My Favorites Are Important

I always seem to go through waves of things I’m obsessed with.  I literally devour things for a period of time and then I don’t care and move onto the next thing.  But because I want to influence the world’s hot or not lists, I want to share my current obsessions.


I don’t have a television, therefore when I geek out on current TV programs, it’s all done via streaming Googled links.



Ads for this new HBO show are all over San Francisco, especially giant posters right off the Castro MUNI station (well done marketing folks), therefore I was curious.  It’s about a group of friends living in San Francisco.  The entire first episode is on YouTube (HERE if you care to watch). This show has been described as a show about “gay guys living in San Francisco,” but it’s so much more than that.  I feel it has such a realistic approach of life and dialogue that is universal to all types of folks.  Also, they film this show in San Francisco, and it carries such a great backdrop. And the music! I love!


“Morgan Murphy: Irish Goodbye”


This stand-up special by Morgan Murphy is quite funny for those who enjoy such dry sense of humor, which is basically my way of life.  She has a great bit where she talks about music festivals, I feel that same way…

She’s from Oregon, so that’s cool.


White girl stuff


As of late I think I’ve jumped on some weird moody white girl kick, and I’m ok with that. When I say this, I mean I’ve been listening to a cocktail of Lana Del Rey and Lorde.  Their music sounds so cinematic, like it needs to be the background to epic movie montages. I was embarrassed to like Lorde because she’s legally still a child I think.  But Pandora kept shoving her in my stations, so I caved.  I enjoy it…

I had a pretty epic “self” moment where Lana Del Rey’s “Young & Beautiful” brought me to tears.  Talk about being an unstable bitch.  I had those kind of weird tears that fall into your ears because I was in my bed being so emo.  I never really listened to her music, and just judged her of course for being some rich white girl.  But that song alone sold me.  Whatever.

Cry with me…




I subscribe to a bunch of channels, but recently discovered the best duo in YouTube history. I love me some bestie love and comedy, and Superfruit has so much of that going on.  Scott and Mitch are part of an a cappella group called  Pentatonix, which won a show and all that stuff.  But this YouTube channel is dedicated to whatever topics they want, which always includes their weekly obsessions…which basically inspired this post.  Watch them!


So Delicious Coconut Milk Ice Cream

(tons of flavors…I likes to fuck with German Chocolate or Chocolate Peanut Butter)


I go through waves of ice cream cravings.  And since society tells women to feel bad about eating, I thought heyyy I’ll try this kind of hippy ice cream I found at Whole Foods.  (Disclaimer: I only go to Whole Foods because I’m lazy and it’s up the street from whereI live). But shut the fuck up, this is the best ice cream I’ve ever had. Sorry DQ soft serve, you’re dumped for this. Because it has things on it like “gluten free” and “dairy free” therefore my mind thinks that I’m basically taking vitamins and can eat an entire pint in one sitting while watching Couples Therapy (this happened last night).

Diet Coke


I have no idea why I like Diet Coke.  I understand there are no calories, but super science chemicals that I take in will kill me.  I have never liked Diet Coke, but when I moved to SF I started drinking it out of nowhere. There is something about drinking a cold diet coke that just satisfies my life at the moment.  True story: I drank a can of diet coke hungover in the shower like a trashy bitch.

Mrs. Renfro’s Jalapeño Green Salsa


Have you ever wanted to taste fire?  This is second best.  This salsa had me by my phantom balls.  But so delicious! I add a little to spruce up my homemade nachos (just melted cheese on chips), bomb!  Hot as fuck, but I approve.  All meals should end in tears anyway.


“What can I get you?”

One of my favorite things to do is sit at a bar for hours at a time and just drink and chat.  I’m not down with “bar hopping” or doing any sort of “crawl.” I love the randomness that life brings without me moving.

Bar interactions are everywhere from charming to annoying as hell.  If you are a white guy telling me how you were with a Puerto Rican girl once and how you know “Latin Women”, I will roll my eyes so hard I’ll lose my sight for a few minutes. (Based on a true story).

As I transplanted from Portland to San Francisco, I noticed a very specific kind of bartender when interacting with brown ladies in Portland. Portland is growing into a hipster hub. I just spent the holiday back home and frequented too many drinking establishments and did some unofficial research.  Therefore I drank for the blog. You’re welcome.

These bartenders are your average “white guy” but with access to the latest “I don’t care” fashions.  How can hipster dudes be so anti anything when they all look like Goodwill’s version of Justin Timberlake’s hair with a full beard?  Throw in a mini-beanie that rivals a yamaka and trunk full of American Spirits, and you’re so at the next MGMT concert.

