Shut Up Already

Going Getting Tough, Tough Very Sleepy

Fuck Mondays.  Seriously.

The wallet is still missing, the dog has had to wear a cast for the last five days, and I overslept by TWO HOURS this morning.  That's my number one enormous signal that I am way too stressed out.  Consciousness is always the first thing to go.

We did have a spectacularly successful Thanksgiving dinner, however.  If I do say so myself, and I obviously do.  And I got a (basically non-paying) gig writing some articles for our new free weekly newspaper.  I'm cautiously excited.

And, just to keep things interesting, my mom suggested that I move back home and finish my degree next year instead of staying here and getting another job.  My first reaction was to recoil and begin hyperventilating (because the awful essence of it is that I'd be living in a bedroom in my mother's house, asking her for gas money, when I turn 30 in April.  And things at home are Not Good, to put it mildly.)  But then, who else is going to offer to lend me the money for school and let me live with them rent-free while I attend?  And how much worse would it be to be temping and failing to make ends meet when I turn 30 in April?

(Truly, and this will be a theme that becomes more pronounced in the coming months, I most definitely do not want to turn fucking 30 in April no matter what I'm doing.  I realize that in stressing out over this I am falling victim to societal pressure about how aging is bad, when Oprah assures me it's actually good, but I don't care.  My eggs are old.  I'm single.  I don't have my undergraduate degree.  I suck.)

But anyway, Ohio...I'm just in a tailspin over this.  I have to figure out if I really want to do it, and then figure out how to get it done in an incredibly short time frame.  And I must keep looking for a job in case it doesn't pan out.  Also, I have to do an audit before I leave this job, which is normally more than enough stress for my fragile little psyche.  I loathe the audit.  And you know how the sun never shines any more outside of working hours?  That really, really bums me out. 

Decisions, decisions.  I think I'll avoid them all and write a blog entry!  (And think how much blog fodder I'd have if I did move home.)

Anybody have strings they could pull at OSU?  Or need to rent a room for a year or so?

I'm thankful...today's a half-day

Welcome to my personal hell.  Here's what's gone wrong so far on this rainy, drizzly Thanksgiving Eve:

-My sister's wallet has disappeared.  I choose to believe it was stolen, and thereby absolve her of any personal responsibility.  It contained a significant amount of cash.  Much more than she usually has, naturally.  Whose wallet disappears when it's empty? 

-The cash would sure come in handy when we take the dog to the vet this afternoon.  What, you ask?  Why would you make a vet appointment on the other side of town on a day when you have so much to do and holiday traffic will be so bad?  Why, because my dog has stopped using his right front leg, of course.  It's completely pathetic, it makes my ovaries cramp in a way that only a childless woman with an unnatural attachment to her dog could grasp, and it's going to cost me way too much fucking money to address. 

-My mom told us last night about a new wrinkle in her business' lawsuit that is giving me an ulcer as we speak.  I can't talk about it here, but let's just say I briefly contemplated scheduling an extra appointment with my shrink for today.  Good thing I didn't, since I'll be spending all of my time at the veterinarian's.

-Yet again, no one has offered me a job.

Now, if by chance you are coming to my house for Thanksgiving, don't worry!  We are going to be festive, and if I start complaining it will be in an entertaining, Seinfeldian way.  Besides, we have tons of wine.  Sweet, lovely, befuddling wine.  I cannot wait to get befuddled.  I may start on Thursday morning and keep it up through Sunday.  It's not like I'll have to keep my wits about me to walk the dog.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.

It's A Small Empire, But Growing

Do you all feel ripped off when I post a link to a blog entry I did on another blog, instead of writing a fresh new entry for Your Eyes Only?

No?  Good.

New Post on Extraextraordinary

(Thanks for the heads-up, Theresa! I edited.)

Just Another Manic Monday

My boss' wife is coming in to train today.  Luckily, she is very nice.  I feel like she's my boss, because I actually worry more about what she thinks of me than I do her husband.  He has never liked me.

Spent the weekend getting rid of invisible dirt in preparation for Thanksgiving.  We are having an orphan's bash.  Instead of de-cluttering, I cleaned out the fridge and the microwave, as well as pulling the stove out and cleaning back there.  Because, you know, who cares about ten-foot high piles of books and magazines on the dining room chairs as long as the area behind the stove has been properly disinfected? 

I keep meaning to post about my trip to the career counselor last week, and how much money it cost me, and how much it didn't do any good.  What I learned is that I would probably be happiest working for myself, but that's probably not feasible right now because of my gigantic mortgage.  So, I should work for the federal government, which I can't figure out how to do (one of the reasons I went there in the first place).  He said to go to a website I already know about.  Very helpful.  Also, he said that my resume is perfect and my cover letter is great.  I guess I should have gone to a dominatrix if I wanted criticism.

