So Many Hats to Wear, So Little Time

I am a group sales manager at a ski resort hotel. When I'm not at work being told my job isn't brain surgery by pompous rich assho...erm, skiers, or getting yelled at by pious church group leaders who apparently go to church every Sunday and already know they are going to Heaven, so don't have to be nice anymore, there are many other hats I wear.

I am:

A Namer- I name everything. My car? Cecilia. My fushia plant? Lola. The spider I stomped on, collected in toilet tissue, and ceremoniously flushed down the toilet last night? Harry. Poor Harry. Yes, I'd say I have a naming addiction. Or maybe fetish is a better word. I don't know. I said I was a Namer, not a Figurer Outer of What That Naming Proclivity Would Be Called!

A Conspiracy Theorist- I've got conspiracies galore. Like, why my neighbor is only home during the day and out all night? Because he's a MURDERER, duh! That one couldn't be more obvious. Night job, my ass.

A Knower of Where All Things Are...Or At Least, All of My Husband's Things- I have all the answers to questions such as, "Where are my keys?" and "Where in the hell might a find a clean pair of boxers?" and "Where is that thing I got in the mail a month ago?" The last one took a little while, but once I ascertained what that 'thing' was, I found it without hesitation. Oddly enough, I couldn't find my own birth certificate before our trip to Puerto Rico. No, that took hours of searching.

A Lazy Sack of Poo- Which is why I'm done writing this now. I want to lounge on the couch, sip on cinnamon coffee, and be fanned by my scantily clad, nubile young attendants. Whee!