According to Urban Dictionary, which is where I get all my knowledge (and grad school I guess), it says this about hipsters:

Hipsters reject the culturally-ignorant attitudes of mainstream consumers, and are often be seen wearing vintage and thrift store inspired fashions, tight-fitting jeans, old-school sneakers, and sometimes thick rimmed glasses.

When you’re in an establishment of mostly white folks, you’ll stick out. I stick out, which is great when I’m trying to get a drink.  I swear the bartenders come up quicker because I look all “ethnic.”  They seem confused that I know the words to a song by Architecture in Helsinki but I speak secret Spanish to talk about others to my homegirl. I feel the bartenders get their “cultured” beanies on and try to act all modern and worldly.  Dude, I don’t care.  But a free drink maybe? Cuz my parents crossed 2 borders, sooooo…

Here are some great exchanges I’ve had with hipster bartenders:

Bartender: So where are you from (most famous question of my life)
Me: I’m from Oregon, but my parents are from El Salvador
Bartender: Oh nice!  I love going to Nicaragua to surf, it’s amazing.
*Because that’s the same thing, not 2 different countries or anything*

Bartender: What can I get you?
Me: Can I get a Tecate please?
Bartender: *looks confused* he was taken aback my correct pronunciation
Me: (repeat) Tecate please?
Bartender: Oh ya, TECATE (I think he busted his insides by trying to pronounce it with an accent).  Right on!
*Truth talk, he said right on*

Bartender: Would you like another drink?
Me: Sure, same thing please
Bartender: Whiskey soda with lemon?
Me: Yup
Bartender: Oh that’s a cool bracelet (*I have a bracelet full of Salvadoran flags that I got from El Salvador last year*)
Me: Oh ya, thanks
Bartender: Oh is that Honduras?
Me: No it’s El Salvador
Bartender: Awesome! My best friend is half Guatemalan
Me: That’s nice

These are just a few examples of the sea of interactions I’ve had being “othered” hardcore. But I don’t sweat it too much, I like people trying for my approval and if I can get a free guilt drink in the process…my bank account ain’t mad.

Marb$ & $Cruz: San Francisco Edition

Last week, I visited Stefanie for her b-day celebrations! That’s right, celebrations, with an “s” at the end for the multiple times we did. We were making up for lost time! The last time we were separated this long was when she went to El Salvador. Girlfriend came back with fierce a Wesley Snipes tan in the beginning of January of 2013, but I digress.

Although I was there for her birthday, Stefanie was truly the hostess with the mostest. She had a jam-packed school schedule, and for the first few days, I followed her around like a lost puppy on the USF campus. Even waiting for her was way more fun than being at work and dealing with the rain! Portland, get it together, you weepy bitch. Nobody wants to deal with your rain and cold weather.

Below you will find my list of observations and shenanigans that we got ourselves into:

San Francisco has microclimatesI learned this while I eavesdropping on the bus like a creep.

The “Full House” house has been painted. 

Taken from Marb$ Facebook

This is a slap in the face to America. If you buy the “Full House” house, you owe it to the fans to preserve it. These people knew what they walked into when they forked over the money for this house. Painting this house is like committing domestic terrorism. How rude!

Booze is sold at your local corner market. Oregon will assist people with suicide, but they won’t sell liquor at a convenient store? I don’t understand.

Lots of beards, tattoos, and SF Giants hats on men. According to my calculations, I fell in love exactly 2,238 times.

Lots of beautiful men with basic looking women. Some guys were tens and these ladies were straight up penny pieces! Perhaps they suffer from extreme Stockholm Syndome! The girls with them wore UGG boots, too tight leggings, and an LV bag like it was 2005. It was all so tragic. I’m thinking about starting a charity where I can save all of these dudes.

San Francisco public restrooms do not believe in toilet seat covers. Living in a walkable city is great for your overall health. But more importantly, it serves as a way to build leg muscles for proper hovering. I’m too cute for scabies.

Saying your from Portland, Oregon is actually a good thing. 

Dolores Park. You are beautiful. Thank you for making me forget about the four months of my life as I watched the sunset. I plan on day drinking with you next time.

sunsetOverall, it was a wonderful six days. I did not want to leave. I caught up with Stefanie, ate tons of amazing food, and I enjoyed disconnecting from Portland. It was amazing! Until next time, San Pancho.

