, t-shirt, matching accessories and heels in the middle of the day, when the other strong, black women were slaving over a hot pc, making a living. I chuckled at that one as I debated whether to get Hershey's minis or a full Cadbury bar. I got neither. I got apples. Kept woman. I wish. God...I wish.

Tomorrow, I am treating myself to a peach fuzzy at the bar near the store, where I need to get some new hampers and scented liners for my dresser drawers, cause as I dug around for something clean to wear this morning, I realised my not-everyday clothes just smelled so musty, that I put them all to wash. This was before I realised that there was no running water, and I was using the last of the stored water. Yep. A peach fuzzy saves the day.

And a job. A job would save the day and save me from morphing into Martha frickin Stewart, while my brain cells turn to mush watching frickin' Oprah stick the "S" on her chest and continue to save lives around the planet.

And a job is what Tamale has! The job whoring has paid off. It's not my first choice but do you see me complaining? I still have some other eggs in the basket but I go in to see what kinda money they offering me tomorrow. Whoever says money cannot bring happiness, did not get my car insurance estimate in the mail yesterday. Trust me, in the midst of unemployment, scrimping and budgeting, that took happiness away real quick.

Lost: One Tamale

After an absolutely awful weekend, I left the house today. I've run out of books to read. I had 7 new books when I started this unemployment thing and I just finished the last one. Knowing I was on the last, I went to the bookstore today to re-stock and they did not have anything I really wanted to get. Or maybe I was just being difficult. I was - I was actually looking at the shit they had on the sale table - shit with 50-80% discounts and there was nothing. Darn recession. I cannot even buy a frickin' paperback without thinking about money. I came home and I stood in front of my bookshelf and looked to see which of the many books there could warrant a rainy day re-read under the blankie. I have re-read some of these books so many times I could probably ghost write for the authors. I may have to check out the library and see if they actually cater for quarter-life crisis spinsters or if they still just stock dog-eared Harlequin romances. A library. Wow. How quaint.

I know for sure of one thing I should and could be doing besides reading. I know I have put weight on. I put on a pair of khakis today and the only thing the pants did not do was scream out, "hey, you're hurting me!" I have not gone to a gym or smelled a real sweat in weeks. I probably need some motivation but I really could not be fucking bothered. As long as there are high heels to elongate the legs and the rest of the frame, there is hope. But, to my credit, I went to the supermarket and picked up apples, expensive whole grain shit I probably cannot afford in my state of joblessness - and to top it all off, I picked up chocolate wafers, Kiss cupcakes and chips. Yeah, Tamale - that will work. Cupcakes. Oh and lemon lime fizz for the dregs of the rum. Leaving the wine for something special.

My drug of choice when in this funk is usually food. Is there a celebrity rehab for fat, depressed bitches who cannot put down a fork? Maybe not. The weather does not help either. I usually walk when I cannot find a gym, but I did not kill the Pope and will not be walking off any calories in early morning storms as some sort of sick penance. The elliptical tends to hurt my knees if used too regularly and I can come up with a million other excuses as to why I am not exercising, why I am getting fatter and fatter as the days go by and why I am just downright morose this evening. Exercise - tomorrow. Promise.

Going to take a hot shower and let the water do its magic on me. Hot water and Bath and Body Works shower gel. And clean jammies. Popped John in the CD player. He usually is great at working me over. On the good news front - I am singing again. Not just accompanying John on CD but practising my breathing and pitch etc on my own. I have not sang in a while. Therapy, lemme tell ya. I also have not watched any cricket yet cause my team basically sucks. May do that tomorrow, since I have no books. Scope out the English cricketers and see if any of them are hot.

unhappy heart

"A silent hug means a thousand words to an unhappy heart."

- unknown author

Perspective

The fear of Friday the 13th is called paraskavedekatriaphobia. The fear of Valentine's Day? nosexforweeksphobia.

