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I can’t remember if I told you all last year about how my company offers a health and wellness program during the summer. Last year I was hired into the company about halfway through it, but I still signed up because the incentives were nice. You get $100 if you complete the program, along with weekly prizes for meeting goals. The prizes are pretty awesome too, and not just a “chance to win” type of deal – last year I won a massage, a gift card to a health foods store, and sunglasses. The best part about the program is that each person also gets a health coach. Last year my health coach was Gary. He’s about 65 and I’m pretty sure was an ex-drill sergeant for the military. Gary thought I was a slacker and basically hated my guts because of it.

The program works like this, you go in to the health and wellness office to sign up for the program, they assign you a coach and within the next week or so you meet with the coach to get your supplies, set your goals, and get all the info. Last year when I met with Gary I was a little taken aback because he was so fierce. They give you a little pedometer watch that tracks your heart rate and God knows what else. Gary put the fear in me when he said YOU DO NOT TAKE THIS OFF FOR ANY REASON! So I set my daily fitness goals, which was like a measly 2 or 3 miles, and Gary wrote down a grocery list and meal plan for me. I followed the meal plan for like half a day because Gary is old and put crap like calf’s liver on it. I mean first of all, if I was up for eating calf’s liver where would I even buy such a thing? Second, no. The other piece to this puzzle is that every morning by 11am I was to send Gary a list of everything I ate the previous day so he could track my progress. Gary got real pissed when I started eating Wendy’s and pizza in place of calf’s liver and brussel sprouts. He also told me absolutely NO BEER, which is a rule I broke within hours of meeting with him. It got so bad that he would start calling me around lunchtime to see if I made sure to pack my veggies. Ok, DAD. However, I did meet my fitness goals so I won the prizes I mentioned before, but that wasn’t good enough for Gary.

So this year when I went into the wellness office to sign up I asked the Program Coordinator to not assign me to Gary. She had a good old laugh, because she knew what I had gone through the previous year. Then she was all, oh no, I HAVE JUST THE PERFECT COACH FOR YOU! So I was all awesome, wish me God speed if that person is anything at all like Gary. So Friday at lunch I walked over to the office again to meet with my coach, Trey.

I walked into Trey’s office and to my surprise he was young, and really hot. So we went over my fitness and food plan, luckily Trey gave me a list of normal foods to eat and he was being all yeah lets run together and saying he could show me how to make some cool dishes with the foods he had put on my grocery list, so we exchanged numbers. As I was sitting there I was thinking, well having HIM as a coach will certainly be some motivation not to screw it up this time. So before I left I asked Trey what his deal was, how he landed his job ended up in our city, etc. He told wme that he had worked at our company as an intern while he was in college, and when he graduated 2 weeks ago they promoted him. So at best, he’s probably 23. And I’m still 28. Christ.

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Captain Single!

HO-LA! First and foremost can we have a moment of silence for Lucky’s lappy.  R.I.P. lappy.  Secondly, I would like to apologize for my leave of absence, I’ve been doing research for the blog.  Research of the male anatomy.  Badabing!

Last time in my dream world The Captain was large and in charge with a girlfriend.  Everything is the same.  Except sans girlfriend.  I think. I’ll take a moment for you to do your happy dance.

We had our first date Sunday night and since then we have gotten into approximately 434242340593 arguments.  But they are hot.  We went to a steakhouse, I ordered steak he ordered chicken.  We can all see who wears the pants in this relationship. That’s me, Gizzy the pants wearer.  And we went to see social network followed by a hot make out sesh and some heavy petting.  We went on our 2nd date Monday night for frozen yogurt and another movie.  All is right with the world and now we can get married and have lots of babies with little baby abs right? No.

Yesterday he called me slightly less than a gazillion times because he has a nasty butt dialing habit, so every day I get about 4 voicemails where I can listen to him at the bank, or singing along to Miley in his car, or even him hanging out with a girl. Which is what happened yesterday.  I couldn’t decipher the whole conversation since the message was a little muffled but from what I rounded up it sounded like him and Mystery Woman were having a conversation involving the words, “You need to try harder,” coming from her.  Then I get a text from Captain’s Ex Crystal asking if I can cover her shift on Sunday.  I say sure and ask if The Captain has the materials and she says, let me ask him, and .2 seconds later responds with yep he says he does.   Riddle me this, Mystery Woman + Captain + Convo about something where The Captain needs to “try harder” + Captain’s Crystal getting a response out of The Captain asking if he has my materials BEFORE The Captain responds to my text asking why his butt wants to talk to me so bad = The Captain did not really break up with Captain’s Crystal and they were hanging out.  This is just a hunch.  So I think I have fallen for some trickery.  And I’m ok with it, because you know what I got a steak, a bottle of wine, some custard, and 2 movies out of it.   So all is fair in love and war as long as I’m getting free stuff.

