An Anniversary. Of sorts.

Today is the day that marks one full week of unemployment. Yay! String up the balloon, blow some party favors and buy me some motherfricken cake! It’s party time.

It feels like its been an unproductive, pointless few days. But I’ve done stuff! I really have.

Proof of point: a list.

• I signed up for unemployment.
• I mailed that thing that needed to be mailed.
• I wrote a check for my car payment and mailed that off too.
• I did laundry.
• I did the dishes.
• I baked cookies. They didn’t turn out too well, but they’re homemade dammit.
• I did a bit of an online job search. Not too extensive, but I started to look around.
• I went to the grocery store.
• And I searched the hell out of homes for sale. Like, a LOT of searching.

See? I did stuff! A whole list of stuff.

Most of my time I think was spent looking online for a new place to live. And reading up on stuff I need to know about buying our very first home. It’s kind of daunting how much I don’t know about this stuff. It’s been a bit overwhelming at times. But at least its been keeping my brain occupied!

Also, the sooner we move the sooner we’ll be saving money. No more crazy high rent payments! Woooo!

Oh, and I’ll finally get to have a washer and dryer INSIDE instead of walking to a communal laundry room. The HB’s one request is that there’s a big enough garage for him to have a ‘man cave’ to store all of his manly tools and stuff. It’s been twelve years since we’ve had either luxury. And now they’re within our grasp! Well, after we apply for a loan. And get a loan. And do a tour of the few places we’ve selected. And make an offer. And holy crap there’s still so much to do.

To add to the madness, I’ll be participating in NaNoWriMo this year. I haven’t done NaNo since I went back to school and I’ve been really looking forward to the hectic paced novel writing that will happen next month.

Job searching, house hunting, and writing a novel... November will certainly be an adventure.

Today

As a supervisor was walking with me back to my office he asked if I had a backup plan. I laughed. It never occurred to me to have a back up plan.

Sure, I’d thought about what I might do after I left my job, especially after I finished my degree a couple of months ago. I couldn’t stay there indefinitely, could I? Would I even want to? But I was happy where I was at. There was no need to rush on to The Next Big Thing. Besides, staying meant avoiding the big What To Be When I Grow Up question.

A couple of months ago it became known that a couple of the production lines were going to be relocated to other facilities. It stood to reason that the people running the lines would be let go when there was nothing for them to work on. It wasn’t until this last Tuesday, when news of the unusual monthly meeting set-up made its way back to my tiny office, did I begin to think, ‘hey, they might downsize my department too!’

I realized it was possible that I could be the one let go.

I even took all the personal stuff littering my desk and drawers home yesterday. Just In Case.

And it still never occurred to me to start thinking of a backup plan.

I knew it was possible. It made sense that with a third of the production lines going there’d be a third of the work to do, so bye-bye third person in my department.

It was still a shock when I heard my position had been... shit, what did they call it? Not redundant... “No longer needed” I guess. Which is bullshit, because the job still needs to be done. They’re just foisting it on my coworker. Out of the blue. No heads up so I can give him any training. Sucks to be him. Wait a minute... no it doesn’t! He still has a job!

Sigh.

I knew that if I was let go, everything would be okay.

It will suck, but I can find another job.

The HB will support me, emotionally and financially for a bit if need be.

I’d be okay. We’d be okay.

I could look at it as a good thing, a gentle push into a different direction that will ultimately turn out to be so much better for me.

I knew this, and still I was anxious. It felt irrational to be so anxious. It would’t be the end of the world. I knew it. So why worry about it? If something happens, I’ll deal with it!

Easier said than done.

I showed up at nine this morning, giving myself a pep talk. “It’ll be fine. There’s probably nothing to worry about, but if you’re let go, it will be okay. It will be okay.”

I wish I’d talked myself into believing I was getting laid off instead. Then I could have been more prepared to deal with the news.

I would have been braced for the bad. I would have appeared calm. Cool. Unaffected. “You’re letting me go? Interesting. Could we speed this up? I have an interview at 10.”

As the employees showed up this morning, all of the supervisors were lined up down the hall that lead to the conference/meeting room. It was surreal, like they were getting ready to shake everyone’s hand for the last time. It really weird-ed me out, so I avoided eye contact and ducked into the room through the first door I came to.

There was a five minute speech. “Hello. Welcome. Shits about to happen. Let’s begin.” That was about it. Then we had one-on-ones with a HR manager and our supervisor. I was in the first batch called. The others had to stay in the conference room while they waited their turn.

I sat down in a small meeting room with the best boss I’ve ever had and some stranger I’ve never met before. I should have picked up on the boss’s body language and voice tone. Thinking about it now, he looked uneasy, like he was about to share some unpleasant news. Ha! I think I subconsciously chalked it up to just being a bad day for everyone. He said he was going to read through the script they (the bosses) had to run through. I thought that was just because the HR rep was there and the boss had to be ‘by the book’. He’s always been so damn informal. That damn script lulled me into thinking everything was okay. “Production has been cut... less need for certain jobs… YOUR JOB IS NO LONGER NEEDED SUCKER.”

Bam! Pow! WTF?

I was waiting for him to say ‘only two jobs will be kept in your department’ and I was bracing to find out which of the other two it was going to be. But then he said “you”. “Your” job. “Your” position. “You” will no longer be working here. Not “him” or “them” but “you” and I kept repeating that.

“You.”

That means “me.”

Why, why, why did I think I was so safe? I should have convinced myself I was a goner. I wouldn’t have felt so stupid while the HR dude talked about the HR stuff.

But I was cool about it. I didn’t cry. I didn’t freak out. I even cracked a joke! And they laughed!

And I was going to walk out of there with my head held high dammit.

This will be a good thing, I told myself as the HR guy talked. And my boss just sat and stared at me. This will be that nudge I need to find a better job. A job that better suits me and my talents. This will all turn out to be The Best Thing For Me.

Then the HR guy got to the end of his spiel. He’d handed me all the paperwork he needed to hand me, told me all the things he needed to tell me.

Then he handed me my last paycheck.

And it was suddenly ten times more real.

I felt that tight grip of control start to loosen and my face started to scrunch up in a holy-shit-I’m-about-to-cry sort of way. I took a deep breath and quickly apologized.

“Sorry,” I said flapping my arms up and down twice. “I think I’m about to have a girl moment.”

“It’s okay,” the HR guy said in an annoyingly sympathetic tone.

I took a second to regroup.

“Here,” my boss said and nudged the box of Kleenex a fraction of an inch closer.

“Well damn,” I said as I stared at the box sitting in the middle of the table. “That should have been a dead give away right there!”

They chuckled. And they watched me stare at that last check. That god damn last check from my first real grown up job that I’ve had for the last eight and a half years and holy crap what am I going to do now with my fucking life.

ARRRRRRRRRRRGGGG.

At least I didn’t get fired, right? That would have been worse. Nothing I did wrong. Nope. They just downsized. And I wasn’t good enough to keep around.

Fuck.

I hid the check between the stack of papers I’d been given. I wanted to be strong. To be able to stare at it, hold it in my hands, and not be fazed by it. But I couldn’t do it. I felt weak. And that annoyed me. And then I felt like crying. And I wanted to get the hell out of there before anyone besides those two saw it.

But not before I thanked the HR guy for a wonderful job. “In all seriousness,” I told him. “You were awesome.” They kept letting me blab on and on like an idiot instead of kicking me out of the room like sensible people who are still in their right mind because they still have their damn job. We’re all standing up, next to the door. I’m thanking the HR guy. And I think I thanked my boss for “everything” either before or after I looked dead in the eyes and said, “This sucks.” And still they let me linger. Kick me out for crying out loud and stop me before I embarrass myself even more. Sheesh!

Next stop: saying goodbye to my office. I’d cleaned out my desk yesterday, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to pack up every last thing I’d want to take with me. Because it wasn’t going to really happen. I knew it was possible, I really did, but I still didn’t believe it would happen.

Yesterday, before I left for the day, I’d grabbed all desk gnomes I’ve collected over the years. A couple were happy meal toys. Three of them are pokemons found in poptart boxes. A few were x-men figurines found in those plastic bubbles you get from the quarter machines at movie theaters. A coworker had given me two, wolverine and magneto. Another coworker had given me a dog figurine. Another had given me a happy face with legs and bunny ears.

Gah! Making it all worse is that I have no idea who else got laid off. I didn’t have time to say goodbye to the friends I had there. I could send them a goodbye email, but what if they’re not there Monday to receive it?

Well, I’d packed up my cd’s yesterday as well. A calculator I’d gotten from work with a cool little flip top. I’d emailed 8 years worth of pictures and person files I’d found/made through the years then deleted them from the computer.

But I hadn’t taken the award certificate Mr. Desk Neighbor had made me for having the messiest desk.

I didn’t want to walk all the way back to my office, with a damn escort at that, I just wanted to leave. But I didn’t want to leave without that certificate.

So we made the trek to the back. While I was there I grabbed some other keepsakes. I grabbed the ugly fanny pack I received a couple of years ago that was given out as a ‘safety award’. I thought about leaving all the pens and post-it notes that were inside (I’d used it to carry my office supplies every time I moved offices) but I just dumped that shit in a drawer and left. I couldn’t linger about any longer.

So yeah. I have no job. I am unemployed!

And it feels so damn surreal.