I’m The Worst Ex-Girlfriend

“What do you think I am, una gringa? Because that’s how los gringos are, they don’t have any morals. They all have dinner with each other like it’s nothing. “That’s because we’re civilized,” a turista once explained to me. What a barbarity! Civilized? You call that civilized? Like dogs. Worse than dogs. If I caught my ex with his “other,” I’d stab them both with a kitchen fork. I would!” – Caramelo, Sandra Cisneros

Let me just preface this post by telling you how lovely I am. I’m an absolute peach, I swear. However, if I have been crossed,betrayed, or wronged, I am the ultimate grudge holder. The older I get, the more I am willing to let go of these useless feelings. Resentment, anger, and sadness will make you rot from the inside out. In my late teens and early twenties, I didn’t know how to harness any sort of emotions, good or bad, because I hated to feel anything at all. When feelings of rage popped up, I had a tendency of hopping on them like a cowboy at a rodeo. I think the worst feeling is having someone break-up with you for good. They know everything about you, and  they still do not want you. After a break-up, they walk around armed with your darkest secrets and a list of your insecurities. This is why they must be destroyed.

Below is a list of things I have done in the past as a less-than-friendly-ex-griflriend. Most of these malicious acts occurred in my late teens and early twenties. I’m sharing these experiences with you all because I can laugh about everything now, even though back then, it felt like the end of the world.


MySpace! Talk about #TBT! The original social platform that destroyed relationships and lives! Way back when, I broke into my ex-boyfriend’s Myspace profile and added some colorful information to his profile. You see, the “About Me” section in your profile was important because it hooked people into sending you a “friend request.” This fool’s About Me section was paragraphs long; he thought he was the greatest person ever. I decided, that it would be fun to include things like: “I used to be fat, but now I’m making up for lost time.” In my defense, this was true, and the public had a right to know this information. I also changed his sexual orientation status from straight to gay. It gave me a pang of satisfaction whenever I checked his MySpace and saw that he hadn’t realized what I had done.

You’re wondering how I broke into his MySpace? He asked me to create an e-mail account once while we were dating. With that same e-mail account, he had created his MySpace profile. Since I already knew his e-mail password, I simply clicked, “lost password” and had it sent to his e-mail. Have I scared you yet? Oh yes, and I also kept tabs on his messages for awhile. His outbox was full of thirsty messages to the girls of MySpace, and because they were so sad and pathetic, I was able to move on.


I barely remember my own phone number now, but back when I was dating this other fool, I knew his number by heart . When we broke up, I was stuck with this useless combination of numbers in my brain. After one night of dancing and drinking downtown, my friends and I were approached by Arab gentleman. One of them demanded: “give me number.” I then gave him this random combination of numbers that all of a sudden became useful. He then asked, “why isn’t phone ringing?” and I said, “well it’s dead, but text me ‘sexy’ in a couple of hours so I know it’s you.”

False Claims of Gay Behavior

The following statements have been said by me after relationships:

“I don’t know, he said he felt safe enough with me to admit that he was sometimes attracted to dudes.”

“He said when he was about 14, he kissed one of his friends. Like they did it sometimes, to practice or something.”

Both are false, none of these statements actually happened. However, one guy did say: “Brokeback Mountain is a beautiful love story.” This didn’t have anything to do with homosexual tendencies, he was trying to come across as socially progressive.

Back when I was way more immature, being with me was like being part of a two-person gang. If you wanted “out” of my two-person gang (also known as a relationship), you had to go through the gang-disassociation protocol. Instead of enduring an intense beat-down by your old clicka , you had to put up with my secret wrath. Now, the older I get, the lazier I am. If you don’t want to be with me, that’s on you, boo boo. I’m too fierce for most people anyway.

Things That Were Hard for me as a Brown Girl

My cultural identity is on a  constant Kinsey scale  continuum–some days I’m exclusively American, some days I’m exclusively Mexican (*Some of us, like my friend, who I’ll call “Tiffany News”, are not Mexican. Tiffany is Salvadoran*). One day, I’m all about listening to Selena, and the next day, I’ll say something super-white like, “hell yeah, I love 80’s music.” Truthfully, the whitest things that has ever crawled out of my mouth has been, “Yes, Frasier is funny.”  Culturally, I’m always DTF…Down To Fluctuate.

Although I am able to stand my ground as an adult, it was hard for me growing up. I’d try to pick up a hobby, or like certain music, and I’d be accused of being, “too white,” or “too Mexican.” There was no winning! Weird Brown girls that love Dawson’s Creek and Telenovelas get no love!

