Blergh

This is the week between terms, which I thought would be relaxing and open and I could just spend it doing whatever I wished. Boy, was I wrong. Between my inability to say no to things that are asked of me and the inexplicable way everyone has chosen Thursday as the night to hold events I feel I should go to and the fact I have yet to hear from the Financial Aid office as to whether I will even be able to afford to go summer term I am exceedingly grumpy. What I really want to do is spend my time hiding out from responsibility and demands alike in my apartment. Alas, that is not to be. To which I say BLERGH!

California, Part II: The Golden Boy or The Inherent Inequality of Karmic Balance

My brother Mime and his wife Mrs. Mime are in California this fall so Mime can complete an internship. They live with Mrs. Mime’s family about an hour south of where The Accidental Housewife and Mr. Big live, so they drove up to visit. Now I have written before about how Mime just seems to court good luck. He wins Nintendo Wiis, he lands paid internships, he leads a charmed life. You readers have heard this before. So you won’t be surprised to learn that the charm has followed him to California. A week before I arrived in California, Mime called to tell me not to worry about the California fires because his office had been evacuated and he and all the servers were on their way to the L.A. office. During the evacuation, Mime’s company had done a good deed and helped a neighbor take down their computers and servers and get them out of the office. When they all moved back in, the owner of the neighboring company brought all the employees in Mime’s office the Deluxe Edition DVD of Transformers. Which was Mime’s favorite movie this summer. His boss assured their neighbor that it wasn't necessary to spend that much money in thanks etc, when the neighbor said that he got the DVDs for free because he was somehow (Mime told me, I just can't remember) related to one of the stars. After hearing this story, I was loudly declaring that this would only happen to Mime when Mrs. Mime quietly said, “Tell her about Disneyland.” Mime was reluctant to tell the Disneyland story at first, but The Accidental Housewife and I finally convinced him to spill the beans.

The Disneyland Story: Mrs. Mime’s family lives pretty close to Anaheim, so they get season passes to Disneyland and this fall Mime and Mrs. Mime got them too. So a couple Fridays past the whole family decided to go to Disneyland. Mime had some issues to deal with at work and was running late so he got there after the family. He was standing waiting for the tram from the parking lot to the park and was on his mobile finishing up some stuff with his boss. His boss then started asking him questions about Washington state and the conversation lasted for a bit. When Mime hung up, there was a tap on his shoulder and the man behind him started asking him questions about Washington. Mime said he recognized the man, but couldn’t place him until he saw his wife. Posh Spice. So Mime spent the rest of the time waiting for the tram having a nice conversation with David and Victoria Beckham, only he couldn’t remember Victoria Beckham’s real name and therefore never actually addressed her, as he didn’t think she would appreciate being called ‘Posh Spice.’ The tram came and they all got on and then Mr. Beckham was tapped on the shoulder and Mime thought their conversation had come to an end. Only it wasn’t just some fan who tapped Mr. Beckham on the shoulder, but rather Derek Jeter. Who was on the tram with Alex Rodgriguez, Roger Clemens and assorted wives and/or girlfriends. And Mime wasn’t left out of the conversation. Even when they all got off the tram, the group got Mime through security, offered to buy him a ticket, and took him through the hidden VIP entrance with them. They also invited him to join them that evening, but since he was meeting his wife they understood and gave him a couple of locations they were going to be at that evening if Mime and Mrs. Mime wanted to catch up with them. And that is The Disneyland Story. Mime had the quintessential California experience everyone thinks they are going to have when going to California for the first time, but never actually do.

