You Don't Have To Call Me Darlin'- In fact, I wish you wouldn't

Pet names- I don't like them, and I don't understand why people insist on using them.  I don't mind terms of affection (honey, baby, sweetheart) or nicknames (junior, pookie, ass clown), what I don't like are pet names like "Snugglebunny", "Booboo", or "Tweetyummers HottieBuns".  In most cases, I think pet names are developed by stringing together random items in your line of sight and adding the necessary "little", "pants", or "ums" at the beginning or the end until you end up calling your boyfriend "My Little Groovy-num-num Bonbon".  Thank God you don't work at a raw sewage pumping plant!  

Men are not immune to the pet name phenom either.  Men seem more likely to give a food-related pet name...who knows, maybe they're just hungry.  "Pumpkin", "Muffin", "Cupcake", "Honey bear", "Chunky Monkey", there's a reason why mon petite chou means "My Little Cabbage".  Everyone knows that French men like to eat!  Let's think about pumpkin...a pumpkin is a type of squash, that grows on the ground, it's big, orange, and full of gooey, smelly, stringy "guts".  Romantic, right?  One unknowing gentleman called me his "Macaroni Salad".  "Sweet Cheeks" had no idea what he had done.  Needless to say, all future macaroni salad moments have occurred at picnics where this author hasn't been present. 

So what are you supposed to do if you can't call her "Tiger Twinky"?  How will he know you love him if you don't call him "Puppie Pot Sexypooh Peepers".  Here's a hint- CALL HIM BY HIS NAME!  You *do* know her name, right?  Right?  

Thus concludes this discussion of how the pet name originated.   
   

Must Bathe the Rats

About this time last year, I was about to start a new position.  With a sigh of relief, I removed myself from job posting emails, and deleted the classic search sites from my desktop.  Job searches are like spring closet cleaning, you start off excited about the prospect of change and new discoveries and you end up sitting on the floor, head in your hands, thinking, "Well, this is a pile of shit.  What was I thinking?!"  Much like the cleaning, you entered into this project because you needed a change and you knew if you put in the time and effort, you would get the results you wanted.  Right?  (Take a brief pause and go look in your closet.  Is it full of new beginnings?  If not, you should probably put your closet on your to-do list).

Job descriptions start off with the best parts of the job.  You feel challenged, engaged, and excited about the job requirements.  Then, if you are anything like me, you skip to the end and make sure you meet the qualifications.  Somewhere in the lower half of the middle of the description is what I like to call the "Bathe the Rats" section.  Wily employers know to bury the undesirable responsibilities of the job in the section of the description most people will skim over.  Or, if the responsibilities are REALLY heinous, they will be cleverly lumped into the ever-present "Other Duties as Assigned" category.  

In my quest for employment, I have stumbled across some of the most unappealing job duties you can imagine, and remember I wasn' t looking for careers in Waste Reclamation.  Some of my favorites include:

-Comfortable interacting with insects and tarantulas
-Upkeep vacuums
-Heavy manual labor
-Skilled in puppetry
-Matrices (of any kind)
-Substantial business acumen
-Comfort in all environments, including extreme weather, abandoned buildings, and underneath bridges
-Must be willing to live on cemetery property
-Conducting regular urinalysis and breathalyzer tests

Needless to say, my current position does not require any of the job duties listed above.  I draw the line at toilets, farm implements, and rats.  And, if you're looking for spreadsheets, I'm not your girl!   

Adulthood-Not a Sprinkle in Sight

Growing up may be the worst decision I've made.  Oh sure, I can eat a Twinkie for breakfast if I want now, but I also have to think about preventative dental care.  When I was in the single digits I thought being grounded or missing a sleepover was torture.  Turns out, a root canal and the subsequent  crown and bill are much more painful and enduring methods of punishment.  When I was in elementary school, I boldly announced my intention to pursue doughnut-making as my profession.  Note: I did not say doughnut-making as my job, or a baker as my career.  I was going to be a professional doughnut-maker.  As you may have deduced, my adult life has gone horribly astray from my childhood dreams.  There's not a doughnut internship to be found on my resume.  It's a pity, I think my dentist and I could have made beautiful cavities together.