The People Who Choose To Love Me

The People Who Choose To Love Me
This is my family. Watermark and all.

Monday, August 10, 2015

Meeting Someone Who Immediately Asks For Permission To Fart Next To You Is Kind Of Nice

I started working this week at a new job and I trained for the new position over the weekend with a couple of awesome ladies that I hope to become lifelong friends with.

The first lady is in her fifties and has the abs and biceps of a 22 year old male model. She also hunts for her own food and is probably in my top ten most interesting people I've met and liked right off the bat. In between training me and suffering from a super stiff neck, this woman told me the most awesome stories about her life, including one about auctioning off a bull that no one but her could get close to because it was insane with rage or something like that. Throughout the entire story I was imaging her as a female version of Crocodile Dundee so I missed some parts of it due to daydreaming up a new blog entry.

My new coworker.

The second lady who trained me is in her early twenties and pretty much rocks at life. She has the apathy of a goddess and the mouth of a sailor and I think I love her. 

As soon as we sat down to train she basically told me training is fucking stupid and she hates doing it and everyone learns from actual hands on experience so writing things on a piece of paper is pointless. Did I mention I love this lady?

I don't know what it is about people who are brutally upfront about their hatred for things and can verbalize said hatred in a string of cuss words used as adjectives, nouns, and verbs, but I am instantly smitten. Basically we sat down at a table and she cussed about the training and being pregnant for awhile and I was like, "Fuck yeah, I get you, stranger." And then, something weird happened. 

Ok, maybe not X-Files weird, but weird nonetheless.


After she shifted uncomfortably in her seat and asked my permission to fart at the table (because she is pregnant and didn't feel like getting up to walk twenty feet away to release gas), I laughed and gave her my permission and then... I started to open up to this complete stranger. About really inappropriate things. Like my period and how I throw up every month from the pain of my cramps. And, I realize I'm blogging this to a bunch of strangers now but normally I don't say these things to strangers. I talk about politics and religion before I talk about my menstrual cycle to people I don't know because I think it's icky and I get really irritated by women who insist on this being an acceptable topic at any and every social gathering or event they find themselves at. 

Unless you are talking to someone who has a stethoscope around their neck and a speculum in their hand or an art student who's primary focus is Georgia O'Keeffe paintings, shut the hell up about your stupid period. I didn't Google it but I'm pretty sure there's not a book similar to the beloved children's pooping book titled, "Everyone Bleeds," that can turn this topic into a semi-comical or in any way acceptable conversation.

 Hey! This really does look like a Georgia O'Keeffe painting!

Anyway, I caught myself before I told her the number of people I've slept with, or my social security number, or the combination to my junior high locker I had twenty years ago, and tried my hardest to focus on the training session. But, it was difficult because I weirdly looked up to and respected this woman who is at least ten years my junior and I NEED HER TO BE MY BEST FRIEND. Ok, I'm not that needy, but after she pops that kid out I'd love to buy her a beer and listen to her describe her life using only bodily functions and profanity.

Great. Now I have this song stuck in my head.

Anyway, I guess the new job is cool. I don't think I can consider serving food as a "career path," but it seems like a great gig with some fun people and I have a feeling I'll fit in just fine.


Oh, and I just Googled, "Everyone Bleeds," because in every blogging or writing article that gives tips on how to be an awesome writer it says, "Do your homework." There's no book, but there is a song by HATEBREED (appropriately all caps) that is titled, "Everyone Bleeds Now." Which, could also be the title of a book about female troubles for people like my husband to read who have to live in a house full of women who's cycles will surely all sync up. I think I will write this book. It will just be a step-by-step tutorial of my husband's hilarious solution to dealing with a billion females on their periods at the same time. It will teach you how to both build a man cave and put together 5,000 piece jigsaw puzzles. Upside down. In the dark. For one week out of every month.

See? Looks like fun!!
Well, more fun than cohabiting with four menstruating women, anyway.

10 comments:

  1. My poor dad. It was an all female household for him as well, unless you count the dog, and my dad would sometimes. Just like I count the female dog in our household of males. :-)

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    1. We totally count the dogs but we have one of each so he's still out numbered. My husband and I have been together for over four years now and he's still trying to get used to being the minority. And all things pink and purple. And feelings.

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  2. That book--Everyone Bleeds--would have been a great help to a preteen boy who really loved Judy Blume books but couldn't quite figure out what a period was. He just knew it wasn't just the thing at the end of a sentence. So then he made the mistake of asking a girl sitting next to him in reading class and instead of answering him she laughed and told everyone he didn't know what a period was. And then teenage boys were coming up to him and saying, "You don't know what a period is?" and he was too embarrassed to say, "Fine, what is it, smartass?" because I'm pretty sure those teenage boys didn't know either and he could have turned the tables.

    What's important though is congratulations on your new coworkers. I'm pretty sure as soon as you let it slip that you're raising four girls Crocodelia Dundee is going to say, "Holy shit, you're a total badass!" And it is X-Files weird because there are three of you...YOU'RE THE LONE GUNMEN.

    I'm pretty sure you're Byers, the one who always wears a suit.

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    1. Gah, kids are such jerkwads. It if makes you feel any better I thought boys' nuts were acorns stuffed down their pants and I always thought boys were dumb for putting food in their underwear. My misconception came from both a very "mature" older neighborhood girl and the Chip and Dale cartoons which always had acorns in them. When my brother said his nuts itched I always thought, "So take them out... idiot."

      And, does a sweatsuit count?

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    2. Weirdly enough that does make me feel better because it reminds me that we all had weird misconceptions and things we didn't know. And that we were all jerkwads.
      And a sweatsuit definitely counts. You're too young to be Frohike and too classy to be Langly, so you've gotta be the middle one by default.

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  3. I seem to attract people that share TMI. At the store the other day, I realized there's no nice way to tell someone to shut the hell up, about the kidney stones already.

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    1. I would love to be waiting in line at the store and hear someone behind me say, "Would you PLEASE shut the hell up about your kidney stones?" Listening to other people have awkward conversations is the best kind of human interaction out there.

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  4. Hey-- where can I pre-order your new book, "Everyone Bleeds"? Because I would buy it based on the name alone. And I'm glad you've hit it off with your co-workers. Because if you're going to be spending a third of your life with someone, it always helps if you can get along with that person. What if you were writing right now, "Oh my God, I've found the anti-matter version of myself at my new job. Kill me now!"

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    1. I was just thinking the other day what my catchy phrase would be if I ever wanted to start selling merchandise or maybe write a book. Thanks to you Gina, it's settled! And, I didn't really think this job thingy was going to take up a whole third of my time... Maybe it's time to reevaluate. I've already been employed for a week and I feel very panic attacky.

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