I’d like to also note that there was an underlying class issue here. My parents were poor, therefore, I was poor. I didn’t have access to many things because of this. For example, I get accused of being too white for being into yoga.  Yes, people practice yoga in Mexico, but of course just like yoga here in the United States, people with money can afford yoga classes. Yoga is a luxury. I just hear George Lopez white-voice saying, “OMG, LMAO, BFF…”

Venturing into unknown territory is extremely frightening. I would throw myself into things without knowing anyone who may have pioneered the way before me. Various questions run through my head like, “Am I going to look stupid if i fail miserably?” or “Do they see me and automatically think about how different I look?”

Below is a list of things I have forced myself to conquer, regardless of what anyone else thought– including myself:


I’ve been practicing yoga sporadically since I was 18 years old, but it wasn’t until about a year ago that I decided to get a little more serious. Since I’m still a beginner, I had to self-talk myself into taking a class in the Pearl District. I was afraid of walking into a class full of ripped housewives that took yoga and pilates classes on their husbands’ dime. I remember standing in front of the yoga studio, taking a deep breath, and thinking, “You are privileged enough to do this for all the weird brown girls that can’t.” And I did it. It was like pulling a mental band-aid. Sure, I walked into a class full of hard-bodies that casually said, “Oh, I’m taking this class as a warm-up to my Ashtanga class after this,” but I was there to do my thing. Namaste, mija.


I was introduced to sushi in high school. My best friend at the time really enjoyed it and taught me how to eat with chopsticks. Of course because I was a newbie, I ate wasabi like it was candy and instantly regretted it. It was like eating 1,000 jalapeños at once.  I didn’t know what wasabi was, but now I know what to do when I want my sinuses cleared.

Red Lobster

Since we are on the subject of seafood, its only fitting that I incorporate the Red Lobster story. Stefanie  Tiffany and I were extremely broke after college, and were collecting money to leave her sister’s house.  One day, we decided to splurge on some makeup and a delicious meal. Neither of us had been to Red Lobster, or had lobster, so we decided to boldly go forth into the world of fancy seafood. Because we are both wound up like corkscrews, we both began to panic because we didn’t know to actually eat the lobster. My mind raced back to an episode I had watched of Queer for the Straight Guy; the one where the straight guy looked like a moron in front of his lady friend as he used pliers to eat lobster.  When we sat down to eat, we YouTubed “How to eat Lobster” on our phones. True story. Below, you will see a how to eat lobster, because I love you enough not to make a pendeja/o out of yourselves. I like how the guy in the video calls the lobster cracker, “ubiquitous.” He’s like, “Oh, this old thang? pfff no big deal. I ate lobster Gerber as a baby. I’m about this life.”

College/Advanced High School Courses

My only window into the world of college was the show Felicity. I was twelve years old, and I thought that everyone’s college experience must be universal. Everyone gets a job as a cool barista in between classes, right? Her biggest problem was switching from pre-med to art, and going back and forth between two guys (Team Ben), sign-me up! What I didn’t realize was that Felicity was a white girl with money. Felicity didn’t have a dad with a pick-up truck that helped her move into her dorm, and a passerby never called her a “country bumpkin” as she was moving her shit into her college apartment. Nope, that didn’t happen to her, but it happened to this girl.

Felicity had the luxury of looking like her classmates, and partaking in the collective cultural atmosphere. It is the loneliest feeling in the world when you notice you are the only person of color in your classroom. It’s like being dropped into the sea with only your floaties. Unfortunately, the journey to actually get into college was so daunting, my classes then intimidated me. I figured if it was so difficult to get in, the classes must be hard! Nope. Everyone’s kind of an idiot. I always had to self-talk myself in class sometimes before I realized: I am just as smart as everyone else, and I have a lot to contribute. By my fifth year (See, felicity didn’t even have a fifth year) I was not contributing my opinions in class, I was barking them. It was very DMX, not so much Felicity.


Traveling/Airplane Etiquette/Fancy Hotels

Stefanie and I will forever be the two old ladies that arrive way too early. We’re like the two old muppets, Statler and Waldorf. When we would travel in a big group, we’d be the ones on time before anyone else, with our purses on our lap like viejitas. Everything has to be perfect to avoid delays, missing flights, and looking like a total idiot. Our parents immigrating to the United States doesn’t count as “jetsetting,” or “globe trotting,” so we don’t know how to travel without having our butt cheeks clenched the whole time.

