yalandarose

July 25, 2011

Are We All Slackers?

Filed under: work — Tags: , , — yalandarose @ 9:50 pm

While I was at work today, I realized I spent a lot of time on this site, and was wondering how I would personally rate myself as an employee. I know in an interview, I would say I am a motivated hard-worker, but after assessing my performance today, is that really true? Do I have more days like this than I realize?
By the amount of updates during the standard working hours, I know I can’t be the only one. Why do we have the deserve mentality that we command top dollar and great benefits when we are basically just slacking off?
My work office doubles into my home office as I make personal calls, pay my bills, plan social outings, and coordinate events away from work. It’s nice that technology has stream lined my workload such that I have time to focus on other things besides work at work.
Hopefully, I am just having one of those days at work, and not one of those tenures.

July 18, 2011

Green Water Bottles a Nuissance

Filed under: environment — Tags: , , — yalandarose @ 3:02 pm

The green leafy label on my water bottle indicates that my bottled water has now gone green. Don’t get me wrong, I am just as eco-friendly as the next person, but the 50% less packaging has turned my water bottle into a squeezy.
Squeezies are usually used to relieve stress. However, when taking the first sip of my ice cold beverage, it’s stressful to be covered in a lap full of ice cold water or nearly drown because the pressure I would normally apply to lift my drink is now creating a glacier cold eruption up my nostrils.
I understand the concept of going green is to conserve and reduce waste, but as a daily bottled water drinker, I’m not sure how much of the earth’s depleting drinkable water has been wasted in my lap, my desk, or sinus cavity.
The flimsy plastic bottles have suddenly given me a super human grip which I hope won’t be to my watered-down demise.

July 14, 2011

Thief in the Pew

Filed under: religious humor — Tags: , , , — yalandarose @ 4:43 pm

“Can I borrow your program” I was asked in hushed tones during the middle of church service.

“Sure,” I whispered back cheerfully as my unexpected giving.

As the service progressed, I reached down for my program only to learn that the program borrower was now fanning herself with it.

OK, so she’s hot. It is a packed house. I’ll be patient.  It’s a virtue.

A few more hymns later, I wondered when the sermon was going to start.

I reached down again.  Nothing. The program borrower has now loaned out my church program to the person sitting next to her.

Now I’m starting to get annoyed. But I realize I’m in church, not a ball game, so my only recourse is to forgive, for she knows not what she does or apparently whose program she’s borrowed.

The loaner gets an update on the remaining order of service and thankfully hands it back – to the borrower.

The borrower reopens the program to take a quick glimpse.  I find myself now looking over her shoulder to see what’s about to happen next – apparently not having my program returned.

The associate minister gets up to say a few words and the borrower’s child becomes antsy.

“Here, now hush!” The borrower shushes to her child as she hands her a pen to doodle all over my program to keep her occupied.

Now I have had enough.

“Excuse me, would you mind returning my program?” I asked before it was defaced.

“Huh? Oh… sure!” The borrower said awkwardly as if she had been startled.

“Do you want my tithe envelope and my hymnal too?” in a tone as if I was mugging her mid-service.

“Oh no! This is plenty, thank you. I just wanted to know where we were in the service. But you’re more than welcome to use it again if you need it!” Why has she made me so defensive?

Although the borrower interrupted my worship experience to steal my program, somehow, I felt as if I was the one being judged.

The benediction was a little tense as we were reminded by the pastor to love our neighbors.

It really is better to give than to receive.

July 11, 2011

Country Church

Filed under: religious humor — Tags: , , — yalandarose @ 6:39 pm

We were worlds apart when my husband and I met. He was the school’s football star and I was the class nerd.  He was the social butterfly, and I was just, well, a fly on the wall. His favorite spread was creamy peanut butter and I was partial to chunky fruit jelly.

So naturally, in the way of most couples who have nothing in common, we decided to tie our attraction with a knot in holy matrimony and at least share the same last names.

