WOWZERS!! Girl, you’re not alone if your boyfriend’s Rabbi hits on you! I need a shot of whiskey after reading this one. Poor Jennifer!

My ex-boyfriend is Jewish and I’m not, but although I’m not well-educated on Judaism, I’m very confident it’s not okay for any religious teacher to behave in this manner.  His family wasn’t too happy that I wasn’t Jewish, so after our relationship hit the two-year mark, they invited us to dinner the same night their Rabbi and his family was coming over. I didn’t know if it was because they were going to try and convince me to switch to Judaism because they thought we might get engaged? I had no idea they’re ulterior motive. I was nervous. Dinner went well, no one asked me religious questions, no pressuring, nothing at all. I really enjoyed myself and liked the Rabbi and his wife very much. Later we went into library to have an after-dinner drink (yes, these people were very wealthy with a huge house.) As we walked everyone out, the Rabbi walked beside me, his hand lightly on my back and asked me how I felt about marrying my boyfriend since we had different faiths? I told him I was opened to a inter-religious marriage or if we decided together, on our own terms, I would consider converting. He stopped, smiled and said “I thought so,” slid his hand down my back and PATTED MY BUTT then walked off!!! I was floored. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t no whether to laugh or vomit! I didn’t make a scene, just waited until I was in the car with my boyfriend and told him what his Rabbi did. His first reaction was “Really?!” then he got mad at me and accused me of making it up. He said the Rabbi was a very nice man, committed to his faith and would never do anything like that. That was the beginning of the end for us because I KNEW what I felt and that wasn’t a “nice” tap. I still can’t believe it.

I later ran into his brother’s wife and she told me that the Rabbi had done that to her twice. She said it’s just something he does to women, but is harmless and doesn’t mean anything by it. WHATEVER!

Jennifer – tell the happy little wifey that I call BULLSHIT on that one. A man puts his had on your tooshy – he means it!

Okay, I’m going to make this short and sweet because….  Girl, you’re not alone if you take on too much, try to get it all done in an impossible amount of time which then trickles down to letting all KINDS of business falling through the cracks! I have your sleeping pill right here, act like a 3 year-old and run around until you pass out with your sippy-cup (AKA wine for adults) from exhaustion in a dead man’s pose on the ground. Seriously, when my nephews nap, they look DEAD. It scares me… I’ll put my finger under their nose to make sure they’re breathing. They go, go, go so much that they give it up to the Sleeping Gods in whatever position or spot they may be in. It doesn’t matter if play-dough or a fudge round is in their hands… they’re going down… on top of the LEGO’s or Thomas the Train tracks. That’s what I feel like right now, but it’s not from molding play-dough or running around in circles until I’m dizzy – it’s from doing too much. You feel me. I know you do because you ladies are with me in the coffee line each morning forcing yourself to stand there, waiting your turn, yearning for caffeine freedom. No talking, no greeting until that coffee is in our freakin mitts and we chug ourselves back to life. I know I’m not alone as I’m bear hugging the person in front of me and them the person in front of them bracing each other from falling until our order is taken and coffee is served!!! I could never work at a coffee shop. No wonder those people are cracked-out on happiness at 6am because they have to do quadruple shots of espresso before they deal with the public. It enables them to welcome you in high-pitched voices and looking like they’re restraining themselves from coming across the counter and hugging the holy crap out of you. I fear them. “GOOD MORNING! Can I get you a fresh muffin or warm danish? Perhaps our new perfect oatmeal with a dash of cinnamon and healthy heap of raisins? No?  I completely understand.. before you exit though, please enjoy a banana for potassium and love from mother earth.”  Excuse me, Coffee Girl, I know you’ve just shot-up with caffine crack, but pipe down until I get a hit or your happy ass is going in the grinder.

I’ve completely gotten off the subject and I’m rambling, but I shouldn’t complain as I just got off IM with my counter-part in Kansas City and she’s a mom, wife, machine at work, social butterfly on every freakin committee in the world and she’s up doing cartwheels at 5am with no Columbian crutch. BITCH. Love you, but… Bitch. You give me no reason to complain. No kids… No husband.. All I have to do is feed myself whatever is in reach then pass out.

I lied. This was long and sour.. not short and sweet. The real question is… WHAT THE F$@& DID I BLOG ABOUT??!!!! Oh.. Girl, you’re not alone if you’re exhausted, delirious.. and talk WAAAY too much when in that state.