My favorite part of traveling with my friends is the reveal of the hotel. Its like we were all part of the Make a Wish Foundation and our dying dreams came true. Immediately, one girl will be taking in the view, another will be walking around with a plush white robe for no reason, and then there’s one girl who will ruin it with, “you guys, I have to go to the bathroom…”

As you can see, I dive in head first to these new experiences, sin miedo. I’ve had to adapt as best as I could.

Master That!

I bitched for so long that I wanted to leave Portland and start something fresh and new.  Since I didn’t win the lottery, nor did I meet a sugar (suga?  I can’t pull that off) daddy…I had to settle for grad school.  In a very UNLIKE me fashion, I only applied to one school.  I believe in back-up plans and safety because I need a bit of security when it comes to large life decisions.  I felt so passionately about one particular program that I couldn’t compromise myself any longer in life, therefore there went all my eggs in one basket.  So when I received my acceptance info, I had instant “shock tears” and immediately wanted to throw up, very much “me” and extremely adorable.

I’m outta here PORTLAND!

Now I am two months into a new city and graduate school.  I’m at about the mid-point of my first semester and now I can really assess my time thus far.  I only have my undergrad experience to pull from but since my memory is foggy at best, I don’t remember some parts of how to “do” school and the life that goes with it.  I remember some parallels here and there, but I’m pretty sure I received my undgrad degree by accident.  Tons of coffee fueled bullshitting episodes that turned into papers or presentations.  Since grad school is a brand new situation, I was nervous to actually study and do work.  Gotta change things up to be my age and take this seriously!  Shit got real son.

Since I love to compare and contrast, I’ve organized some categories of school-life stuff.  What did this look like in Portland during undergrad time, as compared to grad time in San Francisco (sidebar: my mom likes to insert “Rice-A-Roni the San Francisco Treat” any chance she can when we chat on the phone).


Undergraduate: I procrastinated most of the time, skipped class to do work for another class, and finally my “go to” system would be to drink a bucket of coffee and stay up all night to write a paper due the next day which I had 5 weeks to do.

Graduate: The amount of reading that is assigned is CRAZY.  It’s like reading the bible every week.  And since I’m choosing to be here in order to become a better human, I can’t fuck around, I’m old and I need to care.  So I outline my readings and assignments each week and schedule out reading/work times throughout the week so I’m not trying to cram everything the morning before class.


Undergraduate: I think most of the time I hid in corners and never really spoke. I’ve always been super introverted so it was tough to talk a lot, but also I was always lost in a sea of people anyway.  Also, skipping class was way easier back in the day.  I’d go eat nachos instead.

Graduate: Since I’m in a cohort model of a program, professors know my name, I can’t hide.  It still is difficult for me to talk in front of people, but since I HAVE TO SHOW UP AND SPEAK in order to get points, I pepper in my amazing knowledge here and there.  I don’t want to over talk because those people are annoying, but I don’t want to be the unabomber kid in the corner.


Undergraduate: I never went to the grocery store.  I have no idea how I kept myself alive.  I think Subway was my “kitchen.”  I ate a lot of random stuff around campus or at my sister’s house.  I did the classic Ramen, but then when I could HEAR my heartbeat from all that salt…I had to take a break.

Graduate: I made a conscious decision to change my lifestyle in a new city and also to keep my money in check because this city is EXPENSIVE…EXPENSIVE BUT FUN.  I try and go grocery shopping every week and buy essentials.  I’ve used pots and pans!  I’ve LOOKED UP recipes to feed myself.  Who am I?!  I chose to buy KALE.  WHAT?!?!  I do still eat Ramen here and there.  But did you know you can make this healthy-ish?!?!  Add lemon, cilantro, scallions, and some hot sauce—BOMB!


Undergraduate: My time with my Ford Escort.  What a feisty little thing.  She was constantly pregnant with fast food wrappers.  I was a crazy lazy child and drove everywhere.  Plus, Portland rain makes no one want to stroll.

Graduate: My feet and public transportation everywhere I go!  My first week here I’m surprised I didn’t collapse.  The walking life is REAL.  And not only that, walking in this city can be like you’re scaling walls.  So my sweat mustache has been part of my “look” here.  So thank goodness it’s so progressive here.


Undergraduate: Drinking was part of the college experience!  I could drink Thursday through Sunday, drinking whatever was in front of my face. Let’s go to DA CLUB and even wear HEELS!   Hangovers were not that gnarly, I could still keep it going.  Then I could get back to business and do whatever work I needed to for school.

