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Trader Joe’s employees are always so f*$%ing happy. It doesn’t matter which location, what time of day I go in, or how busy it is…they’re always skipping around the store like they’re having the time of their lives. Like seriously, what are they all so shit-eatin’-grin happy about?

Even if you actively try not to let their happiness rub off on you, it’s just not possible. Last time I was shopping there, I was walking down the cereal aisle minding my own business looking for the Triple Berry O’s when a guy stocking the shelves behind me was VERY LOUDLY singing along to the overhead music. “Don’t you— forget about….ME!” he belted out by the oatmeal like nobody was watching. Like he was in his own damn shower or something. I caught myself staring at him. He saw me. I didn’t look away. He didn’t care. “Don’t don’t don’t don’t- don’t you, forget about me….” He smiled. I stared some more. “Best ending to a movie EVER, right?” He asked me. I grinned, “Yeah the Breakfast Club- definitely up there.” DAMMIT- point for the Trader Joe’s happy guy.

Look it’s not that I’m unhappy or want people to be miserable. But I was beginning to wonder what exactly they were selling in their bags of kimchee. So, I asked my girlfriend who worked there years ago, “Lisa, you worked at Trader Joe’s….why does everybody who works there walk around smirking like they just got a handie in the canned corn aisle? What gives? What the feck are they all so happy about?”

“I don’t know…..it’s a good company to work for. People are treated well….you get to work with your friends. The time goes by fast because most of the time, it doesn’t really feel like work.

Also I think most of the people who work there are high a lot,” she mused.

THE KIMCHEE! I knew it!

While I attempted to buy healthy-ish food when shopping at Trader Joe’s, I have to confess I’ve never been much into “fitness.” See: I can’t even write it without putting it in quotes….like working out is a fictitious concept dreamed up by Walt Disney or something. I’ve always been much more drawn to sedentary activities like reading, writing, drinking wine, get-rich-quick-scheming, and participating in mac and cheese eating contests against myself. So when my friends told me about this gym called Orange Theory Fitness last year, I even surprised myself by showing up and trying it out.

Orange Theory is a gym that offers group workouts and interval training. You wear a heart monitor so you can optimize calorie burning by staying in the best (orange) zone during your workout. When I first walked in, the coach looked so happy I turned around like maybe Ed McMahon might have been behind me with one of his huge checks. Nope. He was just jizzing himself that he got to help another person workout.

I shook my head. So it was going to be one of THOSE workouts….I’m east coast sarcastic and I don’t usually respond to the “get go ‘em tiger” attitude most of the time. But while I jumped around the room and tried not to go into cardiac arrest, the coach cheered everyone on, encouraging and enthusiastic.

What was he so f%$&ing happy about anyway, I wondered. Was it because he got to see hot chicks in tight clothes bouncing around all day?

As I drove home one night after working out and stopping to pick up some groceries- drenched in sweat and other people’s enthusiasm- it occurred to me why these guys were always so happy.

It wasn’t because of the hand jobs or the pot, or the hot chicks. (Although those are perfectly good reasons to smile, especially if it’s a hand job from a hot chick while you’re smoking pot. Okay I’ve had more HJ references in this post than in a Judy Blume book….yikes)

It wasn’t for any of those reasons. Simply put, the reason they are so f#%&ing happy is because they really love what they do.

And when you love what you do, people notice…and it makes them smile too.

I can appreciate that because I truly love my job. I laugh a lot. I work really hard but I have a lot of fun with the people I work with. I know I’m not always at TJ level happy and I don’t always look like I just found the winning lotto ticket stuck in a crate full of mangos, but I have my share of laughs and wins at work. I hope sometimes people wonder what the F I’m so happy about.

Whether it’s at a job, socially, or at home with our families-I think we should all aspire to spend more time doing something that makes other people wonder what the !$*@ we’re so happy about!

**For the record, neither Trader Joe’s nor Orange Theory paid me to write this post. Probably if anything, they would make ME pay THEM in the form of a legal settlement for writing about their happy little businesses in the company of some many “$%&” and hand job references. Luckily, there are only about 4 of you left who actually follow this blog, so I think I’m safe.

THE BREAKFAST CLUB, Judd Nelson, Emilio Estevez, Ally Sheedy, Molly Ringwald, Anthony Michael Hall, 1985. ©Universal Pictures/Courtesy Everett Collection

 “When I was a boy of 14, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be 21, I was astonished at how much he had learned in 7 years.” – Mark Twain

When I was a kid, my dad used to take my two brothers, sister and me to the park and push us on the swings. There was an old crabapple tree there and he’d let us pummel him with crabapples that had fallen on the ground. Dad would take us to church every Sunday and stop for donuts on the way home. He’d pause in the middle of mowing the lawn to talk to me when I was excited to tell him something, even if it meant being stuck in the sweltering heat for even longer.

Dad showed us how to build the coolest snow forts in winter, or would help us build giant snowmen, even if he was exhausted from shoveling the massive driveway. In the summer, Dad was always the first one in the pool throwing all the kids in the air or bouncing a ball around. He coached my brothers’ little leagues and even kept coaching basketball long after my brothers had lost interest, because he really loved making a difference in lives of children.