Today. Friday 13 February. How do you see it?

a) As the day before Valentine's Day

b) As Black Friday - a day of superstition, fear and cheesey horror films all day on cable

Well, friends, I kinda look at it both ways today. I have always been a little bit wary of Friday the 13th cause the old people would always tell you bad things happen to you on Black Friday. I have thus never done anything out of the ordinary on Friday the 13th. So, you would not see Tamale deciding to make her first skydive on Friday the 13th, or have a one-night stand on Friday the 13th, for fear of going splat in some meadow somewhere in the first instance, or getting myself into a gang-bang in the second. I would go to work, come home. In this case, I am home all day today. It's sunny today but not in the mood to go out. Going out seems overrated lately. Sleeping in late is such a luxury for me, y'all just don't understand. Not having to set an alarm to jar me awake at 3 in the morning is such a breath of fresh air.

But I digress...

As for looking at today as the day before Valentine's, another thing comes to mind. Do I really want to go to the mall and see all the pink and red shit all over the shops? Hear all the sappy love shit on the radio - brainwashing the meagre minds of the world? And from my point of view, Valentine's is just like Friday the 13th cause it is all about fear. It is FEAR, not love that drives this holiday. Oh yeah...picture it.

Some poor dude, after a long day at work, taking shit from his boss, maybe just wants to go home, crack open a Carib beer or whatever, maybe pour some Angostura 1919 in a glass, neat - and as he gets to the halfway mark, he hears the radio announcer dedicating some shit song to some girl - some 80's stinker sung by some dude with a mullet - and it dawns on him, SHIT...I cyah go home without a gift. He pictures the girlfriend home, waiting in her little pink nightie shit, waiting for the little box with some type of jewellry, waiting to reward him for his efforts, with some once-a-quarter punani, and upon seeing him with nothing, turns from cotton candy princess to ice queen - for weeks!

Yep. Fear. It's fear all round. Fear of physical harm done to the man's person, cause let's face it ladies, men not really expecting or wanting anything for Valentine's, except maybe a little peace. And the deeper fear? Fear that maybe he does not love you - and by him braving the mall, filled to the nines with dumb assholes like himself, he is somehow manifesting this love for you, that you need to see manifested in some pink and red gift bag, or some small black box.

I am a woman but I conclude that Valentine's Day is some cult-based event, perpetuated by insecure women everywhere to convince them that these men are all about them. But take it from me, a gift on Feb 14 will not prove that he loves you. It just proves that he is 1) really stupid or 2) really good at bullshitting you. Any ass with a credit card can shop. It's not a high level skill.

Yes. I declared I wanted a Valentine, but I never said I wanted the pink and red foolishness instilled by fear. I want someone close to me to just emotionally support me during an amazingly weird time in my life and put a smile on my face cause the power of friendship is real to me. I am not going to hold a gun to anyone's head to do that. If I don't get it, I am my own best friend and I have a credit card as well, and trust me - I know how to use it.

I actually find the pink and reds, and the dazed love-sick zombies, scarier than the black cats and Exorcist movies. Petrifying!

Very un-Tamale like behaviour

Name: Tamale

Job: Job hunter/interview specialist/job hooker

Age: Too old for knee highs in public, Old enough for knee highs in the bedroom

Status: Stressed, unfulfilled spinster

Net worth: Priceless - I may not have it all the way I want it, but I still, 98% of the time, think I am the cat's meow

Yesterday, the guy who interviewed me on Monday, called me to tell me I was brilliant and I would hear from them soon. Today, the woman who interviewed me called my referee as soon as I walked out the door, and told her I was brilliant. So I guess I am brilliant but where is this brilliance taking me? Clearly not where I wanna go, but this entry is not about the potential not being achieved.

Likes: Chocolates, roses, movie nights, small, furry dogs, dinners, jewellry, cuddles, laughter, cursing idiots

Dislikes: idiots, PDAs, cats, cheap men

I have for years been on the fuck-Valentine's train and I still think it is overdone, overrated, overcommercialised, overbearing and I am so over it. But this year, when all I seem to be doing is prostituting myself to the highest bidder - the one with the best medical plan, best salary, best work/life balance (the woman today told me she had to leave her honeymoon early to get back to work and she was okay with this?. does that sound like a job anyone would want???) - I really want a Valentine. Yes. I said it. I said it! I frickin' want a Valentine this year. The loneliness has been overwhelming lately, in case you have not noticed, and I feel very weak and needy, like a brat. It's all the real world shit messing with my Xena-like strength and wrestling for my attentions, which has thrown me into a tailspin of frustration and boredom. I don't want real world right now. I want gooey goodness and kissies and huggies and a big dutty basket of flowers or chocolates and someone, besides myself, to tell me I am special. Someone to surprise me with something cute. Someone to call me and tell me I am awesome. Oh dammit...I don't want to have to kill frickin' Cupid again.