I think I got all the crying out of my system as I drove home. And as I went through the drive through at In-N-Out. That was a little embarrassing.

I am NOT going to freak out about money, i.e. car payments, student loan payments, rent, and all the other bills I started cataloguing on my way home.

But it is tempting.

I will also not worry about the fact that the HB and I had wanted to move into a house soon. Our lease is up this month and we still need to decide, ‘House? Cheaper apartment while we save some more? Or stay?” I will also not worry about the fact that the HB has been thinking about quitting his job for awhile now. Guess I foiled those plans!

I called him as soon as I got to my car and I’d just like to say he is the bestest boyfriend ever.

He said I should take a month or two off, but I’m thinking a week should suffice for a decent pity party. Or maybe two. I’m kind of afraid to take off more than that. I might like the lazy life a bit too much.

I'll take some time though, then see what’s out there in the Big Scary World of Job Openings. Maybe I’ll get lucky and find something I can use my useless degree for! Wouldn’t that be the shit?

It will all work out for the best.

Everything will be all right.

I will be all right.

Nothing but good times ahead.

Tomorrow

It loooooooooooms like a great big looming cloud of doom.

Tomorrow is the day I find out if I still have a job. I'm pretty sure I still do. Optimistically speaking my chances are good.

But I'm still anxious as shit.

Even if my job is spared, I wouldn't be surprised if someone in my department gets cut. About a third of the production lines are migrating to other facilities. A rumor a little birdie told me is that about a quarter of the production crew is getting the axe in the process.

Will the same happen to my department? A department of just three people? It wouldn't make too much sense to cut one of us, but when has sense ever played a part in a corporate decision. (Bah! I feel so jaded!) We already have enough on our plates to keep us busy, but hey, two of us manage when one of us goes on vacation, so what the hell. Make it permanent!

A coworker who works up in the front office said there are freakin' security guards roaming about. The rumor: they're getting ready to escort people out once the firing starts. I don't remember ever seeing security guards when I worked in the front. But then, I don't think I ever saw anyone after they were recently fired, so maybe the security guards just popped out of nowhere and whisked the unemployed away. Anyone I might have been in view of being escorted out ended up quitting long before they could be let go anyway.

Sigh.

Tomorrow is the day when we find out who stays and who goes. This is still unofficial though. We all know layoffs will happen; we just don't know when. But tomorrow is the monthly companywide meeting, so many people are speculating this is the perfect time to spring the happy news.

Oh! And another rumor? The place is shutting down tonight. UN. HEARD. OF. Seriously. We used to be 24/7. Lately we've been 24/5 due to the bad economy blah blah blah. But to suddenly shut down in the middle of the week? Holy crap. Which means, if its true, we have to show up tomorrow just for the Meeting of Doom. Weird.

More weird is that in the past, three different meeting times were posted and you show up for whichever one you can make. This monthly meeting? Each of the three different time slots are assigned rows and rows of employee ID numbers. They've actually assigned us a time, and done it all secret-like with anonymous numbers. I've worked here for nine years. That's a first.

I have the 9am slot. Guy Number 1 in my department has the noon slot. Guy Number 2 has the 3pm slot.

Yeah.

Magic 8 Ball says, "Outcome looks grim."

But thank Elvis I don't have to wait until 3 freakin pm to find out if I still have my job.

Guy Number 1 was told by our boss to wait to come in to work until his noon meeting time. But its still not official that we're not working tomorrow. Oy vey. When will Mr. Boss bother to tell me to just show up for my 9am time? Hopefully soon because it's driving me nuts.

I don't want to do any work.

What's the point if I don't have a job? Bad, bad, bad thoughts.

I feel the urge to get rid of anything personal, i.e. the snoopy pen in my desk, my cd's, the handful of figurines decorating my desk, computer files such as work inspired pics, this word doc with all my scribblings, etc.

It's a good idea to clean that shit up anyway.

My desk is full of old papers and files I've kept "just in case I need it later" because I'm a packrat. And now its time to purge purge purge!

Kind of like if you die, you don't want relatives and friends to find your porn stash, you know?

If I don't show up for work next week I don't want anyone to find any notes or stick man figures I might have drawn during conference calls and whatnot.

And all those lolcats I've saved to my documents folder.

BRB purging

Hello cool weather. Let's make out!

We opened all the windows of our apartment this past weekend and enjoyed the fresh cool air as it filtered in and settled about the room. The slight chill felt oh so good after the previous week's scorching temps.

And we haven't closed the windows since! Well, until last night.

A neighbor decided to play some music on super loud mode starting at around 9:30 last night. We had to shut the living room window to be able to hear the television. Unfortunately it didn't drown out the thump... thump... thump of the bass reverberating through the walls and floors and dear god it never stopped. We had to shut the bedroom windows when we went to bed as well. That left us with no fresh, cold air to help lull us to sleep. :(

But it was still cold enough outside that we didn't need the a/c to fall asleep! Yay! The HB needs the room to be frigid before he can fall asleep. I don't need it that cold necessarily, but I'm so used to falling asleep in the cold now that it certainly helps.

Despite the thump, thump, thump of the walls we slept. I woke up this morning to discover another day full of pleasantly cool weather. It filled me to the brim with warm fuzzies in contrast.

It's so cool in the office today I'm wearing a sweatshirt. Mmm mmm comfy sweatshirt. One of the reasons I prefer fall/winter to summer: the sweatshirts! It's like a blanket with sleeves! And not as silly looking as a snuggy.

Today I'm rockin' my Avenue Q sweatshirt. Man, that was such a kick ass play. I never thought I would laugh so hard watching muppets have sex.

This weekend the HB and I will be seeing Spamalot. I'm excited and nervous all at the same time. I've picked two winners so far that the HB has thoroughly enjoyed, Wicked and Avenue Q, despite any apprehensions he had before the shows. I hope he gets a kick out of this one too or it might be awhile before I can talk him into another musical.

Oh, I just thought of something! I might be able to get a Spamalot sweatshirt! And if it stays cool throughout the weekend I might get to wear it right away. But not while I'm still at the play mind you. Don't worry Droz, I won't "be that guy."

I live in California, so by cold and cool and chilly I'm talking 70's weather so far. Which feels damn nice after triple digit weather just a couple of days ago. I was talking with some friends the other day about making a trip to Canada next time we get together. They joked about going during the winter time. "Guys," I said. "I'd love to go to Canada, but during the winter? I'd have to buy all new clothes!" They then reminded me I'm a girl and that that should be seen as a plus. But I don't know... the warmest thing I own is this sweatshirt. That won't exactly cut it in snow weather. I wouldn't even know what to buy.

Come to think of it, I haven't seen snow in... wow, 11 years now. And the snow that fell during those couple of days belonged in the Wussy Snow category so it barely counts. I would be so out of my element in actual Snow Country. But I know I'd love it anyway.

For now though, I'll be reveling in the fact that today's high will be a gorgeous 77 degrees.

*smooch* *smooch* *smooch*

Dear Boyfriend,

Now that I'm no longer going to school and we're waking up at roughly the same time each morning, and getting dressed around the same time, and leaving for work at the same time, it'd be great if you could make sure I don't leave the apartment with my shirt on inside out.

Thanks!

Your Clothing Challenged Sweetie,
Lisa

My psychic powers kick ass!

Normally, at work, if I'm cold I'll adjust the a/c up a degree or two. Problem solved!

Or, if Other Office Chick is in the office, we take turns messing with the thermostat. When I get cold I turn it up a few degrees. When she feels stuffy and claustrophobic, the a/c gets dialed down a couple of degrees and I try not to freeze.

Normally, this isn't a big deal.

Normally, sure, I'll get cold, but hey, at least I'm not working outside! I suck it up, continue on with my work, and wait for Other Office Chick to go out for lunch or head to a meeting so I can bump the a/c up again.

Normally, this isn't a situation that would compel me to put pen to paper fingers to keyboard.

Today though, today I was freakishly cold. The a/c was hovering around 74 degrees but to me it felt like 64. I tried blaming it on my wet hair, but I've had wet hair before and I've never felt so cold in a really-not-that-cold room. I felt almost flu-like cold. I'm not sick, thank Elvis, but for some reason... well, there was just something plain wrong with me.

I was going to suffer being so freakishly cold for no good reason but then I thought, 'Dang it! I have a sweatshirt in the car! That's why its there!' and decided not to be a lazy ass and make the small hike to the car.

The sweatshirt has been in the car since last winter. During the cold season I wear a sweater/sweatshirt every day in the office because yes, even in winter these silly office coworkers like to turn the a/c on. I left the sweatshirt in the car in case I needed it one day, and I've thought on a couple of occasions over the last few weeks, 'Hey! I'm cold! Maybe I should go get it!'

But then I think about how hot it is outside and realize staying inside is a much better idea. And eventually I forget that it's cold. And then Other Office Chick leaves and I can set the thermostat back to a more comfortable level.

But today... something compelled me to go outside and grab the sweatshirt.

And after I did? Well, it was so hot outside I quickly got over my cold spell. My hair dried up. I got super warm. And by the time I returned to the office I was no longer in need of a sweatshirt.

'Oh well,' I thought, and chalked it up to a nice mini diversion from work.

And then three hours later my pants ripped.

I'm not talking about a little tear either.

I think they heard the horrible rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrripping sound all the way in the next county.

