Tiger, Tiger, Tiger...(With my sincerest apologies to William Blake)

Tiger, Tiger, in the car
She's got clubs, you won't get far.
What on earth posseses you
To do the things you're going to do?

With what crack pipe did you smoke?
Didn't think you were that type of bloke.
Dude, your wife is really hot.
This other chick? I'm thinking not.

And why send the creechy texts?
They'd make me laugh, not think of sex.
And when your wife was on to you?
That was the best thing you could do?

What the dealio? What the hell?
You really thought this would end well?
Really man? What's in your head?
You're lucky man, you could be dead.

A woman scorned is never fun.
Especially if you try to run.
You're lucky that she isn't me.
The light of day you'd never see.

Tiger, Tiger, if in her shoes,
Some special favors I would use.
All that money that you earn?
Would be half mine with which to burn.

Somewhere the late, great William Blake is rolling over in his grave. Sadly, when this story first broke this poem, well, the original, was the first thing that popped in my head. Yeah, I'm a nerd like that.

And for your literary pleasure, here is the original poem, from which I was inspired,

Tiger! Tiger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder, and what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? and what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,
And watered heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Tiger! Tiger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

William Blake, 1757-1827

What I'm Thankful For, by Ashley. Unscripted...

Ah, Thanksgiving weekend is drawing to a close. The turkey carcass has been picked over, the mashed potatoes that your husband left in the oven overnight rather than putting them in the fridge (oven was off of course) are now sitting in the fridge rather than having been thrown out, and the cranberry sauce is still in the shape of the can it came in while sitting in a tupperware container in the fridge, probably growing hair (or at least by the time I find it again it will have hair). It's time to reflect back on the year that was 2009, time to think of the things for which I am truly grateful. Of course it goes without saying that I'm thankful for my husband and son. Obviously. I'm talking about the more obscure things that I'm thankful for, the things that aren't so obvious.

First and foremost, I'm thankful for my former boss, the boss from hell, or Captain Douchebag as I affectionately referred to him. Even though this guy has absolutely no redeeming qualities as a human being, and let's be honest. I'm pretty sure he kicks puppies for fun, I'm thankful for him. I'm thankful that he opened my eyes to find the wonderful new job I have now. I owe him a debt of gratitude for inspiring me to get the hell out of dodge and find a new job where I feel that I can actually make a difference in someone's life. Thank you Captain Douchebag, I salute you.

Next, I would like to thank the terrible, horrible, no good, really bad builders who were building the house we were supposed to move into. Thank you for lying to me repeatedly and eventually going bankrupt. Without you, I never would have found my dream home. Without you, I would not have developed a closer relationship with my in-laws who I lived with for six months (*note, no sarcasm here, this is serious*). I love this house more than I ever would have loved the lesser house you were pretending to build us. I just feel bad for the people stuck in an unfinished neighborhood due to your shoddy workmanship and shady business practices.

I am also thankful for Lady Gaga. Not only do you come out with some pretty damn catchy music that entertains my three year old in the car, but you dare to be different. You step wayyyyyy out of the box, and you do it well. So Gaga, as I drive to work each morning singing "Bad Romance" at the top of my lungs, I praise you. Thank you for being you.

I'm thankful for Facebook, for allowing me to keep up with old friends and frenemies, for allowing me to get my blog out to the masses, for giving me endless material to mock and judge. I'm also thankful to Twitter for allowing me to shamelessly stalk follow the celebrities of my choosing. It's all about discretion, people.

I'm thankful for the shows Glee and The Big Bang Theory. My inner high school nerd is finally validated by the characters on those shows. If those shows mated and had a love child, it would be Ashley. Unscripted... in high school.


Happy holidays everyone. Gobble, gobble, gobble.

Facebook Do's & Don'ts

I think it's time for an etiquette lesson. For reals. I'm sitting here perusing the "People You May Know" section on my Facebook page, and I have seen some disturbing things. Seriously people, why?

Rather than judge, like I normally would, I think I can use this opportunity to help the masses. Oh what the hell, I'm still judging, just trying to make it sound "nicer."
And who am I kidding? This isn't a "Do's and Don'ts" post. It's a "Things That Drive Me Bat-Shit Crazy on Facebook" post.

1. The Shirtless Profile Picture
Seriously? No-one wants to come to your gun show. And if they do, I'm questioning their contribution to society as we know it. Put a shirt on, stop flexing your (non-existent) muscles. No-one cares.

2. The Skank-Tastic Profile Picture
This is probably the person who wants to be friends with The Meathead described above. I get wanting a cute profile pic, hell mine is adorable. I appreciate that. But I don't want to see you doing your best sausage impression in a dress that is 8 sizes too small. Girl you've got more rolls than the Wal-Mart Bakery. Nothing that tight looks good. Ever.

