It's almost 4 a.m. The house is quiet again. I should probably go find a place to sleep, but the idea of making that effort pisses me off because I should be able to just go lay in my own bed and go to sleep, but toddlers. So instead I've made a pot of coffee and I've decided I'm up and I'll just be up for the day and do some things I never make the time to do when the rest of the world is awake with me. It's 3:56 a.m.
I don't write enough anymore. Hardly ever. I keep saying I'll do something about that, but I don't. But I'm writing now. Look at me. Typing words and everything! I guess next you'll be expecting me to actually SAY something with these words and writings, huh? Baby steps.
I had lunch with my former boss yesterday. It'd been six months since we'd seen each other. He looked mostly the same - a bit thinner, maybe almost too thin in the face. I blame stress; he's got that shit in spades these days. I miss him, but I do not miss the stress. Sometimes I wonder if I exaggerated all of the crazy I lived when I worked there, because six months out, it just sounds unbelievable some of the stuff I was used to. But I didn't make it up, I didn't exaggerate - it was real and I wasn't crazy or incompetent. It was what it was. It was my Crucible. I'm super fucking strong now because of it. Right?
Actually, I'm so insecure because of the crap I dealt with at the end that I constantly question myself now. Nothing I do is good enough, in my mind. I'm never doing enough. I worry constantly my new boss and my teammates are going to decide I'm a complete charlatan, a total fuckup, and laugh and shame me out the front door.
Well, I don't feel that way constantly anymore. Not all the time. Here's the thing - they love me! They think I'm awesome. They tell me that, and I believe them. I know they're right - I'm pretty good at what I do. Intellectually, I know I'm good at my job, and that I'm doing a good job. Emotionally, I'm still trying to drop the baggage leftover from being abused at the last place. I'm trying to forget the fear and the insecurity. I'm trying to relearn workplace etiquette and expectations. I'm trying to grasp the new definition of workload and responsibilities. It's been 6 months. Honestly, I didn't think there would be this transition period - I assumed I'd end one thing and begin another and that would be it, like flicking a light switch. I didn't anticipate or realize that there would be emotional adjustments to go along with the change. Maybe because I had been there for SO long, and had been SO comfortable before it all went bad. Maybe because the end felt like a bad breakup where I thought we probably still loved each other but we had to break up because we weren't healthy for each other.
Despite this particular brand of crazy in my mind, I have not one single regret about leaving, or landing where I landed. My new reality is so vastly different from my old one I - well, like I said, sometimes I wonder if I exaggerated or made it all up. I am really enjoying the work I'm doing. I'm forging relationships with my customers, learning a new business. I have coworkers that I get to chat with all day long. They're smart and funny and kind and helpful - the sort that I want to hang out with after work, get to know; they just seem like genuinely good people. My boss is brilliant and sarcastic and has an easy confidence about him that makes me feel equally confident and self-conscious at the same time. I feel on the spot when he asks me questions and feel like I give the wrong answer pretty regularly, but that's my fault and my issue, not something he's doing. I'm struggling a bit with being the new girl, still. I was Dan's go-to, right-hand, she-knows-all-the-answers person for so long...I miss being that person. I want to be that person in this new life, this new world, but that role is already taken and she has a 10-years-in-the-industry head start. New job, new environment, new role. Starting at the beginning again is a challenge after being on top for so long.
I'm starting to understand that maybe there are some emotional challenges and consequences resulting from this change that I didn't give enough consideration or allowance. Maybe this has been harder on my psyche than I'd considered...maybe I'm not crazy as shit, maybe I really am just stressed by this huge change in my life. Good change is still change, right? Change is always a little hard, right? Maybe just because I'm happy and thrilled and so glad to be where I am, maybe it's okay that I have struggled a bit at the same time. Maybe I should've anticipated and been a little easier on myself. I guess it's never too late.
Okay. What have we learned?
I'm totally insecure and feel like I'm not good enough/not doing enough. This is not rational. This is leftover baggage. My boss found my resume on the internet and called me up and offered me a job because I'm awesome. He thinks I'm awesome. Evidence points to other coworkers also thinking I'm awesome. I'm probably awesome and should stop thinking I'm going to get fired any moment or that everyone hates me. Just go to work every day and be awesome.
Being the new girl is hard because I want to be the one who knows the answers to all of the questions and who can fix all of our customers' problems. And I want to be the one who sells the most steel. I like to be first. I want to be the best. Six months in the industry is a tough place for this mindset. But baby steps. One thing at a time, and right now my job is to learn all of the things and call all of the people. Everyone has to start somewhere, and this is my beginning. No one becomes the favorite overnight.
Hmm.
Looky there. I sure do miss writing. Maybe I should do this more often.
It's 4:50 a.m. Let's go start the day.
Showing posts with label work. Show all posts
Showing posts with label work. Show all posts
Saturday, September 10, 2016
Monday, February 29, 2016
Timing is everything.
Today is February 28, 2016.
Ten years ago today, my world...the go-to line here is to say "my world shattered", or "my world fell apart," but ten years out, it doesn't feel like that anymore, so to write that feels fake and overly dramatic. Ten years ago today, my first husband, whom I shouldn't have married in the first place, told me he wanted a divorce. My whole life I've heard things like "You forget the pain of childbirth," and I always thought that was probably bullshit, until I went through it twice without pain meds and realized a few months out that the details of the pain were fuzzy and that it doesn't seem like it was all that bad when I look back. I know that's bullshit, because it hurts like hell, but time softens the razor edges. Heartache is like that too - it gets dull with time. I guess that's why it feels disingenuous to claim my world fell apart back then, when he said those words to me. I still remember those words: "Fuck it, I'm done. I'm coming back to El Paso, I'm getting my shit, and I'm done." Or something like that. That's probably not an exact quote anymore; it's been a long time since I remembered that day in any real detail.
The truth is that by the time he said those things to me, I'd been hoping for so long that he'd say them that it was a relief they were finally out there. So while I was scared and sad and heartbroken, I was also relieved and excited and ready to start a new life. I was shaky with the anticipation and dread of it all; the dichotomy was so strong. Change is always scary, even when it's good for you.
In the aftermath of that breakup, my mom called me brave. Of all the words she's spoken to me, those are the ones I carry with the most pride. My Momma thinks I'm brave. Because I moved away from home, across the country, to be with a man I loved...and because I moved back home, across the country, when he no longer loved me. It would be easy to shrug it off, to diminish the chances I took with both of those moves, to say I'd been foolish, not brave. Momma is right, though; I was brave. I can totally do hard things.
I quit my job this past Friday. The one I used to love. The one I'd come to refer to as a "soul-sucking whore". I'd like to tell you that I was a brave badass and told them all to go fuck themselves before I walked out without warning, but that's not how it went down at all. Not even a little bit. The true story is that I started job-hunting back in November. I created a brand-new badass resume; the benefit of doing all the things for nearly nine years is that it gave me a ridiculous amount of experience and crazy skills in so many different aspects of running a business - I am an absolute rock star on paper. I went on a few interviews, one of which I bombed spectacularly. That threw me into a funk for the end of December and most of January, so I stopped job-hunting and started eating instead. I gained 15 pounds in 4 weeks, and avoided my friends for the better part of two months. I decided I'd stay where I was until annual bonuses came out in March, then I'd start looking again.
Instead, a man called me in late January. He said he'd found my resume online - one of the jobs I'd applied to in the thick of my search required creating/uploading your resume to the site, and I'd made it searchable because, you know, why not? I never expected anything to come of it, and I was completely skeptical of this guy when he called me out of the blue. But the work was similar to what I've been doing, and he said he could meet my salary requirements, so I agreed to meet him for an interview. I liked him right away, but I was leery, and still licking my proverbial wounds from my magnificent flop back around the holidays. I asked questions in the interview such as "how often do your employees cry at their desks?" and "what's the worst part of this job?" and "how much time do you require from your people after hours?" Things I probably never would have said if I'd been courting them, but I'd decided I was all out of fucks and if this guy didn't like me, it was no skin off my hide. I hadn't gone searching for him, after all. I didn't follow up with an email or thank-you card; in fact, I didn't even call him back on the day I'd said I would. But he called me, and wanted to sit down again, so I met him and his right-hand-gal at the local Vietnamese restaurant for lunch one day. I liked her, and I liked her answers to my crazy questions, specifically the one about crying at your desk - it was as if I'd grown a second head. Apparently that's not normal stuff in normal jobs? Who knew?
Less than a week after that lunch meeting, my (now former) boss called me into his office. A VP had sent out an email (presumably while hung over from last night's scotch binge) that basically said I was incapable of doing any portion of my job correctly or effectively. He didn't start the email off that way - in a style that is very much his own, he was responding to a problem I'd highlighted on one of his pet projects, and in his efforts to deflect blame, his message devolved into an attack on my professional reputation I've worked tirelessly to build for the last 9 years. Thankfully, only my boss and direct supervisor were copied. Thankfully, my boss knew better. Thankfully, my direct supervisor, when confronted by my boss to discern if there was any truth in the accusations, could not provide a single solitary circumstance in which the VPs words would've been true. I went home that night determined that I was going to find a way to be gone within a month - I could not work there anymore. If that drunkard was saying untruths of that level about me in an email to my boss, who was he speaking them to out loud? He was going to ruin me professionally within the company, and I'd spent too many years killing myself for that place to go out like that.
The next morning, at 8:30, I received a phone call with a job offer. With a twelve percent base salary increase. With monthly bonuses. Company paid cell phone. Immediate vacation, insurance, retirement. I waited until the following Monday before I turned in a four-week notice. In retrospect, I should've given the assholes two weeks and been done, but I'm too dedicated for my own good, I guess.
I'm hesitant to use words like Fate or Destiny, but it sure does feel like things in my life have a way of working out with excellent timing. And I'm not religious, so I don't like to throw around the term Blessed very often, but more and more I find that's the perfect word to describe my life and the things that happen to me.
My divorce from my first husband was finalized September 29, 2006. Jimi and I started dating less than a month later. Ten years later, here we are - house, dog, two beautiful people we made with our love for one another. It's amazing to me how different today was compared to that day a decade ago. Everything I wanted back then is everything I have now. My life today is the reason I was able to walk away then - my determination to have THIS life rather than THAT life. Every tear was worth it; as in childbirth, every wave of pain was worth the life that was born from it.