The hole in my pants is almost too big for my hand to cover, as if I wanted to walk around with my hand over my ass for the next few hours.

Holy crap, if I didn't have my sweatshirt I don't know what I'd do!

Wear my pants backwards and hold some object in front of the massive hole?

"Oh, hi, don't mind me! I'm just carrying this empty box out to my car in a really weird way. Thanks for not looking too closely at my pants!"

I don't know what Other Office Chick was thinking after she heard the rrrrrrrrrrripping noise. Two rrrrrrripping noises actually, as I moved too fast in my chair in a 'what the hell?' kind of move that made the pants rip again. Did she think I farted? Does she know the sound of ripping pants and know that I do indeed have a huge hole in the ass of my pants now?

Can this day be over already so I can go home, throw these pants away, and pretend this never happened?

Stupid pants. :(

But hey! I've got psychic powers now apparently. Because that's too much of a coincidence to be anything else. The one time I go out to my car for the sweatshirt is the one time I tear a big ass hole where the left cheek pocket used to be. What are the odds?!

Stupid pants. :(

The fruit worries the approving bread under the pride.

The last couple of days I've not had much to eat for lunch. I've subsisted on granola bars and crackers and while both are quite yummy, especially when paired with a cup of coffee, neither is very filling. Yesterday I did have some nuked leftovers, but I ate that more as a brunch than a lunch, so by the end of the day I was starving.

This morning though, I packed a GLORIOUS lunch:

• 1.5 peanut butter (generic non crunchy) & jelly (smuckers raspberry) sandwich on wheat bread
  
• 1 yogurt (raspberry)
  
• 1 tupperware container full of chopped up chunks of watermelon, cantaloupe, & honey dew melon

Okay, not really that glorious, but it sure as hell beats the last couple of lunches I've had.

I was pleased with my selection of munchies for the day. Then Visitor Guy (who's here for the day, visiting from a sister facility) walked over and said, "I'm going to Farmer Boys to pick up something to eat. What do you want?" And my munchies seemed not so munchable.

"Oh. Nothing. I'm good," I said, while hoping I wasn't visibly salivating.

"You sure?"

I looked sadly at the pb&j sitting on my desk. I brought lunch, I reminded myself. And I love pb&j sandwiches so I should be satisfied with that. Farmer Boys is greasy and good but greasy and that's bad, bad, bad.

"I'm sure. I brought food. I'm good."

"Come on, it's on The Company."

Oh... Well...

Then he flashed me the corporate card he'll be charging breakfast to.

"I'll have a breakfast sandwich!"

Of all the days he showed up with his fancy shmancy corporate charge card, he had to pick the day I actually managed to bring food with me!

Grrrrrrr.

I guess I could have said no. Been good and stayed with my semi healthy lunch. But its free food. At the expense of the company! I haven't gotten a raise in years. I'll take what I can get.

Show Me On The Doll Where The Bad Word Touched You

Fail.

Less than 24hrs fresh from harassment training and I'm already using inappropriate words.

"Hey Lisa," says a co-worker. "Do you have a flashlight?"

My mind instantly flashes (heh) to the mini flashlight hanging from a zipper on my backpack that I received from a butt-kissin' vendor. The thing technically works. It does produce light when the button is pushed, but you can't see shit from the faint wisp of light than emanates from its light-emanating orifice.

So I say to my colleague, "Yeah, but its retarded--"

Ahhhhhhhhhhhh crap.

"I apologize for my inappropriate word," I say to my co-worker, one of the dudes I sat next to during the airing of the cheesy (are there any that aren't?) harassment video.

He waives his hand in a casual 'fuggedaboutit' move and chuckles. "I'm not offended."

"Yeah, but it's still offensive. And I'm bad for saying it."

I feel horrible now.

The word just slid right out!

I was on a kick some months ago, using that word way too much. It filled me with inappropriate joy to do so. I'm not proud to admit it, but I will.

I blame this blog, on the writer's obvious joy from using the word. I read the blog and started using myself. It was addictive. Especially when said with a horribly faked Boston accent. "That's wicked retahhhhded."

But I made a concerted effort not to use that word after awhile and I was doing a really good job of it too. That is, until I watched the video yesterday. It shoved that word right back into my Vocab Database.

Oh yeah, I thought as I watched Inappropriate Office Worker Number 1 in the video use that word in front of Offended Office Worker Number 2, I used to say that word in front of coworkers!

I get really bothered by some of the other examples demonstrated in that video, which put a double whammy of shame on me for ever using an inappropriate word. If the video's purpose was to make me feel bad for ever saying The "R" Word... well, mission accomplished. And rightly so.

And now I've gone and said it again.

:( :( :( :(

I blame Inappropriate Office Worker Number 1.

Plan B

So things are going good in HB-land. Everybody chilled out, except for the asshat who wouldn't chill out even if a chill pill was administered to him rectally. (Amusing mental image is amusing.) I think the HB actually started to enjoy himself on the Dreaded Business Trip of Doom. But now they're shipping him back a week early to fix a problem back here.

So yippee for me!

But... ummm... that means I need to scrap my plans for the upcoming Super Productive Weekend, an awesome two-day event where I planned to do all kinds of errands and chores (no really, actual plans and stuff!) and do them... holy crap, tonight!

Yeah...

That's not going to happen.

Well, the errands I can save for the weekend still. They are sanctioned for Boyfriend Drag-A-Longs. But all the spiffy chores I was going to have done as a welcome home pressie? Meh.

I'll make my lazy ass wash some dishes at least.

Laundry is out, as we still live in the same non-washing-machine-furnished apartment and the temperature this week has been dancing in triple digits while wearing a big sombrero of humidity. Bleagh. I really don't care to make a trek across the parking lot to the non-air-conditioned hotbox just to wash towels. Screw that.

I'll, um... sort out the recycling a bit instead. Yeah. Because that'll take all of five minutes.

Oh, come to think of it! I probably have some time on Friday as well. I don't know what the HB's ETA is but I bet his ass won't get in until midnight or some silly crap like that.

I think I might even mop the bathroom floor!

That'd be a nice "I'm Sorry The Big Mean Boss Made You Fly Out Of Town Here Smell This Floor Its Pine-y Fresh" kind of gift. One he'd really appreciate.

I am Domestic Goddess. Hear me roar vacuum.

This. Is. SPARTA! No, really. I'm wearing a loincloth and everything!

It's hard when your sweetie is on the other side of the continent and having a crap time of it. We chatted online last night but there was nothing I could have done to cheer him up, short of flashing a boob on a webcam, which, I'm sure, would have had some sort of perk up power. Alas, I am webcamless.

I tried agreeing with him because yes, some of the people he works with are ginormous asshats. And yes, it sucks to be harassed by the people you're there to help before you get the chance to check into the hotel. It's not like he arrived in the morning and had plans to head over in the afternoon. His plane landed in the early evening. That's, like, after "leave work and go home" time, not prime "hey let's generate reports!" time. He's going to be there for two full weeks, it's not like there won't be ample time to use and abuse him.

I tried cracking a few jokes as we chatted, but was afraid to be too cheery/optimistic. Still, it seemed as though there was nothing in my power to turn his :( upside down.

And that made me :(

Hopefully, after a full day there under his belt, his outlook on the remaining two weeks will improve. But I'm dreading the melancholy of tonight's chat.

On a more positive note, there are some things I'm enjoying about being HB-less for a couple weeks. I can walk around the apartment in my underwear! Woooo!

Yeah, that might get old by next week. But last night? There was no one around to see my chunky thighs. My beloved HB loves me, chunky thighs and all, but I just don't feel comfortable walking around in unmentionables all the time. But last night? I was rockin' the hell out of my Shirt+Undies Combo of Awesome.

Also, I do enjoy having the bathroom all to myself in the morning. When I was still in school I was waking up at least an hour before him. I could wander from the bathroom to the kitchen to the living room to the bathroom to whatever. At my leisure. In whatever order my still-waking-up brain slotted them. And not worry about him confiscating the bathroom before I'd had the chance to brush my teeth.

Let's see... anything else to add to the plus column? Oh! I'm going to pickup Subway one night! That silly man of mine does not like Subway. Sometimes I can talk him into going to Quiznos, but those trips are rare. I could always get my Subway fix during my lunch break at work, but lately it's just a pain in the ass to do so. So tonight... we dine... AT SUBWAY!

/300

Hmmm... what else? Oh! I don't have to clean up after myself! He's the neat freak of the bunch so I can be super messy the next two weeks. Not that that is particularly fun but, um... I don't have to hang my clothes up! I can leave them in the basket, like, um... they have been for a week. While he was still here. So okay, things were a mess before he left. But I have TWO WEEKS before I have to clean any of it up!

No that I have to clean anything. I just figured it'd be a nice welcome home to see stuff picked up/put away.

Anything else?

Hmmm...

I have control of the television remote! That means no more Man vs Food repeat marathons or horrible sci-fi syfy channel crap-fest b-movie of the weeks.

And...

Yeah, that's it.

The "plusses" don't really add up to much.

Not when I have trouble falling asleep at night without him beside me, knowing how far away he is.

S is for the way you SUCK at communication.

I really dislike working with idiots, morons, a-holes, douche-nozzles, twat-waffles or anyone else that falls into that circus of People Who Irritate Me. But then, who does? If you do, what's the secret? And don't say booze.