It has been my experience that Mime’s continual good luck has to be balanced out. That balance is usually achieved by some misery on my part. Which brings us to my vacation. Mr. Big is a big fan of the band America ('Horse With No Name', 'Ventura Highway'). In fact he actually admits to liking their song “Muskrat Love.” America was performing at a club the Friday I was visiting so he and The Accidental Housewife got me a ticket too. I like America as well, having heard them since I was in utero because my mom liked them. The concert was held at a club where you could eat dinner before hand and then enjoy the show either standing in the back or at your table. Since there was just the three of us, we were seated at a bar table, with the elevated bar stools. Which was great, since it afforded us a good view of the stage. There was also a bar. Which meant that there were a lot of inebriated folks my parents’ age in the audience. One man in particular found it very difficult not to touch me on his way to and from the bar. The first time I chalked up to him not seeing my hand on the back of my chair. The second time, when he touched my side, precariously close enough to certain areas to have constituted as ‘feeling up’ should his hand have lingered, I was extraordinarily unhappy. When he blatantly attempted to look down my not-at-all-low-cut shirt on his next trip, both The Accidental Housewife and I went blind with rage. Sadly, Mr. Big had moved to the back of the house due to a bad back and wanting a better view of what was really an excellent concert. The only thing that kept me from walking over to Touchy McFeely's table, where he sat with HIS WIFE, and bloodying his nose was the mysterious youngish-looking bald man halfway across the room who looked amazingly like Michael Rosenbaum. So I distracted myself with trying to figure out if it really was him. The cons being a) his TV show films in Vancouver, B.C., b) up until I noticed him, I was very much the youngest adult in the room (some parents had brought a few pre-teens and teens, but I don’t know how many were there against their will), c) I had been wearing my contacts all day and they were quite dried out and blurry by then and d) I don’t have luck like that. The pros being a) he did look a lot like Mr. Rosenbaum, b) I saw an episode of Cribs that featured Mr. Rosenbaum and he is just quirky enough to be at a concert for a band from the 70s, c) there had been a limo in the parking lot when we pulled up, and d) trying to decide kept me from purposely tripping the drunken Touchy McFeely the next time he walked past our table. I guess I can feel at peace knowing that my being nearly-groped by an age-inappropriate stranger allowed Mime to meet some of his sports heroes. I don’t think I would be this Zen about it if he had met some FBL members.

New Tires Were NOT On The Birthday Wishlist

Friday morning I woke up to a flat tire. Not the way I wanted to start the day. It didn't help that I was already running a bit late to work. Additionally, my father had left two hours earlier to go camping with the Boy Scouts and wouldn't be back until Saturday evening. I managed to get him on his cell phone just long enough to find out where his air compressor was located but not long enough to find out how the tire attachment went on. And from then on he was out of the coverage area. Well, after spending 40 minutes fighting with the air compressor and getting nowhere, and another twenty minutes finding my mini air compressor that runs out of the cigarette lighter and realizing it was in no way up to the job, I decided to just put on the spare and go to Les Schwab. After getting everything I needed from my trunk, I went to work. I didn't get very far because the lug nuts had apparently been screwed on by a Titan. I stood on the wrench and couldn't get the lug nuts to move one little bit. At this point I indulged in a minor temper tantrum that might have included any combination of the following: screams of rage, tears, jumping up and down on the air compressor's tubing, and generally behaving like Catherine Earnshaw-Linton. Also, every adolescent male in the neighborhood, having the day off from school, was not at home. Finally I had to call some friends of my parents and the wife tracked down her husband at work and he came over. While he magically made the air compressor and attachment work, we discovered that a hole had been ripped in the sidewall, so the tire wouldn't hold aire. Back to the tire-changing plan. He also could not get the lug nuts to move until he bounced on the wrench, reinforced with a steel pipe, for a few minutes. It is quite an image to see a middle-aged man in loafers balance on wrench. So finally we got the tire changed and I was on my way to Les Schwab. But not before checking the other tires and realizing all of them were in some state of near-baldness. Les Schwab confirmed that the tire could not be repaired. Also, they didn't have a tire that was the same size as mine, so I couldn't just buy one. I had to buy four new, slightly larger, tires. Which took up all of the money I was saving for my California shopping-spree in two weeks. I could be bitter, but I decided to just think of it as buying new shoes for my car. My car deserves new shoes, right?

I KNEW It!

I have long believed that karma, the universe, the cosmos, whatever you want to call it, has it out for me. Things like going on vacations and enjoying myself have unleashed whirlwinds of misery on myself and my friends. Case in point: August 2006, I went to Disneyland with my parents, brother and sister-in-law, and one of my best friends and we had a wonderful time. Not one week later I was laid off from my job, that same day my friend found out her boyfriend was a two-timing toolbag, and in the following months my mother was diagnosed with not one, but two terminal illnesses, and my paternal grandmother passed away. So I should have known when I made plans to go to California for a week this fall, something would happen. Not two days ago, my aunt, The Accidental Housewife, and her husband, Mr. Big, got the plane ticket as my birthday present. And today I get jury summons covering Oct. 15-Nov. 23. JURY SUMMONS! I have only officially been a resident of the state for 27 days. UGH!