Graduate: Grabbing a drink post-class is a great stress reliever!   A few drinks and chatting about classes and life…SITTING DOWN.  Since I am still who I am, I love me a good binge session.  A nice bar, that’s my only criteria.  But I cannot go out on the weekends and do consecutive days of drinking.  I’ve had the worst hangovers while being here.  I blame this on age.  It hurts, I can’t hang and be a responsible student.  An entire day spent in bed hanging onto my pillow pet and drinking pedialyte is not cool for being grown.

There it is!  Let’s all pray to RuPaul or whatever you follow in the spiritual sense, and hope I get through this effing program and graduate!

Twerking 9-5: Work Culture Observations

Since graduating with my bachelor’s degree in 2009, I have held various positions in different organizations. Each agency operates differently of course, but I have found that the way people act at work seems to be the same. Part of me is amused because I enjoy people-watching, but another part of me really wants to crawl out of my skin. I have found that a 9-5 schedule is inconvenient with the way I function, and that it makes me feel like I’m Houdini trying to unshackle himself from a straight-jacket. Boss bitches aren’t made for the 9-5, but until I find the formula to my dilemma (either a rich old man, or a legit sex tape), I have to endure societies expectations if I want to survive. Medical insurance is fabulous, so I want to upkeep this lifestyle I have been accustomed to.  Below are some of my observations that I have made while being a career girl:

People Lose Their Shit Over Food

I’m the asshole that always forgets to bring shit to a potluck. At my very best, I’ll go to the grocery store the morning of a work event with food. To make it worse, I’ll bring chips or some other basic shit. I salute the people who are thoughtful Martha Stewart types. The ladies that make  brownies filled with caramel and love, or the ones that whip up grandma’s recipe for chocolate chip cookies, these people are my heroes. At my current job, food is almost a sure thing. Once, I forgot to eat breakfast, and I secretly wished someone would bring donuts. I concentrated all of my energy on this wish, and it came true. I walked in and someone had bought an array of donuts just because. It wasn’t a holiday, there were no birthdays, just because. Fuck, yeah.

There will be that one person who will not like you. No matter what you do.

Maribel is a people pleaser. I used to win the “Best Helper” award at my elementary school many times. My pet peeve is when people don’t like me, and the vibe is off when I communicate with them. I wonder if this happens to everyone, I really hope it doesn’t just happen to me. It makes me feel like I may have done something in a past life to these people who don’t like me. Did I steal their man? Did I burn their village down? I have no idea. The older I have gotten, the less fucks I have to give.  Don’t like me? Do you, boo. 

Shade. So much Shade. People always trying to make you look stupid

People throw hella shade at work. Hella. It’s a hotbed for passive aggressiveness, as well as a place where people get off on being “superior.” The latter is the reason I hate asking questions at work. People get off on the most insignificant things. It’s like: “Thanks for explaining the cleaning schedule and the chores I forgot to do in the most condescending tone. I didn’t realize the world would end if I forgot to wipe off the counters. Please punch me in the face, because I deserve it for being so stupid in comparison to you.”

Signing birthday cards or “pitching in” for a cake for someone you don’t like or barely know

I always feel so awkward signing cards saying “best wishes” or “so sorry for your loss” for people I can’t even put a face to. One of my friends from college always writes a standard message for birthdays on Facebook: “Happy Birthday!!!” He gives only three exclamation points, no more, no less. I have taken his message (is this copyright infringement?) and used it on many cards over the past couple of years. Three exclamation points says: “I’m excited for you! But not too excited. Just right.


That Lady with her dog/cat/and/or Both

There is always a lady at work obsessed with her dog or her cat. It’s like the kid that wears a wizard cape to school. Every school has one of those kids, just like every work staff has this lady. I understand the importance of pets, and they can be cute, I admit this. But some people just go too far. They go into great detail when their animals are sick–to the point where I get sick. I don’t need to know about the type of stool your dog had after eating play-dough. Get it together.

The Lady with the Husband/Serious Boyfriend

You’ll recognize her. She talks incessantly about the house they just bought, or the vineyard trip they took together in Napa. She talks about eating pizza and watching “their shows” while wearing matching Snuggies. My favorite is when they talk about having children, and “trying.” I don’t need to overhear a conversation about “trying” to have kids while I heat up my lunch in the break room. The last thing I want to imagine is people “trying” while I eat.


I’m sure there are other gems I haven’t listed, but for now, this is my list. As you can see, I silently judge others while I make money. My resume doesn’t lie, I’m great at multi-tasking.