The Tall Girl

So, I bet some of you are wondering why I call myself “CatZilla.”  Well, to being with, I’m 6’0 tall flat footed.  Now that alone wouldn’t be enough to liken myself to one of the greatest monsters of all time.  No, no.  I also happen to destroy things on a daily basis.  Hence the “Zilla.”  You see, when you grow as fast as I did, you have no understanding of exactly how long your limbs are.  This causes me to trip over my own feet and run into walls on a regular basis.  Therefore, anything in my way usually gets demolished.

“Roo Nooo, CATZIRRAAAA!!”

The summer between 6^th and 7^th grade I grew 3 inches.  If you have any idea what it feels like to grow that fast then you understand.  If not, let me just say that it is not only awkward but it is actually painful.  I know a lot of people say that growing pains don’t exist, but believe me, they do.  Also, I have lovely stretch marks that travel vertically up the outside of both my knees.  Not so jealous of my height now are you?!

So with my newly added height, I was 5’11 at age 12.  7^th grade was painfully important to me, as I’m sure it was to you.  In The HEB 6^th grade was the last year of Elementary School and 7^th was the first year of Junior High.  Ohhhh shit!  And look who shows up in jeans that are 5 inches too short!! YAY ME!!

I made the basketball team that year but unfortunately they didn’t really make me try out, due to my height.  If I had tried out they would have realized that I am less coordinated than a baby giraffe on PCP.  I had a hard enough time walking without tripping myself, let alone dribbling a ball without punching myself in the face.  People couldn’t understand why I wasn’t good.  “But you’re so TALL!”  Like being tall is magical and it automatically makes me good at hand eye-coordination and standing.  Yeah, right.



Africa is scary...on PCP.



I had a major crush on a guy named Chris Robertson.  At roughly 5’9, he was the tallest boy in the 7^th grade, so I figured my chances couldn’t be too bad.  After all, I was only 2 inches taller than him, right?  I did not, however, to take into consideration the fact that he was one of the most popular boys in school and I was a pasty, geek who couldn’t walk into the cafeteria without tripping over my own feet or knocking over lunch tables.

So in the usual 7^th grade fashion, I asked my best friend, Jackie to ask his best friend, Tyler to ask Chris if he would go to the Valentine’s Day dance with me.  The answer came back a few days later.  “He said ‘Hell NO!’ and he wanted me to emphasize the ‘HELL’.”

What.  An. Ass.  12 year olds can be total douche bags.  So Jackie and I went to the Valentine’s Day dance together because she couldn’t get a date either, and so began the rumor that Jackie and I were lesbians. 

This rumor followed us all through high school and was crowned when we made each other Homecoming Mums senior year.  (If you don’t live in The Great State of Texas and are unaware of how important Homecoming Mums are to us, go here.  It’s a big fucking deal!) 

Now I’m not saying there is anything wrong with being a lesbian.  I’m just not one.  I think my height confuses people.  And by people I mean other lesbians who want to hit on me in public then don’t believe me when I tell them I’m not gay and proceed to ask me out.   Stop that.  It’s creepy.

Lesbians love me.

Being Tall Cons:

Being asked if I play basketball numerous times daily.

Being asked if I play volleyball numerous times day.

Being asked, “How tall are you?” numerous times daily.

Being told, “Wow! You’re tall!!” numerous times daily.

Hard to buy jeans/pants/dresses/coats/long sleeved shirts/all clothes in general.

Not being able to wear the super-cute, super-tall high heels.

Dating limitations.

Hitting your head on things.

Being asked out by lesbians.

Easily tripped.

Unable to dance without looking like a drunken moose.

Being Tall Pros:

I’m awesome.

Being able to reach things on high shelves.

Being able to play keep away from people by simply holding the object up in the air.

Having other people tie my shoe because they’re closer.

Ability to know when it’s raining first.

Never get claustrophobic in large crowds.  I see over them.

Can always see the band.

The ability to hide that extra 30 lbs.  Sort of.

Being somewhat intimidating in confrontations.

Being in love with Big Dinosaur.

Good things to say to a “vertically enhanced” person you just met:

“Wow, I love your legs!”

“Hi.”

“Nice weather today, isn’t it?”

“Have a nice day.”

[nothing]

BAD things to say to a tall person you don’t know:

“Oh my God!  You’re so tall!!”

“Do you play basketball?”

“How tall are you?”

“Do you play volleyball?”

“That’s a tall drink of water!”

“Girl, you got more legs than a bucket of chicken!!” – P.S. Mullet man at Poncho’s- A bucket of chicken only comes with 2 legs…

“Wooo baby! You’re legs go all the way up to your ass!!” – P. S. Man at the bar- Everyone’s legs go all the way up to their ass.  Everyone.