Let The Countdown Begin

So yesterday, the 19th, was a momentous day. Not just because it happens to be the birthdate of two Fantasy Boyfriends, but because it starts the countdown to my birthday. I have 8 short weeks before I enter my last year as a twenty-something. Now, most people would see the countdown to a birthday as a good thing. Unfortunately, not me. See, since my 21st birthday, spent enjoying plays and seeing the sights in Dublin, Ireland, my birthdays have generally been on a downward trajectory. I don't remember much about birthdays 22-24, but seeing as how they were spent in Provo, Utah, they can't have been that great.

Birthday 25 was spent unemployed, living at home, and miles away from my friends. I think my friend, Mr. Perfect, took me to see a movie, but the movie stunk and was rather raunchy and basically killed any impetus either of us had to hang out again. Then he started dating his future wife and I didn't hear from him again for a couple of years.

Birthday 26 was spent in a rathole apartment in Salt Lake City, unemployed still and generally just freezing. I do remember getting to use my aunt, The Accidental Housewife's, car as she was in California spending the first of many weekends with her future husband, Mr. Big. So I was happy for her.

Birthday 27 found me driving an hour to have dinner with a few friends. Most of the people we invited couldn't make it for one reason or another. One of my good friends came, but she had just had jaw surgery and couldn't really eat anything and wasn't really having a good time. Another friend decided to stage a dramatic DTR/walk-away-from-the-table for 45 minutes with her then boyfriend. Also, that was the week my younger brother Mime announced his engagement to a girl we had no idea he was dating. Nothing better to remind me that I will die alone and be eaten by Alsatians. Finally, my optometrist diagnosed me with optic nerve head druisen, which means at some point I could totally lose my peripheral vision and nothing can be done about it.

Birthday 28 was by far the most memorable. I found myself unemployed yet again and that was the week my mother was told she had less than a year to live. On a less important note, half the people I invited to a party thought it was a weekend later than it was and called me a few days later to apologize. I felt loved by the whole universe.

So I am not looking forward to these next eight weeks. I'll be waiting for the other shoe to drop. Also, I think I inadvertantly agreed to keep an eye on the 17 and 12 year-old daughters of some people in my ward that week. Which means I'll be spending my birthday with them. Lovely. At least I can look forward to going to The Accidental Housewife's house and meeting her dog Dudley.

Things That Suck, Part Infinity

• Being put in charge of the AP/AR at work. I HATE dealing with that stuff.

• Being the one my Visiting Teaching Supervisor calls to guilt-trip about not visiting the women on my list. Honestly, it has been a wretched, insanely busy summer. Call the other woman and guilt-trip her.

• Proofing the design for my parents' headstone. Seeing the dates makes it real in a way I'm not ready to deal with yet.

Karma Owes Me

The following are three things Karma can send my way to make up for finding a 2.5 inch one of these:

in my bathtub this morning. For those of you who don't know what that is, that is an aggressive house spider and they are evil. And big. Needless to say, I shut the door on the tub, shaved my legs in the sink, and put my hair up rather than shower. (Many thanks to my brother Mime for killing it!) Karma also owes me for keeping me in the county courthouse for hours on end today waiting for people to decide whether or not something could be recorded. So I suggest it deliver the following three things to my doorstep. Sooner, rather than later.

This beautiful suit was brought to my attention by one of the lovely emails I periodically get from Banana Republic. I must own this suit. I love the retro feel, the pencil skirt that is such a wonderful mix of prim and sensual. I love the color. I love the cut. I love the fact that it could work in every season. I love that I already have lots of accessories that would go with it. I love that I would look smashing in it, because I would need something stellar to wear when karma sends the next thing to my front door.

I would like to introduce my newest Fantasy Boyfriend: Richard Armitage. I just finished watching North & South (the adaptation of the Elizabeth Gaskell novel, not the Patrick Swayze/Civil War one) and this man made the whole thing worthwhile. He stole every scene he was in and it was worth staying up until all hours last night for the last five minutes alone. And if you think this picture is good, wait until you see him sans cravat. He is now in the British TV series about Robin Hood (see Miss Nemesis' entry for a lovely pic) in which I hear he wears eyeliner. And you all know how I feel about that. Also, he will be appearing in one of the PBS Mystery! airings of the Miss Marple series on August 19th. Mark your calendars!