It's even more frustrating sometimes working with a friend, someone I know who can be quite intelligent, when they insist on being the most difficult human being on the planet.

Okay. That may be a bit of an over exaggeration. He's just being the most difficult human in this zip code.

He sends me an email that basically says 'hey, here's a job that needs to get done, stuff needs to be ordered.' Because that's my job: to order stuff.

I take a look at the order and note some discrepancies. One section of the order says "X" is needed. Another section says "Y" is needed.

The numbers are very similar, but not exact. Since I want to make sure the right thing gets ordered, I reply back to Mr. Pain N. Ass with a very pleasant and very work appropriate version of what is essentially "WTF?"

No, really, I wrote out my concerns to make it as plain as dirt. "This says X and this says Y. Are they the same? If not please clarify."

Hey! That rhymes! I think I shall call it Ode To Asshat.

These two emails were exchanged on Tuesday. Wednesday morning arrives, and to work so do I, and when I open my emails I see that no reply has been sent. Okay, no biggie. I'll send another email!

"Wasssssup? Hey bro, can you look at the email I sent yesterday? Need more 4-1-1 on the order, yo!"

This morning? Yeah. Still nothing. Sigh. Okay. He replied to every other email I sent him in the last two days, maybe he just missed this one these two. And I have that sneaky little 'read receipt' action going so I know he hasn't even opened them yet.

So I send out Email Number Three this morning while I make a mental note to call him about it later. But he replies back to my voice messages even less frequently than he does my emails so I'd have to catch him when he's not screening calls.

Before I get the chance to act on the mental note he calls me about some other issue he has.

"Oh, by the way," I say. "Take a look at that email I sent out this morning when you get the chance."

"I'm going to be busy all day," he says. "In and out of meetings," he says.

"Okay... but if you get the chance..."

"Thursday is my busiest day."

"Yeah. Got it. You're a busy fellow. You tell me that every chance you get. But please, just take a look at it when you get a moment. I'd liked to finish processing the order--"

"Just order the parts," he says before I can finish my sentence.

I took a deep breath. Counted to 10. Refrained from banging the phone on my desk.

"I can't. That's why I sent you the email, which will take one minute of your time to read and respond to, SO WHEN YOU GET A FREE MINUTE..."

This is the kind of relationship we have. One day we'll be all sunshine and smiles and rainbow farts galore. The next we're a bunch of bitchy cats hissing at each other.

He continued to throw up more excuses as to why he couldn't read my email. At no point did I ever say it was a dire emergency that required IMMEDIATE attention so I'm getting frazzled that he has THE NERVE to get frazzled at me. I was just giving him a verbal post-it note to read a damn email when he had some damn free time. Even if it was tomorrow. That was all. No pressure.

All he had to say was, 'I'll take a look at it when I can.'

S I M P L E

We hang up. Less than a minute later the twerp reads the email. Too busy my ass.

Then, because he likes being an ass, he responds by not responding to my original question. This is a staple in his Email Reply Repertoire.

My question was this: "X doesn't match Y. Are they the same? If not, which is needed?"

His response could have been one of the following:

1) X
2) Y
3) yes, they're the same

Either would have been perfectly acceptable. (Heh. "Acceptable." That sounds so catty.)

His actual response was this: "Order 5. They replaced the WRTT (Work Related Technical Term) without telling anyone."

Seriously. Nowhere in that reply is the answer to my inquiry. It's like trying to decode a puzzle without a decoder ring.

My reply to the reply was thus: "Yeah. I know to order 5. That wasn't the question. My question had to do with two different part numbers being listed on the order. ARE THEY THE SAME PART OR NOT?"

I've caught problems like this before. Slight mix ups. Slight typos. Shit happens. I like to keep that shit to a minimum. Shame on me.

His next reply, and I swear this is a direct copy+paste: "Not the same machine was altered tai"

Sigh.

It took me awhile to figure out he missed a period in there. I was thinking he meant "not the same machine" and I was ready to hit something. So, okay, not the same. That still doesn't tell me which to order. And the last bit? No friggin clue.

I called his extension but it rang and rang until it went to voice mail.

My follow up reply instead: "Not the same part. Got it. So which part IS needed? And what the hell does "tai" mean? Call me when you're not busy. I need help deciphering your crazy language."

A couple of minutes later he called.

And clarification was finally achieved.

Five seconds of his life to say 'order this one not that one.' It required no further research on his part. All he had to do was look at the numbers and go 'oh, this one.'

S I M P L E

Yet the ability to type that in an email was beyond his capabilities. Don't give me a history of the machine. I don't care. I. Don't. Care. Just answer the damn question.

I know he's not stupid, so I'm left believing he's doing it just to be a pain in my ass. To 'get my goat' as the ol' goat would say.

I think I'll blame my premature grey hair on him.

Super Internet Trooper To The Rescue

Saving Kittens and Parents from Evil Emails one Evil Email at a time!

Probably too long to fit on a business card, no?

My mom forwarded me an email the other day about this 'new fad' in Japan where women are wearing skirts with prints on the back that make it look like their skirt is invisible. At first I thought, 'Huh. Weird.' By the time I got to the last picture I was thinking, "Oh please, my cat could use photoshop better than that."

Since my suspicious meter was bouncing off the charts I googled the first line of the email and found a link to snopes. As it turns out, as it does probably 90% of the time, the email was spreading around false information.

The pictures are real; real in the sense that they really do appear in porno mags. Porno magazines catering to clientele that like to look at women in their underwear.

Heh.

My mom forwarded me porn.

I replied back to the email with a link to the snopes article and a brief explanation as to where the pictures came from. I hope my mom doesn't feel bad when I reply with a snopes-link. This wouldn't be the first one I've sent.

I still have this email exchange flagged in the name of All That Is Awesome in my inbox at work. I save it for rainy days when I need a smile.

From: Dad
Subject: FW:
Date: Thu, 7 Jun 2007 15:30:44
To: a bunch of people (8+)

FREE LAPTOP
Hi! We want you to like us! So we're giving away free laptops! Because that makes total sense! Just send this email to 8 people and you'll get a FREE LAPTOP! Wheee!

Make sure you send a copy to: some.poor.sucker @ company.com

From: Mom
Subject: Fwd: FW:
Sent: Friday, June 8, 2007 11:17 AM
To: a bunch of people (8+)

Same email pyramid as before, just one tier higher.

From: Spam Police A Thoughtful Daughter
Subject: Re: FW:
To: Mom and Dad

Ack! Stop the insanity!

I can't believe you guys fell for it.

snopeslink

Suckers! :)

But don't worry, I still love you.

*hugs*

From: Mom
To: Daughter

Daddy made me do it. Love you too. Mom.

From: Daughter
To: Mom

Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha

From: Mom
To: Daughter

I'm serious. I don't want or need a new computer. So there.

I see her sticking her tongue out at the screen every time I read that.

And okay, maybe I could have broke it to them more gently. Maybe buy a 'Welcome to the Internet: It's Full of Lies' card and slip it into a wine gift basket. I was just highly amused they, and everyone else who forwarded that email before them, thought they'd get a free laptop. But I was just jaded by that time, having seen several similar emails before that.

Bill Gates never did give me that money he promised. :(

Mamma's little baby loves clambake, clambake

Oh Dear Elvis... I showed up to work today with my shirt on inside out.

I know I headed off to work this morning wearing one navy blue sock with one black sock and black pants. That was done, however reluctantly, on purpose. I've been delaying the Inevitable Laundry Session that I know will come whether I want it to or not. No matter how much I ignore its existence, the emptiness of my underwear drawer will not magically reverse itself.

But if it could? Awesome squared!

I have enough undies to make it to the weekend, which is when I can do laundry at 7 or 8 in the morning before it gets all butt-ass melty hot outside. Bleagh. But my socks? They fare not so well. I've been down to mismatched socks since Tuesday. And now I'm down to socks that aren't even from the same species of sock-dom. Hello random halloween themed sock!

But the mismatched socks I could deal with. My feet are under a desk for most of the day, and hardly anyone, if any at all, would notice. But my shirt?!

Holy frack nuggets Batman!

Good thing I was bored during my morning meeting, and looking down, and checking out my chest (as a byproduct of being bored, mind you, I don't normally check out my chest. Well, that often anyway...) Anywho! I was wearing a v-neck shirt and as I was looking down I noticed the fabric sticking out where the two lines of the V meet.

And I thought to my self, 'well that looks weird... what the... oh. Crap.'

Sigh.

Thankfully nobody noticed. Because I refuse to believe otherwise.

In other news, I received a spammy email the other day that advertised a drug that could make me "wild and woozy." I thought that would be an interesting combination. "Woohoo! Let's go skinny dipping! Right after I sit down though because I'm a bit dizzy!" Sign me up.

How Sex The Bot

I haven't talked dirty to mr. jabberwacky in awhile so I thought I'd stroll on over and chat him up. The first few sentences are written from memory since the silly servers went all wonky on me and timed out before I could copy-paste.

Jabby: Can you think?

Me: I think I can.

What does that mean?

Are you dense?

(A very sassy remark which I can not remember for the life of me, and neither can the jabberwacky servers.)

Are you sassin' me? Because I'm not in the mood to be sassin'.

Can you get in the mood?