“Damn girl, I’d like to climb that tree!” – P.S. Man trying to sell car care products at the gas station- Um, no.  Just no.

“Man! You’re tall.  I wish I was Puerto Rican!”- P.S. Homeless man outside my work- I am not now, nor have I ever been Puerto Rican.  I don’t even have a decent tan.  Furthermore, I was not aware that Puerto Ricans were known for their excessive height.  I am pretty sure it is quite the opposite actually.

So all and all I have accepted my height, my clumsiness, and my limp noodle dancing style and for the most part people around me have accepted it too.  Just remember, the next time you see a tall person, don’t tell them about their height.  I assure you, they already know.

The Amish are not amused.

A Day in the Life

This morning when I got to work I felt like total monkey balls.  I have no idea if it was the energy drink and peanut butter (directly out of the jar) that I had for breakfast or possibly a cold.  Maybe the entire box of chardonnay I had for dinner.  Not sure.

Just so you know, I was still completely productive with the lights off in my cubby-hole and managed quite well to hide the smell of wine and shame emanating from my pores.  People kept coming up to me, asking me to help them with Excel or whatever.  So I made a special graph and hung it up in the entrance of my cubby hole.

It helped keep the “worky-worky” types at bay, which in turn gave me plenty of time to read funny shit on the internet.  Don’t theses people know that work was created as a façade to allow like-minded, funny people of the world to congregate on the internet during normal business hours??

A little later, once I realized that I had read every post ever written by The Bloggess, I decided I should start on some reports for the office.  After all, they were due two weeks ago.  

I ran through all the monthly surveys we get back from the patient’s in our clinic.  It came back with some doctors getting 150 surveys returned and some getting 3.  So basically we base our entire practice’s productivtiy on patients’ wildly inaccurate survey scores.

The docs take these scores VERY seriously and if scores are bad, the get pissy.  Therefore, I judge them for who they are as a person by their wildly inaccurate survey scores.   Any time a doctor is rude to me, I just think to myself, “Oh yeah, that’s Dr. Kramer.  He had 3 surveys returned and one of them had bad scores which brought down the other perfect scores so that his overall score was bad.  He must be an asshole.”  I sometimes feel like telling them to their face.  “Don’t be a dick to me!  I know all about your shitty scores!!”

Of course I can’t do that.  But….I sure love doing things I’m not supposed to.

So anyway, this month our scores were pretty good and I finished up the report in about 30 minutes.  If I wasn’t such a procrastinator I could have had it finished well before my deadline.  Damn you internet!  I figured since I got that one finished so quickly that I would have plenty of time to finish the other monthly report I do.  So…MORE INTERNET!!

Next thing you know it was lunch.  And I tell you what, I was feeling pretty good.  Not about how well I had done at work, I mean my hangover is about half way gone.  I figured the best way to get that moving on is some super greasy carbs.  We happen to have a kick ass hamburger joint down town so the ladies and I headed that way.  That’s another thing I love about The Great State of Texas, it was December 12^th and 75.  Our walk was pleasant, minus the homeless man pissing on the sidewalk.  

At Jake’s I decided that the burger and fries would not nearly be enough, so I had them add chili and cheese to the fries and got a Miller Lite to wash it all down.  Don’t judge me, my tolerance can handle one or four beers on my lunch break.  No biggie.   Needless to say lunch was a success.  

Back at the office my boss thanked me for my “excellent report” I sent it.  YESSSSS.  So I rewarded myself with StumbleUpon for the next two hours.  I made some phone calls during the last two hours.  I told you I was productive!! Damn, they should pay me more.

I drive the hour home through the morons and when I get there I first feed my fish.  I have 3 rainbow colored guppies named Ed, Ed and Eddy.  Eddy is the green one and Ed is pink and Ed is orange.  Then I have a fancy goldfish….named Fancy.  Also there is a regular red goldfish named Ted.  He used to have a best friend named Bill, but they ate him.  Last but not least is the picasimus named Cowboy.  Because the cowboys SUCK! HA!

About half an hour later Big Dinosaur gets home.  We pretend like we are going to change clothes and go to the gym then one  We entertain each other with made up stories, plenty of which you will see on here, I’m sure.  Then I made dinner.  I felt bad about blowing my diet on lunch, so I made some friend chicken and cheesy mashed potatoes so that I could eat my feelings.  We sat on our asses and I usually read while he watches TV.  Then we went to bed.  

Tah-Dah!  Aren’t you so glad I shared all this with you??  You’re welcome!!

