Monthly Archives: March 2009

And the madness begins

Final Four tickets

Why yes, those are actual tickets to the Final Four.

It all came together beautifully, really. A project at work that was a major headache became those lovely tickets. Wouldn’t have been a big deal had MSU — the alma mater of both DD and I — not advanced to Detroit.

About three weeks ago, I knew tickets were a possibility. But, not being a huge basketball fan, I wasn’t willing to shell out $200+ per ticket unless MSU made it, and we’d have to order tickets before we knew for sure. DD and I discussed it and had pretty much decided we weren’t going to buy them. Except, then I accidentally missed the deadline for buying them and was told I could purchase them past the deadline, and after MSU made it into the Final Four.


The funny and perhaps slightly awkward thing is that my parents are joining DD and I. Originally I thought I could only buy two tickets and had been operating under that assumption. This weekend, I found out it was 4, and happened to mention it to my parents. My mom (who’s probably the least into basketball of anyone I know) jumped at the chance as she watched MSU smoke Louisville. Not thinking about the 20 other friends who would want to go with DD and I, and not wanting to say no to the family, I quickly agreed to buy the other two tickets for them.

Today, I thought twice about it and realized how many other people could have gone with us, and felt a little weird. Felt a little like one of the uncool kids who does everything with her parents. You know, the back-in-high-school uncool kid. DD seemed fine with the arrangement, and it’s not like they don’t know each other. After further reflection, I realized that my parents did pay for me to be a Spartan and my dad always complains that I never took him to any sporting events when I was in school, so I suppose they deserve it.

So this Saturday night, DD and I will be cheering on our Spartans, throwing a couple beers back — with my parents. Exciting, no?



Filed under career, DD (aka My Man), Detroit

Happy Bloggy Bday!

Exactly 365 days ago, on a whim after a long coffee/writing date with a friend, A Super Girl was born.

Since then, I’ve discussed everything from the crazy-crazy to the mundane.

I’ve visited a strip club for the first time — and ended up on stage.

I’ve taken the first vacay with DD and said the first I Love Yous.

I’ve survived the economic downtown (for now).

Through it all, you’ve been there (here?). Offering a comment of support, or simply reading and sending positive thoughts.

When I started this thing, I had high hopes of becoming “Internet famous”. After all, when you start publishing your work, isn’t that one of the reasons you do so?

A year later, I’m not so famous. My readership has increased, but only slightly. My piece of the Internet is a small piece, but it’s a comfortable piece. I know what it takes to be famous, but quite honestly? I just don’t have that kind of energy. I’m satisfied with this little blog and am so happy to have “met” all the people I have.

But I know I haven’t met all of you. Maybe you’re lurking in the corner, taking something away from the blogs I write, but never feeling motivated to say anything.

So in honor of a year of talking about myself to the vast Interwebs, here’s your chance. As you’ve read about the super fabulous life of this super girl, what’s been missing? What burning questions about me have you wondered? OK, maybe you’ve never wondered anything. Either way, make something up. Because I’m a comment whore like that.

Whether you comment on every post or have never stepped out of the corner, it’s an un-official de-lurking day up in here.

Gimme your best questions and I’ll give you my best answers.


Filed under About, DD (aka My Man), glass half full, rambling nature

Disturbing dreams

A few nights ago, I had a dream that I was cheating on DD. In the dream, I was spending the night with an ex. There wasn’t passion-filled sex, but it was still cheating.


The dream was so vivid that I woke up a little off-kilter, feeling like it had been real. I rolled over to see DD sleeping soundly next to me. I held him close and drifted back to sleep, glad real life was as it should be.


This is the second cheating dream I’ve had, and frankly, I’m a bit worried.


This has becoming a recurring dream. So do that mean I wish I was with an ex instead?


Nah. There may be occasion where I wish the ex and I would have worked, but I do believe there’s more than one person out there for everyone, and we’ve both found our other “one”. Currently, I don’t have relenting, conscious wishes that I was still with him. Plus, both times I’ve had this dream, I’ve woken up happy that DD is next to me. Relieved, even, that my life is what it is and that I wasn’t actually cheating.


Just to be sure, I did a bit of Googling and found that dreams about cheating actually mean that I’m feeling guilty about something else – and it might not even be related to my relationship. I have no idea what it is about, but…




Except, well, I talk in my sleep. I thought I had stopped, but DD and I got to talking a while back and he mentioned that I still do it. He said it’s never coherent, just mumbling.