I'm so thankful my ex-husband was more brave than I and was able to say those words that set us both free from an unhappy marriage. I wouldn't have this if he hadn't done that. And I am so thankful for this life.
I begin my new career on March 7 - I'm taking this next week to clean my house, declutter my head, have lunch with girlfriends, buy some business casual clothes, and, of course, celebrate the 3rd anniversary of the birth of my beautiful eldest daughter. It's a celebration, yo!
Life is awesome. I can't wait to see what happens next.
Ten years ago today, my world...the go-to line here is to say "my world shattered", or "my world fell apart," but ten years out, it doesn't feel like that anymore, so to write that feels fake and overly dramatic. Ten years ago today, my first husband, whom I shouldn't have married in the first place, told me he wanted a divorce. My whole life I've heard things like "You forget the pain of childbirth," and I always thought that was probably bullshit, until I went through it twice without pain meds and realized a few months out that the details of the pain were fuzzy and that it doesn't seem like it was all that bad when I look back. I know that's bullshit, because it hurts like hell, but time softens the razor edges. Heartache is like that too - it gets dull with time. I guess that's why it feels disingenuous to claim my world fell apart back then, when he said those words to me. I still remember those words: "Fuck it, I'm done. I'm coming back to El Paso, I'm getting my shit, and I'm done." Or something like that. That's probably not an exact quote anymore; it's been a long time since I remembered that day in any real detail.
The truth is that by the time he said those things to me, I'd been hoping for so long that he'd say them that it was a relief they were finally out there. So while I was scared and sad and heartbroken, I was also relieved and excited and ready to start a new life. I was shaky with the anticipation and dread of it all; the dichotomy was so strong. Change is always scary, even when it's good for you.
In the aftermath of that breakup, my mom called me brave. Of all the words she's spoken to me, those are the ones I carry with the most pride. My Momma thinks I'm brave. Because I moved away from home, across the country, to be with a man I loved...and because I moved back home, across the country, when he no longer loved me. It would be easy to shrug it off, to diminish the chances I took with both of those moves, to say I'd been foolish, not brave. Momma is right, though; I was brave. I can totally do hard things.
I quit my job this past Friday. The one I used to love. The one I'd come to refer to as a "soul-sucking whore". I'd like to tell you that I was a brave badass and told them all to go fuck themselves before I walked out without warning, but that's not how it went down at all. Not even a little bit. The true story is that I started job-hunting back in November. I created a brand-new badass resume; the benefit of doing all the things for nearly nine years is that it gave me a ridiculous amount of experience and crazy skills in so many different aspects of running a business - I am an absolute rock star on paper. I went on a few interviews, one of which I bombed spectacularly. That threw me into a funk for the end of December and most of January, so I stopped job-hunting and started eating instead. I gained 15 pounds in 4 weeks, and avoided my friends for the better part of two months. I decided I'd stay where I was until annual bonuses came out in March, then I'd start looking again.
Instead, a man called me in late January. He said he'd found my resume online - one of the jobs I'd applied to in the thick of my search required creating/uploading your resume to the site, and I'd made it searchable because, you know, why not? I never expected anything to come of it, and I was completely skeptical of this guy when he called me out of the blue. But the work was similar to what I've been doing, and he said he could meet my salary requirements, so I agreed to meet him for an interview. I liked him right away, but I was leery, and still licking my proverbial wounds from my magnificent flop back around the holidays. I asked questions in the interview such as "how often do your employees cry at their desks?" and "what's the worst part of this job?" and "how much time do you require from your people after hours?" Things I probably never would have said if I'd been courting them, but I'd decided I was all out of fucks and if this guy didn't like me, it was no skin off my hide. I hadn't gone searching for him, after all. I didn't follow up with an email or thank-you card; in fact, I didn't even call him back on the day I'd said I would. But he called me, and wanted to sit down again, so I met him and his right-hand-gal at the local Vietnamese restaurant for lunch one day. I liked her, and I liked her answers to my crazy questions, specifically the one about crying at your desk - it was as if I'd grown a second head. Apparently that's not normal stuff in normal jobs? Who knew?
Less than a week after that lunch meeting, my (now former) boss called me into his office. A VP had sent out an email (presumably while hung over from last night's scotch binge) that basically said I was incapable of doing any portion of my job correctly or effectively. He didn't start the email off that way - in a style that is very much his own, he was responding to a problem I'd highlighted on one of his pet projects, and in his efforts to deflect blame, his message devolved into an attack on my professional reputation I've worked tirelessly to build for the last 9 years. Thankfully, only my boss and direct supervisor were copied. Thankfully, my boss knew better. Thankfully, my direct supervisor, when confronted by my boss to discern if there was any truth in the accusations, could not provide a single solitary circumstance in which the VPs words would've been true. I went home that night determined that I was going to find a way to be gone within a month - I could not work there anymore. If that drunkard was saying untruths of that level about me in an email to my boss, who was he speaking them to out loud? He was going to ruin me professionally within the company, and I'd spent too many years killing myself for that place to go out like that.
The next morning, at 8:30, I received a phone call with a job offer. With a twelve percent base salary increase. With monthly bonuses. Company paid cell phone. Immediate vacation, insurance, retirement. I waited until the following Monday before I turned in a four-week notice. In retrospect, I should've given the assholes two weeks and been done, but I'm too dedicated for my own good, I guess.
I'm hesitant to use words like Fate or Destiny, but it sure does feel like things in my life have a way of working out with excellent timing. And I'm not religious, so I don't like to throw around the term Blessed very often, but more and more I find that's the perfect word to describe my life and the things that happen to me.
My divorce from my first husband was finalized September 29, 2006. Jimi and I started dating less than a month later. Ten years later, here we are - house, dog, two beautiful people we made with our love for one another. It's amazing to me how different today was compared to that day a decade ago. Everything I wanted back then is everything I have now. My life today is the reason I was able to walk away then - my determination to have THIS life rather than THAT life. Every tear was worth it; as in childbirth, every wave of pain was worth the life that was born from it.
I'm so thankful my ex-husband was more brave than I and was able to say those words that set us both free from an unhappy marriage. I wouldn't have this if he hadn't done that. And I am so thankful for this life.
I begin my new career on March 7 - I'm taking this next week to clean my house, declutter my head, have lunch with girlfriends, buy some business casual clothes, and, of course, celebrate the 3rd anniversary of the birth of my beautiful eldest daughter. It's a celebration, yo!
Life is awesome. I can't wait to see what happens next.
Thursday, June 11, 2015
We all have those days
I'm in a weird place in my head these days. I feel anxious, unsettled. Like I should be doing something else, career-wise.
I'm so tempted to delete that, because I'm not sure how much time i want to spend fleshing out those thoughts, but it's been on my mind for a long time now - most of last year, and again since I've returned from maternity leave. I have a pretty good thing going where i am now - my situation is pretty ideal and sweet, to be honest. I can wear what i want, including jeans and tennis shoes. I can take my dog to work (not every day, but most days lately). When my kids are sick or my sitter has a migraine, i can bring the girls to work with me (because they'd rather have me and my girls than no me). I'm paid a good salary; a damn fine salary, even, if you consider that i have only a high school education.
Here's the thing, though: I don't give a fuck about drums. I don't care. I just don't care. My efforts feel so pointless and stupid and small. My company is owned by a private equity firm. The work I do, ultimately, goes toward making rich people richer. Maybe I'm helping put a Keurig on the counter of some bigwig's 3rd vacation home. What the fuck? Why? What's the point? I mean, beyond the fact that I have to work to make sure our mortgage is paid and we can go to the doctor when we're sick, of course. I know why i have to work. I think that I'm not happy with the sort of work I'm doing, for the sort of company I'm doing it for. Not that there's anything inherently wrong with my company, But it feels unimportant. I need to do something more; something that gives back and helps people and makes the world a happier place.
If only i could figure out what that should be.
Ideally? I'd be at home every day, raising my daughters. We'd go to the zoo and the science center and to toddler story hour at the library. There would be tumbling classes and music classes and play groups. My house would be clean and organized and my yard would be planted with beautiful flowers and we'd eat healthy meals each night sitting around the table and telling stories about our days in 3 languages we all spoke fluently....
I've wondered: Is this how a midlife crisis starts? Because that scenario I just laid out there? i know, rationally, that that shit wouldn't happen, even if I wasn't working and Jimi wasn't working and we had a full time nanny. Let's just be honest. But the longing I have to spend my waking hours doing something productive - actually productive, not just shuffling papers to make imaginary money for some imaginary executive - is so strong I almost turned my car around one day last week when I was heading back to the office after lunch. I was going to turn around and pick up the girls and take them to the park. I could almost feel the rush of fear and adrenaline when I called Jimi to tell him I was quitting my job, but that we'd figure it all out. I didn't turn around, of course. I went back to my desk like a good little girl and shuffled my papers and stomped down the ache in my heart when I thought of Cora's smile and Geneva's hug.
I just re-read that paragraph. I said I want to do something productive, and then said I almost quit my job to take the girls to the park. Are my priorities totally fucked up? Making Money < Taking Children To The Park. Growing young minds? Shaping the way my girls will approach the world? Way more productive than customer service at the drum plant, I assure you. I've been given this amazing task and responsibility, and it's supposed to be my number one priority, but it can't be my full time job because it literally does not pay the bills. It breaks my heart.
No one's going to pay me to stay home and raise babies, so my next logical solution was to win the lottery. I only matched two numbers on a $10 quick pick. Of all the fucking luck. Then I decided I'm either going to have to start my own business (but who has money, or time, or ideas, or the balls to do something like that?), have a post go viral and land a book deal (3 posts in 7 months, that shit's gonna happen any moment), or start looking for a job in a more charitable organization.