But, things look very grim especially after my Dear John letter earlier this week. I did not actually send it but that is where my mind is at and I have been sticking his voodoo doll, dunking its head in the toilet, and setting its puny penis on fire. Is it that men are just cheap that they start acting up around my birthday, Christmas and Valentine's cause somehow my "relationships" always hit a snag just before any of these events and I never feel the love. Or is it me? My God. It could be me!

Anyway, in the event none of the above happens and I am left to my own devices as usual, I have a Plan B, so don't cry for me. Cry for a hungry child somewhere. Cry for the abused, the sick, the destitute. Not for the lonely Third World spinster in front of her tv with a box of chocolates she ultimately will buy herself.

But Cupid better not play the ass with me this year! Or else...

not a very zippidy doo dah day

Some days you feel a little broken, don't you? Some days you ask yourself, "what did I do wrong? will I ever be good enough? am I the only one who thinks I have potential? am I the only one holding myself back? is it just me? am I not supposed to succeed in at least one aspect of my life?"

Yep. Some days - some moments, you just feel a little bit broken and not so happy with the way things have turned out. But the world does not stop does it? No. It doesn't. No need feeling sorry for yourself but sometimes feeling sorry for yourself is what you want and sometimes it is easier. Sometimes it is easier to look at your friends and what they have accomplished and ask yourself what you did wrong or what decisions were the bad ones. The life plan did not turn out exactly as you had hoped - hell, it did not go anything like you had hoped. And sometimes you just feel rather sad about it and you feel like trying anymore is pointless but you know you're gonna keep trying cause you're a sucker and you know noone else is going to do it for you. Get up and get and keep on getting.

You feel like you have made some pretty lame choices - though they did not seem lame at the time, they seemed pretty fucking great but turned out to not bear the fruits you were expecting - the great fruits that would have taken your life in a different direction. Instead you sit maybe worse off than before, after a significant passage of time, and you ask, "what next? how else am I going to screw it up?"

It's not where you wanted to be or the person you expected to be and it's pretty frustrating. Tomorrow may be better but for right now, it's not okay.

I dunno why I am so stressed today. No rum...maybe that's it.

Head spin like helicopter

As you can see, I have been very very busy...

Revisiting my healthier lifestyle

My stomach is not cooperating with me today. Think of how awful a combo of cramps and upset stomach would feel - that's my stomach this morning. I had made some chicken soup earlier and it is the only thing staying down. I wish I could stay in bed all day today, but I have an interview this afternoon. So wow...I have a queasy, rotten feeling stomach and fucked up eyebrows - ha! Talk about a winning combination for job interview success. lol.

I am hoping to go scope out the gym in the area this week since everyone else here seems to be keeping up with fitness while I have been lost in the wilderness of sloth and gluttony. Since the news of my impending, now current, unemployment, I had stopped going to the gym - not because I was upset or depressed but because I used my morning gym time to scour the internet for jobs. And with the no gymming, I threw in overeating for good measure. So that has been almost a month, maybe more of solid neglect of my body. Since my scouring then is bearing fruit now, I think I owe it to my satellite-sized ass to start repaying it for its patience. The soup was a great first step - I did not run to Burger King and get fries and a chicken sandwich but meticulously cut up raw fowl and veggies and brought it all to a boil. I am going to be very focused this week. The trick is getting started. Once I get started I am usually fine to continue. And as I just told a friend, I would hate to make my debut at my new job, wherever it may be, as the fat girl. Well, the fat fat girl cause I think I will always be fat. This ass would look rather odd and obscene on a significantly smaller frame.

Tam's den of sin

Kate asked that we post a photo of our bedrooms. This is where the magic does NOT happen for me. The room is angled in such a way that I would never get a full shot of the room. Behind my bed is my elliptical (you can see my neon green fitness top hanging on the handles) and my bookshelf which is crammed to capacity. To the left of the photo are my wardrobe, and other such receptacles of clothing, as well as shoes and bags. And the last of the rum. To the front of the bed - my dresser (more clothes in it) and makeup and toiletries. My room is just crammed with life and today, I realised I need more space. I need a separate room for all this shit. My bedroom should ideally just have a bed and me! And maybe a man. But after the Dear John letter below, I dunno if I am willing to keep trying for the man.

