I use ‘blogging’ loosely, as I barely have posted.

There are so many things I’ve wanted to post…some rants, some awesome news.

But it’s time to come out of the [pseudonym] closet.  So.  I kinda am.

After some friendly banter via Twitter, I got harassed into buying their album.  But I’m glad I did.

Dancing, while still my very first and only true passion, is a rarity for me these days.  There are no college teams when you’re 25.  Um – the studios in Carolina?  Are not ready for me.  And I don’t like toning down style to fit what the mommies think their lil angels should be doing.  Or being nice to their lil angels.  But that’s neither here nor there.  Point is, I don’t get to dance that often.  And rarely does inspiration strike these days – how can it with the Gagas and Beibers of the world blasting on our radios?  That’s not to say I don’t enjoy a good rockout to Alejandro, but it doesn’t exactly move me.

Now – as a contemporary dancer (who likes a splash of hip-hop as well), I was inspired by Redline Addiction’s “Difficult to Dream,” for many reasons.

For so many months, years, and thanks largely in part to The Job Which Shall Not Be Named, I didn’t sleep.  Like…ever.  The wheels stayed turning all.night.long.  That was also a symptom of my depression (which, as loyal readers know, I’ve battled for well over a decade).  I practically needed horse tranquilizers to pass the f out.  I’m happy to say I’ve been off meds for several months now, but I still remember what it’s like.  I mean, c’mon.  It’s nearly midnight and I’m writing a post about not sleeping.  It’s starting again.

One thing I love about the night is it’s the only time I get to myself.  Everything’s quiet and I get to be alone with my thoughts.  I can watch whatever on TV or just write or read in peace.  Don’t get me wrong – I love the chaos of my life (Aries, remember?).  But the chaos makes me more grateful for the peace.

That’s why I love the lyrics to this song, and why they make me want to dance.  For so long I knew what it was like to be the girl in the song.  I still do, really.  You’ll need to purchase it on iTunes to hear it, but I hope they don’t mind if I post the chorus.

Hey tonight
Close your eyes
Fall asleep now
Cause if you’re wide awake my dear
If you’re wide awake my dear
It’s difficult to dream

That doesn’t even begin to cover the way I connect to the lyrics (wish I could post them all, but just buy the song!).  So now – a collaboration.  A contemporary dance by yours truly to the music of Redline Addiction.  The guys are stoked, I’m stoked.  Everyone’s stoked.

And it’s gonna rock, boom, blam.

Seriously.  Not joking anymore.  The dogs, they haz issues.  I like to come home from work at lunchtime to take the lil boys on a short walk and let em do they bidness. 

But.  Unfortunately.  However.  I come home to Mac (who is secluded in our bedroom and is known to make pillow forts on our bed during the day) who has shat in the corner.   Charlie is still a puppy and is thus crated in the master bath.  He has had explosive shit, rolled in it, and has shaken it off – which sprays out the vents to all over the bathroom. 

Cue me.  It takes me approx 12 minutes to drive home so I have about a half hour to spare.  It’s going to take me so much longer than that to even bring myself to realize I need to clean this [quite literal] shit up. 

Brink of tears. 

I begrudgingly get the cleaner, throw Charlie’s crate blankets in the wash, scrub up Mac’s carpet poop.  Whilst I’m doing so, SOMEONE has vomited TWICE in the living room.  I say this like I think one of them is gonna fess up via blog. 

I cry.

I clean up vomit. I now reek of dog shit and vomit and sweat and need to go back to work.  I lock up the dogs.

I have to work late to make up the extra half hour I took at lunch to clean up dog mess.  I come home….there is more vomit.  The Ster cleans it up, God bless ‘im. 

Mac shits in a corner.  Fuck my life.

The shitterz, they iz worth it?  Mmmk.

J: Seriously, could I date anyone more dramatic?

Me:  He could be on The Hills.

J:  We should have our own TV show, a Jewish reality show.