Since Karma cannot afford NOT to deliver the lovely suit and the Fantasy Boyfriend from Britain, it will obviously need to send a ticket to London, as that is where the said FBfB's livelihod is and it makes no sense for him to relocate to a rural town in Eastern Washington. So of course I will be checking daily for an open-ended ticket from Sea-Tac to Heathrow. Luckily I don't have to renew my passport for two more years. Maybe by then the backlog will be gone. Or by then I will be a bi-citizen, the FBfB having become a FHfB. You are all invited to come visit.

Is Karma Trying To Be My Friend Now?

I think the karmic tides might be turning. I am employed. I have a positive bank balance. I am actually sleeping nearly eight hours a night, which in the past year has been nearly impossible for me. My computer is being extraordinarily co-operative. And this happened.

Excuse me while I cackle evilly.

Profanity-Laced Day

I know it is going to be a bad day when the first coherent thought that passes through my head contains an expletive; as in, "How do people wake up every morning to do the same damn thing everyday?" When I arrived at work the receptionist called in sick and I was asked to man the phones and deal with requests I don't understand, my favorite profanity-laced phrase ("Bloody HELL!"[Yes, I am even an anglopiliac in my profaning, and yes, I know it is bad but it is my brain's go-to expression.]) mentally accompanied every ring. It was a long day of clock watching, even though I had a lot of crap to do.

In an effort to do something proactive, rather than mope about how I will probably die alone after 50 years bouncing from entry-level job to entry-level job, having been condemned to a life of mediocrity by some karmic sin I don't realize, and found weeks later after neighbours notice a gross smell, unable even to be eaten by Alsatians because my crap career hasn't even allowed me to afford to own a damn dog, I spent my lunch hour enquiring after that museum/art center position. Only I had to enquire at the local government-affiliated employment agency where I was the only person (employees included) whose first language was English and with whom I had to register before they would give me an application. An application that has to be freaking NOTARIZED before I can turn it in. Which means the kick-ass resume I spent two hours on yesterday counts for absolutely nothing. Also, I spent most of my lunch hour at the stupid agency and only had time to wolf down a PB&honey before rushing back to work. It gets even better.

After returning to work I was privy to a conversation between co-workers in which it came up that a previous employee was fired when the owners found out she was looking for a new job. Great. But it gets even better. I know, the mind reels!

I decided to get to work on the application while watching Jeopardy! (yes, I am a gigantic dork) and Scrubsreruns. It was going fine, although I will have to find another person to ask to be a reference because they ask for three non-relative, non-former employer references and I only have two (they don't ask for any other references, weird, no?). They also wanted to know where I went to junior high and if I graduated. Because graduating from high school and a well-respected university just isn't enough. Finally I got to the part where I was to list my employment record. First they ask if I'm currently employed, to which I am really tempted to answer 'No' even though it is a big fat lie and I shouldn't lie on a document that needs to be notarized. Then it asks form my most recent/current employer. Again, tempted to just start with my previous employer, since my 6.5 days at the current job can't possibly be anything but detrimental to my chances. Then, it asks if they can contact my current employer and gives a space for explaining why if I respond negatively. Then, under that, in bold letters followed by an exclamation are the words "If you are a strong finalist, we will contact your current employer!" Which means I have three options. I can choose to sign my name AND a notary's name to a lie; I can risk getting fired, not get the job and end up unemployed AGAIN; or I can just forget the whole enterprise and resign myself to the seventh circle of career hell (door prize: carpel tunnel syndrome). Which led to my last profanity-filled rant of the day while I dried my hair. Then I burst into tears.

The Cosmos Hates Me

It is only 12:30 in the afternoon and already the cosmos has taken ample opportunity to tell me what a big, fat failure it thinks I am. First, there is the matter of having absolutely no response to the fifteen or so resumes/cover letters/applications I have sent out in the last 3 weeks. No calls for interviews, no emails telling me they are looking through all the submitted resumes and will let me know, not even a letter saying I didn't fit their paradigm but they will keep my resume on file. Nothing. Which is utterly and completely deflating. Especially when it is a part-time data entry job, which I could do in my sleep.

Also, despite being more dedicated to the work out plan than I have been in ages, the scale had decided to mock me by showing a weight gain rather than a loss. The dial refuses to turn in the right direction! I have decided to blame the whole thing on moving closer to sea level. I'm sure being high in the Salt Lake Valley makes one's scale read lower. It couldn't be the fact that I now live in a place where someone routinely offers to make me food, where everyone enjoys three square meals, and where the pantry is always stocked with delectable things like chocolate chips and gourmet breads.