I think I need to be helping people in some way, and making small talk over the sound of the credit card machine processing their purchase just isn't cutting it. But gosh, the idea of leaving a job where I've been so comfortable for so long - it's terrifying. Starting something new? Something unknown? What if I fail? Sometimes I think I'm so afraid of failing that I'm afraid to even try. One of my first thoughts: No charity will pay me what I'm making when I don't have a college degree or any experience. It's probably the truth, but I haven't looked yet. The likelihood that it is true may be scary enough to keep me from looking at all. If I look, and find something I'm qualified for that will pay me enough - what if I sent them my resume and they didn't even call? I'm only just starting to realize that these crazy "what if" things I make up in my head are all coming from a place of fear and anxiety and I don't know when I started being so fucking afraid. I don't want to be afraid. I don't want to teach my girls to be afraid.
My girls. I want to tell them they can be anything they want, and I want them to chase their dreams. How can I show them how to follow their passions if I don't follow mine? Then again, maybe I should keep my passions on hold until after 6 and on weekends - and keep my ass in my desk chair from 8-5 bringing in that steady cash every week.
See? The crazy, it is strong. Jimi says, "You want all of these impossible things. You don't even waste your time with something realistic - you go right for the stuff that can't happen." You gotta dream big, baby. You don't get anything if you don't ask for it. May as well ask for the impossible, right? Maybe you'll get something awesome in return.
I'm going to get up and go to work tomorrow. I'll keep my eye out for some awesome, though. Just in case.
Saturday, July 28, 2012
10.3 - What's a kumquat? (and other blah blah blah)
"Did you poop?" "Yep!" "Oh, good!"
These are the conversations pregnancy brings to our lives. I've heard that modesty goes out the window, I just didn't realize it would begin so soon.
We're 10 weeks and 3 days along, and life is good. I told some of my extended family on Tuesday, after Grandma's funeral. My Aunt Cill passed my cell phone ultrasound photo around to anyone she could get to stand still - she was so in awe of our little gummy bear. Jimi broke the news on Facebook Wednesday, and we were overwhelmed by all the love and well-wishes that poured in. People love babies, I guess. And us too, it would appear.
I have some nausea in the mornings, usually right after I get out of the shower, and again in the evenings starting around 8 p.m. It's not bad at all, though - more of a discomfort, maybe the way you feel an hour after a meal where you probably should've stopped before dessert but didn't. I can't believe I'm so lucky - I figured I'd for sure be puking my guts out for the first three months.
These are the conversations pregnancy brings to our lives. I've heard that modesty goes out the window, I just didn't realize it would begin so soon.
We're 10 weeks and 3 days along, and life is good. I told some of my extended family on Tuesday, after Grandma's funeral. My Aunt Cill passed my cell phone ultrasound photo around to anyone she could get to stand still - she was so in awe of our little gummy bear. Jimi broke the news on Facebook Wednesday, and we were overwhelmed by all the love and well-wishes that poured in. People love babies, I guess. And us too, it would appear.
I have some nausea in the mornings, usually right after I get out of the shower, and again in the evenings starting around 8 p.m. It's not bad at all, though - more of a discomfort, maybe the way you feel an hour after a meal where you probably should've stopped before dessert but didn't. I can't believe I'm so lucky - I figured I'd for sure be puking my guts out for the first three months.
*****************
I wrote that yesterday before work. I don't feel like starting a new post, so I'm just adding on.
I got a raise yesterday. The one I asked for 5 months ago. I asked for 50%, then 25% - I got 12%. I decided on my way home last night, and again this morning, that this means I need to spend the weekend readjusting my attitude toward my job. I'm damn lucky to be where I am. I have a job, that pays me a good wage, where I have a very promising future ahead of me. I've more than doubled my salary in five years. Holy fuckballs, I've fucking doubled my salary in five years, during which time the country has suffered one financial crisis after another and unemployment has almost hit 10%, and I, without a college education, have doubled my salary in five years. Yeah. I need to get my head in the right place and be glad to have what I've got and not take the work so damn personally.
After breakfast today, we pulled up the carpet in the living room, pulled tacks out of the hardwood underneath, vacuumed a million times, washed it down with Murphy's Oil Soap - and now we have a hardwood floor in our living room. YAY! This is the first of many pre-baby projects we've got planned - all of which need to happen sooner rather than later. I'm very much encouraged by our success today - i was terrified of this project being more than we'd planned for. I was afraid I'd have an unusable living room for weeks and weeks. It's not perfect, but it's perfectly livable, and now I'm really looking forward to tackling the carpet-pulling in other rooms, along with the painting that's scheduled to follow. And the decorating, of course. I'm shopping for a rug and a couch - watch out world when i start shopping for the nursery. Oh, I just can't wait!
I'm tired and I wish we had some ice cream.
Sunday, April 29, 2012
(Insert Title Here)
It's not 8 a.m. yet and I've already showered and started a load of laundry. GO ME! I've got a list a mile long of things I need to get done today - we played all day yesterday, and so today there must be work:
~ Laundry
~ Folding Laundry (yes, that is a separate item)
~ Unload dishwasher
~ Reload dishwasher
~ Breakfast
~ Vacuuming
~ Take Finn for a walk
~ Grocery shopping
~ Yogurt
~ Bananas
~ Juice
~ Salad
~ Something for dinners this week
~ Lunch
~ Finish that Jenny Lawson book
~ Read the internets
~ Make the Bed
~ Steam floors
~ Set table
~ Dinner
Okay, it's really not that big a list. I woke up feeling like I had a lot to do, but I think it's just a list of chores that come about from being a grownup and not living with your Mom.
My Jimi is home again and it feels like the world is back to normal. His training went well and he's excited about his new position - I'm glad he won't be fielding phone calls from angry people all day. A person can only be bitched at for so many hours a day before that shit breaks through and starts poisoning their mood. Jimi's always been good at keeping his work crazy at work, but that sort of stuff wears you down. I'm glad he's got an opportunity to do something new.
Bossman and I had a come-to-Jesus this week, and I unloaded all of my frustrations and fears and anger. I was expecting something in return, but not what I got. Not "You're the best employee I've ever had the pleasure to work with, and you're one of my best friends." Not "I've done a bad job managing and because of that, the workload in this office is terribly unbalanced. I think I tried to blame that on you," (he did) "but that's not your shortcoming as a manager, that's mine." The sales job I wanted, applied for, and was denied? Turns out the Big Bossman wants me for that job. He compared me to our two rockstar saleswomen in the South and Northwest. He told Bossman to redistribute the workload in the office so I can have time to focus on the customer service/sales aspects of my position, and to get me in a place where I can be out of the office a few times a month to visit our customers. We've filled the position I'd sought, but there are bright things on the horizon for me, and I don't feel quite so much like stabbing myself in the eye to avoid having to go to work. Months of stress fell away after one 45 minute heart-to-heart. It's like Bossman and I have been dancing, a delicate dance where the steps are tricky and the music is fast, and now the song has ended, and it turns out I've got some rhythm after all.
I love this morning. It's quiet and cool - it rained all night and so I can't cut the grass. My sweetheart is snoring softly in the bedroom, my puppy is at my feet. We've got nowhere to be except right where we are. And it's early. This is why I love getting up early - the day feels so full of possibility.
I'm going to go get started on that chore list; the sooner it's finished, the sooner I can play.
Happy Sunday!
~ Laundry
~ Folding Laundry (yes, that is a separate item)
~ Unload dishwasher
~ Reload dishwasher
~ Breakfast
~ Vacuuming
~ Take Finn for a walk
~ Grocery shopping
~ Yogurt
~ Bananas
~ Juice
~ Salad
~ Something for dinners this week
~ Lunch
~ Finish that Jenny Lawson book
~ Read the internets
~ Make the Bed
~ Steam floors
~ Set table
~ Dinner
Okay, it's really not that big a list. I woke up feeling like I had a lot to do, but I think it's just a list of chores that come about from being a grownup and not living with your Mom.
My Jimi is home again and it feels like the world is back to normal. His training went well and he's excited about his new position - I'm glad he won't be fielding phone calls from angry people all day. A person can only be bitched at for so many hours a day before that shit breaks through and starts poisoning their mood. Jimi's always been good at keeping his work crazy at work, but that sort of stuff wears you down. I'm glad he's got an opportunity to do something new.
Bossman and I had a come-to-Jesus this week, and I unloaded all of my frustrations and fears and anger. I was expecting something in return, but not what I got. Not "You're the best employee I've ever had the pleasure to work with, and you're one of my best friends." Not "I've done a bad job managing and because of that, the workload in this office is terribly unbalanced. I think I tried to blame that on you," (he did) "but that's not your shortcoming as a manager, that's mine." The sales job I wanted, applied for, and was denied? Turns out the Big Bossman wants me for that job. He compared me to our two rockstar saleswomen in the South and Northwest. He told Bossman to redistribute the workload in the office so I can have time to focus on the customer service/sales aspects of my position, and to get me in a place where I can be out of the office a few times a month to visit our customers. We've filled the position I'd sought, but there are bright things on the horizon for me, and I don't feel quite so much like stabbing myself in the eye to avoid having to go to work. Months of stress fell away after one 45 minute heart-to-heart. It's like Bossman and I have been dancing, a delicate dance where the steps are tricky and the music is fast, and now the song has ended, and it turns out I've got some rhythm after all.
I love this morning. It's quiet and cool - it rained all night and so I can't cut the grass. My sweetheart is snoring softly in the bedroom, my puppy is at my feet. We've got nowhere to be except right where we are. And it's early. This is why I love getting up early - the day feels so full of possibility.
I'm going to go get started on that chore list; the sooner it's finished, the sooner I can play.
Happy Sunday!
Sunday, April 1, 2012
Strawberries for ice cubes.
Jimi's out picking up our new dryer - we found it yesterday, brand new in box, at a scratch & dent place for $100 less than the same model at Lowe's. The power of comparison shopping. "Aww, our first major appliance purchase," I teased sappily. Of course, it's not really - the house came with a refrigerator and a dishwasher and a stove and a washer and dryer - but it kinda still counts.
Maybe you're a sports fan and heard about the UK/UofL game last night? As my father's daughter, I have a familial obligation to root for the Kentucky Wildcats, but as a resident of Louisville, with so many friends so passionately invested in the outcome for the Cardinals, I must guiltily admit that I sorta hoped for a come-from-behind victory for UofL. I wanted to see this town go wild. Lexington kept it classy and celebrated by flipping cars and setting fire to couches - I'm sure a few of the Cards fans who're looking down their noses today at those antics totally would've participated in the same last night had their team ended up on top.