One Day Closer to Retirement

I need a new job so bad I can taste it in my sleep.  I have developed this strange twitch every time my phone rings and I see flashes of me picking up the receiver and slamming it down repetitively until it can no longer issue a sound and the whole thing is strewn about this little cubicle in tiny, tiny pieces while the screeching sound from ‘Kill Bill’ plays in the background.  I grind my teeth when I talk to people to prevent yelling and mocking them while they whine on and on incessantly about their minuscule problems, meanwhile my eyeballs bleed onto my desk.  

Don’t get me wrong, I work for a great company.  It’s a very large medical office and I’m lucky to be here.  I am just SO burned out on my current position that I could gouge out my brain with a spoon.  I work in what is basically a doctor’s office for Dallas’….how should I say…privileged society.  I’m talking about the people who believe that my sole purpose on this earth is to serve them, and only them, for all eternity.  But guess what? It’s not!  

These people are so used to having people wait on them hand and foot that when I don’t give them exactly what they want, exactly when they want it, they throw shit-fits like you have never seen!  I can’t tell you how many times my life has been threatened.  I once had an urchin of a 90 year old lady tell me that she “doesn’t have to take this shit, you little hussy!”  Oh snap!!  I just got called out 1935 style!

After 3 years of working here and answering the phone day in and day out and being talked to like I am a piece of goat shit, well it wears on a person.  I am usually a very happy-go-lucky person and it pisses me off when people ruin that shit for me.  I don’t understand how people can say such hateful things to someone they don’t even know.  It baffles me.

Anyone who has worked any length of time in the service industry knows exactly what I mean I’m sure.  People are just a bunch of assholes when you get down to it.  You throw in people who are sick and people who want an appointment or medications and they can get downright cruel.  If they aren’t being total jerk-offs then they are just pathetically annoying.  They want to talk to you for 30 minutes about how shitty their life is.  Who does that? Why would you think that I want to hear about your hemorrhoids and your dead cat??

One of my pet peeves is when you greet someone, like a customer/patient/stranger, and you say “Hi.  How are you?”  And the person answers “Oh, just horrible.  Really, really shitty.”  That wasn’t a real question!! I was being polite! It’s my job!!  Now you do the polite thing and say “Fine thanks.” Like every other NORMAL FUCKING PERSON!!! NOBODY WANTS TO HEAR ABOUT YOUR FUCKING DAY!!!!  Whew.

The only thing that makes it worth coming here is the people I work with, mostly a couple of nurses I am lucky enough to call friends.  They have the same sense of humor and liquor preferences as I do and they are just fun.  Anyone who can make jokes of GI bleeds and stinky old people are good in my book.  Plus happy hour is really fun when you can come to work and get a bag of IV fluids to cure your hangover.  They have a contest going as to who can pull the largest load of junk out of a patient’s ear.  Currently Shanna is winning with a quarter sized ball of wax and lint.

And of course there is Dr. Jones.

Dr. Jones is the highlight of any given day here in the office.  He is an older man, probably in mid 70s, but he walks around the clinic with the smile and mischievous, shifty eyes of a 10 year old.  He loves telling jokes, but has no idea how to forward e-mails so when he gets a good one he will print off 25 copies and pass them out around the office.  He still writes in a paper calendar which he keeps folded in his back pocket to keep up with meetings and other very doctorly things.  We call it his PDA.  He has no idea what we mean by that.

One year we had our office Christmas party at The Faculty Club, which is a big fancy-smancy club where all the docs go for drinks after work or while on call or whatever.  Anyway, this is a big black-tie event and this year in particular was super fancy-smancy because another doc was retiring so a lot of his family and close friends were in attendance as well as all the clinic staff and physicians.  So the time comes around for people to make speeches about the retiring doc.  Now usually this is a time for fond memories and warm wishes but the very last speaker was Dr. Jones.  He swaggers up to the podium in his jeans, boots, cowboy hat and glass of whiskey and immediately grabs the microphone causing horrendous feedback to reverberate through the room.  After about 30 glorious seconds of feedback screeching, Dr. Jones looks up at the crowd and says “Well, I don’t know whose idea it was to have me speak tonight.  Givin’ me a microphone is like givin’ a whore a vibrator.”  

This was met with snickers from the other docs and looks of repulsion from their wives.  I on the other hand spit the entire glass of chardonnay I was chugging out onto the silk table cloth.  Luckily I was sitting with my ladies and none of them noticed or cared because they were all busy trying to get down the free drinks just as fast as I was.

Dr. Jones then proceeds to berate and insult the retiring doc, to my utter joy and amusement.  I literally had to leave the room half way through the speech because I was the only one laughing.  I could not. Stop. Laughing.  Needless to say, I never miss the spring parties at Dr. Jones’ house either. 

