I wish I could go full force and celebrate without the doom of Monday looming over me, but alas, I am a terrible liar. Then again, this excruciating turn of events has given me TWO, count em TWO, opportunities for gluttonous merrymaking.

In this first installment, I have held back from riotous, public displays of abandon, and instead opted for private caveman style gorging. For the last two days, I have mainly subsisted on fried chicken, candy, and wine. This heady combination of animal fat, sugar, and grown up grape juice has left me with several deep thoughts:

1. The FDA, CDC, TABC, DEA, and ATF should all investigate Frenchy’s Fried Chicken for injecting vodka marinated heroin into their glorious, crunchy birds. Because, although I’ve never taken a ride on the powdery white horse, I can only imagine the journey is a good as sinking your teeth into a piece of Frenchy’s crunchy, salty, spicy little pieces of heaven. I have this image of a SWAT team breaking down the back door to Frenchy’s and revealing a gang of tatted out chickens with bandannas juicing up with said concoction. The ring leader of which, attempts to bribe the (insert acronym here) government official with a  member of his brethren and a promise to never crisp up in this neighborhood again.
2. Black licorice makes a great palate cleanser and really helps bring out the subtle nuances between sour gummy worms, sour ribbons, and sour patch kids.
3. My spelling is more deplorable than normal after a vat of wine and a sugar crash.
4. My capacity to lapse into a nauseous chicken fried coma and then wake up craving it in it’s cold, day-old state is disturbing. Will I EVER tire of it?

Read the next post Gluttonous Merrymaking, Part Deux

So here are some of the things I plan to give up. Let’s see if it actually happens!

1. No Pedicures – I normally get a pedicure every seven weeks – at the same time I get my hair done. This really sucks because my pedicurist ROCKS! It took forever to find someone who doesn’t make me bleed like a stuck pig and/or jump out of the chair because of my delicate and ticklish Princess Feet.
2. No Shopping – Well… no major shopping. Well… no shopping at Nordstroms. Okay! Okay! Only shopping at Nordstroms during a sale!
3. Generic Brands – I will enter the plain and sometimes shoddy world of generic brands, but the first time my Safeway Select resealable plastic bag leaks in my purse, I’m going back to Zip Lock and hitting Nordstroms for a replacement Kate Spade!
4. Less Eating Out – By “less” I mean, instead of spending $8452 a month on restaurants, I’ll probably spend $8317 a month. This one will be very difficult, especially since I plan to launch a Houston restaurant critic website soon, and will need to eat out a lot for research purposes (more on the restaurant site later!).
5. Less Massages – Instead of every other week, I’m going to cut back to once a month. You may think I’m joking here, but I’m dead serious. Before I gave up the six figure career, I was getting a massage once a week. (I have back problems.) I think cutting back to every other week was more traumatic on my massage therapist than me. You see, my massage therapist has become a good friend/arm chair psychologist in the last four years, and she went through withdrawal not catching up with us once a week. So now when she comes over, we’ll probably spend half an hour chatting it up before I even get on the table. (And ever since I got Julio The Massage Chair I can’t really justify so many massages.)
6. No Maid Service – Now, this is the only one that makes me want to cry. I can deal without the luxury of a new dress and I don’t really mind doing my own pedicures, but cleaning my own toilet is a fate I never thought I’d come to. I always said I’d live off Ramen noodles before I’d give up my maid service. But (sigh) I feel I should give it a try. You see, I HATE cleaning. I don’t mind picking up and organizing, but I HATE cleaning. Toilets, floors, windows, dusting. I hate the thought of it. I hate doing it. And I get absolutely no satisfaction out of having accomplished a job well done. I love that little cleaning fairies flutter in while I’m at work and magically delete the grim and grunge of our lives. And there’s few things better than having forgot that it’s cleaning day and walking into a surprisingly clean house. AAAHHHH, I will miss it like a crack whore misses her first morning vial.

These are the things I plan to give up, but after a few months of having gnarley toes and a grody toilet, I might be singing a different tune!

If anyone has any tips on making these things a little less painful, I’d be grateful for any advice!

Read the next post Fried Chicken, Candy, and Wine

To: Cleo@ParentsSuck.com
From: She-Ra@IRule.com
Subject: To whore or not to whore, that is the question…

Ms. Manning, Ms. Manning, I have a question!!!

Will you grade my paper?

Meaning, will you look over what I’ve written on my blog so far and tell me when I sound like like grew up in Appalachia? Seriously, I know I shouldn’t worry about it too much because it’s a blog and all, but I haven’t written an English paper since 1997, and could use some technical brushing up. And while my husband is a brilliant man, we disagree a lot on this stuff and need someone of authority to set us straight (and keep us from taking it out on each other with Wii boxing).

As payment for your services (and considering the all the moaning that went on the last time you visited him), I’m thinking you’ll readily whore yourself out for unlimited access to Julio The Massage Chair.