We went out shopping for the dryer yesterday and stopped in at the Waffle House in New Albany, IN. All the staff and most customers were sporting either blue or red shirts, and the shit-talk flew across the grill alongside orders for scattered smothered and covered hashbrowns. I wanted to take a picture, but was self-conscious about it for some reason. For some reason it seemed like snapping a picture wouldn't capture the moment, it would just be intrusive.
Jimi was a little sad that the Cards lost - he's a UofL Alum, and sported his red in contrast to my blue. A house divided, we were. I didn't gloat in the Cats' victory - after all, it's just a game. I'm happy for the positive recognition the game brought to our state - apparently, having two teams in the Final Four is sort of a big deal.
I'm sad to say we didn't win $640 million the other night. *sad face* I could've really used that money, too. Like, to quit my job.
Oh! Wanna hear what I did on Friday? I went on a rant about a co-worker and my general dissatisfaction at the office...and the co-worker to whom I was bitching was sitting on her mike, broadcasting the entire conversation over the airwaves and straight to the ears of all supervisors in the facility. How awesome is that? Can't wait to see what the fallout will be from that shit. Fortunately, I didn't say anything untrue, nor did I mention any hot shit, like salary or bonus complaints that I am holding onto like a bitter pill. And my boss was out of town and missed the whole thing, so at least there's that. Still. Fuck.
Last week was a little bit of alright - we went out almost every night, and as exhausting as that is, it's also exhilarating to have a social life. Especially after neglecting it for so long.
My 32nd birthday is next Monday, the 9th. We've taken off Thursday and Friday, and Jimi's taking me somewhere special for the night. I don't know where - trying to plan something was too much for me, so I asked him to please plan a nice dinner out somewhere, and to get a hotel room, and plan to have lots of sex, and to please find something fun for us to do on Friday. Looks like we may be having friends over Saturday night, though it's awfully last minute, so I won't be able to be too disappointed if it doesn't work out. I've taken off the 9th and 10th, too - I may treat myself to a facial or something. Maybe I'll go buy myself something pretty. Mostly I'm glad to not have to work for 6 whole days in a row.
Maybe you're a sports fan and heard about the UK/UofL game last night? As my father's daughter, I have a familial obligation to root for the Kentucky Wildcats, but as a resident of Louisville, with so many friends so passionately invested in the outcome for the Cardinals, I must guiltily admit that I sorta hoped for a come-from-behind victory for UofL. I wanted to see this town go wild. Lexington kept it classy and celebrated by flipping cars and setting fire to couches - I'm sure a few of the Cards fans who're looking down their noses today at those antics totally would've participated in the same last night had their team ended up on top.
We went out shopping for the dryer yesterday and stopped in at the Waffle House in New Albany, IN. All the staff and most customers were sporting either blue or red shirts, and the shit-talk flew across the grill alongside orders for scattered smothered and covered hashbrowns. I wanted to take a picture, but was self-conscious about it for some reason. For some reason it seemed like snapping a picture wouldn't capture the moment, it would just be intrusive.
Jimi was a little sad that the Cards lost - he's a UofL Alum, and sported his red in contrast to my blue. A house divided, we were. I didn't gloat in the Cats' victory - after all, it's just a game. I'm happy for the positive recognition the game brought to our state - apparently, having two teams in the Final Four is sort of a big deal.
I'm sad to say we didn't win $640 million the other night. *sad face* I could've really used that money, too. Like, to quit my job.
Oh! Wanna hear what I did on Friday? I went on a rant about a co-worker and my general dissatisfaction at the office...and the co-worker to whom I was bitching was sitting on her mike, broadcasting the entire conversation over the airwaves and straight to the ears of all supervisors in the facility. How awesome is that? Can't wait to see what the fallout will be from that shit. Fortunately, I didn't say anything untrue, nor did I mention any hot shit, like salary or bonus complaints that I am holding onto like a bitter pill. And my boss was out of town and missed the whole thing, so at least there's that. Still. Fuck.
Last week was a little bit of alright - we went out almost every night, and as exhausting as that is, it's also exhilarating to have a social life. Especially after neglecting it for so long.
My 32nd birthday is next Monday, the 9th. We've taken off Thursday and Friday, and Jimi's taking me somewhere special for the night. I don't know where - trying to plan something was too much for me, so I asked him to please plan a nice dinner out somewhere, and to get a hotel room, and plan to have lots of sex, and to please find something fun for us to do on Friday. Looks like we may be having friends over Saturday night, though it's awfully last minute, so I won't be able to be too disappointed if it doesn't work out. I've taken off the 9th and 10th, too - I may treat myself to a facial or something. Maybe I'll go buy myself something pretty. Mostly I'm glad to not have to work for 6 whole days in a row.
Monday, March 5, 2012
Aftermath
I didn't chicken out, and I didn't embarrass myself. Our meetings went well, and bossman set up my sales pitch for me, telling our customers how vital I am and what a good job I do and singing my praises. I wasn't pushy or forceful, and Jimi says I didn't close the deal, but I made my point and hopefully it was heard.
I'm sure you've heard about the tragedy in Southern Indiana due to Friday's crazy tornado weather. I was cut off from the weather reports all day - I knew we were expected to get storms, but we get storms all the time. No big deal. When I got home Friday night, about 7 o'clock, after having seen the damage we'd seen, the TV showed the real destruction. I knew my office had sent as many home early as possible; Jimi's office also sent everyone home several hours early. I really had no idea how serious it all was until well after it was all over.
Bossman and I were only 15 miles north of the hardest hit areas when that shit rolled through. One of our drivers was sitting in his rig at the Henryville, IN exit, stopped in traffic because the State Police had closed I-65, when the massive storm dropped softball sized hail and several tornadoes on the area; thankfully, though his truck needs some pretty extensive body repair work, he was uninjured - he said he nearly hid under his bunk, and I'm certain I would've. When bossman and I finally made it to that spot, two hours later, the temperature was 62 degrees and the hailstones were still the size of baseballs. I've never seen anything like it. Houses along the the interstate were pocked with holes from the hail that had treated their siding and windows as if they were flimsy like paper. A tractor trailer was on its side, draped along the guard rail as if it were ribbon. A trucking business, just off the exit, was reduced to rubble of lumber and siding, with a truck perched precariously on top, as if to mimic a cherry on a sundae. The devastation was amazing, and not even the tip of the iceberg - I'm stunned by the images I've seen coming out of those towns that were so horribly destroyed.
If we'd finished our appointment 15 minutes earlier...
It blows my mind sometimes how dramatically different one moment can be from the perspective of one person to the next. There's a book I got when I was 13 called A Day in the Life of America; it's a large glossy book of photos that were all taken on the same day by several dozen photographers in towns and homes and businesses across the United States. This photo shows a funeral, this one a wedding, this one the birth of a child, this one just another day the office. All different events, in different lives, all happening at the same time. Like Friday - I'm just cruising along, asking my boss for a raise, explaining to him why I deserve it. Fifteen miles due South, an entire family is wiped out of existence. The same moment in time.
A reminder of why we need to make the most of every moment? Try to not sweat the small stuff? Rejoice in even the most minor pleasures? Be thankful every day for the good things we do have? For me, at least.
I'm sure you've heard about the tragedy in Southern Indiana due to Friday's crazy tornado weather. I was cut off from the weather reports all day - I knew we were expected to get storms, but we get storms all the time. No big deal. When I got home Friday night, about 7 o'clock, after having seen the damage we'd seen, the TV showed the real destruction. I knew my office had sent as many home early as possible; Jimi's office also sent everyone home several hours early. I really had no idea how serious it all was until well after it was all over.
Bossman and I were only 15 miles north of the hardest hit areas when that shit rolled through. One of our drivers was sitting in his rig at the Henryville, IN exit, stopped in traffic because the State Police had closed I-65, when the massive storm dropped softball sized hail and several tornadoes on the area; thankfully, though his truck needs some pretty extensive body repair work, he was uninjured - he said he nearly hid under his bunk, and I'm certain I would've. When bossman and I finally made it to that spot, two hours later, the temperature was 62 degrees and the hailstones were still the size of baseballs. I've never seen anything like it. Houses along the the interstate were pocked with holes from the hail that had treated their siding and windows as if they were flimsy like paper. A tractor trailer was on its side, draped along the guard rail as if it were ribbon. A trucking business, just off the exit, was reduced to rubble of lumber and siding, with a truck perched precariously on top, as if to mimic a cherry on a sundae. The devastation was amazing, and not even the tip of the iceberg - I'm stunned by the images I've seen coming out of those towns that were so horribly destroyed.
If we'd finished our appointment 15 minutes earlier...
It blows my mind sometimes how dramatically different one moment can be from the perspective of one person to the next. There's a book I got when I was 13 called A Day in the Life of America; it's a large glossy book of photos that were all taken on the same day by several dozen photographers in towns and homes and businesses across the United States. This photo shows a funeral, this one a wedding, this one the birth of a child, this one just another day the office. All different events, in different lives, all happening at the same time. Like Friday - I'm just cruising along, asking my boss for a raise, explaining to him why I deserve it. Fifteen miles due South, an entire family is wiped out of existence. The same moment in time.
A reminder of why we need to make the most of every moment? Try to not sweat the small stuff? Rejoice in even the most minor pleasures? Be thankful every day for the good things we do have? For me, at least.
Thursday, March 1, 2012
Bouncing up and fucking down.
It's like a weight has been lifted.
Sometimes you just need a good cometoJesus to release your soul, all the pent up sad and crazy and worry. I thought I was saying the right words before, but maybe I wasn't. "If we didn't have this talk tonight, if I didn't say these things to you, if you didn't propose within the next year, I would leave." I said it. That evil thing that was building in the back of my mind, that poison that was tainting my utopia. I said the words - the ones that needed to be said, "This is what I have to have to be happy. This is what I need. We have needs and wants in relationships, and this is what I need."
We came together, we drifted, we wandered far apart, but in the end, we met in the middle, with love and understanding, and we're back in the place we've always been. We're good. We're safe. All is right with the world.
I cried myself to sleep last night, sick in my heart with fear and sad. Tonight, I'm light like a feather, knowing we're good, having confirmation of that fact I knew in my heart but needed to know with my ears.
