Category Archives: Uncategorized

Sometimes, You Just Feel Like A Sausage

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Today I knew I had to spend a few hours putting in apps and following up on any job leads I heard rumors of, so I actually put some effort into getting myself together and trying to look good. Rarely happens, so it was a real confidence booster.

I even dug out this tank top I bought forever ago that is one of those fat-sucker-inner things that swears it will make me look skinnier…boy, did those advertisements lie. First, I nearly dislocated my shoulder just trying to get it pulled down over my boobs. So I thought, oh, this is totally gonna work! Because if it didn’t even want to expand that much, surely my squishy muffin top will be no match. And yep, my jeans sure did slide on easier. Awesome! I was all set to go and out the door I went.

The first few stops did go well, even if I couldn’t take a deep breath or bend in any way.

After that, things went south.

Literally. The tank top started sliding downward. Suddenly I had so much cleavage popping out from my sweater I probably could have made a hooker do a double take. I struggled to tug it back up and I’m pretty sure I wound up looking like I was slapping my chest around in the tractor supply store parking lot. And I really hope no one saw that.

Then the bottom started slowly creeping upward. There was no way I could pull it back into place without undoing my pants, and I was already giving enough of a show with the cleavage problem. It was time to pick up my oldest from school anyways, so I could deal with it for another hour while I met with her teacher for a parent-teacher conference.

Unfortunately, as soon as I sat down in the tiny chair made for small children, the bottom of the tank top flew up like it was some kind of belly window shade and I felt like a sausage that had broken through its casing. I could barely even concentrate on what the teacher was saying. I was sitting there ramrod straight and praying that only the tank top had flown up and not my sweater too. Sitting there barely speaking with my flab airing out is not the impression I wanted to give to this very important adult in my child’s life, you know?

For once, I was lucky. The sweater held its ground while the tank top fought an epic battle to see how flat it could make my poor lady lumps.
I’m pretty sure that tank top should recall the advertisements already out and change it to “Mammogram in clothing form!”

The tank top is now living the rest of its short life from the bottom of a trash can.

Let’s Talk About Job Loss

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It seems inevitable that just when it seems like you’ve got a handle on things, bam! Something happens to knock you on your butt and really put you on rocky ground.

It turns out yesterday was my day for it.

I’m losing my job in ten days. Well, nine now. The restaurant where I work is closing its doors because the private owner of it doesn’t want to mess with being the owner of a restaurant anymore. Apparently, we should be grateful for any kind of notice. The other one he owns received no notice; they closed as usual one night and then were told they were jobless.

Sigh.

I’m angry and disappointed the general manager didn’t tell us what has been going on behind closed doors for the last month, give us a heads up that we might be in trouble and maybe shouldn’t make any big, unnecessary purchases (like engagement rings) right now. It’s a small staff and it’s more like a family than your typical workplace. I understand she was in a tough position, but jeez. She says the owner refused to let her, but we all know he’s a huge jerk. I expected more out of her. She didn’t even call an employee meeting to tell us. I found out when I came for my shift and one of my co-workers asked if I had brought any alcohol.

I’m worried about rent and bills and diapers and toilet paper. I’m worried about how I’m going to feed my family next month. I’m considering taking back the rings we bought less than a week ago, even though the mister of this equation is staunchly refusing to consider that option. They’re just rings, and we don’t need them.

I’m nervous about finding a new job in a small town where places to work have dwindled for years, where rarely is the pay above minimum wage, a decent number of hours is hard to come by, and our most newsworthy occurrence in years is the recent, mind-boggling number of overdoses and deaths caused by heroin use.

I’m sad that maybe moving out of town for more job opportunities and less prevalent drug use might be the best option now. I really don’t want to do that, but my family comes first. I have two young, impressionable daughters to think about.

And it’s hard to admit all this. Hard to admit that right now, I don’t have any answers other than to put my resume together, go pound the pavement, and hope for the best.

It’s all I can do right now. Wish me luck.

A Rose By Any Other Name… Wait, That’s My Name, Dammit!

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With our recent engagement, all sorts of questions have been popping up, one of which is if going to change my name.

Now, we could get into all sorts of stickiness here about feminism and identity of the self and individuality, etc. But I’m not usually that serious and generally hate debating and defending my opinions, so let’s get down to the truth about it.

It’s weird.

I’ve always thought it was weird when friends I’d grown up with suddenly had a new last name, and it usually takes me a few years to get used to it. And it’s double confusion if they’ve divorced and changed back or even remarried in a relatively short amount of time. I feel like I should slap a “Hello, my name is… ” sticker on them just so I can keep track.

Am I alone here?

So I hate the idea of changing my name. I like it. I’ve had it for thirty years. I’m associated with my family by it (usually a good thing). It’s modern times. Can’t he change his name?

Of course not. That idea was met with a scowl and a “hell no.”

He should know me better than that by now. I know he loves me like crazy and would do anything to make me happy. So I’m going to have some fun with this.

“We can always hyphenate our names. We can be the Linville-Cloyds. Or the Cloyd-Linvilles. Your pick.”

“No.”

“Come on! We can pretend we’re like Scottish clans coming together to make one ginormous clan. You’re part Scottish. We could make it work! As we walk down the aisle, we can be serenaded by bagpipes!”

“….What? No. Just no.”

“Ok, hmm. We could combine our names and come up with a new one for the both of us. How about the LiCloyds? Oh! Oh! We could even do it with our first names and have completely new identities. DaJessica LiCloyd 1, and DaJessica LiCloyd 2. You can be number 1 since you are older. Some consessions should be made.”

“OMG!”

“That’s it, isn’t it? I knew we could do this.”

“No. Go to sleep.”

“….Would it be better if we did Sr.  and Jr., to reflect the age difference between us?”

“I’m going to kill you.”

“Ok, ok. I’ll shut up….”

It’s fun to jerk his chain. 😉

But for reals, I’m gonna change my name to his. I just had to give him a hard time about it.

We’re All Mad Here

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Welcome to the brand-new blog, Domestically Dippy, where the craziness of my day-to-day gets exposed for your reading pleasure. Just remember…it’s ok to laugh at me. I wouldn’t blame you! 😉

Intro: I’m Jessica. Someone ten years ago described me as charmingly off-center, and I think that sums me up just fine. I’m turning thirty in a few months, I have two awesome girls (ages 8 and 2, for a few more months) and last week, my boyfriend and I decided to get engaged.

That’s right. He’s stuck with me, my girls, and our crazy shenanigans.

In case you’re wondering exactly why  this is so amazing to me, a typical amusement for us is to shove pillows up our shirts and pretend to be sumo wrestlers attacking each other. While making fart noises.

Yup. Be jealous.

The point of this blog adventure is to document this new experience for me and to let the world in on just how I plan to pull this shindig off.

Consider yourself warned, and warmly welcomed.

Over and out.