3. The Motivator
Please stop with those quotes you stole off the inspirational posters in the breakroom where you work. I. Don't. Care. The only thing that would motivate me on Facebook would be David Cook writing on my wall that he thought I was hot and wanted to run away with me to Jamaica. *ahem, excuse me* The only thing that would motivate me on Facebook would be, well, nothing. I don't go to Facebook for motivation. I go to Facebook to waste time that could be spent doing more productive things, like checking my email or Tweeting.

4. The Married Couple
I don't understand why you would need one account for two people? It's free, isn't it? Sure, Husband and I have a lot of the same friends, but we do have other friends. Plus,David Cook might feel strange writing on my wall if it belonged to Husband and I. *cough, cough* Plus, I just think it's weird.

5. The Salesman
Dude, I'm not buying your shit because you either sent me a Facebook message asking me to, or because you made it your status and repeatedly updated it, taking up my entire wall ALL. DAMN. DAY. Maybe if you would, I don't know, stop Facebooking and actually get out there and do your job, then maybe, JUST MAYBE you might be a little more successful.

6. The My Life Is SOOOOO Perfect All The Time Friend
Seriously? Especially if I know you have small children right around the same age as the Wee One. I know your life isn't all sunshine and rainbows. It's more like meltdowns and wine bottles. I want to ask these people if they're even real. Dude, it's Facebook. What are you trying to prove?

7. The I Capitalize The First Letter Of Everything Poster
This Is Seriously Annoying. It's A Pain To Even Type Like This. Why Do People Do That? Please. Tell Me.

Are you guilty of these? Then stop. Seriously.

My new favorite article of clothing

So, in my last post (two weeks ago, yes I am aware of that) I alluded to the fact that I have a new job. That's right. I have left the creepy confines of traditional retail pharmacy. I have come out from behind the counter. No longer will I have to direct people to the hair dryers or bug spray. There will be no more arguments with people who are pissed at me because their doctor's incorrectly told them that a certain drug was on our $4 list. I'm out. I could have done cartwheels as I walked through those sliding doors for the last time. My time in that particular job was a roller coaster ride. One day I was being recognized for being new talent in the district, the next I was getting written up for an anonymous blog (moment of silence). One day I'm being told I'm a phenomenal pharmacist, the next I'm being threatened with a write up because I had a woman, who threatened to meet me in the parking lot and seriously injure me, escorted out of the store. (Yep. Boss gave her $100 for her trouble.) But anyway, I digress. The important thing is, I'm out of there.

I began the job search several months ago. Husband and I knew that the right job was out there, I was prepared to suck it up at the Shop 'N MakeMeWanttoVomitattheProspectofWorkingAllDay for as long as I needed until I found the right job, or at least until Boss From Hell fired me for something fun like not filling a forged script.

There was always one job that I have wanted, ever since my last year of pharm school. One morning, I'm perusing job openings, and there it is, the holy grail of jobs, at least for me. I swear, tears formed in my eyes. I felt giddy like I've never been giddy before. Guess what? I got that job. Holy crap, I got that job. And you know what? I love it. I love it SO much. Being a pharmacist is fun again. It's like redemption for all I went through at the Buy 'N MakeMeFatBecauseI'mEatingMyTroublesAwayOnAisle9.

This brings me to my new favorite article of clothing. I have a new lab coat. A fancy one. One of those that is similar to what physicians wear. I feel all warm and tingly when I have it on. Well, that's a bit extreme, but I do catch myself watching my reflection in windows and doors. Hee hee. It's the small things.

And in case you're wondering? I think Tim Gunn would be very pleased with my selection of lab coats.

My Failings as a Mother

Rain, rain, go away. Today Wee One's class was supposed to go on a field trip. The class was supposed to go on this same field trip last week. Due to bus issues, the trip was rescheduled for today. Little did we know that today would hold record breaking monsoons (well, maybe not that much, but you know how much I like to exaggerate). Rain=no trip to the pumpkin patch (again) for Wee One's class. Cue grumpy and disgruntled three year olds. Cue teachers screaming for xanax and booze.

When I walk in to pick him up this afternoon, I felt a chill in the air. I swear I could hear a combination of the Jaws theme and the Twilight Zone song playing in the background.

"Mrs. Teacher wants to talk with you," one of the teacher's aides tells me.

Gulp.

Mrs. Teacher is the sweetest person. Seriously. Mrs Teacher does not look happy.

It appears that my child has had a rough day. It appears that my child was a demon today. Why do I feel like I'm the one getting sent to the principal's office? Because that's exactly what I feel like. There was hitting, there was the throwing of toys, there was lying, there was whining. He was a regular Maury Povich episode today, minus the whole Baby Daddy nonsense, of course.