Tomorrow I'll spend several hours in the car with my boss. I'm feeling mighty brave and strong tonight, Friends. I have my power outfit planned and ready, down to the comfy no-line panties and the bright pink argyle socks. (Those are just for my particular comfort, for the record. I'm not planning to show our customers my panties or my socks. But you never know. My boss hired me because I showed him my socks during my interview...)
I need a raise. I've been stewing about it for months, and the time has come where I've just got to ask or I'm going to build up so much resentment that I'll grow to hate my job and I don't want to hate my job because as crazy as it is, I fucking love it there. I do. I get pissed off all the time and frustrated as hell, but I love it, and I don't want to go anywhere else. But I need to be compensated for the work I'm doing, and that's never going to happen if I don't make my needs known. See, in relationships, all relationships, we have needs, and we have wants. The fact is, for me to continue my happy relationship with my employer, I need to make more money. They want to make as much money as possible, I need to make enough money to play well when I'm not there making money for them.
Does any of this even make sense? I don't really care if it does. I'm pretty sure I'll understand it when I read it again tomorrow. A weight has been lifted. I'm feeling pretty fucking invincible. I'm going to make an ass out of myself tomorrow and I'll come back here tomorrow night crying about how I thought I had this but I really didn't.
No I won't.
I won't write again for days because I'll be all embarrassed and then I'll write about something totally dumb because I'll want to pretend I never wrote this entry.
And if I'm not engaged this time next year, I'll come back and delete this shit, too.
I read something the other day that said that in ten years we won't need resumes, we'll just use our online profiles when applying for jobs.
Fuck me, I hope I don't have to ever change jobs again.
Sometimes you just need a good cometoJesus to release your soul, all the pent up sad and crazy and worry. I thought I was saying the right words before, but maybe I wasn't. "If we didn't have this talk tonight, if I didn't say these things to you, if you didn't propose within the next year, I would leave." I said it. That evil thing that was building in the back of my mind, that poison that was tainting my utopia. I said the words - the ones that needed to be said, "This is what I have to have to be happy. This is what I need. We have needs and wants in relationships, and this is what I need."
We came together, we drifted, we wandered far apart, but in the end, we met in the middle, with love and understanding, and we're back in the place we've always been. We're good. We're safe. All is right with the world.
I cried myself to sleep last night, sick in my heart with fear and sad. Tonight, I'm light like a feather, knowing we're good, having confirmation of that fact I knew in my heart but needed to know with my ears.
Tomorrow I'll spend several hours in the car with my boss. I'm feeling mighty brave and strong tonight, Friends. I have my power outfit planned and ready, down to the comfy no-line panties and the bright pink argyle socks. (Those are just for my particular comfort, for the record. I'm not planning to show our customers my panties or my socks. But you never know. My boss hired me because I showed him my socks during my interview...)
I need a raise. I've been stewing about it for months, and the time has come where I've just got to ask or I'm going to build up so much resentment that I'll grow to hate my job and I don't want to hate my job because as crazy as it is, I fucking love it there. I do. I get pissed off all the time and frustrated as hell, but I love it, and I don't want to go anywhere else. But I need to be compensated for the work I'm doing, and that's never going to happen if I don't make my needs known. See, in relationships, all relationships, we have needs, and we have wants. The fact is, for me to continue my happy relationship with my employer, I need to make more money. They want to make as much money as possible, I need to make enough money to play well when I'm not there making money for them.
Does any of this even make sense? I don't really care if it does. I'm pretty sure I'll understand it when I read it again tomorrow. A weight has been lifted. I'm feeling pretty fucking invincible. I'm going to make an ass out of myself tomorrow and I'll come back here tomorrow night crying about how I thought I had this but I really didn't.
No I won't.
I won't write again for days because I'll be all embarrassed and then I'll write about something totally dumb because I'll want to pretend I never wrote this entry.
And if I'm not engaged this time next year, I'll come back and delete this shit, too.
I read something the other day that said that in ten years we won't need resumes, we'll just use our online profiles when applying for jobs.
Fuck me, I hope I don't have to ever change jobs again.
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
Slothly
I'm too lazy to blog. Putting thoughts into words seems hard.
There's plumbing going on in our home. Progress is being made, an end is in sight. Jimi's good at everything. One of these days that will stop surprising me.
I've spent two afternoons with sweet Adriana Rose, and I'm madly in love. She's beautiful and perfect in every way. She's the most amazing thing I've ever seen. Stacy is a fantastic mother, and the love she feels for her child is a physical thing you can see in everything she does. She was meant to do this.
Kimmie's birthday is tomorrow, and she's invited me to join her and two other girlfriends for a weekend in NashVegas. We're crashing at the Hilton, and there will be much merriment made. I'm excited - I've never gone out of town on a girls' weekend before. I'm also nervous and a bit homesick already - two nights away is a long time for me. I'm sure I'll get over that as soon as we're on the road and giggly, but for now, I have butterflies.
The job I sought is not going to be mine. Bossman says there are bigger things in his plans for me. I don't know what those are, but I have to trust him. I'm working really hard to accept that this is the way things are supposed to be for me right now. The best things come from plans you don't make for yourself, right? Something like that.
January, like December, was hard. It's getting better, though.
There's plumbing going on in our home. Progress is being made, an end is in sight. Jimi's good at everything. One of these days that will stop surprising me.
I've spent two afternoons with sweet Adriana Rose, and I'm madly in love. She's beautiful and perfect in every way. She's the most amazing thing I've ever seen. Stacy is a fantastic mother, and the love she feels for her child is a physical thing you can see in everything she does. She was meant to do this.
Kimmie's birthday is tomorrow, and she's invited me to join her and two other girlfriends for a weekend in NashVegas. We're crashing at the Hilton, and there will be much merriment made. I'm excited - I've never gone out of town on a girls' weekend before. I'm also nervous and a bit homesick already - two nights away is a long time for me. I'm sure I'll get over that as soon as we're on the road and giggly, but for now, I have butterflies.
The job I sought is not going to be mine. Bossman says there are bigger things in his plans for me. I don't know what those are, but I have to trust him. I'm working really hard to accept that this is the way things are supposed to be for me right now. The best things come from plans you don't make for yourself, right? Something like that.
January, like December, was hard. It's getting better, though.
Saturday, January 28, 2012
I'll never own anything Burberry.
I don't know, really, what Burberry is or why it's a big deal. I don't know enough about that world to even list a selection of others in the same category to tell you that I don't know why those brands are able to command multi-thousand dollar price tags on their bags and clutches and wristlets. That's not my world. It never will be.
I feel fancy when I spend $25 on a new purse at Target. I haven't spent $25 on a new purse from Target in years, though, because at Christmas each year, my Momma buys me a new purse. I did buy a white purse at Pay-Less to match my white shoes when we went to Caitlin's wedding last summer. I think it cost $12. I carried it with me for weeks after the wedding - all my stuff was in it already, why switch back?
I get my hair cut as necessary. I define necessary as approximately every eighteen months. Before my last cut, I sat aside an entire 45 seconds for styling each morning - that's how long it would take if there was a lump in my first ponytail and I had to re-do it. With the shorter cut, I have to save at least five minutes for applying volumizer and blow drying. I would skip the product, but if I do, I look like a drowned rat at the end of the day.
You can tell if I'm dressed up, because then I wear make-up. If there's no lipstick or eyeshadow or mascara, it's just another day. (When I'm REALLY dressed up, there's eye liner, too, but that's usually reserved for super special occasions, like the annual work Christmas dinner.)
I'm most comfortable in yoga pants and no bra, but that's not acceptable work attire, so most days you'll find me dressed in dark boot-cut jeans and tank tops paired with long sweaters. (my favorite sweater has a hood on it.) My favorite shoes right now are the brown Keen boots Jimi gave me at Christmas, so I wear them almost daily.
I have accepted these facts about myself, and have come to love the freedom they give me.
When I was in middle school, I remember begging my parents for a Dooney and Bourke purse - a seventy-five dollar purse for an eleven year old, can you even imagine!? - not because I loved the style and design of the bag, but because all the cool girls had them, and I wanted to be a part of their world more than just about anything else. Even as I opened the gift on Christmas morning and gave all the expect squeals of delight, I was, in my heart of hearts, sad that I'd made my parents spend all that money on such a stupid little thing that I only wanted so I could fit in. The bag, of course, didn't improve my popularity one iota. Neither did the teased bangs or the short shorts or the K-Swiss shoes. The "I'm not really the smartest kid in class, here I'll show you buy not doing any work at all" approach I took when my nick-name became know-it-all...all that got me was bad grades and no phone for 6 weeks; not the best way to grow your friends base.
I've tried a thousand ways to remake myself into some other version that's more acceptable or pleasing to others. Miserable business, the act of changing oneself. And then one day I woke up and said, "Fuck it." That's it. Fuck it. This is me and I am I and that is all there is. She lived happily ever after...
Except it's really hard to not compare yourself to other people.
Bossman and I took a trip to Chicago over the summer; just a day trip, up and back. I put on make-up. I wore dress pants (some stretchy blend, with an elastic waistband) and a nice top (5 years old, from Lane Bryant and slightly too big, in a loud print) and my knee-high boots (4-inch heels. Stupid). I thought I looked great...until I got to the gate and saw the other business travelers; men with their crisp suits and and polished shoes, women with skirts and hose and heels. They all carried professional cases or bags or folios of some sort - I adjusted the strap on the purse I carried, the purse Momma gave me last Christmas, and wished I'd included foundation in my dressing-up makeup routine; all of these women obviously did. In Chicago, my frumpy, out-of-date clothes made me feel as if I were waving a big red "look at me, I shouldn't be allowed to dress myself" flag - everyone was sharp and stylish and fancy. I wished for the millionth time I'd done something other than let my hair fall loose on my shoulders, and so dug a scrunchy out of my purse and pulled my tresses back into a loop, which I hoped looked fancier than a simply ponytail. I watched the ground as we ate breakfast and waited for our appointment time - how do they walk so fast in those heels? I'd break an ankle!