Given these recent dreams, I’m just hoping my mumbling doesn’t turn into screaming another man’s name while in the middle of a heated dream.


I fear that might take some explaining.


Filed under Uncategorized

The one where I use f*ck. A lot.

Well, I’m back. And apparently with a vengeance. So sorry if you’re easily offended. I’m not one to drop the F bomb, at least not in my writing. But these letters (and my general case of the Mondays) warrant such vulgarities.


Dear work IT guys,


I love you. I really do. You hook me up with good stuff and talk me through all my computer issues. And I totally know it wasn’t your fault that the entire e-mail system crashed over the weekend, royally f*cking our Mondays up.


But, does it really take you four days to look up a software price for me? Seriously? Perhaps instead of just telling me the software I want is expensive, you could instead tell me how much “expensive” is. Instead of acting like you know better than me and thinking that I don’t need said software, you could instead realize that my job has changed in the past week and I now maybe need this software to do my job better. It’s not like I ask for things just for fun. (Well, except for a laptop. I really want a laptop.)


So, tomorrow, instead of putting me off yet again, could you please just look up the cost of the f*cking software and tell me what it is. Don’t judge my reasoning, just tell me the damn price and let me and my boss make a decision on whether I need it or not.


I promise I won’t bug you about a laptop again for at least a week.



Your favorite marketing girl




Dear Landlord S.,


Well, we’ve now finished Day 2 of me attempting to contact you. And I’m not just talking about a call here or a voice mail there. I’m talking a call-you-every-hour-between-10-and-5 type of contacting you.


And you haven’t answered.


I swear Landlord S., you have no idea how much mental and physical energy I have to waste when I need to get in touch with you. This is why I never contact you.


And hence why my bedroom AC unit has been broken since I moved in.


You did admit you are “lackadaisical” when I moved in. So part of this is my fault. But to not answer a ringing phone at least once in the 20 times I’ve called you in the past 2 days? That’s a new level of lazy.


Mostly, I try to avoid you and it works. Yet, on occasion, things arise where I really need your help. A broken AC unit is an inconvenience. An exterior door that is peeling paint all over my “foyer” and looks like shit? That’s something that needs to be fixed. A DTE Energy letter telling me they haven’t been able to read my meter since December and have been billing me an estimated bill ever since? That’s something that needs to be addressed.


I need you to be f*cking available. I do not like setting an MS Outlook reminder to go off every hour telling me to call you again.


And yet this is what I’ve resorted to. And it’s still not f*cking working.


I’ve really gotten to like my little ghetto fabulous apartment and its very cheap rent. But if you don’t get your shit together, I will move. I’m no longer bound to the ghetto by my income and I will take my rent check somewhere else. It will hurt my pocketbook, but my Outlook reminder list will thank me.


You cash my checks every month; you can take my phone call.


Hoping for a winner on Day 3,

Your pushover tenant


Filed under Landlord S, rants

Lived to tell the tale

I survived my company’s layoffs.


[Insert the release of three months of held breath, here.]


This is my second major layoff at the company and surprisingly, it wasn’t as rough this time around. I had DD prepared to deal with a sobbing, snotty mess – and that was if I kept my job – because history told me that’s how I deal with layoffs.


Last time, it was my department that took the biggest hit. I found myself at an ex’s house, sobbing, before going to my parents and crying some more. I’d kept my job, but so many of my closest colleagues hadn’t.


This time, things were spread out across departments and functions, and while I was sad to see people go and it was a difficult day, it was a different kind of difficult. I didn’t spend the day wiping away snot-filled sobs.


However, since this all happened on a Monday, I’m lacking in blog material for the week. Over the past couple weeks I’ve gotten into a nice little routine of writing on Monday nights and preparing the blog for the week. Instead of writing after work yesterday, I made a pit stop at the bar with co-workers, and then raced home to cook dinner for DD and I before spending the last few hours of the day lounging on the couch together.


No writing there.


The week is already moving quickly. There are a few things to adjust to at work, not to mention the past three months’ worth of projects at work and in life that my ice-cream devouring state of stress-induced lethargy had pushed aside as a coping mechanism.


Long story short, don’t expect much from me this week. But never fear, this super girl shall return.


Filed under career, DD (aka My Man), glass half full

An unpopular confession

I hate St. Patrick’s Day.

It’s not the holiday, perse. I love the color green, don’t have any issues with the Irish, and am always looking for a reason to celebrate something. I guess it’s the way in which this particular holiday is celebrated. The early bar day? Ugh. The green beer? Eww.