Then there was the Deseret Book catalog that arrived in the mail today. It is the Mother's Day edition and was full of things that made me throw up in my mouth a little like this:

or this:

Aside from the nauseating, they were spotlighting a book called I Am a Mother by someone named Jane Clayson Johnson who was apparently a correspondent for ABC's Good Morning America and The CBS Evening News, as well as being a co-anchor for CBS's The Early Show. The book is about giving it all up to be a mother and the foreward is written by Sheri Dew, another powerhouse woman. This book, along with many, many others in the catalog, only highlight the fact that not only can I not manage to get a date, let alone get married and procreate, I can't even hold down a job, forget about building a career.

All of which is tempting me to send a No, thank you RSVP to the organizers of my high school reunion. How can I convince everyone of my own inner fabulousness if I can't convince myself of its existence? Or maybe I'll just go listen to the Bridget Jones's Diary soundtrack Esperanza had the prophetic brilliance to send me last week. If It's Raining Men can't get me out of this funk, I don't know what can!

At Least It Is Clean

I am not yet thirty, but I have begun to question my mental acquity. Up until today it was little things, like having to write down anything I want to remember. I used to be able to just make a mental note and that was that. Now I'm lucky if I can remember what day of the week it is. I hit an all time low today. I left my cell phone in a pocket and sent it through the washing machine this morning. I didn't realize what I had done until I went looking for my phone before leaving to run errands. When I pulled it out from amongst the tangle of towels, the LCD displays were shot and it wouldn't stop vibrating. The nice lady at the Cingular store took it apart for me and said I should let it dry out for a month or two, just to see if it could be salvaged. I kind of think the spin cycle would have destroyed any prospect of reclamation, but we'll see. Thankfully the SIM card was still intact, so I switched it out with my mother's and put hers in her old phone that she likes better. So I still have a phone that works, but I lost my entire phone book and all the pictures and ringtones I had assigned to everyone. It could have been worse, but I still think I might need to look into a nursing home or something.

Is It Opposite Day?

This is my horoscope for today:

Libra
September 22 - October 22
In future years, you could remember today as one of the best days of your life, dear Libra. Romance should be going beautifully as you exchange deeply felt words of love with your partner. The future looks bright, and you should be full of enthusiastic plans for pursuing what you really want to do. Also, you should be feeling especially strong, energetic, healthy, and ready to try just about anything. A journey may be coming up soon. Have fun!

And the possibility that this could be the best day of my life is the saddest joke ever. Because today was the day that I woke up with the knowledge that karma hates me. That it, or fate, or whatever you want to call it is actively trying to make me miserable. And then to turn on the computer and see that horoscope, just like pouring lemon juice on a paper cut.

First of all, there is no romance in my life. My last date was years - yes, years - ago and I am apprently such a loser that a woman in my home ward is telling my mother that she should introduce me to the new 48 year-old single dad of 15 year-old twins who just moved into said ward. Hello? The man is two decades older than I am!

Secondly, I woke up with a stuffy nose, a headache, and a scratchy throat and spent most of the day just trying to stay warm. So, no energy, health, or adventure-seeking around here today.

And finally, I have no plans for the future because I am unemployed and can't afford to have any plans past the vague edict 'Must find job.' The only possibility of a journey I can see is moving home with my tale between my legs because I am, apparently, unemployable. So yeah, it must be opposite day.

Maybe I'll Move to Australia

Do you guys ever have one of those days where everything seems to go wrong? Where life veers off into some alternate course and you want just one thing to go right, but it turns out that even the Christmas tree ornament you wanted at Hallmark is only available to people in some special club and you have to buy three other ornaments to be eligibile for the stupid club, and then the avocados you picked out for the guacamole you plan on making for the tacos you are having for dinner aren't quite ripe and require an act of Congress to mash up and finally, while sitting at dinner you are about to take a drink of your grape juice when you notice that a spider, the animal you hate most on all the earth, is drowning in your grape juice. And there is no more grape juice. That is the kind of day that today was.

Chaos Part II

* * * * * WARNING: FOR ADULT EYES ONLY * * * * *

Ok, so the painting probably won't be done until Saturday, which means I will have been in a state of chaos for 6 days. Also, I am killing off brain cell after brain cell by sleeping in a room with paint fumes. Also, I have this thing in which my bedroom door must be closed in order for me to sleep comfortably but I can't close it because of the paint fumes and have therefore been sleeping very lightly. Which, combined with the fact that my vent cover is removed from the duct so I can paint around it, is why I am pretty sure I was woken by the sounds of what could only be my upstairs neighbors getting intimate this morning. And I am scarred for life. Fingers crossed that the brain cells that die tonight are responsible for that memory.