Pre-Valentine's angst

So when everyone else, is, on this bright Sunday morning, singing hymns and praising the Almighty in church, I am sitting listening to Let's Get It On by Marvin Gaye. Let's Get It On, Tamale? Yes. Let's Get It On. It's getting worse - this feeling.

I realised last night, as I lay down with cramps and nausea and a hot water bottle, that this dude I am allegedly seeing - or whatever it is we are doing - is a fucking waste of time. I mean, yes...you are away on business and I understand you're busy, but shit...would it kill you to send me a text asking if I am okay, or an email? WTF! I needed a belly rub and though he was not there physically, he was not there any other way either.

And there is a great line in the book, "He's Just Not That Into You" that goes -

I don't want to be "sort of dating" someone. I don't
want to be "kinda hanging out" with someone. I don't want to spend a lot of
energy suppressing my feelings so I appear uninvolved. I want to be involved. I
want to be sleeping with someone I know I'll see again because they've already
demonstrated to me that they're trustworthy and honorable -- and into me.

So I started penning my Dear John letter in my mind last night. I mean, Edward gave up the kingdom for Wallis. You cannot give up 10 minutes??? Is romance really and truly dead? Not even romance but basic "into you"? Wow. I have just been "not into you'ed". How dramatic! I have been "not into you'ed" peeps. Well, two can play this game.

Dear Jackass

You clearly cannot give me what I need at this time. I am probably one of
the easiest girlfriends a guy could ever have. I am all about space and time
alone etc. I like my privacy and can appreciate a man who has a life outside of
nagging me every 5 minutes. But shit, I am also a woman and
sometimes...oh...just sometimes, I need a bit of attention. A bit of love and
care. Some concern. Some empathy on the rough days. A little support here and there.

I don't ask for much besides the knowledge that somewhere out there, there is some smitten fucker, missing me. Do you miss me? I highly doubt it cause you cannot even bring yourself to
call or email. How long has it been now? Where is the acknowledgement of my existence?
So this is my Dear John letter to you. What is worse is that you
are not even high up on the Tam-dar - not a Tamale type but again, silly beak
that I am, I decided to try something new. Give the below average dude a shot. Support a charity!
But guess what - cute or not stellar like yourself, you're all assholes! So I might as well look good in
public while getting my heart stomped upon, don't you think? And get some good sex too.

Keeping it real, friend.....Tamale

Draining out the rum bottle

The weekend thus far has involved a lot of rum and Sprite. A lot. It's delicious...what can I say? The bear seems to like it as well.

I am not feeling well and just have locked myself away. Besides physical discomfort and a huge serving of loneliness, I am also a bit miffed about my eyebrow wax this morning. My regular wax girl has moved and left no forwarding address and sure, one may say, it is not that hard to find another person to remove some eyebrow hair but it is. IT IS!

So for the past several weeks I have let my brows grow out cause 1. I get a better wax job when I let them grow out and 2. I was unsure as to who to let near my prized eyebrows.

For those who know what I look like, you know I take care of myself to the hilt. Including maintaining hot eyebrows!

Since I have already braved 2 interviews, a date and random happy hour sessions with scary Amazon, butch-lesbo brows, I decided to go to the place in town for a wax. I had had enough.

All I have to say about this is - I have drunk a lot of rum since the ordeal.

My eyebrows look like a drag queen's. I came home and no amount of cajoling could make me happy. I wish I had bangs. I will be a slave to eyebrow pencil until they start growing out. I told the fucking woman how I always had my brows done and she gave me trailer park/hood rat eyebrows. I am totally enraged. I was totally vexed!

Another shot of rum for the pain. For the loneliness. For my vanity.

At least the West Indies cricket team were playing some sensible cricket last I checked. And my God! They won! But England is a crap side anyway, so not celebrating yet. In any event, I have stopped drinking rum over my WI cricket team ages ago. I would have been an alcoholic by now.

