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I Wrote What YOU Told Me – Part III

If you don’t know what this is, then  read the part I post  which will explain.

Then  read yesterday’s post  for round two.

Ahem…

I am a really super great qualified candidate for this job. I get totally fired up about stuff, which is motivating for others. I show up early and will do the late thing, too. I eat at my desk, but quietly and without weird smells. My bathroom behavior is tolerable. I don’t need WhiteOut, because I don’t make mistakes. Hire me at your own risk – I’M EXPLOSIVE.

Loving it all,
Monica

This must be a woman thing. I haven’t dropped  foodstuffs ever down my shirt. But I will tell you what I did the other night. I was writing in bed, naked (as people do). My laptop was on my legs and I was eating  Jujyfruits. Since I didn’t want to keep shaking the box to get to the awesomeness, I pulled out about ten pieces and balanced them on my chest. Keep in mind that I have a super hairy chest and these candies get a bit sticky. The hair, however, did provide enough resistance to where the Jujyfruits did not fall off my chest.

It was only a matter of time before someone suggested Chupacabra. First of all, let’s talk about Mexico and all the wonderful things they contribute to society. Tortillas. Okay, now that we’re done I think it’s safe to say that there may be more credible zoologists than those of Mexico. If Chupacabra existed, Steve Irwin would have wrestled him live on television several years before his death. But even if it does exist, do a few dead goats really matter? I stopped drinking goat’s milk five years back. I should have never trusted that Mexican nutritionist who told me to drink goat milk. It gave me worms.

…my wanting to solve a woman’s problems when she has not asked for solution is hardwired. Sure, it’s helpful, and I’m almost always dead-on, however, I’ve learned one thing about life. Nobody actually wants you to tell them what to do. But, everybody wants to be heard. Sitting and being present for someone while they spout on about work, children, that weird sore on their upper back, depression, anger, or who’s going to win The Bachelor’s heart, is important. I’ve realized, over time, that my contributions to an intimate conversation are far less important than my presence. But I still screw that up every day. Want advice from me? Don’t ask – just start talking.
The cigarette makes his baby BMs unpredictable.

photo credit:  finnmacginty  via  photo pin  cc

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