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It is always an issue when I go into Home Depot.

I’m not saying this issue has anything at all to do with that fine establishment. It’s a chip on my own shoulder. I should just go in going, “WTFever.” But I don’t. I always go in stressed out that I’m going to be looked down on.

Unless I am in the middle of a project and on my fourth or fifth trip to return a part or get something I missed and I am beyond caring about anything other than getting the damn thing done, the issues always start with what I’m wearing. See, I want to look butch. But not so butch that people think, “Of course you’d shop here.” I want to look competent. But all my butchy clothes are winter wear. And it was too damn hot, yesterday, for that. So I had to wear capris (denim, of course), a tank, but I made sure to wear real shoes even though sandals would have been cuter coooler.

I went in to buy the toy I’ve been wanting for, like, ever, omg. My sliding compound miter saw. Oh, oh, you guys, she is so very pretty. Anyway, I got my shopping cart and headed in to get her. I greatly underestimated the amount of packaging that would go into such an amazing machine, however. So struggled to get the cumbersome box into, and finally settle for onto, the cart. But I was also picking up a miter saw stand. And this was a big bastard of a box, as well. After a quick sprint to Garden to get a flatbed cart, I load those bad boys up and I am off. But see, as I am loading the stand onto my cart, an employee stops briefly to slide the end of it the last, like, 4 friggin’ inches as he’s walking by with another lady. I thanked the guy, but I also kinda wanted to say, “Dude. I got it.”

When I went to check out, the cashier helped me pull the cart along, even after I said that it wasn’t heavy, just big. But, having been a cashier, I know it feels weird to just walk in front of a customer while they are pulling a big thing. So, ok, fine. I decline the offer of help out and head to my car.

Remember where I underestimated the size of the boxes? Yeah, my 90’s Corolla probably laughed as I walked up to it. I was able to slide the stand into the backseat, all smooth as silk. But the saw itself was just half-an-inch too big to go into my trunk. As I’m walking the box to my front seat, a cart guy runs up and asks if I need any help. I say, “Nah, I’m just Tetrising this into my car.” He still helps me the last little bit. I could have done it on my own. Honestly, if it had been heavy, I would have been fine with the help. But it wasn’t a “team-lift” item, ya know? Still, the guy helped me and thanked me for my business. All the employees were being nice, as they usually are. Just because I sorta half take them as possibly maybe “helping the little lady” is my issue.

Through the whole process I wanted to tell everyone who passed me, “These are mine. I’m Toysnot buying these for some husband or whatever. These are mine. I have wanted them, and I will use them. Because this big ass saw is mine. And, man, am I gonna cut and miter the crap outta stuff!”

I have issues. I come by them honestly, of course. But still, I wish I was cool enough to not worry about what other people are thinking.

Oh, and while shopping for my bad-ass power tools, I stopped to grab some paint. I spent 5 minutes deciding which color I wanted, contemplating the different shades on the color chips. I finally took my choice up to the counter and paint guy said, “You wanted the black, right?”
Uh, no, you barbarian. I wanted Cracked Pepper.”

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A cynical person would count my foray to the gym today as a failure. But not me! Today was a, well, it was a warm up. And hey, I actually went, didn’t I?

I decided I’d try a cycle class today, my first day at the gym. Sadly, though, a long train and my new combination lock, which seems to have been made at Fort Knox, delayed me enough to make me three minutes late. “Pfft! 3 minutes?” you say. Well, I cruised past the class with that same idea and found that there was a butt on every cycle in the back and they were already in full pedaling glory. So, no.

Well, now I’m at the gym. In my gym clothes. Having learned the secret to my combo lock. It’d be a waste to not do something. So I head into the machine area. I decide to get my strength on. However, I neglected to heed Google’s warning that this was the second-busiest time of day and everyone is everywhere! What does an introvert do?

Well, this introvert acted as if she totally wanted to get this machine right here that was one of the few that didn’t have another person on the other side of it. So I climb up on it. I give a side-eye to the guy two machines over to get a clue as to what I’m supposed to do and try to work the thing. My feet are on steps but I’m going backward. As I look around I almost get hit with a swinging arm. Instead of stopping to see if there are instructions, I act as if my normal warm-up is to dodge swinging metal arms and just keep going. Backward. The dude isn’t going backward. So I stop. Stretch, to pretend I’m just getting prepped to dominate this machine, and then push my feet forward and up. Or down. Not sure. Ok! I figured the forward thing. But by now the machine has awakened and is demanding I choose a workout. I press a button and am relieved I’m not thrown off.