The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

So the past few weeks have been crazy. I was laid off from a job I hated, temporarily transferred to the Seattle office for two weeks to see if I would hate the job as intensely in a different location, and then shipped back here to figure out what I wanted to do with the rest of my life and how to support myself in the meantime. So here is the good, the bad, and the ugly of the whole experience.

The Good

• I drove to my parents’ home both weekends I was in Seattle and got to spend some quality time with them. Also, there is nothing like the ego boost of going back to a place where people think you are great.
• I realized that I hate my job regardless of location and really feel great about not ever going back to work for that company.
• Despite the stress of the whole experience, I’ve never been happier than I was today when I realized I would never again have to wake up to that job.
• Severance packages are like having paid vacations.

The Bad

• One should never have to live in a hotel for two weeks. I don’t care if it is a studio with a kitchen.
• Everyone was going on about the heat wave in Seattle. It was 75 degrees. I was wearing sweaters and shivering while everyone else was blasting the A/C. I even turned on the heat in my hotel room.
• Because of the short notice under which my flight arrangements were made my itinerary went something like this: Salt Lake – San Francisco – Seattle – Denver – Salt Lake
• Almost bursting into tears in the San Francisco airport after realizing that exactly seven years ago to the day I had been sitting in the same airport on the way to London.
• Salt Lake Int’l Airport experienced horrible weather and a major technological meltdown on the day I flew back, which delayed my flight from Denver for two hours, messed up the baggage claim system to the point that bags from multiple flights were on different carousels meaning that it took me an hour and a half to figure out my luggage wasn’t on any of them, and caused a 30 minute wait to pay for parking.
• My luggage was left in Denver and didn’t arrive until 12:30pm the next day.

The Ugly

• The branch manager of the Seattle branch suffers from short term memory loss due to a car accident earlier this summer. Which caused him to tell me the following stories on a daily basis:
• How he has short-term memory problems because of a car accident earlier this summer.
• How he is suing his contractor because the contractor didn’t weather-proof the foundation and he now has a virulent mold problem.
• How he teaches classes for his church and is “just trying to live by faith.

• Mr. Short-Term Memory, despite the above protestation of religiosity, had a tendencey to drop the F-bomb on a regular basis, especially when telling stories or really, really stupid jokes at which I was forced, out of politeness, to smile.
• Mr. Short-Term Memory also suffered from over-sharing. I know more about his past relationships, his musical preferences, his dog ownership, and his church-going than I knew about anyone I had worked with for 2+ years in the Salt Lake office.
• I got the eerie feeling, despite the inappropriateness of it, that I was being auditioned for not only the administrative assistant position, but for a dating possibility as well. Examples:
• His constant questioning about what I do in my spare time, what music I like, and my opinions on other pop culture things.
• His enthusiasm for playing Death Cab for Cutie over and over on a daily basis after I reluctantly admitted to liking them.
• The performance of what can only be described as a ‘butt shimmy’ while singing along to the Death Cab for Cutie song that was blaring from his iTunes in front of my desk on his way to the conference room.
• His repeatedly asking me if I had a boyfriend, which was confusing since he kept referring to my roommate as “your girlfrie – I mean roommate.” Either way, I wasn’t going to admit to being single.
• His semi-frequent assertion that he knew what I was going through because "I'm also a single person trying to live by faith."
  

So now you are all caught up on the happenings of the last few weeks I’ve been MIA. I’ll keep you updated on the job search front, but for now I think I’ll spend the week enjoying a paid vacation.

Maybe Dunder Mifflin Has An Opening

Because I wouldn't mind working with Jim Halpert on a daily basis. And I suddenly find myself in need of employment. Regular readers know I detest(ed) my job, but it was still a punch in the gut when I was laid off this morning for "financial reasons." I'll be in Seattle the next two weeks on a test run at the branch office there. It is a long story, but at least I'll be employed for two more weeks. I might even be able to pay rent in October. Good times. But internet access might be spotty and I don't know when I'll get to write again. I'll miss you!

Random Musings

I can't really make any of the following things into a coherent entry, so I'll just bullet them and let you comment.