Me:  Yesssssssss.  Can we call it The Shtetl?

J: Nah, too retro.  Let’s call it The Island.

Me:  I like it.  Survivor meets The Kardashians.  I’ll allow it.

Me:  I thought of some great ideas for our reality show.  I can’t wait to come to Chi-town and harass all the unsuspecting locals.
Me:  Can I pull off Chi-town?  Or does it sound too white coming from me?

J:  Yesssss!  And no, not too white at all.

She lies. 

I can’t wait to go visit the bestie in Chicago!  Methinks Labor Day weekend?  I think she and I need some sort of meetup a few times a year, but it needs to be expanded to include other cities.  Like…Charlotte is boring.  She’s only been here a few times but pretty sure we’ve done ALL there is to do.  I’m ready to move. *angelic smile*

Wake up, hurriedly shower and toss on some makeup and whatever work clothes I didn’t don the day before, race (the whole five miles) to work.  work-work-work-work-lunch-work-work-work-work.  Although luckily my day is broken up by fun conversations with coworkers – things like astrological signs.

Jersey says he knew I was an Aries the first time he met me, because I’m a “spitfire” and “don’t take any crap.”  True and TRUE.   My temper is uncontrollable, though I’m not really sure if that’s indicative of my being born in the house of Mars or in the arms of my father – he’s a Pisces so he’s supposed to be calm, cool, collected – which of course is the case most of the time.

It takes a lot to truly blow my fuse these days and as I’ve said before, I’m not nearly as vengeful as I used to be.  Oh man.  You know how [in movies] people say they’ll destroy somebody?  That’s what I – well, we really – J and I – did.  It’s not hard.  Especially since I have the memory of an elephant and can tuck away fabulous details in the back of my mind.  And/or have excruciatingingly incriminating photos of people.  That helps too.  Why do you think I carry a camera?  Ok, kidding.  But really, it does help.

But my sharp tongue still gets me in trouble…not really trouble per say, but once you get older you have to watch what you say – people are less forgiving.  And while I don’t care what society in general thinks of me, the one thing I don’t want to do is hurt people I truly care about.

Profile of the stereotypical Aries…(via Twittascope)

The headstrong Ram won’t be found sitting on the sidelines. As the first sign of the zodiac, your sign represents the confident and courageous leader, the determined innovator. Ruled by action-oriented Mars, this bold and impulsive Fire sign is always on the move in search of the latest thrill. But in order to lead, you’ll need others to follow, which will be hard to come by unless you can learn to keep your arrogance in check.

Um…check, check, check.

Just for kicks, let’s look at Shaney’s.

Just as the surefooted mountain goat feels most at ease in high altitudes, calculating Capricorn knows it belongs at the top of the ladder. Ruled by hardworking Saturn, you tend to find pleasure in planning and practicality, with your sights fixed permanently on success. For you business-minded beings, accomplishing one task is a welcomed opportunity to jump right into another — the Goat lives for the chance to climb higher and climb harder than all the rest.

I can’t tell you how these fit us to an absolute T.  Hilarious. 

Um, for the astrological compatibility ratings?  Capricorn/Aries got ZERO STARS.

I guess opposites really do attract!

Gonna need some wine for this one. 

In other news, I have some fun characters at my new job.  I know Sir Slacksalot is sorely missed so I did my damnedest to bring you these little gems.

Oldie von Holy – late 50s/early 60s lady in the cubicle next to me. Works Christianity into every conversation.  Insists Obama is Muslim.  Lives in the country and doesn’t come into Charlotte, according to her – even though I work (you guessed it) in Charlotte.  Ohhhhkay.

Jersey – We’ll call him this ’cause well…he’s from Jersey.  Not your stereotypical guido though.  Black, metro, pushing 40, has a long distance gf (wtf) back in Jersey.  Works (you guessed it) Jersey into every conversation.  Like him, but c’mon – it’s JERSEY.