I worry bossman is looking for a Burberry girl. I worry that he sees me in my day-to-day and thinks "She could never do this." When I made my proposal, he said to me, as if to discourage, "You'd have to get a new car, a new wardrobe..." In my head, I keep hearing him say he's looking for an experienced hotshot or a good looking woman in a short skirt, and I feel my opportunity slipping away because I've spent the last five years taking full advantage of our slack office dress code.
I feel fancy when I spend $25 on a new purse at Target. I haven't spent $25 on a new purse from Target in years, though, because at Christmas each year, my Momma buys me a new purse. I did buy a white purse at Pay-Less to match my white shoes when we went to Caitlin's wedding last summer. I think it cost $12. I carried it with me for weeks after the wedding - all my stuff was in it already, why switch back?
I get my hair cut as necessary. I define necessary as approximately every eighteen months. Before my last cut, I sat aside an entire 45 seconds for styling each morning - that's how long it would take if there was a lump in my first ponytail and I had to re-do it. With the shorter cut, I have to save at least five minutes for applying volumizer and blow drying. I would skip the product, but if I do, I look like a drowned rat at the end of the day.
You can tell if I'm dressed up, because then I wear make-up. If there's no lipstick or eyeshadow or mascara, it's just another day. (When I'm REALLY dressed up, there's eye liner, too, but that's usually reserved for super special occasions, like the annual work Christmas dinner.)
I'm most comfortable in yoga pants and no bra, but that's not acceptable work attire, so most days you'll find me dressed in dark boot-cut jeans and tank tops paired with long sweaters. (my favorite sweater has a hood on it.) My favorite shoes right now are the brown Keen boots Jimi gave me at Christmas, so I wear them almost daily.
I have accepted these facts about myself, and have come to love the freedom they give me.
When I was in middle school, I remember begging my parents for a Dooney and Bourke purse - a seventy-five dollar purse for an eleven year old, can you even imagine!? - not because I loved the style and design of the bag, but because all the cool girls had them, and I wanted to be a part of their world more than just about anything else. Even as I opened the gift on Christmas morning and gave all the expect squeals of delight, I was, in my heart of hearts, sad that I'd made my parents spend all that money on such a stupid little thing that I only wanted so I could fit in. The bag, of course, didn't improve my popularity one iota. Neither did the teased bangs or the short shorts or the K-Swiss shoes. The "I'm not really the smartest kid in class, here I'll show you buy not doing any work at all" approach I took when my nick-name became know-it-all...all that got me was bad grades and no phone for 6 weeks; not the best way to grow your friends base.
I've tried a thousand ways to remake myself into some other version that's more acceptable or pleasing to others. Miserable business, the act of changing oneself. And then one day I woke up and said, "Fuck it." That's it. Fuck it. This is me and I am I and that is all there is. She lived happily ever after...
Except it's really hard to not compare yourself to other people.
Bossman and I took a trip to Chicago over the summer; just a day trip, up and back. I put on make-up. I wore dress pants (some stretchy blend, with an elastic waistband) and a nice top (5 years old, from Lane Bryant and slightly too big, in a loud print) and my knee-high boots (4-inch heels. Stupid). I thought I looked great...until I got to the gate and saw the other business travelers; men with their crisp suits and and polished shoes, women with skirts and hose and heels. They all carried professional cases or bags or folios of some sort - I adjusted the strap on the purse I carried, the purse Momma gave me last Christmas, and wished I'd included foundation in my dressing-up makeup routine; all of these women obviously did. In Chicago, my frumpy, out-of-date clothes made me feel as if I were waving a big red "look at me, I shouldn't be allowed to dress myself" flag - everyone was sharp and stylish and fancy. I wished for the millionth time I'd done something other than let my hair fall loose on my shoulders, and so dug a scrunchy out of my purse and pulled my tresses back into a loop, which I hoped looked fancier than a simply ponytail. I watched the ground as we ate breakfast and waited for our appointment time - how do they walk so fast in those heels? I'd break an ankle!
I worry bossman is looking for a Burberry girl. I worry that he sees me in my day-to-day and thinks "She could never do this." When I made my proposal, he said to me, as if to discourage, "You'd have to get a new car, a new wardrobe..." In my head, I keep hearing him say he's looking for an experienced hotshot or a good looking woman in a short skirt, and I feel my opportunity slipping away because I've spent the last five years taking full advantage of our slack office dress code.
Friday, January 20, 2012
It's been years since I've looked for a job, but...
I'm going to spend part of my weekend updating my resume and writing a cover letter. And I'll probably go out and buy a professional suit of some sort. I may dye my hair blonde.
Monday morning, I'm going to walk into my boss's office in my new professional suit, complete with heels and hose and lipstick, and I'm going to hand him my resume and my cover letter and I'm going to give him all the reasons he should give me this new position that's suddenly become available - the position I've been aiming for for the last 3 years, the one that I never thought would be open so soon, the job that will put me one step closer to being able to realize the financial and career goals I've set for myself.
Unfortunately, two weeks ago, when I suggested myself for this job, his immediate response was "No". This resulted in a lot of anger and frustration on my part, which was partly relieved when I sat down with him the next day and explained how offended I was by his dismissal. He told me, in so many words, that I'm a bad manager, and until I learn to delegate, he can't move me up. Fuck.
So I, that very day, gave our assistant a big fat pile of bullshit work that ties me up for hours every morning. I've been terrified to turn this shit over, because like all bad managers who don't delegate, I assume no one else can do it right and so I keep doing it myself even though it eats up way too much of my time every single day. And you know what happened? She got it the very first day. Go figure. I've had to correct a few minor things, but she's got it. And I don't have it hanging over my head anymore. Hmm. Maybe there's something to this delegating shit. When it comes down to it, there's nothing remarkable about the work that I do. There's just a lot to it, and it's a lot for one person to juggle. I think I can find a way to make it all happen without me being in the office each day.
I want this job. I want it because I already have relationships with my customers. I know them, they know me. They trust and respect me, and they think I do a good job for them. Why shouldn't I be the one to go to them and propose new ways our company can service their needs?
I've never wanted to sell things. My dad started his career as a manager for a manufacturing company, and when that company forced him to resign (so they could hire two young guns with degrees for a fraction of his salary), he decided to pursue a career he'd always imagined he'd enjoy - selling cars. That was 1993. He's still selling cars, and he's damned good at it. He's a good listener, and he's honest, and he cares about his reputation and the people who are driving the vehicles he sells. Because of that, something like 95% of his business comes from repeat customers and referrals.
Daddy instilled in me that sense of customer service. I've used it to my great advantage so far, but never imagined it would lead to sales. I never wanted it to lead to sales. I've said very clearly I DON'T WANT TO SELL THINGS. Who wants to spend days on the road, cold-calling on potential customers, having doors slammed in their faces over and over again? Not me.
This isn't that, though. This is (mostly) calling on current customers, people I know and with whom I already have relationships. There's travel involved, sure, but a night or two a way from home every few weeks won't kill us. Jimi and I spend every waking non-working moment together, and have only been apart for two nights in the last 5 years - I think we can handle a little time away from each other every now and then. (Granted, we both slept like shit those two nights, and missed each other like crazy, but still...) And there will be cold-calling, and plenty of "NO"s, but that's just business, and well, business is just business - it's not personal.
I need to have more opportunity to grow and show how awesome I can be, and I'm never going to be able to do that in my current position. I would be fan-fucking-tastic in this job, and I deserve it. I want it.
I'm going to go get it.
Saturday, December 17, 2011
Christmas Songs by Natalie
Oh, Christmas Party,
Oh Christmas Party,
How lovely is your open bar.
Oh Christmas Party,
Oh Christmas Party,
your menu offers shit like tuna tartar. (WTF?)
I drink and eat,
'til my eyeballs sweat,
then smoke a fag,
till dessert is served.
Oh Christmas Party
Oh Christmas Party,
I love that Bossman pays your tab.
There. I made you a Christmas song. You're welcome.
Do you eat foie gras? I don't. No thanks. Our restaurant tonight had grilled foie gras on the menu. I'm not an organ-meat sort of gal.
Well, unless you're talking about...
God, I just can't have class. me and class were just never meant to be friends.
I was lookin' cute tonight, though, if i do say so myself. I finally wore that crocheted vintage skirt Jimi bought me back in 2007 - turns out it's the hotness with a pair of tights and suede boots. Who knew? (Jimi, apparently, but we're not going to talk about how he's always right.)
So yeah, tonight was the company Christmas dinner, and it was fantastic, as always, and probably scarily expensive, as usual. It was fun and gay, and I wish there was a way we could do this every month, instead of once a year. The good tidings and joy are overflowing.
I should go to bed before I get some of it on the carpet.
Oh Christmas Party,
How lovely is your open bar.
Oh Christmas Party,
Oh Christmas Party,
your menu offers shit like tuna tartar. (WTF?)
I drink and eat,
'til my eyeballs sweat,
then smoke a fag,
till dessert is served.
Oh Christmas Party
Oh Christmas Party,
I love that Bossman pays your tab.
There. I made you a Christmas song. You're welcome.
Do you eat foie gras? I don't. No thanks. Our restaurant tonight had grilled foie gras on the menu. I'm not an organ-meat sort of gal.
Well, unless you're talking about...
God, I just can't have class. me and class were just never meant to be friends.
I was lookin' cute tonight, though, if i do say so myself. I finally wore that crocheted vintage skirt Jimi bought me back in 2007 - turns out it's the hotness with a pair of tights and suede boots. Who knew? (Jimi, apparently, but we're not going to talk about how he's always right.)
So yeah, tonight was the company Christmas dinner, and it was fantastic, as always, and probably scarily expensive, as usual. It was fun and gay, and I wish there was a way we could do this every month, instead of once a year. The good tidings and joy are overflowing.
I should go to bed before I get some of it on the carpet.
Friday, December 2, 2011
Thursday, November 17, 2011
I'm gonna complain, but I'll try to keep it brief.
I spent 30 minutes driving around looking for a customer's office - an office I've been to before, but apparently I cannot retrace my steps. I finally said "fuck it, I'll find it later" and moved on to the next customer, and now I'm home, and after Googling, i think I've found the correct address and will be able to make my visit on my way back to work. (I called and asked my Admin. Assistant to find the alternate address and/or directions for me, and she failed and gave up. I'm a little grumpy about that, and will probably end up saying something bitchy once I get back to work. I mean, seriously, i'd never call MY boss and be all, "Um, well, no one's answering the phone and the address you have is the only one I've found..." Yeah. Right. Besides, I FOUND another address on the Google. My Google at home is no better than her Google at work.)