Depends, Sugar. Can you get me there?

*hands you the contraband*

What is that? Sounds kinky.

Oh it is.

RAWR!

Lol! XD.

ZOMG UR SO CUTE ^^

Good luck, I have 7 proxies.


I had to stop there. I el-oh-el'd for reals in front of co-works and figured I'd best get back to work before they got suspicious.

Until we chat again, my sweet Jabby. Keep those proxies warm for me.

A Bit Of Random

I opened up this word doc to write about one thing and ended up with something completely different. When the muse needs to vent, the muse needs to vent! I blame the heat.

Random #1

I've been finding about an ant a day crawling across my desk for the past week.

First ant? Poor fella. He must have gotten lost.

*squish*

Second ant? Hmmm... Interesting.

*squish*

Third ant? Okay, who hid the candy behind my desk?

*squish*

Fourth ant? I'm starting to think I should probably mention this to someone. I'm not sure I can take more karma hits from all that ant-icides I've performed this week.

*squish*

Random #2

My boss is pretty cool. He's offered to hook me up with friends or family to help out with X and Y and Z. But I'd still never befriend him on facebook, even if I knew he was there. And if for some reason he found me and befriended me, and I had a crazy moment and accepted, I'd like to think I'd be smart enough not to log in to facebook and complain what a wanker he is.

Random #3

This is Day Three of The Great Office Sauna Saga.

Three days that the air conditioner hasn't worked. Yesterday, when I finally escaped this hellhole, the thermostat said it was 87 degrees in here. Eighty Mutha Effin Seven Degrees. I'm surprised I got as much work done as I did. When I was in the middle of a project I focused in and lost track of time and forgot for a glorious yet brief moment that I was stewing in the office. But when I finished? And I had to think of what to do next? It was hard to get that focus back. I didn't want to do anything. I didn't want to move.

The best part was when someone came into the office, sat down, and a few moments later said, "Did you know that its 85 degrees in here?"

"Holy shit, really? I hadn't noticed!"

I swear, some people get so touchy when I answer their stupid question with sarcasm. Am I supposed to thank them for making me aware of my office's sauna status?

And yes, I'm still cranky about it. Because its frickin hot in here! Ugh.

I hear something on the roof right now. I hope its either the A/C people fixing things or Godzilla getting ready to attack and put me out of my misery.

Note To Self # 45837

Note To Self:

Don't wear a shirt with one type of neck shape (i.e. rectangular) when over the weekend you got sunburned while wearing a shirt with a different shaped neck (i.e. triangular). It makes the pasty whiteness even pastier.

And it makes you look funny.

So try to not to do it again.

F is for...

Frank! Freud! Francis! François!

Ford!

Uh...

Filbert!

Frankenstein!

Okay, I was stretching it with those last two.

"Last two?" says my inner heckler.

My mind is clogged and can't think of any more boy names that start with the letter F.

Fred!

There, just thought of another. Bitch and ye shall receive.

During lunch I played the Twist-The-Stem-Off-The-Apple game - the game where each twist is a letter of the alphabet, and the letter you say when the stem snaps off represents the first letter of a boy's name who... um...

... is thinking of you?

... secretly has a crush on you?

... luuuuuuuuuuuuuuuves you?

I don't remember the exact level of affection the magical stem foretells, but the twisting game is still a habit I fall into now and again.

Sorry boys, but if your first name is near the end of the alphabet you are so screwed. Poor William. Poor Zachary. They only get to like/crush/luuuuuve the girls that have mutant apples for lunch, mutant apples with stems that have the fortitude of a bungee cord.

Nowadays I just twist and say the alphabet and then amuse myself with whatever letter I come up with. (Fabio!) When I was much younger, however, if there was a letter I wanted the apple stem to "magically" break off at, I'd have to be careful. If I wanted to get to a letter near the middle of the alphabet I had to employ the tiniest of quarter twists.

"Jayyyyyy..."

"Kayyyyyyy..."

"Ell-"

*snap*

"Poop!"

Yes, I'm sure I said poop back then because I was young and innocent and didn't know "Shit!" or even "Crap!" was so much more satisfying to say. Now, of course, I am old and corrupted and savor a good curse like a Pillsbury crescent roll fresh out of the oven

Today's apple was delicious, much like a Pillsbury crescent roll would be but I don't have any so why did I have to go thinking about yummy crescent flakiness because now I'm hungry again and I didn't bring another apple... crap!

So yes, the apple was delicious, if not fulfilling, but who is this F fella and does this crush of his involve buying me candyPillsbury crescent rolls and sending me notes during first period?

Stick a tenedor in me, I'm done!

Tenedor is the Spanish word for fork. Which I learned in Spanish... 002? So 2 quarters ago. Or is that 3 quarters ago now that SPN004 is actually over?

Anyway... the point is that I already forgot the word and had to look it up. Go Go Super Brain!

It doesn't matter though because I'll never use Spanish again! Well... not until the next time I visit with the HB's parents.

Ahem.

It doesn't matter though because I don't have to take Spanish 005! Yippee!

That's right. No more classes for me. I'm now a college graduate! After many years of college, and just as many non-years of college, (aka The I'll-Take-A-Break-For-Just-This-One-Quarter Syndrome) I'm finally done. Done done diggity done.

A quick timeline:

• I graduated high school/started college in '97
  
• moved at the end of the third school year in '00
  
• went to a new school that fall
  
• took the following winter quarter off
  
• aliens abducted me
  
• next thing I knew several years had passed
  
• screwed in the 'hey this would be a fun major' light bulb above my head in august of '05
  
• went to a jc that semester while I scrambled to enroll at the UC
  
• started classes there in the winter of '06
  
• took my last class in the summer of '09

Great googly moogly! It took me awhile, didn't it?

SPN004 was a summer school class, and since there was no way in hell I was waiting for the end of the upcoming fall quarter to spend 50+ bucks on a 50 cent grad gown (what a crock) I opted to attended the commencement ceremony at the end of the spring quarter, which happened to be last month.

I got my fake little paper diploma and gorgeous flowers from the HB and a special dinner treat from the parents and all the warm fuzzies that come with pretending you're now somehow more special than you were before you walked across the stage to shake some stranger's hand whom everyone kept referring to as the Chancellor.

Like I gave two hamster craps about that guy. He's just some random dude to me, and new to the job at that! I didn't have time to build up my admiration for him to the elusive Three Hamster Craps level. Let me shake hands with the lady who sold me the best egg sandwiches in the world from the little deli attached to the records office. Now there's a gal who improved my college experience. Seriously. Those egg sandwiches were magical. Magically delicious.

It was a nice enough ceremony even though the Special Guest Speakers thought we, the audience, wanted them to speak three times as long as we had the attention span for. I got a little giddy every time I thought, 'wow, I'm actually here, I'm actually graduating,' but it didn't feel real. It wouldn't until it was official, until I took that one last requirement during summer school.

The weekend after the grad ceremony I was up visiting my parents for a big family gathering. Everyone gave me verbal high fives with a few 'finally's thrown into the mix. Yes, yes, I finally graduated. Go me.

A couple conversations went as such:

"So you're finally done? Time to celebrate!"

"Uh, not really. I still have one more class to take."

"But that's just summer school. You're as good as done!"

"Ok. Sure. Woooo. Celebrate time."

But it was a half hearted woooo at best.

Sure, I celebrated. And sure, I was in happy happy joy joy mode. But I didn't feel done. It didn't feel real. (Does that even makes sense?) And then, last Friday, I took the final for SPN004. The last test I will ever take. Ever. Unless I go back for my masters. But that's another story all together.

This was, for all intents and purposes, the LAST TEST I WOULD EVER HAVE TO TAKE.

I sat there and stared at my finished test longer than I should have. I just kept looking at it for any errors I might have made, without really looking at it. Then I thought, 'what the hell am I doing? It's good enough to pass!' I got up, handed it to the prof, thanked him for whatever, walked out the door, down the stairs, and out another door and into the fresh air.

And then it hit me.

That was it.

That was the last test I'd ever have to take.

And I got giddy. Like real giddy.

I balled up my hands into fat little fists of joy and if I'd been in a movie I would have thrown them up in the air and broken out into song.

But I wasn't in a movie so I reigned that shit in and called the HB instead.

I got teary eyed as I walked to my car, waiting for the call to go through. I almost started crying for crying out loud. What's up with that? It's just a stupid test for a stupid class for a stupid degree. It's not like I had to fight insurmountable odds and struggle through adversity to graduate. They won't be making a Lifetime Made-For-TV-Movie about my journey from Slackerhood to Graduationville. And I certainly can't wear my achievement like a Girl Scout badge. (Though that's an idea for another day though...) No, I just graduated. And got emotional about it. And for some silly reason I felt silly about that.

And no, dear inquiring friends, I don't know what I'm going to do with my BA in Creative Writing.

And no, dear inquisitive family members, I'm not going to quit my job and write a novel.

Not that I haven't been tempted.

I'm just going to... enjoy not being in school for awhile. And enjoy not paying for school for awhile. And make it up as I go.

I should probably have a plan. That'd be the smart thing to do. And I'm a graduate now! I have teh smartz! So yeah, I'll have to work on that. But I'm not going to feel bad for not having one yet. I'm not I'm not I'm not.

Another Question

Why?