• I am beginning to really, really hate Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie. Not because of them personally, but because I cannot stand one more morning waking up to some DJ telling me some inane detail from a "source close to" them about their life. I so do not understand the obsession people have with the private doings of individuals with whom they are so wholly unconnected. Corollary: I am also fed up with Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes, Jennifer Aniston and Vince Vaughn, and the unholy cultural phenomenon of stupid mashed nicknames assigned to all of the above.
• I'm sorry, but if the several protests about immigration could be held at Library Square without disrupting traffic and closing roads for an entire Sunday, the gay pride people can do it too. And don't flip me off Man in the Crosswalk when I have to make a turn before you get all the way to the other side of the street because the light is yellow, there are 47 cars behind me and there was no advance warning about the closed roads.
• It should not be 97 degrees on the first Tuesday in June. 87 I could handle. But if it is reaching almost 100 in the first of June, one long, hot, miserable summer of smelling of sunscreen and hat hair is before me. Not. A. Fan.
• Shut up, Fox News. Specifically, but not limited to, John Gibson and Bill O'Reilly.
• Is it fangirly of me that I really want to buy Anderson Cooper's book Dispatches from the Edge despite having no money with which to do so?
• How sad is it that in my late 20's I'm fighting a losing battle against a sophomoric crush on a guy from church? Especially one who doesn't know my name and is at most only 2 inches taller than I, therefore incompatible with every pair of shoes in my closet, except the flip flops.
• Jane Austen novels are like crack. They get you all high on 'romance' and 'love' etc. and then you crash, hard, into reality, ie: see above.

Any thoughts? Or do I just need to stop wasting time and get back to the ugly, ugly world of past due invoices?

Daylight SavingZZZZZZZ

Saturday, I got very excited when I remembered that Daylight Savings Time was here again. I like having the sun out for a few hours after work, encouraging the feeling that you actually have time to do things. It also means spring is definitely here to stay. What I forgot about was the way the change in morning sunlight plays with your internal clock. Perhaps this is because until I started working full-time, I was never up before the sun, regardless of season. And Sunday I slept in, so the sun was up before I was and I focused on the joy of basking in the sun until almost 8 pm. So this morning when my alarm went off at 6:45, I hit snooze, because it had to be a mistake; it wasn’t light enough in my room. Several snooze buttons later, I actually looked at the clock and realized it was past time to get up and get moving or I would be late. I tried to tell myself I wasn’t tired, because it was the same time I usually get up. I had almost convinced my inner clock that it was wrong, when I turned on my car. And there, contradicting all my convincing, the clock blinked a bright 6:45 am. I couldn’t lie to myself any longer. I was up an hour earlier than usual and I hated it! If only the American work day included naptime.

Top 10 Reasons I Should Have Stayed in Bed Today

10. The nagging head cold that caused me to go through 4 boxes of Kleenex in the past 2 days is still present and probably grossing out my co-workers

9. By the time I walked the 10 feet from my front door to my car, I was covered in snow.

8. My car was covered in 6 inches of snow.

7. It took me 45 minutes instead of 17 to drive to work.

6. Big semi-trucks (yes, Mr. Budweiser driver, I'm looking at you) whose drivers think they can bully you into driving more than 25mph even though the SUV in the next lane just slid off the side of the freeway.

5. My boss had to have a colonoscopy yesterday and people seem to want to ask him what it was like. Since my desk is right outside his office, I have to hear about it too. Repeatedly.

4. I have 3 half-finished books that are due back at the library on Monday and I've already renewed them twice.

3. The Kleenex I have at home has lotion in it. The office Kleenex does not. Thus, I look like

Rudolph.

2. I spent most of the morning cold and wet and now my hair is out of control.

1. Because there is nothing to do at work today but file things. Which I don't feel like doing.

Singletons Unite!

Or at least don't abandon one another to the land of Smug Marrieds. Saturday I attended a birthday party thrown by a friend for her husband. As everyone arrived, I came to the startling conclusion that I was the only single person there. Let me repeat, the only single person at the party. Combine that with the fact we were bowling (not a favorite activity of mine because it involves wearing someone else's shoes) with the fact that in addition to being the only single person, I knew only four people there (2 couples, naturally) including the hosts. Throw in several children, all under the age of 5, greasy pizza, and Hawaiian Punch and you pretty much have the longest 2 hours of my life. All the while being reminded that I somehow don't fit. At least not with some of my oldest friends.