Once, when my girlfriends and I were around 12 or 13, we were having a campout in my backyard. My friend Jessica said, “Let’s play a game. Let’s say whose father we think is the most handsome. I’ll go first: Tracy’s!” I ended up telling him about it and we still tease him about his “girlfriend” Jessica…and take the opportunity to remind him that he was- and still is- the handsome dad.

Dad was the SOREST loser at Sorry!, Life, or Rummy. He would always make us play “one more round” if he had lost so he could have one more chance at winning. He always rode the roller coasters with us at the amusement parks and even tried to sneak us onto some of the scary rides when we were too little on the height chart.

Dad worked hard and provided well for us but he was always home for dinner and never compromised spending time with us for his career. He was at every one of our dance recitals, chorus performances, school plays, and softball games. He taught us how to drive- although I’m sure he won’t take credit for my driving abilities….He encouraged us to do well in school and took us to look at colleges. Then, when I was homesick he would come pick me up from college and offer a ride to any of my girlfriends who needed to get back home and he’d always act interested in the latest gossip. Sometimes I think he kept up with who was dating who better than I did!

My father made sure we knew that family came first, and that a man should never treat a woman badly, either with his words or with his hands; that we should never marry someone who wouldn’t make family his top priority. Dad taught us we should be smart and responsible with our money. That we should follow through with our promises and our words should have conviction. He did his best to make sure we worked hard and always put our best into what we were doing: whether it was  chores, school, or jobs- we should always give 100%.

My dad took his job as a parent seriously. There were times, especially during the teenage years, where I thought perhaps he was taking it a little too seriously and we definitely had our challenges. But I always knew that he cared and wanted the best for me. He didn’t just tell me how to be a good person, he showed me. And that is the greatest gift you can give a child.

Happy Father’s Day to my dad- and to all the dads who lead by example every day. You are appreciated, and you make a bigger difference than you know.

Best dad and best Grampy too!

You guys, you have some cah-razy bosses. Thank you for sharing your stories- I want to go on a roadtrip and visit all the bosses in person.

If you missed the first post of hilarious boss stories submitted by readers, click here to catch up.

And without further ado, here’s some more shit YOUR bosses said:

“Hello, Dolly” -Submitted by Anonymous Reader, California

So my boss made me go to a gross buffet for lunch. While we were sitting there, this large breasted woman walked by our table. After the woman passed us, my boss just says out of the blue for no reason, Dolly Parton. That was it, nothing else. Then like 3 minutes later he says, I really used to like her music. That was it. I said nothing. Obviously he was trying to pretend the woman had nothing to do with why he said that in a Chinese buffet with Spanish music playing.

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“Things I Don’t Want Chafed for 500 please, Alex” – Submitted by Jennifer S., Illinois

These are actual words that came out of the mouth of my boss at work today, so brace yourself:

“The last thing I need is a chafed penis.”

Well, my co-worker was complaining that his undershirt was itchy. So, he then asked our boss what brand of undershirt he wears and if they were soft. Then my boss never really answered the question but went on and on and on about the length of his undershirts and blah blah blah. Eventually he started talking about his underwear, that nobody asked about, and said they need to be comfy and eventually finished the unnecessary explanation with, “The last thing I need is a chafed penis”.

My coworker told me later that he wished he never asked that simple question because my boss took it to somewhere that he was not interested in knowing anything about. File this is in the I did not need to know about that section please.

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“Life Lessons”- Submitted by Gretchen F., Massachusetts

Today our boss is teaching the intern where the planets are in the solar system. Then he told him how racism works and why it is bad. This has been going on for over an hour. At lunch he tried to teach him about World War III. This intern guy has a fresh bachelor’s degree and apparently did one year of law school. I am sure he already knows these things. Our boss is the biggest time waster EVER. Umm, yes he has clients who need to be contacted, but apparently this is more important. I am just glad he has a new person to “teach” so he leaves my other coworker and me alone.

Now he is telling him how ships are built. I want to go home.

Do you have a hilarious boss story?

Please share it with us! tracy@tracyontherocks.com

There are some people you meet who you’re instantly drawn to because you have so much in common. Then there are the people who are nothing like you but are so lovable you have no choice but to want to be around them. Troy is the latter.

Troy was one of the first people I met when I moved to California. I can’t imagine any two people being more different. I love to read; Troy’s spelling is atrocious. I don’t have any tattoos…Troy is covered in ink.

My friend Molly introduced us at a house party; she had gone to school with him. I shook Troy’s hand and 20 minutes later, Troy decided he wanted a new tat. He geared up his home tattoo pen and handed it to me. “Here, do something on my leg,” he told me.

“Um. Sir? I don’t really have any artistic ability and I’m a little drunk. I don’t think I’m the best person to be putting a permanent marking on you….now or ever,” I told him as I nervously held the needle.