I work my ass off. I don’t know what that machine was, but my ass and thighs were dying. And it’s only been 25 seconds. At 45 seconds my legs are threatening me with a boycott if I don’t get off the machine. So I pause again, pretending to read the incomprehensible lights on the machine while begging my legs to just get to two minutes. If my legs had eyes, they’d have shot death glares at me. I start again. And I’m going backwards again. So I pretend that I’m just working different muscles while my thighs and butt scream that this was not part of the deal. I realize the jig is up and pretend that I got an important phone call that tells me that my friend is having her baby right now and I must leave my excellent workout early.

I didn’t actually talk out loud. I didn’t even have my phone. I just pretended my fitbit alerted me to a phone call and I came up with that cover story in my head. I keep up my cover story, pretending to be worried and a little annoyed at being interrupted all the way out of the room. It’s a damn shame no one was actually watching my amazing performance.

So, sure. I was in the gym for only ten minutes. And, ok, sure it took me twice that long to drive there. But I went. By myself. I got on a machine, I learned to give myself much more time before a class, and how to work my lock. I’m calling it a win. And bonus, my legs are still all jelly-like. I have gym legs. Score!

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New semester, new class!

I really enjoy being a student. If I could do it professionally, I would. This semester I went with a class that I didn’t need for my degree but could use since I am also taking an income tax course what will take up a lot of brain power. I took a class called Process of Communication ’cause that sounded damned interesting. And it’ll be useful to learn how communication occurs when I am trying to help people file their taxes. Win-win!

Or so I thought until I was served a big ol’ helping of Nope.

The instructor first warned everybody that if they took this particular comm course to avoid public speaking, they were going to be disappointed since there were a couple of public speaking assignments. Meh, I’m not too bothered by doing speeches or presentations. No big. She went over the assignments and said APA format would be required and I quivered a little at that, but figured I needed to suck it up and finally stop dodging APA. It’d be cool.

But when she said, “The course will mainly be done in small groups,” I nearly stood up and went “Oh, hell no!” and storm out.

I don’t do small groups. I equate small group work to nails on a chalkboard or a chili pepper enema or underwear with worn elastic. No, Just no. God, no.

Therefore, I began to subtly pack up my things and wait for a good time to make a break for the door in case the instructor wanted to start her grouping on the first day. And then something horrible happened. She started telling us all the things we would learn in class, and damn it I want to learn that stuff. It is right up my alley of exploration. I even started thinking of changing my major to communication studies, which I do every semester that has a class I totally dig (I’ve decided to be everything from a biologist to a mathematician to a business manager).

So, I’m stuck. The teacher is awesome, funny and smart, and the material is incredibly intriguing and engaging. But I must traverse my own personal hell to get to it. Save me.

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Smart idea!

Brain: Hey, Body, I know how bummed you’ve been since we hurt our neck and shoulder and haven’t been able to do a whole lot but whine about the pain.
But I have an idea! Let’s lift weights and work the kinks out. Get some energy. It’ll be great.

Body: Ok!

Next morning, unable to move.

Body: Well, Brain, this is another fine mess you’ve gotten us into.

Brain: …

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My 12-year old daughter just got another loose tooth out of her head.
The sad part is that now that she is older and no longer believes in the Tooth Fairy, she handed me the tooth and asked, “Can I have a quarter?”

On the other hand, what had been a stressful night-maneuver in the bedroom of a girl who woke to her door opening has now turned into an easy business transaction.

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It’s been raining for two days. Thunder and lightening! And raining very hard! With wind! It’s glorious!!

I live in the desert. We are all very, very happy.

When we moved into our house, it had a bad roof (that the roofer [paid by the bank] okayed. He really sucked.) So it leaks. But we bought five years ago and the drought was getting into full swing so it hasn’t caused us too much trouble. My roof leaks and I’m still very happy it’s raining.  However, with the predictions of a wet winter (yay) we might have to get someone out to look at the roof. Pretty sure we need a new one. I know we can’t afford it. This is a sucky place to be.

But IT’ RAINING! Woo hoo!!

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This is pretty damn spot on. It makes me laugh, and sigh with a shake of my head.

INFJ Blog

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The idealist temperament makes up about 15 to 20 percent of the population. According to psychologist David Keirsey, this temperament includes the Myers-Briggs personality types INFJ, INFP, ENFJ, and ENFP. Idealists are passionately concerned with self-growth, yearn to help others, and dream of making the world a better place. Below are some of the characteristics that make being a dreamer in a world of practicality a constant struggle.

1. You’re never completely content with how things are.

Whether it’s your job, your relationship, or what you had for dinner, being a future-oriented perfectionist means you’re constantly thinking about how to make things better.

2. You find it extremely difficult to live in the moment.

You envy your friends who can seemingly act without any regard to future consequences, since that’s basically all you ever think about.

3. People rarely seem to take you seriously.

Idealism is often a trait associated with…

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