Why did this bra manufacturer feel the need to place a flower-shaped petrified rock/bow combo in the middle of the bra?

Because, seriously...

It looks like I have a third nipple.

So. Not. Wanted.

In other, happier, non mutant-third-nipple news:

I'm in love with Pandora, especially the Jack Johnson channel. The station does tend to play too much Dave Mathews and Coldplay and John Mayer at times, but we're still in the honeymoon phase of our love affair so some things can be overlooked.

Unlike my recently acquired third nipple.

Which shall hence forth referred to as Señor Nip.

Until, of course, I get home and find a pair of scissors.

Then its hasta la vista Señor Nip!

I Has Question

Man, this place has been neglected like a sandy vagina. Let's remedy that, shall we?

Because you see, I have this question. Not an IMPORTANT question or even an INTERESTING question. Just a thing that made me go HMMMM.

If I send an email to someone requesting something, and end it with a "thanks for the help", do I need to send another 'thanks' email in reply once that someone follows up with the request? It seems a bit redundant. I already said thanks; I don't want to beat them over the head with it. But not saying it makes me feel guilty. Especially since it’s a work related email because those should be handled differently, than, say, my friend Jack sending me a picture of kitty porn.

Not that I can't find that stuff for myself mind you.


see more Lolcats and funny pictures

Here's an example of a recent email exchange between me and a vendor I deal with at work that inspired this awesome post.

From: Moi
To: Person I Need Help From
Subject: Dude, where's my invoice?

Hello Person I Need Help From. Could you email me a copy of an invoice from FOREVER AGO. Blah blah relevant info to aid in your search for the desired invoice. Thanks in advance for the help.

To: Person in Need
From: Person With The Goods
Re: Dude?

Here it is. I thought I'd never find it! :-)
Nicey nicey warm wishes.

I thought about responding with a "Thanks!"...

...then thought, "but I already said thanks"...

...and then thought, "she was nice about it... and quick too"...

... and then thought about responding to her 'finding it' comment with a "I know OMG its so old lolololol :) :) :)"...

... and then I felt nuttered for even thinking that.

The internets. They have warped me.

Sigh.

Maybe I shouldn't include the preemptive 'thanks' with the original email; that would save all this pondering. But then the email doesn't sound nice enough. And I want it to be exploding with niceties because I'm asking someone for a favor. Maybe I should send them another email and clutter their damn email box with thank you's and smilie faces and all around warm communicative fuzzies.

I don't know what it is exactly; I have this paralyzing fear of being cute in my work emails. And the ones where I send Jack kitty porn don't count. Which reminds me... Jack is due for an email!


see more Lolcats and funny pictures

So why not just be boring and respond with a plain, "Thanks"? Good question Self. You're an idiot. Excellent answer Self.

Am I making an email faux pas by not replying back with my humblest of thanks and praise? Inquiring neurotics want to know. Because if so? I have a lot of emails to reply to :(

This office needs a waffle maker

A waffle a day makes the... uh... something something something. On second thought, too many people might hang out back here with the waffler in residence. Screw that.

Here's another thought: I really need to start blogging more. And writing less bitchy posts. Or at least more non-bitchy posts so that all I post is not just bitchy posts.

Hmmm...

As I ponder the situation I come to the conclusion that I don't think I should stop the bitchy posts completely. I do so enjoy writing them.

But really, what else is there to write about?

Oh, lots. I know. But all the good stuff lately is written in my head before I ever get to a computer/notebook and then it never makes it up on the screen.

So until the good stuff happens I'm going to write about...

Hmmm...

Yeah. I got nothing this morning.

Oh! I'll write about this dream that weirded me out the other day. It wasn't one of those "wrap Tilda Swinton up in a blanket and beat her unconscious with a miniature silver shovel" type of weird.** I haven't had one of those super disturbing dreams in a while. This dream was one of those glitch-in-the-matrix dreams.

1) I'd been wondering for weeks now where some missing pants had sauntered off to...

2) Friday afternoon a thought popped into my head that they might be in the closet...

3) I file that thought away...

4) and then I have a dream that night that I found them exactly where I suspected them to be...

5) When I wake up the next day, the memory is in my head as an actual event, not a dream...

6) so while I'm looking for something else in a different part of my room and find my pants and think, 'what the hell, I'd already found them in the closet!'

Not exactly a premonition dream. But what are the odds that I find my missing pants after I find them in my dream?

Hmmmmmmmmm??????

Yeah, okay. I know that no one finds that as interesting as I do. I mentioned it to the HB and his sister later that day and got no reaction out of them whatsoever.

But I dreamed I found them in the closet then woke up and found them under my desk! Get it?!

Sigh.

Maybe I should just stick to bitchy posts.


** Okay, I just did a search through my posts and couldn't find anything about that Tilda Swinton dream. How did I never write about that?! It was fascinating and disturbing all at the same time. I mean, I was hitting her with a shovel! Really, really hard too. I can still see her looking up at me, all serene like, as I whacked her uncontrollably with my little shovel. Uggggh.

Why?

Why must people take it upon themselves to inform me that my face is sunburned.

Really? My face is sunburned? I hadn't noticed. Nope. No mirrors in my house. Or in my car. Oh! And you know what? I can't feel the heat radiating off of my face like a disco inferno. No way, Jose. And every time I touch my face the skin doesn't feel like it just wrestled with a giant tumbleweed. So thanks Fellow Coworkers for stating the fucking obvious. Because I obviously didn't know!

If you are curious as to why my face is a tomato, then please, by all means, inquire into it. I will tell you I had a fantastic time this weekend. But don't try and start the conversation off with a dumb ass remark. Because all you'll get is a smart ass remark in return.

Him: "Hey! You're face is sunburned."

Me: "Hmmm. I hadn't noticed."

Him: "You hadn't noticed?"

Me: "Noooooooooope."

Him: "Errrr..."

Me: "Hold on, I need to ignore you now and make a phone call."

I'm secluded in the back office and have only seen two people today. And both have made these brilliant observations. And now? I have to go to school. Where I'll be surrounded by people. Some of whom will be endowed with a keen sense of Must State The Obvious.

If only I had a biting comeback for all of them. Because really, after the first person let's you know you've got a sunburn, it gets really annoying really fast.

I need a t-shirt for just such an occasion. One that reads:

"My sunburn irritates me. You will too if you mention it."

But with more snarky attitude. And with a picture of a crazy lady with a gun or butter knife or something underneath so they know I mean business.

T H R E E - O H

Why is it, when I woke up at 6 am on tuesday I still felt sleepy, like I could fall back asleep in seconds and dream for another hour or two.

And today, a no-need-to-rush-to-work saturday, when I woke up at 6 am I was wide awake. Wide freakin awake. Without a chance in hell of falling back asleep. And no desire to even try.

What's up with that?

It probably has something to do with today being my birthday and having a super fun weekend ahead of me.

/peanutbutterjellybananadance

Yep. That's right. Today is my birthday! The big 3-0. I am now officially a thirty-something. Eeek!

I was all weirded out and shit as the day approached, leaving the twenties, entering a new decade of adulthoodedness, assessing where I am, where I'm going, yadda yadda yadda, some of the same stuff that bothered me the last two birthdays. One of the weirder 'holy shit' moments happened a few weeks ago when I realized that my mom had two children in elementary school when she was the age I am now. Or was. Or something.

As a kid she was always old to me. Not old, just mommy-adult-old. But I don't feel old. Definitely not mommy-adult-old. And yet she was this age once! So when I thought of her as 'older adult' she was actually young. Like I am. With two kids already!

I'm not sure if I adequately explained all that as I'm just riffing here, but I'm going to leave it unedited so I can have a laugh when I read it months/years later.

Anywhoo...

Today the boyfriend and I are driving down to San Diego for a book signing to see our favorite author Jim Butcher. Tomorrow we're going to the red bull air race.

Its a weekend of firsts!

My coworker smells like Electric Youth

My coworker smells like Electric Youth

And I don't necessarily mean that in a good way.

When I was a tweeny-bopper (oh lordy I hope it was back in my pre-teen/tween years and before high school...) my parents bought me Debbie Gibson's Electric Youth perfume. It was an awesome gift.

I was a big fan of Debbie Gibson. (Still love her actually. Her greatest hits CD is full of electric and youthful win.) I listened to that Electric Youth cassette tape every night, singing along, imaginging I was the one singing on stage, or in a music video/beach movie type scenario, until the cassette died from exhaustion due to excessive rewinding after favorite songs.

The bottle of perfume looked bitchin', what with the neon pink spiral tube spiraling through the pink tinted liquid.

I was never cooler than when I spritzed on my Debbie Gibson Electric Youth perfume.

That was then, back when my nose never thought to distinguish the difference between wal-mart perfume and holy-shit-this-tiny-bottle-costs-how-much perfume. Like I would have cared back then anyhow.

I was wearing Debbie Fucking Gibson's Electric Youth perfume, yo!

But now? Yeah... the smell of that pink neon mist has not aged well.

And I keep getting a whiff of it, or its evil sad red-headed stepchild counterpart every time I walk anywhere in Ms Coworkers wafting zone. Now, I'm not saying "Wear the Good Stuff or GTFO" because lord knows I rarely bother to get spritzed up myself. I'm trying not to be a perfume snob or anything. But there are alternatives! Ones that won't make me want to gag! Skip the $2.00 perfume aisle and go look for the smelly lotion aisle. Even non-fancy smelly lotion smells a hell of a lot better than the crap perfume does.