“HA! It’s fine! Just go for it! Whatever you want!” He rubbed a spot on his leg with a (hopefully sterile) wipe and told me to have at it. My hand shook as I came closer to his skin. I knew how to draw approximately zero things. Maybe I could put a neat quote on there? My handwriting is decent….I approached his appendage and touched the needle to the skin so lightly it barely left a mark. “Okay! I’m done! It’s a…it’s a period. End of the sentence. I think that’s pretty profound!” And then I threw the needle, still buzzing, on the floor and ran away.

Troy is the kind of person whose laugh reaches out and tickles your soul. It’s impossible not to laugh with him. Troy doesn’t pretend to be someone he’s not- he doesn’t apologize for who he is and he doesn’t have a reason to. He’s made mistakes. Unlike a lot of people, he’s okay with talking about his. Troy’s smile lights up a room and his energy can’t be ignored.

It’s been almost 12 years since I first met Troy. I haven’t seen him in ages. We’ve all gone our own ways and we aren’t the same kids who at 22 could hang out every night down by the beach at keg parties and tattooing each other over beers after the sun went down. I know if I ran into Troy today, he would give me his toothy grin and a big bear hug. He’s just that kind of person.

Troy still finds a way to sneak his hilarity into my life now and again, just when I need it.

After a long week at work, I noticed I had been tagged in a photo on Facebook by Troy. He had taken a picture of Molly and me and photoshopped their mutual friend Ryan into it. I don’t know Ryan, but the picture made me laugh.

“Hey, you guys wanna hook me up with some Doritos?”

Then I noticed that this photo was one of a whole album he had made goofing on his friend. I don’t know most of the people in these pictures and I’ll probably get sued by someone for posting them, but I couldn’t help it- I was laughing so hard at all the places he had Ryan popping up, I was snort laughing. I had to share them.

“Coochie Coochie coo”

It’s a boy!

Girls Night Out..

Make it a double!

Spare a square?

Another beautiful day at the beach…with Ryan

Don’t forget your sunscreen!

Ouch! Can I get you a cold compress?

Go Chargers!

What if there was no tomorrow?There wasn’t one today, right Ryan?

What is it? Do you think it’s poisonous?

“Pssst…over here.”

Put the pedal to the metal, let’s blow the popsicle stand!

“Hey guys do you have any spare floaties around here?”

Say cheese! (This one just kills me, complete with his hand around the little girl’s shoulders and that boy’s expression- I can’t.)

“Hey! Hey you, kid! Is this your first time at the zoo? Do you know where the Dole whip stand is?”

MLK had a dream. And so did Ryan…that Troy would stop photoshopping his face into pictures.

Happy New Year!

Look, ma! No hands!

You look so beautiful this evening, darling.

Hey do you guys know where the penguin exhibit is?

Fresh powder, let’s hit the slopes!

Ryan comes in for the win!

There you are! I’ve been looking for you all day!

Merry Christmas from our family (and Ryan) to yours!

Thank you, Troy. You make me laugh more than you know! I hope you look occasionally at the punctuation I left on your leg and think of me.

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Thanks for reading! ~Tracy

The other day, I was engrossed in Caitlin Moran’s book, “How to Be a Woman,” which Vanity Fair calls “the U.K. version of Tina Fey’s Bossypants.” So far, I’ve found her writing to be bold and irreverent. I had just finished reading the chapter where Moran talks about reclaiming the word “feminism.” She didn’t do it in a bra-burning bitch way, and reminds us that being a feminist isn’t a bad thing! I was feeling mighty womanly and powerful after that chapter as I put my book down to refill my wine glass.

Just then, the mirror that has been sitting on the floor of my bedroom since I moved in six months ago caught my eye. I’ve been waiting to bring in the handyman to hang that and take care of a bunch of other things I need handled around the house.

With my newly charged womanly can-do attitude (and armed with the guidance and bravery from the contents of my wine glass), I pronounced (to no one in particular), “I don’t need a handyman to hang this mirror! I want this mirror hung and hung shall this mirror be! I am perfectly capable of hanging this damn mirror!!”

And so I set about getting out my very capable and womanly toolkit with which I would hang my mirror.

I will tell you this: being a feminist ain’t easy and either is figuring out how to use tools. I’ve made a short list of things I learned from this experience that I will share with you below.

1. An electric screwdriver is not the same thing as an electric drill

*Yes, even if you take a screwdriver bit and try to use it to make a hole, it’s still not the same thing as a drill. Trust me.

2. You need to charge an electric screwdriver before it will work. I don’t know if you need to power an electric drill first, because turns out I don’t have an electric drill, only an electric screwdriver…but I would assume the same logic applies

3. These are not nipple clamps. I don’t know what they are for but I can assure you they do not bring pleasure to the nipple region.

4. If you don’t have a drill to make a hole for the wall anchors, you could give up on the wall anchors and just simply bash a hole in the wall using a hammer and a screw instead.

*Method not recommended

5. When engaging in #4, if you hung a very heavy mirror over your bed, make sure you are not sleeping in said bed during an earthquake so your head doesn’t get bashed in when the mirror falls on you.

And that, friends, is how you get.it.done. I am woman, hear me roar!

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(Which is almost never lately, sorry! I’ve been working on writing a book!)

I promise to never share your information or to spam you. Thanks for reading! ~Tracy