Ugh. Anyhow.
I booked our spa appointments this morning; Stacy and I will spend her 30th birthday being rubbed and scrubbed and cleansed and moisturized. I can hardly wait. It's her birthday, but I feel like taking the day off and going for a massage and facial is just as much a gift to myself - I need it! And really, what better way to kick off the holidays?
You ever feel like you need to take a time out, pause the world, take a moment to regroup and start fresh? I just need time to stand still for a day or two, so I can work non-stop to get my house spotless, my laundry folded, my pantry stocked, my dishes put away. And at work, my files would be updated and organized, projects would be finished, memos sent out, meetings scheduled and planned...I just need everything to stop for a few days, just two or three, so I can get it all to the point where I can manage it day to day.
I feel very overwhelmed. Overwhelmed by how much I need to do, and so I freeze and do nothing. (Well, not at work. That's not an option at work. But I never make any headway - I get done what has to get done to keep things running, but the projects and the updating, that all gets pushed to the side, and having all of that sitting over there, staring at me...it's freaking me right the fuck out.)
Sometimes it's just all so much.
I don't remember the last time I felt like I had it all together, though. I say that, but maybe it's not true. We had the house looking awesome not too long ago. And before my workload exploded in September, I was starting to see light at the end of the tunnel and room to wiggle and move on those projects.
It'll come again. Deep breath. One thing at a time. Piece by piece, it'll come together. It'll all work out. It's all gonna be just fine.
I need a nap.
Ugh. Anyhow.
I booked our spa appointments this morning; Stacy and I will spend her 30th birthday being rubbed and scrubbed and cleansed and moisturized. I can hardly wait. It's her birthday, but I feel like taking the day off and going for a massage and facial is just as much a gift to myself - I need it! And really, what better way to kick off the holidays?
You ever feel like you need to take a time out, pause the world, take a moment to regroup and start fresh? I just need time to stand still for a day or two, so I can work non-stop to get my house spotless, my laundry folded, my pantry stocked, my dishes put away. And at work, my files would be updated and organized, projects would be finished, memos sent out, meetings scheduled and planned...I just need everything to stop for a few days, just two or three, so I can get it all to the point where I can manage it day to day.
I feel very overwhelmed. Overwhelmed by how much I need to do, and so I freeze and do nothing. (Well, not at work. That's not an option at work. But I never make any headway - I get done what has to get done to keep things running, but the projects and the updating, that all gets pushed to the side, and having all of that sitting over there, staring at me...it's freaking me right the fuck out.)
Sometimes it's just all so much.
I don't remember the last time I felt like I had it all together, though. I say that, but maybe it's not true. We had the house looking awesome not too long ago. And before my workload exploded in September, I was starting to see light at the end of the tunnel and room to wiggle and move on those projects.
It'll come again. Deep breath. One thing at a time. Piece by piece, it'll come together. It'll all work out. It's all gonna be just fine.
I need a nap.
Saturday, October 29, 2011
I love Saturday.
Today is the best kind of Saturday; the sort where you have nowhere to be, no commitments to keep, no chores that MUST be completed. (Of course, there's always laundry and cleaning to be done, but I've been good this week and haven't let my house become a sty, so I can totally put off domestic chores until tomorrow. After all, isn't that why God made Sundays? So we can wash our dirty clothes and homes and prepare for the upcoming workweek?)
We've got a costume party scheduled tonight, which, contrary to what I said in that whole first paragraph, means I do have to hunt out my footie pajamas and wash them, and locate the gloves and ears and tail that make up my Max costume. Jimi's going to be a Wild Thing again - we spent a lot of time and money on those costumes last year, dammit, so yes, we're totally recycling. Besides, most of our friends never saw the costumes last year - just Karen and Gary and the crowd at the gay bar. (Speaking of which, remembering the gay bar last Halloween makes me REALLY want to go back. I wonder if they're open Monday night? Wanna go with me?)
I got up just after 6 all week long; sleeping in until after 8 today makes me feel spoiled and pampered. 8 is still REALLY early for a Saturday, but I like getting up early on the weekends - I can always take a nap in the middle of the day, for as long as I want, if I start to get yawn-y. Weekends are awesome.
I bought and downloaded The Sims 3 Pets last night. Jimi gave me some shit over it, saying it's stupid and dumb and a waste of money. And it is, but it entertains me and I enjoy it. And we have separate bank accounts so I can spend my money the way I want to spend it and he can't say shit about it, so maybe we've got a shot at this happily ever after thing. Cause last night, had our accounts been joint, I probably wouldn't have bought the game. And I would've been pissed about it. And I would still be pissed about it. And it would be all his fault. But he has his money and I have my money, and well, we're just going to keep it that way because it's safer. (I haven't played my new game yet, but I'm greatly anticipating diving in after I'm finished with this here blog post.)
I'm trying to take a picture or two every day of things that make me smile (or say WTF?). I like scrolling through them at the end of the week and remembering the little things that made up my otherwise mundane and routine week. With that being said...
And then there was the rest of the week:
My sink has been this empty all week. I'm not even lying. (If you don't know me personally, this is a really big deal. Huge, even.) I'm very proud of us for being so responsible and grown-up.
I've probably posted six dozen pictures of the shit that lives in my office at work, but here are some more:
We've got a costume party scheduled tonight, which, contrary to what I said in that whole first paragraph, means I do have to hunt out my footie pajamas and wash them, and locate the gloves and ears and tail that make up my Max costume. Jimi's going to be a Wild Thing again - we spent a lot of time and money on those costumes last year, dammit, so yes, we're totally recycling. Besides, most of our friends never saw the costumes last year - just Karen and Gary and the crowd at the gay bar. (Speaking of which, remembering the gay bar last Halloween makes me REALLY want to go back. I wonder if they're open Monday night? Wanna go with me?)
I got up just after 6 all week long; sleeping in until after 8 today makes me feel spoiled and pampered. 8 is still REALLY early for a Saturday, but I like getting up early on the weekends - I can always take a nap in the middle of the day, for as long as I want, if I start to get yawn-y. Weekends are awesome.
I bought and downloaded The Sims 3 Pets last night. Jimi gave me some shit over it, saying it's stupid and dumb and a waste of money. And it is, but it entertains me and I enjoy it. And we have separate bank accounts so I can spend my money the way I want to spend it and he can't say shit about it, so maybe we've got a shot at this happily ever after thing. Cause last night, had our accounts been joint, I probably wouldn't have bought the game. And I would've been pissed about it. And I would still be pissed about it. And it would be all his fault. But he has his money and I have my money, and well, we're just going to keep it that way because it's safer. (I haven't played my new game yet, but I'm greatly anticipating diving in after I'm finished with this here blog post.)
I'm trying to take a picture or two every day of things that make me smile (or say WTF?). I like scrolling through them at the end of the week and remembering the little things that made up my otherwise mundane and routine week. With that being said...
Pictures from the Karaoke bar last Friday night:
 |
| Think the dude in red was doing "No Diggity". The lady on the right was gettin' down. |
 |
| I met Sarah's friend Robbi for the first time, after hearing his name for years. We got along swimmingly. I stole the hat from Robbi's friend, but I eventually gave it back. |
 |
| chicks taking self-portraits in public bathroom mirrors. WTF? |
 |
| Oh here, random stranger, hold my phone and do this for us, will you? |
And then there was the rest of the week:
 |
| This bug just appeared out of nowhere, on the inside of my car. It's a good thing I was pulling into my driveway, otherwise this surprise could've had tragic consequences. |
 |
| Murphy the Office Dog. Doing his Buckwheat impression. |
I think it was Tuesday when I'd let Finn out back and he started going crazy at the corner of the breezeway. I walked over to him to see what the fuss was about, and this little guy scurried across the walkway and under my car. He was hanging out under the back tires first...
But he ran to the front when I tried to shoo him out...
And my next attempt resulted in this:
 |
| "I'm just gonna hang on the back of this here tire, and maybe she can't see me and will go away." That's what I did - I went away and left him alone and he found his home. |
.
The trees in our front yard have been so beautiful this week:
I made fire (and subsequently cut my finger and had to dig rust out of it and decided to get a tetanus shot).
The doctor's visit was cool, though. My appointment was at 8:15, and at 8:30, the doctor came out from the back with a bowl of cereal, crunching away happily on his breakfast as he chatted with another doctor's patient about their children, who apparently attend the same school. Fifteen minutes later, a nurse calls me back for intake and puts me in a room. 10 minutes after that, I see the doctor.
I want to be mad and be all "what the fuck, doc?" because I was missing work and getting behind and all I needed was a needle jabbed in my arm and when it came right down to it, the waiting time was three times as long as the treating time. But I really like my doctor. He's good, and he listens, and he takes notes on a computer, which I just really really love. I don't know, he came to me highly recommended and accepts my insurance and I feel like he's thorough and I like that I can get a same-day appointment if I'm sick as hell.
Anyhow, so I let him talk me into a flu shot. I've never had one of those, either, and I told him why: I don't get sick very often, and I haven't had anything that resembled the flu in years and years and years and I don't want to get a shot and get sick. He told me the flu shot is not for me, it is for those around me with compromised immune systems. And I thought of Stacy's baby, who's going to be born at the end of January, when everyone's got a runny nose and a cough, and how I want to kiss her new sweet face without worrying I'll give her some awful respiratory funkiness. He also told me that people don't get sick from the flu shot, and I decided to take his advice and believe him until I have a reason not to and so I let them give me two shots rather than the one I came for. Knock on wood, I'm 48 hours into it and nary a sniffle or chill has visited me.
 |
| Crossing the tracks to work. That's downtown Louisville there in the middle, that lit-up building. |
Sitting on my back step, with a book and a smoke, this is my view:
I've probably posted six dozen pictures of the shit that lives in my office at work, but here are some more:
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| The zombie is coming to get the monkeys. |
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| Pirate duck says fuck your zombies. And your dusty monitor. |
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| My Chick-fil-A boycott didn't last long. Their nuggets call to me in my sleep sometimes. |
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| This My Little Pony dates from my childhood. |
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| Hi Kimmie! |
There was frost on the ground this morning.