The hunt is on - in more ways than one

Photo by Marie Babey

Who said unemployment was relaxing? Unemployment is tiring. My God! The weather decides to get all hot and uncomfy when I am driving back and forth organising my life, and when I get home it is too hot to sleep. Too hot for anything.

The past couple days have been immensely busy and I finally have a moment to just sit down and relax - have a cupcake and a beer and let my body decompress. And in decompressing - throwing off the stresses of joblessness and strife - I have realised I am sex-starved and in need of a male companion. Nothing long term but a good rodgerin'. The only real and tangible prospect for this much needed sexual stimulation is away on business and then he sucks at it. My God - bad sex is still better than nothing, isn't it?

Earlier this week, while drinking a rum and coke in front of my now former boss - which is significant cause it was a weekday and had I still been employed with them, drinking anything harder than a grape juice would have been grounds for a "random" drug and alcohol test the next day, but I took great pleasure in sipping this wonderful concoction in front of them all while shaking my ass against another co-worker's pelvis. I mean what would they have done? Fired me? lol - I saw a dude whom I always thought was interested in me. He grabbed me by the arm and dragged me over to the corner to talk. I stood there with the liquor making me think dirty things, but all he wanted to do was talk. How quaint. He did not even end with "call me some time" or " will call you." What a buzzkill cause he is cute and my type - not one of those loud, annoying types. A quiet Tamale type.

So this leaves me with "bad sex Bob". And it's not even about the sex or bad sex as the case may be. It's about having a partner to offload on right now. To bring me a cupcake or listen to me rant or laugh with me when I make fun of myself and my life. I really need to work on this cause I have terrible headaches and back pains at the end of the day - symptoms of subconscious worrying. I am not worrying really - the outer me anyway is content and too busy to worry, but clearly my internal Tamale is a bit frazzled. I really would like some help with being distracted and entertained. Being alone in a time like this is not ideal.

The End

I went in to work earlier than usual this morning (is that even possible, you ask. yes. it is) so I could clear my desk in peace. I packed up my bundles including photos of my trip to Paris and my pink stuffed unicorn and put them all in the trunk of my car. I went up to the place I called hell for the past 3 years to say goodbye to my tough but loving and awesome trainers who kept my ass from becoming a satellite, and I started tearing up at 6.30 in the morning. Then I did some personal stuff, including stopping off at Hallmark and getting my colleagues (not the team members, save one) cards, sitting in a cafe and writing personal notes to each of them, tearing up while writing it and blaming my sniffles on the spicy pie I had ordered when the girl asked if I was okay. Got back to the office in time to catch my colleagues (not my team leader and team but my other colleagues and one team member) in the act of planning a surprise lunch for me. Lunch was awesome and we had many a laugh. Then I got back to the office and penned a brief email saying goodbye to the people I had gotten closest to over the past 3 years (not my team members, save one). I left this task for last cause I knew when I sent that note, I would get the call here and there and I would want to cry. It was worse than I expected cause I hit "send" and the phone started ringing immediately on all 4 lines, and people started dropping by my desk, especially since I had told noone that I would be leaving and since most people thought I would be the last person they would want to let go and especially cause noone knew that the end was actually today. Based on a couple incidents earlier this week, and a very disappointing revelation made yesterday, the decision was made yesterday to not go back after today so I packed my shit and sent my adios email, hoping for the generic "take care" replies.

It was worse than I thought cause I did cry and my friends cried and grown men called me with regret and sadness in their voices, and one broke down and made me bawl and he had to call me back, and I cried some more. And my colleague, my one true friend on my miserable team, shushed people away cause they were making her cry. And my mascara ran and I felt utterly desolate. Not to leave the company but to leave all these people whom I honestly admit I grew to care for very much. It was too much and I could not take it, so I picked up my purse and left the office. One last time.

I am tearing up typing this little summary of my day. I will miss them terribly. I felt the love today. I felt how many people outside of my miserable team, save one, loved me and will miss me and most importantly, appreciated my efforts and my work. When people you work with, come to your desk and cry or call you on the phone with tears in their voice, you frickin' feel the love and it was too much. After the shoddy treatment from the "team" I was "part of" for the past 3 years, this was all too overwhelming for me. It was just a very sad day.