Save that crap perfume for home. For date night. For grocery shopping night when cute clerk boy is working his shift. For going out and checking the mail.

Maybe you can find some good smelling cheap stuff. Good for you! No, really, that's awesome. Tell me where you bought it!

But if you buy something and it smells icky?

DON'T DOSE YOURSELF IN IT BEFORE WORKING IN MY OFFICE.

Thanks,
Management

Today's Happiness Is Brought To You By The Letters S, H, I, N, and Y

I'm wearing a new blouse today. And I'm in a really good mood because of it.

Sure, I got a little snappish at Former-Mr-Desk-Neighbor (former because he was relocated to a desk in the big, posh, all-in-one office fish bowl at the front of the building). But he got annoyed when I told him to shoo so I could get back to work so he totally deserved it.

And still, my good mood radiates through my poors!

*sniff sniff*

Yeah, its just my good mood. Sniff check confirmed.

I haven't bought new clothes in months. Almost a year actually come to think of it. Wow. And if you don't count the dress I bought for that waste-of-time reunion then I haven't bought normal, every-day clothes in an even longer time.

1) shopping for clothes depresses my fat ass sometimes

2) other times I fall in love with too many cute/funky things and spend too much

3) credit card debt sucks

Not that I've gone into debt because of my clothes spending. I just feel guilty buying stuff when I have evil credit debt looming over my shoulder like an evil devil monkey. Evil debt devil monkeys suck ass.

But some time last year I got caught up and paid off every thing I owed. I still have some student loans looming on the horizon, waiting to pounce after I graduate - which is finally happening in the summer. Halle-fucking-luiah. The only real credit debt I have is school related, but its manageable. I do have a new car payment I have to work into my budget, but that'll be manageable too.

So I felt okay on the money front. I still felt like a fat ass, but my fat ass was in the mood for a treat, so I bought some new tops. Yay me!

But where to put them?!

I've needed to clean out my closet for the longest time. There are so many clothes I've kept for years that I don't wear anymore, that don't fit anymore, that I might wear again, one day. I've come to the conclusion that that's just silly. When I can fit into them again, and I will be able to, eventually, I'm still not going to want to wear them. I have dresses hanging in my closet from the last century for crying out loud. Seriously. When I can wear them again I'm going to need to upgrade the fashion a few decades.

So I bought 5 new tops. The plan was to replace 5 old tops that are currently in my What To Wear rotation that are stained (my boobs are food magnets) or worn or just plain ready to go to Clothes Heaven.

Last night, instead of pulling out 5 of those tops I started grabbing shit I haven't worn in years. Those keepers I've held on to for supposed inspiration. Turns out they weren't really inspiring at all, I just wanted them to be.

I filled a trash bag of shirts and blouses to donate to goodwill. I've got a couple more trash bags of clothes to go before I'm done.

I'm a packrat. I keep junk and knickknacks and whatnot for those you-never-know moments. I didn't realize until last night I've been doing the same with my clothes. I'll go through the pants and skirts another time. There are some things I'll keep forever, like the t-shirts from my swimming competition days. Those I need to turn into a quilt sometime so I can get use out of them again. I used to live in nothing but those t-shirts for years, I miss them sometime. But I've really got to keep working on de-cluttering the rest of my closet.

And then... my dresser drawers! Gasp!

For now though, I shall bask in the shininess of my new top! Its shiny and soft and an obscenely bright lime green. It truly is a hideous color, but I like it anyway.

The friend in your pants will be dancing like at a party.

I <3 spam. Both the meat-in-a-can and the email-in-the-trashcan varieties. Email spam, when done right, just tickles me so.

The subject of today's work spam was very mundane:

Perform like a star as long as you want

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Blah, blah, blah. You, my friend, are like so many other spam emails that go unnoticed in my spam box. If you're going to break through the filter, you need to break through with a POP! Where's the pizazz? Where's the pow? Where's the other 'p' words that escape my vocabulary at the moment?

I'd like to perform like a lounge singing super star for hours on end but I'm sure this email will offer nothing of the sort.

I give it a D+.

If there was a way to delete it without seeing its contents I never would have found the gem inside:

The friend in your pants will be dancing like at a party.

This is it. This. The erupting spring of joy in the early hours of my day. The power source for the twinkle in my heart. The secret of all that is warm and fluffy and happy and awesome and magical.

What the fuck does it mean? Let's take a look, shall we?

First of all, there's a friend in my pants! And he/she is dancing! First thing I pictured was The Boyfriend miniaturized, the size of a sprite, snuggled down in the front of my pants, doing a little booty shake. This image brought forth a few giggles.

But maybe we're not sharing the pants. How silly of me. A friend is wearing my pants! Ugh. That's worse. That would be like one of those weight loss commercials where the skinny people hop into their old pants and go "look at me! i used to be this fat!" Ugh.

Okay, back to Sprite Boyfriend image. And he's dancing. But, more specifically, dancing like at a party. Good thing there was that clarification. I almost pictured him dancing like at a bar mitzvah.

To end the email Mr. Emailer linked, of course, a totally unrelated website that has nothing to do with being a lounge star or dancing in pants.

Hmmm... I just pictured a bunch of half nekkid hunky men dancing behind me in nothing but pants during one of my lounge singing numbers. I'll have to file away that thought for later.

Two Things

Thing One:

I bought a new car last weekend.

I was hoping my granny smurf-mobile would last a couple of months longer than it did, long enough for me to graduate and stop driving to school and back every day, long enough to pay off credit debt and school loans and save oodles of money. But alas! 'Twas not to be.

The old car had been on the brink of crapping out for months, but got to the breaking point during the week. Instead of paying 2k for a new transmission I did some online price shopping, looked for some cheap ass, used, non-granny car that I could pick up for reasonably cheap. Cheap being the key word here.

Then the HB said, "Wait a minute. If you could have any car, what would you get?"

"A cheap one."

The HB gave me that look. That look of divine patience and fortitude. "No, really," he said. "Don't think about what it would cost or whether its got the highest MPG." (because that was something I was looking at as well). "What car Do. You. Want?"

What car do I want? What car makes me cream every time I see it?

"A mustang."

"Okay then. We're getting you a mustang."

"Wheeeeee!"

He is such a bad influence.

I'm not a car person. Whenever the HB mentions one of the many cars he's considering getting next (his car is in desperate need of a trade in as well) I have no idea what he's talking about. He has to point them out on the street when we pass them. Then? A day later when he talks about that car again? I still have no idea what he's talking about. An escalade? That's a truck, right?

I'm not a car person. I'm definitely not a sporty car person. Yet I am now the owner of a Mustang.

Holy shit.

Midlife crisis? I'll be 30 in a couple months. (Holy shit x2.) Shouldn't I get a grown-up car? Like a mini-van or some shit? Meh, I already had the granny car. DID NOT WANT AGAIN.

I'm driving a mustang!

My fat ass barely fits in the seat, but it fits. And it has a cd player! And some thingamajig for a mp3 player! My granny smurf-mobile had a cassette player for 10 years! And speaking of smurfs, the inside of the mustang is not blue. No more blue interior! Its grey. And there's a mustang on my steering wheel!

I'm driving a mustang!

I still don't think its sunk in yet. This all probably seems silly to everyone else. But a new car is a big deal for me. It's the first car I bought on my own (not counting the HB's invaluable assistance and reassuring presense). And it's a mustang! That feels like such an extravagance. But its totally in my budget, so why the fuck not?

*tee hee*

Thing Two:

While we stood outside and waited for the car people to finish up the paperwork the HB made a discovery.

"Hey look, you have a white hair."

He fished it out from the tangle of other very dark hairs and held it out in front of my face for inspection.

"Whaaaaaaaaat?"

"Look!"

"Gah!"

"Oh! Here's another one!"

And that's when I stabbed him.*

Those are just blonde hairs dear. BLONDE. Sheeeeesh.


*just kidding! No really! I even let that blind bastard drive my new shiny car. It's all good.

Note To Self:

Don't try and find matching socks from a pile of recently laundered clothes in the middle of a dark room.

It will not end well for you. Me. Whatever.

I guess if I'd put my laundry away a week ago I wouldn't have had to hunt down a pair this morning before I left for work. But what's the fun in that, right? Right?!

Sigh.

I'll be sporting one blue sock and one black sock for the whole friggin long ass 17hr day. :(

I would have sworn they looked that same in the light that filtered in from the kitchen! They even felt the same. Damn socks.

Open Letters

I have a couple of things I'd like to say to people I do not know (or know well) and thought of the awesomeness that is McSweeney's Open Letters. These won't necessarily be as funny or amusing as the stuff posted there, but they need to be said nonetheless.

Dear Male Teenage Movie/Television Stars of the 90's,

I had a dream about one of you a couple of weeks ago and for the life of me I can't remember your name. I can picture you... doing something... some kind of acting somewhere... just not what you're doing or who you're with. I can't remember if I saw you in movies or tv shows or both. I'm not even sure I have the right decade! I did however go to a website featuring 80's movies and clicked on every single damn link and couldn't find you. Thinking about it since then I'm pretty sure you're a 90's Almost Star. From the little I can picture of you, I see you with a sort of 90's 'do.