With the odds of our marriage ending in court, we opted for a change of scenery. Churches to my fiancé and family pallbearer were synonymous to funerals so I suggested that he think of happy thoughts when reminded that we were together “till death…”

Attending church was a weekly part of my prenuptial routine, so I decided that my first official duty as his first lady was not to change my husband but to save him.

“You know the game comes on today.”  My husband protested after I announced we would be spending our first Sunday in church instead of on the couch.

“What’s more important, the game or God?”

Realizing he lost the argument like a player who just lost the game, he headed reluctantly to the shower.

“How much longer is this going to last?” said the Stickler-for-time Catholic to the When-the-Spirit-hits-you Baptist during service.

“Hush, we still have Communion!” whispered the When-the-Spirit-hits-you Baptist patiently directing the Stickler back to the service.

Knowing nothing about the order of the Baptist rituals, the Stickler-for-time Catholic proceeded to the front of the church before being told that Communion was not self-service at the Spirit’s church.

“That’s it?!” The Stickler whispered in disbelief at the size of his symbolic last meal.  “Well, I guess this will have to hold me over ‘til lunch,” before digesting the whole meal with a couple of swallows and a burp.

The Spirit-hitting Baptist also had to swallow the urge to swat the Stickler on the back of the head. The church had not yet been invited to re-enact the Last Supper, and the Stickler missed the symbolism translating it literally into an appetizer by the sound of his belch.

I looked around to determine if anyone had noticed his transgression and like the woman caught in the very act, he was judged.

I babbled nonsensically to a fellow parishioner, “I come to church all the time. It’s my heathen of a husband who would chase unleavened bread down with a shot of unfermented wine!” Still, she stared at us like two country bumpkins sitting next to her on the pew.

Since it was symbolism, I made my husband pretend to still have a piece of the broken bread and a cup running over when he munched on air and threw back the empty, disposable shot glass when the minister finally invited us to partake.

Sitting between the parishioner who crucified our reputation with her cross looks and my husband arriving early at the Last Supper, I felt like a failure in my first official duty as his first lady of trying to save my husband’s soul that day. We made it back home in time for the game, so I guess to him, all wasn’t lost after all.

Homewrecker

Filed under: life — Tags: , , , — yalandarose @ 1:51 pm

My husband’s biggest fantasies involved me awakening him with sexy underwear. Well this morning, he got his wish.

“Whose bra is this?” He heard me ask angrily as he was blinded by the nylon and straps of the brassiere I threw in his face.

“What?” he responded tossing the bra aside as if he was being stripped teased.

“I said whose bra is this?” I demanded again grabbing the brassiere he tossed aside, dangling the cups in his face like a used jockstrap.

“Yours?” He responded not sure if he was answering a trick question.

“It’s not mine because I don’t wear this size, and I don’t like this style!”

“Well, I don’t know. Maybe it’s for your mom.” He suggested as he was dozing back off dismissing me in his dreams.

I was infuriated. Even after being confronted with evidence of adultery, my husband never attempted to get out of bed to save his marriage!

“Why would my mom’s bra be in my underwear drawer… and if it is, you’re a sicko!”

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you.” My husband said as he rolled over on his stomach, turning his back to me.

Realizing I was late for work, I continued getting dressed with the underwear and clothes I recognized, making a mental note to search every drawer – mine and his – for more underwear and clothes I didn’t.

During the commute, while I was consumed with thoughts of adultery, child custody, visitation and divorce, I was trying to remember when my husband would have the opportunity to defile our bed and become incensed at the nerve of the homewrecker he slept with to toss her underwear in my drawer. Was she trying to hide it in haste as he slipped her out of the back door? Or was she deliberately marking her territory confident I would leave once found? None of the scenarios were making sense as I thought we had a pretty solid marriage. I replayed my husband’s nonchalant responses in my mind. “Yours?” he responded earlier. With a 30-minute commute ahead of me, I had time to logically contemplate his answers. Why would I even wear a homely bra like that to begin with, especially a size bigger?

I knew why. I was sitting at the red light, when the light bulb went off in my mind. I wore a bigger bra while I was nursing our daughter. It looks like I may have some explaining to do.

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