Come back tomorrow when I’ve tuned my engine. Good night, don’t let the bed bugs bite…. if they do, beat ‘em with a…ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ   

Exhibit A: Passed out from exhaustion on the spot, with my "sippy-cup"

I work with mostly men at my day job so I can’t completely relate with Sharon’s story, however, I am male-crazy soo.. if a hot guy walked in my office.. I’d break all kinds of furniture too. Mostly on purpose to get his attention… nonetheless, Sharon, you’re not alone:

So, I work at a bank where I get so see a lot of sexy men every day. We need that. We have no men working in our office so us girls pass time with inappropriate talk about the opposite sex daily.

We have nicknames for most of the guys that come in looking hot. On this particular day, “Dark Chocolate” comes in and my co-worker says loudly, “Sharon, Dark Chocolate just left! Lookout your window!” I jump up from my chair – keep in mind we just built this $3 million bank with brand new furniture. I have a wrap-around desk aligning all the windows in my corner office. I leaned forward to pull up the blinds because I was afraid I might miss him getting in his car parked in front of my window. I grabbed the cord and pulled hard. Down comes these heavy expensive blinds and crash on my desk!! It was the loudest noise that echoed throughout the entire bank. He heard it from outside, stopped his car door from opening and is starred straight at me.

I made  my co-worker climb on my desk to rehang them as I covered up the huge gash in my desk with a fake plant.

It’s sometimes painful to be me, hence, I had to start a blog because, for my sanity, I have to know that other people share my pain.. and mortification. Britney baby, although I didn’t have two children by the age of 25, marry a white wanna-be-rapper who aspired to be ghetto, change accents when I change wigs or cry on national TV while I smacked gum and let snot run down my face for effect .. I do think we could be close friends. Call me.

Anywho, you know I’m Queen of blurting before braining.. this is why I’m categorizing myself with Britney Spears and.. Vice President Biden … away we go!!

Yesterday afternoon, two of my female coworkers and I got a sweet tooth. We work in the Merchandise Mart (in Chicago. On levels one and two there are endless opportunities for high calorie treats, I’m talkin’ every type of fast food vendor you can think of.  We started throwing out options: Cookies? No..  brownies? Nah.. cupcakes… maybe ice cream? Maybe… wait! Milkshakes!!! Ladies, I think we have a winner.

Because it was late afternoon and our brains are dead and perverted at this specific time of day.. we got on the subject of the “Milkshake,” song by Kelis – http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rZ-FAV9fBII.  One of my coworkers wasn’t aware of what “milkshake,” really meant. We then clued her in that “milkshake,” in this song, was a euphemism for a BJ (oral sex to a man.. you never know you’re audience.) She laughed and gasped… haha.. funny.. then it was over. Before we went downstairs I wanted to be polite to the Creative Director and Design Manager in the next room. So I went next door, walked in their office and said:

“Hi, we’re running downstairs real quick, would you guys like a blow job?” WAIT!!!!!! NO! NO! NO! NO!!!!!!! Lauren – Freudian Slip!!!!!! AHHHH!!

“Oh my goodness.. I’m so sorry…. I meant Milkshake. Oh my god… I… am.. horrified.. We were talking about this song because we’re getting milkshakes, right, and what it meant in the song..” Lauren.. just shut-up. Just turn around and walk off.

The Creative Director is a conservative gay man and the Design Manager is a female – both cool -  but, still – COME ON!!! They were immediately stunned – eyes shot wide open – followed by “WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?”

UGH!! It hurts! It hurts so bad… make it stop!

Girl, you’re not alone if three pairs of feet fit in your mouth with room to spare. I feel ya, Britney baby.

I was very young and naive. My first serious boyfriend (i.e. first, wink wink) and I were a sheltered pair. We both spent all our time in the dance studio among the same group of friends equally focused throughout our teenaged years. At the time, I had short, cropped, very curly hair. Think Shirley Temple; only all corkscrew and tighter. People called me sheep-head, poodle-head and various versions.
My boyfriend heard a cute term and thought it described me well. “Muff-burger, so soft and furry, you could just eat it all up.” his words. He took to calling me “Muff-Burger,” as often as he could. It got to the point, that when we would meet on the street, he would yell down the block, “HERE COMES MY LITTLE MUFF-BURGER!!!!!” Picture Michigan Avenue, rush hour, two teenagers a block apart:

“TWEETY BIRD!!!!”
“MUFF-BURGER!!!!!”
Run, run, hug, kiss

After a few YEARS, a friend asked both of us if we knew what a muff diver was. NO, what is that? She told us what the general population defines as a “Muff,” and what my boyfriend’s little pet name really meant. OMG!!!!!! HOLY SH*T!!!!

Lynn
Chicago, IL