You're like a cross between Zack from Saved By the Bell and the oldest son from the tv show Home Improvement with Tim Allen. You have the face of the latter and the cool hot blonde high school boy attitude of the former. Around Tiger Beat cover age.

All those that fit the above description, please leave a comment with your name and a site I can google to find an image of yourself. This would be greatly appreciated.

Because seriously, its driving me insane that I can't remember where I've seen you before!

xoxo,
Your Not So Biggest Fan

Dear Sidewalk-Standing Sign-Holding Guy,

Boy do you rock out with those headphones on. Don't you ever get tired? I don't know if you're listening to hip hop or techno music, or maybe you're just really passionate about Barry Manilow remixes. Whatever it is, keep listening! And keep groving! Close those eyes and hold up that sign and pretend like no one can see you. Pretend like you're on a crowded dance floor and all you can do is dance until it hurts.

You make me smile every time I see you, even after long, crappy days of SUCK.

Rock on,
Girl Who Watches You Shake Your Ass Every Day

Dear Radio Station I Love To Listen To But Want To Slap,

Stop playing the same damn Offspring song over and over and over again. If you don't know which one I'm talking about, then that means you're playing too many god damn Offspring songs! They're okay, but when you play a song to death it makes we wish death upon you all!

(Okay that's harsh. Maybe I just wish a very nasty rash that doesn't go away. Or just flares up to cause intense pain every time you play that song.)

That song is 'you're gonna go far kid.'

I was indifferent to that song when it first came out. It was catchy, and grew on me a little (Ew! Get it off! Get it off!) but now I loathe the very sound of the singers voice with the passion of a thousand angry grasshoppers. When I'm in the car I can turn to another station, but at work I'm streaming you guys over the internet. I can turn the volume down of course. but then I have to play the "Is the song done yet? No. How 'bout now? Shit not yet. Now? Gah! Die song DIE!" game. I played that with that stupid paper planes song and its annoying. The song and needing to avoid it.

Yours Truly,
Long Time Listener, First Time Letter Writer

Dear Internet Google Sleuther(s),

If you found this site from the email address I gave you or you acquired through other means...

/welcome

Now go away. Do it.

No really. Don't read any of this stuff. Pretend you were never here. And I'll do the same. :)

These are not the droids you are looking for.

I have found posts/comments made by people from email addys before. It's a thrill to peek in on another internet hemisphere that person lurks in. I get it, so I'm sure I'm not the only one that does it. And I'm sure any one of you might get an inkling to do the same. Some more than others but... Hmmm... I guess what I'm trying to say is this:

Don't tell anyone else?! K? Secret Keeping Powers Activate!

Gee, I don't sound paranoid or anything do I?

Sincerely,
Ms. Loon

Okay. I can't think straight anymore so no more letters for now. The morning radio show I'm listening to is playing "highlights" from last night's American Idol show and the screeching is making me cringe.

Can't. Focus. Fingernails. Chalkboard. Brain. Death.

In case you thought I was joking...

In case you thought I was joking...

...I'm not. This post will indeed be about nipples. Well, some of it anyway.

One of my nipples is currently at NipCon 2 while the other is chillin' at NipCon 5. The lopsidedness is really bothering me. At least it is whenever I got to the bathroom and see myself in the mirror. Its freakish looking! I can't decide if its worse than a lazy nipple pointing in an entirely different direction than the other. It's like I lost one in a tragic accident or something.

Quick! Get me a prosthetic nipple! Stat!

You know, I've thought of how I may feel if my family ever stumbles upon this blog. I haven't written anything bad about anyone, so no worries there. At least I'm pretty sure I haven't... But I have written stuff like the above. If they find it, and read it, fine, but I just had a thought... what if my dad reads that? That'd just be... oh I don't know. Weird is the best word I can think of at the moment.

So Dad, I'm sorry if you read that. That was probably really weird, right? Yeah. Okay. Let's forget that ever happened? Right on!

I just got skype the other day and added a couple of video game friends to it. I added the HB too, who talks on it in the other room while he plays so we don't get weird feedback. Yesterday it was just the two of us left on the call for about five minutes and I felt like such a dork as I asked him something instead of yelling into the next room. :)

Over the holiday break while I visited my parents I found out my dad had downloaded skype to talk to his sister who lives on the other side of the planet. This will be perfect for them! I emailed my dad my contact info and asked for his so I could add him. When he got home yesterday he sent me an 'invite' and then tried to call me. I was on a call already, so I ended up just chatting with him so I could explain why I'd hung up on him. :)

We type chatted a little then he left to go eat dinner. It felt surreal for a few minutes after he logged out. Not in a bad way, just in a Keanu Reeves "woah" kind of way.

Chatting online was something I did a lot of years ago when my family first got internet at home. Back when my brother and I were only allowed on for an hour a day, and it took almost an hour to load the x-files message board I liked to visit. Chatting online was something I did, and my brother did. But not my parents. I mean, they've just recently discovered chain letter email spam for crying out loud. And now they've figured out how to chat online!

It feels like a boundary has been crossed. It's a boundary I don't mind being crossed though. I like that I can chat with them, and I like that I can call them with this new fangled technology called the interwebs. It just seemed like for the longest time that the internet was something I played in and it was too mysterious for them to get into.

Well, they're into it. And it might not be long before they find this.

And on that semi-unsettling note (I kid! I kid! No, really, I kid! ...Maybe) I'm going to stop contemplating stuff and get back to work.

I spent my load writing this post so I have nothing left for the title

Today is the day I've been dreading since I hit the ADD button next to the second to last creative writing course I'll be taking at UCR. I'm not dreading the class itself. No, the feeling that class evokes is more like an intoxicatingly wonderful anxiousness. What I'm dreading is the fact that this class is from 6:00 pm to 9:00 pm. That's PM. As in holy crap Monday's going to be a painfully long day.

Monday's Schedule (for the next 9 or 10 weeks or however long the damn quarter lasts)

5:00 AM - wake up

This isn't too bad. I was waking up this early last quarter. Even earlier on Thursday which was that quarter's super long day. I almost wish though that I'd kept myself conditioned over the holiday break to waking up this early. Set the alarm at 5 then sleep in until I need to get up. Although... I bet that would have conditioned me into the wonderfulness of sleeping in on a chilly winter morning. I had to force myself to jump out of bed as soon as I heard the alarm this morning. The FIVE MINUTE SNOOZE BUTTON OF DOOM will not be tolerated this quarter.

5:30 AM - leave the apt

Hopefully I've managed to brush the appropriate areas and clean other areas and dress with nothing that clashes too badly. On Monday's I'll probably go casual and wear jeans to work because fuck it! I'm going to be comfortable on this long ass day. So clashing shouldn't be a problem.

Hopefully I've also managed to move fast enough thru the haze of the early morning to make lunch. There won't be much time to stop for food either to or fro school/work. The HB and I are also trying really hard this year to save money for a house so if I don't make sandwiches before I leave I'll be snacking on whatever I can find in my desk drawers.

NOTE TO SELF: stock up on snacks!!!!!

6:00 AM - clock in at work

Turn on the computer. Tell the cleaning lady she doesn't need to clean the two inches of visible desk space - for the umpteenth time. Mourn the absence Mr. Desk Neighbor as he has been relocated to a corner of the prestigious upstairs front office space. Debate whether I should have a cup of coffee or not.

6:15 AM - get coffee

There's nothing else to do while I wait for the computer to boot up from the weekend shutdown. It's either Get Coffee or Clean My Desk, and the latter is rarely a winning option.

11:00 AM - clock out and leave for the first class of the day - Spanish 2

Mi clase de espanol es desde las doce y diez hasta la uno un punto de la tarde.

Translation = My Spanish class is from 12:10 to 1:00 pm

(God I hope I got that right. It was only on a couple of tests last quarter!)

1:30 PM - clock back into work

1:30 is the goal, though depending on traffic and how far deep into BFE I had to park this very by 5-10 minutes.

4:30 PM - clock out for the day and leave for the second class of the day - Workshop

Ugh.

As if Monday's weren't already a barrel of SUCK.

Now I have to drive back to school in the same day. This is going to kill me. I really think it is. I'm going to keep reminding myself though that its only once a week. For only 9 or 10 weeks. And there will be two holidays coming up! So I'll only have to do this 7 or 8 times. Only only only.

Ugh.

It's now rush hour traffic, and I have an hour and a half to drive what normally takes a half hour, and I'm not sure if I'm going to make it on time. They're no longer doing construction like they were a couple years ago when I had a night class, so I'm hoping its not too bad. But its still rush hour time. :(

Class is from 6:00 pm to 9:00 pm. Since there will be so few classes she might keep us the whole time. And since there are so few classes there will be lots of writing due very shortly. Eeek. So that's why this is post is so long. I'm trying to get used to writing crap again. :)

I really need to start journaling every day - even if its boring like this. This is a like a New Year's Resolution of sorts, only I don't like doing those because I feel bad when they're not kept. So I'm disguising it as something that I Really Need/Want/Should/WILL Do.

Up next? A post about nipples! The fun is just starting folks.

10:00 PM - arrive home

Ugh.

On the bright side, I don't have class on Tuesday's this quarter, so Tuesday's will be a little bit of a reprieve. That means I can sleep in until 6 in the morning tomorrow!

WOOOOOHOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!