Last night I go to where The Captain and The Captain’s Crystal go to school to see my friend who is in visiting her parents and swing by The Captain’s to get my Captain garb for the weekend.  You all know how this story goes, he looked good, things happened, clothes got ripped, condoms were snapping and babies were made.  That’s how it went in my head.  But what really happened was he got uber pissed off because I told him I couldn’t hang out with him anymore, sober.  Yeah, why I couldn’t just leave it as I can’t hang out with you anymore?  I had to throw in sober. When I’m drunk, of course I’ll come running back for some hot hot lovin’.  So instead of telling me how he really feels he takes it out on the box he’s shoving into my trunk.

About an hour later he calls and I get this voicemail, “Look I’m angry about this because I didn’t just want to have sex with you I wanted to build something with you…” he rambled on and on about how I’m the most awesome person he’s ever met, but you don’t want to hear about that.  The first line is what is pertinent to the rest of the story.   I think this is the first time any guy has ever actually pulled that line on me.  So, he’s 22 (yes, I’m still 25) and he doesn’t just want sex? He must be gay.  It’s all a cover up, this whoooole thing is just so I will go and tell all of our Captain pals about how vagina crazy he is.  Anyway, at the end of the voicemail he yammers on about how he is going to take everything slow because he wants to “get to know me” I think what he really wants is to get to know my boobs.  But, I’ll keep thinking of him as a playa playa and see what else I can conjure up about Mystery Woman and if he really broke up with Captain’s Crystal.  I hope you all know I do this for the blog, and essentially for you.  I don’t love drama so much that I go out looking for it. BAHAHA I almost had myself convinced on that one.  That’s a lie, I love drama.  Bring. It. On.

In other news I got rejected by Gargles Swab.  That means they think I’m a loser in layman’s terms and didn’t give me the job.   I see now why they had to have all that security because I want nothing more than to bust in there right now and demand that they give me $75.  $50 for gas and $25 for emotional suffering.  I think it would hold up in court.  And I bet they would give it to me. Especially when they found me hand cuffed to Josh Duhamel’s desk demanding a good pillaging or money.  I’m not really this big of a whore.  I just like to joke about it.  That’s not true either, I am.  Actually I’m not.  I’m just going to stop.

I missed teen mom last night. So naturally I’m so pissed off today that I want to punch someone’s lights out.  Here’s the thing with having children.  My mom wasn’t a teen mom, she was actually 42 when she had my sister but she did something wrong.  Yesterday my sister pulls me into her room to show me the 5 Justin Bieber posters she hung on her wall

Then my roommate (mom) comes in and tells me that she pretends Justin Bieber is her brother and Selena Gomez is her sister.  I mean, so what the fuck am I? The red headed step child? Guess so! Because then my roommate (mom) tells me that when my sister wakes up in the middle of the night she asks what Justin Bieber is doing and my roommate (mom) says, “Oh he’s in his room playing his guitar.”  And when they went to Khols the other day she was asking if “bubby” could stay in the car.  Personally, I think my mom needs to start checking her backpack for drugs.  Because the kid is on some psychedelics.  And here’s the other thing, if whatever she is on makes her see Justin Bieber, Lucky and I want some.

I’m going to bid you ado with this, my future family portrait.

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Drumroll please! badadadadadaddadaaaaaaaa… herrrreeees Jooooohnny!!!

I don’t know what in the Lindsay Lohan is wrong with me, I can’t sleep and stay up until 5 am every night! Sleeeep all dayyyy driinkkk all night…I’m in Miami, TRICK! My new thing is going to be to use disgruntled celebrity names instead of actual cuss words, I recently learned that cussing is unattractive. Gasp!

Kids, today I am going to introduce you to what might be the greatest character we have yet to meet here at Cocktails at Tiffany’s, my stepdad.   Now before I start ripping into him let me say that I like my stepdad; he’s a nice guy, supports his family and me, yada yada yada…he just gets on my nerves because we are total opposites.  And I think I get on his too.  And by total opposites I mean I think fashion and drinking are the bees knees and he thinks ripping the insides out of a deer and mounting it’s antlers on the garage wall to display to all his hick friends and then eating the meat is all there is to live for.

The other day Lucky and I had an ichat conversation that concluded with us deciding I should introduce the redneck himself because the stuff he nags me about is hilarious and completely irrelevant/he is the only person in the entire world that would get their panties in a twist over this stuff.

When I was in high school I never would have called my house “the hang out” even though I desperately wanted it to be.  At most I probably only ever had 3 friends over at the same time.  Usually it was just Lucky though.  When my friends started driving stepdad decides to enforce some new “house rules.”  Most parents say, “Hey you and your friends can sit in your room and do your crack cocaine all you want but no one leaves.  Keys stay in the basket!” My stepdad says,”Hey tell your bratty little friends not to park their bmw’s infront of the garage where the dodge is parked.” I don’t, so he makes this:

A NO PARKING SIGN. Which 7 years after I have graduated high school still remains in effect.  Typically if my friends were over we weren’t going anywhere (with the exception of Lucky and I driving out to the lake to smoke our wood tipped swishers and listen to JTimb’s Cry Me a River whilst stalking the men we loved at their lakefront homes) and the friend would be there to move their own car if he needed to jet out for a big hunting emergency. The parking fiasco still goes on to this day, even if he doesn’t need to go anywhere its still, “OHHHH the suits are coming over with their Book of Mormon to try and convert you? Tell them not to park their bikes in front of the no parking sign hmmkay?”  Lucky can we get a count on how many times we had to move your car in high school? Did we ever do it drunk? Check!