So we had to come up with this team name, like the whole company does in each specific mini-department.  I came up with a fabulous name, which everyone loved except Oldie.  It was Paradigm.  She didn’t want to be known as setting the standard, because it would “come back n bite us in the ass.”  Please.  I AM the Paradigm. 

So Jersey came up with the next catchy (albeit hokey) name – Checks R Us.  Cute…but c’mon.  Paradigm is way better.  Stupid ‘has to be unanimous’ voting.  I got an IM from a team member saying “I like yours better.”  damn straight. 

And now I’m on team Checks R Us.  Just put me out of my misery, puh-lease.

But there are worse things than a cheesy team name.  For instance, working.  I swear to God, as soon as I pay off student loans, credit card, etc. I’m babysitting part time and working on a novel.   JUST YOU TRY AND STOP ME.

Oh!  And I’m teaching dance again finally – at a studio near the house.  Um.  Dance is very different in the Carolinas.  It’s not edgy at all.  Nobody cares about being a GOOD dancer and keeping up with current styles.  Let’s keep it wholesome for the Xtians, ladies.  No two-piece costumes, none of that “street dancing,” aka what they call real hip-hop here.  Hip-hop is “funky jazz.”  Good God. 

I was bouncin around the cube farm today and Jersey asked if I was dancing.  I said that yes, I was throwin down some Harlem Shake:

I recently realized you can see my Twitter name from my Facebook page.  If you click on that, well…it takes you to my Twitter profile.  Which has a link to my blog. 

Which is why you can now find me on FB under Sharky Speaks.  First name Sharky.  Done and done.

We all brought 2 bottles of the same wine and set one aside for the winnings.  The people who brought the winning wine took home ALL THE BOTTLES.  And we didn’t manage to rig it (damn). 

Allow me to introduce you to the winning wine….

You know you have been in North Carolina too long when NASCAR table wine is the best around.  Triple oy.

And you’ll notice on the sidebar, chickadees, that ‘booze’ now has its own category.  I mean, if god has one… um, what?

Any of yall watch Entourage?  The character Bob?  “Is that something you might be interested in?”  Hulu it.

Well after a very crummy day (week, month), I emailed Shane and told him I wasn’t sure what time I’d make it out of the office.  His response?  “I’m happy to tell you there are a dozen or so half-empty bottles of leftover wine waiting for you.  Is that something you might be interested in?”  Ah, that Shanester.  He knows just the right thing to make a girl say ”hell yes!”

Stay tuned, because there are more stories – like how I’ll be famous by-proxy when LiLu scores a sweet gig at MTV.  Follow herz on Twittah.  www.twitter.com/livitluvit

Oh, and also, classless women.  God why are there sooooo many classless women stories?  Why are you all so foul?  I hate you all.

On Suicide Pacts:
J:  There are way too many people to whom I will NOT give that satisfaction.

Nice.

So now, here’s my own version.  It’s Shit My Best Friend Says.  Jeanette is hilarious and her blog does her some justice, but not enough.  http://jurisdesperate.blogspot.com

So now she has some lil pearls of wisdom to dole out, and who am I to stop her?  Here goes nothing.  J, you’re famous!

On Gettin Gangstafied:
J: You should really think of putting z’s at the end of wordz.  It will build your street cred.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Me:  I’ve lost seven pounds!
J:  Congratz on EL WEIGHT LOSS.  You iz gonnaz look fab (see what I did there?)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Me:  Did ya get the memoz?!  Doy.
J:  Omg I respect you so much right now.

On Good Music:
J:  Listen… if it’s not Ke$ha or “Alejandro,” then I’m not interested, radio.

On Shifty Bitchez:
J:  I want you to be happy and the fact that these whores are mucking it up enrages me.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
J:  I’m angry and hate-filled.  I’m third-party disgusted.   Just let me know if you need me to cut a bitch.

On Personal Hygeine:
J:  I’m not bringing toothpaste, ttyl.