The things we take for granted

I met up with a very good friend the other day and we had a really awesome time catching up over wine and cheese. I had not spent time with her in eons and we just chillaxed all evening. I thought I looked quite cute in my yellow blouse and I sat there, all resplendent, and nonchalant, leaning forward on the table, with my perky chocolate boobs taking nice shape under the yellow cotton and a delicious looking cleavage revealing itself as the low scoop dipped as I leaned forward. As I sipped on my wine and stared out at the street at random Trinis going about their business, and the trio of Latin men in front of us - dirty thoughts running through my dirty mind, I sensed that someone was looking at my boobs. Yes indeed. Someone was. My girlfriend. lol. I, in all my shameless boob pride, forgot that she was a lesbian, and there she was - brazenly checking out my breasts. Her face revealed her horror at being caught and mine probably revealed the alarm at being scoped out by a woman. lol. My God! I pulled up that devious scooped neckline and sat upright in my seat after that, conscious of the visual rape that was taking place. It's bad enough when it's some lecherous penis toter. But far worse when it's a dildo toter.

Today was a mix of okay and blah. Not quite good and bad. I had to fucking spend $65US for a copy of my university transcripts and then sat in the motherlode of traffic jams, with an asshole with a faulty muffler in front of me, forcing me to keep my windows up and the a/c on for fear of dying from carbon monoxide poisoning. It could be worse. I just read a note (when you hit "reply all" to an email, this is what happens - your business is all out in the street)from some random chick who got fired cause she sent a funny penis joke to co-workers. Imagine being in a job interview and the prospective employer asking you what happened at your last job and you had to explain that you had a penchant for emailing schlong jokes instead of working. How riDICKulous is that?

My new co-worker is also trying to out-hate a hater and before I leave, I will show her what "hater" really means. I must admit, I really dislike this girl. Really. Besides looking like Red Fraggle off her meds, she just is clueless, subservient to authority aka an ass kisser, shabby and rude. I hate shabby and rude. If you're going to be rude to me, at least be divalicious and rude. At least look as good or better than I do (and today, I looked frickin' hotttt with my fat self)*. Don't be rude when your shoe heel is falling off and your hair is sporting 25 hairpins in random fashion, rather than pulled back in one neat barrette. At least it's not just me who dislikes her or I would begin to think I had a complex.

*And you can have the entire pack of chocolate wafers, chips, hash browns, cake and other such high calorie nonsense for the past 3 weeks, and not work out one iota, and still, despite the expanding gut, thighs and backside, look and feel like the best piece of ass on the planet. Here I am!

You gotta love the Brits

I think the Brits have the Yanks beat when it comes to salacious, tasteless media exploitation of "celebrities". And they are the so-called gents and ladies of the world. I love it.

Well, I have no comment on this other than "where is the prolonged NBC coverage on this?" after all any sports enthusiast could hear all during the frickin' Olympics was how awesome this dude was and I agree he is and hey...if he wants to smoke some weed and star on the cover of a Sunday tabloid, more power to him. He's young, maybe brain dead already from all the water in his ears, so what's the big deal? Put people on a pedestal and this is what happens! I personally do not like the smell of good ole ganja nor would I be sharing a bong with diseased individuals at some frat party. A FRAT party! Who knows where those mouths had been? Or on what! Or whom!

My weekend was nothing the News of the World would find remotely exciting, with only a lunch date, the Aussie Open (I hope Serena is not smokin' it up) and a small purchase to shout about. Oh, and my alcoholic ex's mum calling me up and asking me if I wanted to move in. It was a bit out of left field but it is not as odd as it sounded. He is moving out and she knows I drive a long ways to work and she has the space and needs a tenant. Well, seeing that in 3 days (yep...3) I will not be driving to work anywhere, I had to decline the kind offer. But yeah...another Tamale moment. I am not trying to get too much into that person's life again, even if he is seemingly out of the picture.

I also bought a novel for $5 at a used book sale and started reading it today and it was going really well - really had me gripped as I lounged my long, brown form on my pink sheets with the stuffed animal - until it got to the point where the female lead explained to the male lead that she was a time travelling FBI agent and had come back from 2037 or some shit to follow a murderer who had managed to use the FBI's time machine to travel back to 2005. My God! That's what you get for $5! And this shit was on the NY Bestsellers' List - another indication that too many Americans are sharing dirty, penis/vagina flavoured bongs out there.