Don’t get me wrong. I welcome the chance to have fun and celebrate. But to do it by drinking myself into oblivion? Not so much.

It’s not that I don’t like alcohol. A bottle of wine is a great way to unwind. A good martini or rum and coke is a welcome drink to sip on. But getting wasted is just not my thing anymore. Neither is beer. I liked it in college when it was cheap. But now it just makes me feel bloated and sick after just one glass.  Now that I have expendable income, I’d much rather pay a little extra to have a glass of wine or a cocktail and avoid the icky beer feeling. But those options don’t work so well with green food coloring.

I really think my hatred of St. Patty’s Day stems from my general hatred of bars. And that hatred has many reasons, best conveyed in list form:

  1. They up my risk for lung cancer. Here in Michigan we haven’t yet adopted the forward-thinking so many other fair cities have by outlawing smoking in public venues. This alone often makes me consider moving. I hate how I smell after the bar, I hate inhaling others’s bad habits (I don’t care if you do it, I just don’t want to be an unwilling participant), and I hate the feeling of not being able to breathe clean air for long periods of time.
  2. They require me to dress up. And often wear heels. Which I don’t do so well. Just this past weekend, I made the poor decision of wearing 3″ heels out. They looked good with the outfit and kept my jeans from dragging. Except the bar we went to was packed and I found myself standing for 3 hours. Even if I wore tennis shoes, it’d be painful for me to stand for 3 hours. Which leads me to…
  3. They’re packed. And loud. I enjoy meeting up with friends for a drink,  if we can sit down and have an actual conversation. I do not enjoy standing for long periods of time. I do not enjoy having to press my lady bits against strangers as I force my way through the crowd to take a pee. And I do not enjoy the inability to speak the next day because my friends and I had to yell at each other to have a conversation.
  4. They require me to be up past my bed time. And I’m too old for that shit. I can handle 1 or 2 a.m. if I’m just sitting around relaxing. I can’t handle it if I’m inhaling smoke, wearing heels, AND yelling over the din. It all makes me very tired, very quickly.

I think I’m in the minority with this  hatred. My boyfriend loves the bar and is looking forward to the annual St. Patty’s Day bar crawl his friend’s brother throws in Chicago. All of his friends also love a good bar night. My friends are a little less barfly-esque, but as 20-somethings, it’s still a common meeting place.

Obviously, my penchant is not for bars and St. Patrick’s Day really is the epitome of bar love. So I guess over the years I’ve decided the holiday just isn’t for me.

So while the boy is trekking to Chicago this weekend to drink heavily and pretend to be Irish for a day, I will be staying home. While you guys are out enjoying green beer and plastic leprechaun hats on Tuesday, I will (hopefully) be working. (Side note: I find out on Monday if I still have a job. How brutal is it that they’re hanging it over our heads for the weekend? Well, really, the past three months and a weekend. Ugh.)

Maybe I’ll at least don a plastic leprechaun hat. Those are fun.


Filed under About, DD (aka My Man), rants

My cash cache

I lived at home for over 2 years after college. My kidney transplant necessitated it at first (I had the surgery one month after graduating college), but I definitely stayed long past what I had planned. In fact, it was only after my mother told me I wasn’t allowed to spend the night with boys while I lived under her roof that I finally got up off my bum and found a place of my own.

Yes, it took losing access to pre-marital sex for me to move out, but whatever works, right?

The upside of all that time at home was that I built up quite the little nest egg of cash which gives me a sense of financial security that I really appreciate given today’s economy.

Currently, my cash cache is sitting in a savings account. Basically the equivalent of stuffing it under a mattress because I just realized the interest rate has plummeted in the past year. (Thank you, shitty economy!) It was a reminder that lately I’ve been thinking I need to diversify my “investments” a bit. You know, past the mattress. I’m not very good at figuring this stuff out, so I think it’s time to seek out a financial planner, even though I’m not really looking forward to paying someone to do this for me. Remember, I’m cheap.

Related to all of these thoughts running through  my head are other major expenses in my future. Namely, whether I will have a job next week. We should know about layoffs in the coming weeks. If I’m laid off, all thoughts of investing some of my stash are out the window because it will need to be liquid enough support me.

But if I still have my job come April, I think it’s time to make some decisions. Broaden my financial horizons and stop stuffing dollar bills in my mattress. It’s not getting me anywhere.


Filed under decisions, Hmm