Last year at the spring party Dr. Jones wore a t-shirt with a picture of himself sitting in an old-timey plane on it.  Let me clarify that for you so you really get it.  This man, in his mid 70s, loves airplanes so fucking much that he went to go sit in one and made his wife take a picture of him in it.  Then, not satisfied with walking around the office and showing the staff the picture, (which he did numerous times)he then decided to have a T-Shirt made of the picture.  A T-Shirt.  Of a picture.  Of him in an airplane.  The “me-in-a-airplane” shirt is his favorite shirt and on the rare occasion I see Dr. Jones outside of work, you can bet your ass he’s wearing it.

Dr. Jones is really one of my favorite people in the world.  If I were ever sick, he would be the one I wanted.  He is a child in a man’s body and he strives daily to keep it that way. That is what I like most about Dr. Jones.  That and his bird clock.

The Pusher of Buttons

I do things out of spite all the time.  It’s what I live for.  People who know me best know that they should never tell me NOT to do something because it rarely works out in their favor.  Big Dinosaur has even figured out that it works in reverse!  It’s how he gets me to do things I hate, like laundry.  “Don’t do the laundry; I want to do it tomorrow.”  Asshole. 

Let’s say there is a big red button and over the button is a big sign, “DO NOT PUSH THIS BUTTON.”  In all caps.  Just like that.  Yelling.  And under that sign is a smaller sign that says, “No, seriously. The world will end.  Don’t do it.” All convincing like. 

Even if I didn’t want to push the button in the beginning, the mere fact that the sign told me NOT to push it makes it irresistible to me.  I HAVE to push that button or I will DIE.  And then of course when I push it, we all die because the button is attached to a lever that pushes a bowling ball down a ramp and into a glass wall that immediately shatters destroying the entire fabric of time because that’s the way shit works! You’re welcome! 

So the other night Big Dinosaur and I are checking into a Hotel after about a 10 hour drive through the Great State of Texas.  The place is virtuously abandoned because…well…it’s Dumas, Great State of Texas…not a lot going on ‘round there.  We met a teeny -weenie old lady who said she owned the place.  She had the biggest grin on her face.  Honestly it was creepy.  I thought for a minute she was going to eat us.  She was watching Spanish “No-vellas” and when I asked her if she spoke Spanish she gave me the stink eye and said, “Nope.”  Apparently it was the only TV station that came in without cable.  Did I mention that we only stay at the classiest joints?

On top of the check-in counter was one of those shiny, silver, push button bells.  Big Dinosaur saw me eyeing the bell and shakes his head “No!”  But he already knew it was coming.  It was far too late.  He couldn’t stop it.  His arms were full of luggage so he can’t even physically restrain me.  The very second ‘Teeny-Weenie’ turns her back to charge our card….  DING DING DING DING DING DING DING DING DING DING DINGDINDDINGDINGDINGDINGDIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNGGGGG!!  ‘Teeny-Weenie’ is so damn startled she maybe peed herself a little while Big Dinosaur just hung his head in shame.  Don’t try to change me dude.  It’s who I am. 

My life would be so much easier if I didn’t have to go out of my way to do the things people tell me not to.  Who makes up all these “Don’ts” anyway?  Don’t eat raw cookie dough or uncooked pasta.  Don’t feed the goldfish Cheez-its.   Don’t let the dog eat at the table.  Don’t wear your pajamas to the bar.  Don’t stand facing everyone else in an elevator.  Don’t wipe your boogers on the back of the couch.  Don’t teach the small children swear words.  Have you ever heard a 2 year-old say “Son-of-a-bitch?”  It’s flipping hilarious!  

Your shit? It's weak.

I guess my point is people need to lighten up a little. We only have this one go-round at life, and I personally enjoy shaking things up a bit and breaking the rules.  And pushing buttons… I really love pushing buttons. 

Oh and this picture, it has absolutely nothing to do with this post.  I just wanted you all to be aware of how awesome I am when I've been drinking whiskey.

Hey Mom!! Look at me!! I'm on the internet!!!

I read somewhere that 25,000 people a day start a blog.  25,000 people.  Wow.  That’s a lot. So I suppose my day is today.  I mean, with a number like that it had to come eventually right?  Well here I am, and I hope I don’t disappoint myself.  And maybe I won’t disappoint you along the way.  Just kidding!! I don’t care if I disappoint you.

Just a little info before we get started.  I fully expect this blog to be completely about my life and the things I love/hate/think is funny/think is stupid.  I plan on sharing my opinions and hopefully make a few people laugh.  I’m not just going to sit around and talk all the time though; I’ll share pictures and what-nots.  Don’t lie, you’re excited.   My humor is extremely sarcastic so if you can’t take a joke, this may not be the place for your readings.  I truly don’t mean to offend anyone so if I do you should write bad things about me on your own blog.  

No really though, sorry if I piss you off but it’s not going to stop me from doing it.  Love you, mean it!