I need to comment on how long I’ve been waiting to share this post, what was holding up production was the picture of the no parking sign.  Every time I trotted outside with my little white macbook to take the picture someone was out there, its like they know. The whole family just left while I was ichatting with Lucky so when I told her of course instantly she says, “THE PICTURE THE PICTURE TAKE THE PICTURE!” I had to go through a lot of strenuous work for this bidness too.  The garage door was up so I had to pull it down, position the computer, and raise the door back up all while my snooty neighbors watched.  I’m sure they think I’m a freak but they better watch their ‘tudes or they’ll be next! I’m excited to hear about what rumors start flying around about me, probably that I’m a drug dealer. I wish.

But back to crazy, more recently one summer that I was home from college and didn’t have to work while stepdad was slacking off and didn’t go to work (which he often plays hooky and I haven’t quite figured it out yet – Lucky says he’s on the Gizzy plan since he’s always home the same days as me) when I decide to make myself some lunch.  We’ll say it was probably a frozen pizza but I can’t be exactly sure, judging from my love handles that’s what it was.  I do want any normal red-blooded American who wants to eat a frozen pizza does, I preheat the oven at 450 degrees and put my pizza on a pizza pan and wait.  Stepdad runs into the kitchen hands flying in the air, gasping for breath, having a meltdown about me making this frozen pizza.  I’m all like, “What the french toast man it’s a pizza, I’ll put the leftovers in the fridge and go buy a new one.” He can barely get out the words telling me to shut the oven off.  I flip it off thinking there is a gas leak and I’m about to blow us all to smithereens over a digiorno when he tells me that no that there is not in fact a gas leak or anything wrong with the stove he just doesn’t want me to turn the oven on because it’s summer.  Yes, because it’s summer.  “Oooookkkk,” I said, “Why does it matter if it’s summer?” “Just try not to use the stove in the summer ok, it makes the house hot and then I have to turn the a/c down to get the house cool.” So you’re telling me that for 4 months out of every year we can’t cook in the oven? Well what in the flipper is the point of having one?! Jesus H. And now, now not only are you telling me I can’t use the stove for 4 months out of the year, now you’re making me waste a $6 frozen pizza, which is probably more than what it would have cost for you to turn the air down 5 degrees for the 20 minutes that it cooked. This is just ludicrous.  I just moved back home right, rule still stands.  My mom bought my favorite food, TGI Friday’s mozzarella cheese sticks, at the grocery yesterday and I had to be like, “Why in the hell did you buy those, I can’t use the goddamned oven to make them, they’re just gonna go bad for Christ’s sake!!!”

The blame off all things crazy is starting to get put more on my little sister than me these days, but she’s got in under control.  For a 6 year old she can handle her shit. She calls crazy out.  Apparently stepdad barks about the tv getting left on while she uses the restroom or goes into the kitchen to fix herself some cheetos.  I would imagine that powering the tv off and powering it back up every time you went to take a pee is using more tv life and energy then just leaving it on.  But what do I know? I’m not crazy.  One day I’m out putting duct tape on the hoopty so I can drive in some peace and quiet when I see my sister come outside raising cane about stepdad’s tv in his den getting left on.  I bust out into a cackle/semi-snort and get put right back into place by stepdad because my car is leaking oil onto his freshly painted blacktop.  The oil is black, the blacktop is black…. so buy me a new car..?

Obviously that wouldn’t fly on Mr. cheapskate, I have had to buy all my own cars and sell my plasma to buy beer while my sister could pay her way through college in barbies.   That’s not the point though.  Yesterday my mom brought home left over pizza from a party they had in her office.  Mom eats pizza for dinner, sister eats pizza for dinner, I come down snorting and shoving my way through condiments in the fridge, “FI FIE FO FUM, WHERE DAT PIZZA!?” As I’m heating some up for myself (IN THE MICROWAVE) stepdad walks in and says, “Oh well had I known that pizza was going to be so popular I would’ve had some.” Really?! Take the goddamned pizza. Just take it, and eat it all up.  Not to mention there was still another whole entire pizza in the refrigerator but something has to be said about me not exactly being anorexic while I live at home, I think he half expects me to eat slop out of a trough in the backyard.

Tell me, how would you feel if you had this coming at you with flailing arms near the open flame of the oven:

Ah, a denim jumpsuit.  Typically we’re dealing with ankle socks with mandals and a sleeveless shirt but we’ve got to class it up when we go out to eat for mothers day/  Well I’ve gotta go put in my final requests for what I want my room to look like in hell.

P.S. Coming soon is The People of Cocktails At Tiffany’s page, so we can all keep our shit straight.

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