So let me know if this sounds like a reasonable trade. I understand if you’re too busy lately, or find my mindless ramblings too reminisent of your days teaching today’s IQ challenged high school youths.

All the world’s a stage,

She-Ra

Read the next post Gnarly Toes and a Grody Toilet

To put it simply, in the past few days, I have become a different person. I never thought of myself as a stressed out individual, but in the last 72 hours, this barely visible dull film coating everything in my life has just disintegrated. I’m smiling, I’m laughing, I’m playful and carefree. I’m a Celebrex commercial come to life.

In post kiss bliss, he smiles a big goofy grin and says “Yeay! I get a new wife!”

Read the next post To whore, or not to whore, that is the question…

At six o’clock on Monday, after my boss gives me the green light to blow my vacation wad on the rest of the week, I’m walking out of the building and called Husband to tell him the good news. The conversation went something like this:

Me: Hi Honey! I’m on my way home. (Normally I text him this information so he’s already suspicious of the verbal contact. )

Husband: Okaaaaayyy

Me: And I’m not going back to work tomorrow.

Husband: Okaaaaayyy

Me: I’m taking all of my vacation because I’m about 70% sure I’m quitting my job but want to “play jobless” for a few days to be sure (emotional wanting to cry cracking in my voice).

Husband: Okaaaayyy

Me: Okay, so I’ll see you at home.

Husband: Okaaaayyy

Husband knows the kind of mood I’ve been in the previous few days, and being the extremely intelligent and caring husband that he is, he knows exactly how to handle me when I feel I’m coming close to the edge. Fast forward 30 minutes and I’m sitting on the couch getting advice from a friend who’s recently been through a similar situation. I was telling her “I’m 80% sure I’m quitting my job next week,” when Husband comes through the door with a bouquet of my favorite flowers. Damn. He’s good!

Fast forward to nine o’clock, sitting on the couch watching TV (normally I’d be thinking about getting ready for bed at this point), when my friend Amanda calls. The first words out of her mouth are “I broke up with Sam!” I counter with “I’m 85% sure I’m quitting my job next week!”. We sit there in a not-sure-who-gets-to-go-next-silence for a moment. I let her win because, although we both know my leaving the working world is a big deal, her breaking up with her first serious boyfriend since the first Bush was in “power,” trumps by work woes.

After a long conversation rehashing said break up (and making sure that she actually told him she was breaking up with him and didn’t just break up with him in her head like the last few times), I call the only other friend I know who’s done this kind of thing. I tell her I’m 95% sure I’m quitting my job next week, and she immediately hoots and hollers for me. Now, her situation was a little different because she was getting paid severance, but she said it was the best 8 months of her life, and if I’ve got the money I should do it in a heartbeat. She confirms my suspicions of the things I’ll love and the things I’ll hate and leaves me with an enthusiastic “DO IT! DO IT! DO IT!”

Fast forward a couple hours, and I’m in my PJs taking the dog on the balcony of our condo for his puppy pad potty break. I hear voices coming from the pool down below and sure enough it’s my neighbor Mark and his out of town guest.

Mark is on vacation too because he’s going to his bachelor party in Vegas this weekend. It’s midnight at this point so Mark inquires about why I’m not fast asleep. So… at midnight on Monday, standing on the balcony of my downtown condo, I spread my arms and yell into the night “BECAUSE I’M QUITTING MY JOB!”

Fast forward 10 minutes to find me drinking a Gin Pres and doing cannon balls into the pool.

Read the next post “Yeah! I get a new wife!”

On a good day it sounds like a far away dream you had last night. On a bad day you know the exact inflection of how you’ll tell them where they can stick their expense report. And on a really bad day, you just cry in defeat.

So for years, at different points in my career, I’d have these fantasies about saying something to effect of “Take this job and shove it!” (with many added expletives), walk out in a dramatic huff, get in my convertible, and peel away to a sound track of something Tom Pettyish with a touch of Nine Inch Nails. The problem is the fantasy never really progressed past that. I never thought about arriving home wind blown, sunburned and jobless with all this time on my hands.

Last weekend I kind of thought about what would happen when the song ended. Then on Monday,  back at work, I REALLY thought about it. It was like I had opened a can of worms that were now standing on the sidelines of my marathon of life wearing pink baseball hats and yelling “DO IT! DO IT! DO IT!”. Well, instead of listening to the enthusiastic mind worms, the responsible non-parasitic side of myself took over and knew that I needed to take some kind of action, but not as drastic as quitting my job right then and there. Like most things in my life, I needed to think about it, research it, make a pros and cons list and poll at least three of my five best friends about it. Spontaneity is not my strong suit.

Instead of pulling the trigger, I decided to aim carefully and think about pulling the trigger. I took all of the vacation I had accumulated. Now, telling your boss on Monday that you’d like to go on vacation for the rest of the week usually doesn’t go over so well.  I took the fact that she said yes as a sign that the planets were aligning. I desperately needed to mull it over and “play jobless” for a few days to see how it is. It took about 6 hours to come to a decision.

(Continued on next post)