Discipline is hard for me. I don't ever want to see my child upset or crying or not 100% happy. Yes, I am a very unrealistic person. Don't get me wrong, I do discipline my child, I just hate every minute of it. It's hard for me to stick to my guns. I melt into a big puddle of mommy goo when I see that little lip poke out or those big tears start to form. I know that in the end, it's the best thing for him. If he's not disciplined things are going to be much more difficult for him when he's older. And it's not like he's a bad kid, he just had a bad day. But I tell you one thing, I don't like to see the regularly sweet as sugar Mrs. Teacher mad/upset/having a bad day as well.

The pumpkin patch trip has been re-rescheduled for Thursday. Please, please, please God let this one go off without a hitch.

The State of My Uterus

Uterus. Say that word over and over again a few times. It's kind of an ugly word. Uterus, uterus, uterus. What's the plural? Uteri? Uterii? Uteruses?

Sorry, there really is a point to this post. Somewhere. I'm standing in my usual spot behind my computer at work (well, it's officially NOT my spot anymore, but more on that in a bit). Woman comes to the counter, "Oh! You're pregnant!"
Um, no, I'm infertile. Not pregnant.
No, that's not what I said, but believe me, that's what I thought. Why do people even say that unless the person is strapped into the stirrups giving birth? To make matters worse, I even had on my skinny cords. I. Did. Not. Look. Remotely. Pregnant.

That point? Yeah, sorry. It's here. Somewhere.

It's been almost two years now, and still nothing. It still sucks. It still sucks a lot, but I've made something of a peace with it. The last year has been supah stressful. We've sold a house, started building a house, lived with the in-laws, gave up building the house because our builder sucked big, hairy balls, we bought a new house, we moved into new house, my job became hell on earth. You know, nothing major. OB seems to think the stress has nothing to do with my failure as a woman (no, I really don't feel that way, I'm just being dramatic). I am begging to differ.

So, where are we? I mentioned the job? Yeah, I'm moving on. The weight of the world has been lifted from my shoulders. I am soon to start my dream job. I am giddy. It is also coming at a good time in the whole trying to conceive saga. I'm about to start a new job. It's not a good time to get pregnant. We are going to take a break. We're going to chill out, relax, and enjoy the beautiful, smart, hysterically funny, sometimes ginormous pain in the butt, child we have now. Six months from now? It's on.

You hear that uterus? You got six months.

Trapped, with no possible chance for escape.

I swear, sometimes I think the Blog Gods deliberately put me in situations to see how I will write about them. That happened today. If I hadn't already lost all faith in humanity, it would would have been gone after this episode.

I have a doctor's appointment this afternoon. I am actually leaving early enough to where I won't be rushed and should get there in plenty of time, for once. Yay me. Start the car, a funny looking, random light flashes on my dashboard. I try resetting it, car yells at me. Apparently something is funky with my tire. I get out, look at them, they look fine. I call the Husband. He tells me to go to the dealership after my appointment and have them look at it. So much for the fifteen minute edge I had.

Get to the dealership, they look at me like I have three heads when I try to explain what the deal is. Um, no, I don't know how to check the air pressure in my tires. No, I don't know how to put air in my tires. Yes, these are things that I should probably know how to do, but alas, I don't. Can you do it for me? Um-kay, thanks. I'll just go sit in the waiting area.

So, I'm sitting. In anticipation of having to wait, I brought entertainment for myself. Little did I know I wouldn't need it. Minutes later, in walks a threesome, a surly looking teenager, her mother, and her grandmother. Grandma immediately starts protesting that the tv is on a news station. "We need to get this tv changed. I need to watch my stories." Okay, I lied. She really didn't say she needed to watch her "stories," I made that up. She DID say that she needed to change the tv to her soap opera. She wanders over to the check-out desk and demands that the clerk change the tv. Loudly. The poor clerk had no idea how to change the channel, as it has been stuck on Fox News for the last ten years. (The joys of Red State living) Grandma is not accepting this as a response. She begins yelling, and by yelling I mean shrieking, that someone better get over here and turn the tv for her or she will do it herself.

At this point, the bitch in me wants to say, "Ma'am, I was watching this. Please do not turn the tv." I didn't, but I wish I had. She finally finds someone to change the channel for her. Then she begins bitching about the volume, "this ain't no silent movie theater! Turn the damn thing up."

Seriously? Shoot me now. I give her the stink eye. Surly Teenager begins smacking her gum, and continues smacking her gum for the entire 8 hours that I was trapped in there. Okay, so it wasn't eight hours, more like 45 minutes, but it felt like an eternity.

Why? Why? Do I have an annoyingly obnoxious people magnet in my forehead? Where do these people come from? And why do they apparently seek me out? Anyone?