Winter, I'm going to need you to hold off for a few more weeks, okay? I'm not ready for serious cold yet.
Happy Weekend!
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Therapy - talk it out...
The woman who did my job, oh, say, 10 years ago was apparently very good at it. She was great at the administrative part - she always got paperwork completed on time and such. But the customers hated her. She was rigid and brusque and very nearly rude regularly. Yesterday, it was implied by a co-worker that maybe I'm not so good at my job, because so-and-so never forgot anything and so-and-so never added a customer's order onto the schedule at the last minute and so-and-so never made any mistakes with the numbers.
My co-worker doesn't know, I guess, that so-and-so called up my boss a few weeks after he'd moved me into this position, asking for her old job back. And you know what? He turned her down. And he's done so the other two or three times she's come sniffing around looking to come back.
Know what else my co-worker doesn't know? She doesn't know that right before I left my office for that meeting, the one where she implied that I suck at my job, I got a message from a customer who'd just had lunch with my boss. Know what the customer had to say? "He sure does think highly of you - he sang your praises." This is the second call in a week I've had like that from a customer, telling me that my boss thinks I rock. And my customers regularly report to my boss and our salesman (who also takes it to my boss) that I'm awesome.
So yeah, I forget shit sometimes, and sometimes I screw things up. But most of the time? Most of the time I'm fucking badass at my job, and I'd challenge any of my questioning co-workers to step into my shoes and try to do better.
It bothers me that her comment, so snide and so shitty and just plain mean, bothers me enough that I'm writing a blog post about it this morning. Therapy, is what I'm calling it. Trying to remind myself that the important opinion is that of my boss, the one who controls my destiny, not my co-worker, who has no pull over the fate of my career.
Friday, September 9, 2011
Dress Debacle 2011 - OVER. And poop.
In other news, the Dress Debacle of 2011 has resolved itself.
The shop where we purchased the dresses has apparently experienced chicks like me before - they've got this nifty little policy that says if you pay them an extra $10, you can return your too-small (or too-big, I guess) dress and they'll order the correct size.
A dress that fits me will be in next week. Problem solved!
I'm not giving up, I'm being realistic. I was nearly having a panic attack every time I thought about it - about how awful I was going to look with one of those zip-in panels, or worse, having to tell my friend that I can't do it because I can't wear the dress I bought for the occasion. That's not really an option, you know? It's kind of a big deal, a person's wedding.
I feel like a total quitter, but I don't care. That dress will zip come mid-October, and I'm not going to starve, lose sleep, or have to get back liposuction. And I can still work my butt off and get skinny again - but I won't have the lingering "I hate myself" guilt if I eat an extra 100 calories throughout the day.
The shop where we purchased the dresses has apparently experienced chicks like me before - they've got this nifty little policy that says if you pay them an extra $10, you can return your too-small (or too-big, I guess) dress and they'll order the correct size.
A dress that fits me will be in next week. Problem solved!
I'm not giving up, I'm being realistic. I was nearly having a panic attack every time I thought about it - about how awful I was going to look with one of those zip-in panels, or worse, having to tell my friend that I can't do it because I can't wear the dress I bought for the occasion. That's not really an option, you know? It's kind of a big deal, a person's wedding.
I feel like a total quitter, but I don't care. That dress will zip come mid-October, and I'm not going to starve, lose sleep, or have to get back liposuction. And I can still work my butt off and get skinny again - but I won't have the lingering "I hate myself" guilt if I eat an extra 100 calories throughout the day.
*********************
Completely off subject, but can I mention how much I absolutely hate smelling other people's shit? Some truck driver came into the office yesterday and asked to use the bathroom. I didn't think anything of it - until he was gone for 10 minutes. When he finally came out, a waft of stink followed him down the hall, into the vestibule, and out the door. "Oh fuck," I thought. I went searching for the air freshener, getting a quick tendril of stink every now and then, which helped keep me focused on my mission. I finally found the spray in Kim's office and made my way back down the hall toward the source of the offensive odor.
The bathroom door was ajar by about 6 inches, and the light and fan were on inside. I held my breath and approached, Oust can held out directly in front of me. I reached my arm only just inside the door and held down the nozzle - and then I had to take a breath in
I woke up on the floor of the hallway, gagging and with tears streaming down my cheeks. Okay, I didn't really pass out, but I may as fucking well have. Jesus Mary and Dominic, that man must've been full of pure unadulterated evil and it was escaping from his asshole.
I really hate smelling other people's shit.
And then Kim got to work. "Before you even go into your office, I want you to walk down the hall and stick your head in the men's room and take a big whiff," I instructed, honestly believing she would do it without question.
"What, did someone take a big shit?" Why was she not walking down the hall?
"Yes. OMG YES."
"And you WANTED ME TO SMELL IT?! Thanks a lot, Friend."
"Only because you were hiding the air freshener in your office! I nearly died searching for it!"
****************************
I'm so happy Friday is here. This has been the longest 4-day workweek EVAR. I'm over it, and I need to recharge. If I could call in sick today, I'd do it. Oh well. I'm going to focus on the good. It'll all be fine. Every little thing gonna be alright.
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Fucking work.
There was a time in my life where, if I'd had the sort of morning I've had today, I would've walked out of the office and never come back. (Except maybe to pick up my last paycheck.)
I've grown up since then, become an adult. Responsible thoughts like "What about health insurance?" and "But you don't have a week's pay held back - if you leave today, there's no more money coming after your vacation pay" keep me from walking out and completely fucking up my financial peace.
Oh, but in my heart - in my heart I'd love to make a grand exit complete with lots of yelling and "fuck you!"s.
That's not completely true. In my heart, I'd like for people to stop attacking me and treating me like I'm an asshole when I try to come up with solutions to the problems we face. In my heart, I'd like to be able to ask a question and get a straight answer. In my heart, I'd like to be able to discuss complicated situtations like professional adults, rather than listen to yelling or attitude or bitchiness.
I'm losing hope that the things I want are possible. I'm realizing that it is time to drum up a new resume and start to put some feelers out there. I'm realizing that the perks of my job aren't necessarily worth the cost of my sanity.
But I'll be a grown-up about it. I'll do the right thing. Not because it makes me feel better or because it's the right thing to do, but because I can't afford to go out any other way.
I've grown up since then, become an adult. Responsible thoughts like "What about health insurance?" and "But you don't have a week's pay held back - if you leave today, there's no more money coming after your vacation pay" keep me from walking out and completely fucking up my financial peace.
Oh, but in my heart - in my heart I'd love to make a grand exit complete with lots of yelling and "fuck you!"s.
That's not completely true. In my heart, I'd like for people to stop attacking me and treating me like I'm an asshole when I try to come up with solutions to the problems we face. In my heart, I'd like to be able to ask a question and get a straight answer. In my heart, I'd like to be able to discuss complicated situtations like professional adults, rather than listen to yelling or attitude or bitchiness.
I'm losing hope that the things I want are possible. I'm realizing that it is time to drum up a new resume and start to put some feelers out there. I'm realizing that the perks of my job aren't necessarily worth the cost of my sanity.
But I'll be a grown-up about it. I'll do the right thing. Not because it makes me feel better or because it's the right thing to do, but because I can't afford to go out any other way.
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
A Hump Day Haiku
Big changes coming at work.
Opportunity -
Yeah, yeah, I hear you knocking.
Attitude is everything.
The good, bad, ugly -
it can come back to haunt you.
I hear a chirping.
Smoke detector dying;
brings back memories from Camp.
I could write all day,
tap out syllables
with fingers on the table.
But I have to go to work,
make the drums and stuff,
So we can pay the mortgage.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Random Things and Stuff
Driving home for lunch today I passed the scene of a fatal accident - motorcycle v. bus. The man that was killed, his body was still in the intersection, covered by the tell-tale white sheet. His family's world just changed; I hope they find peace.
This was the coolest balloon display I've ever seen. 
The beers Jimi and Steve made are in this cabinet somewhere. Sadly, they do not have a ribbon on them, but there's always next year.
And then we went home. The end.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My co-worker hit me up on Facebook at 10:45 the other night, asking if the next day I'd be interested in having dinner with her children and then dropping them off at the baseball field for practice. Her kids are awesome, so I accepted. The middle child, the boy, wanted a burger. A cheeseburger, specifically, with bacon. From Rally's. The girls wanted Panera. I made everyone happy and ran through the drive-thru on our way to Panera. The boy inhaled his burger, proclaiming it delicious and the best thing ever. The kids wanted to know if I could stay with them through practice, but I had to get home. I promised we'd do it again, and left feeling like I was awesome and they loved me.
The boy got a bellyache last night. Apparently his little digestive system isn't used to bacon cheeseburgers and fries for dinner and was protesting. His parents used it as a lesson, telling him he should've known better and that's what he gets for taking advantage of dumb ol' Natalie, for pulling one over on me, etc. and so on. Poor kid. I made sure to clarify that I in no way was snowed over or fooled - I was perfectly happy to get the child a burger if that's what he wanted for dinner; I looked at it as a special treat for him. (I let them have double-chocolate chip cookies for dessert, too, because I believe kids need things like that every now and then.)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
We went to the State Fair this past Saturday. I didn't get many pictures because my camera battery died, but I managed to snap a few:
Freddy is as much a part of the Fair tradition as corn dogs and mullets.
He talks to you.
He'll tell you what you're wearing and what color your hair is and that you're holding your Momma's hand.
And you'll be all "Holy shit, he SEES me!"
And then you grow up and realize there's some dude in a glass booth upstairs and behind you,
watching your every move.
And you're a little skeezed out, I'll be honest.
This was the coolest balloon display I've ever seen. 
The beers Jimi and Steve made are in this cabinet somewhere. Sadly, they do not have a ribbon on them, but there's always next year.
Baby pigs, baby cows.
And, of course, the corn dog.
(I only ate half of it.)
(it wasn't all beef and it was kinda yucky.)
(And I kept thinking 460 calories for this?!)
The corn was guilt-free, though.
And then we went home. The end.
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