I basically paid $150 for a pat on the back.  I'm so smart!  So well spoken!  A good writer!  I should come back next week and talk about this some more!  I think it was a classic case of a bad personality match; we spent too much time being likable and not enough doing hard work.  I'm such a sucker for affirmation.  It's like a drug.  I did stop myself from casually mentioning my PSAT scores--and I'm telling you this, internet, in the spirit of admitting something terrible about myself, so don't hate me.  My PSAT scores are the last thing I did that I'm proud of, and I was 16 then.  How can you hate someone that pathetic (and at that, only the verbal skills were any good; I've always been horrible at math.)  But I did NOT mention them to the career counselor, and I will not mention them in any job interview that I am lucky enough to get.    Or to you if we meet in person.  For a while.

At least I'm in touch with what my flaws are.  Shouldn't that count for something?

In sum, still need a job, soonest.

New Gig

In order to stall even further on looking for a new job, I'm now contributing at another blog, run by some old college friends.  It's much prettier than this one, because I am not "technically advanced".  (In fact, I have another new blog I'm doing for a forum I belong to, and I can barely get THAT one to work at all.)  We haven't discussed my salary yet, but I'm pretty sure I'm rich now. 

Check us out, in all our progressive glory:

My first post on

Extraextraordinary

Mazel Tov

A funny thing happened when I was in Ohio over Columbus Day weekend.  My grandma attended the wedding with a friend of hers from Florida who certainly seemed to be more than friendly.  I assumed that my aunts and uncles would get the scoop after I left, but they get more and more unreliable as I get older.  It's very disappointing.

So, I took the opportunity to get the 411 myself when I called her a two weeks ago.  I repeat, two weeks ago.

"Grandma, it was so nice to see your friend Bill at the wedding."

"Isn't he great?  We had a real nice time.  He's coming to Florida to spend New Year's Eve with me too."

"So, Gram...is Bill, like, your boyfriend?" (Ed: The seventh-gradeness of this conversation cannot be over-implied.  My grandmother is 78.)

(audibly blushing) "No, we're just good friends.  I mean I guess there might be some...something...feelings or such on my side maybe, possibly, but he never..."

"Gran, it's all anybody could talk about at the wedding.  He's quite obviously smitten.  We thought for sure you were dating and just hadn't told us.  Haven't your daughters talked to you about this?  They really should have."

"Really?  You think he acts like he likes me?  Who said that?  What exactly did she say?  Did Bill say anything to you?"

"Everyone said so, Gram.  He totally likes you.  I mean, the sparks between you were plain to see."

"Well, maybe I'll just have to blow on those sparks a little..." (Ed: this does not sound dirty when a 78 year old says it.)

Last night, my mom mentioned that Bill was in town again.  I figured that the spark-blowing course of action I'd encouraged might be producing flames.  I pictured them shyly holding hands, as their sweet little feelings began to bubble up.

Grandma called me again last night  (before she called my aunts, not that she likes me better than them or anything.) 

"Grandma!  How are you?  I heard Bill was in town.  Is he still there?"

"Yes, I've locked the doors to keep him in the house with me.  We're having a great time.   We did some running around yesterday, and today we went shopping for an engagement ring."

"A what?  You're engaged?  Gram, that's great!  Congratulations!  I'm so happy for you.  So you were dating when Bill came for the wedding in October?"

"No."

"You mean this has all happened in the last two weeks?"

"I believe it's been three."

That's right.  My grandma has been single for 18 months, after 52 years of marriage to the only man she ever dated, and she is engaged.  Bill said she even made him get down on his arthritic knees to propose. 

I think I'm cursed with singleness on behalf of my entire maternal family.  These people can't stay single for an instant.  Most of them already have new significant others before they leave the ones they're married to.  I can't figure it out.  And I'm easy!  Seriously! 

I can't wait to throw this bachelorette party.  And this is the first bright spot in the ongoing drama of my mom not really speaking to her siblings; I won't have to hear secondhand whatever greedy things they have to say about my Grandma's money and how to make sure Bill doesn't get it.  When the only proper response is: Wow.

Is it wrong of me to have started speculating about the eligibility of Step-Grandpa Bill's male relatives the minute we got off the phone?  They are from a blue state...

Parachute Colors

I'm not at all sure I agree with these results (no one has ever accused me of being organized and methodical) but I'm willing to try anything.  Anyone want to lend give me a thousand bucks for career counseling?

Princeton Review Career Quiz

Interest Color is Green
People with green Interests like job responsibilities and occupations that involve persuasion, sales, promotions, and group or personal contact. People with green Interests enjoy activities that include: motivating, mediating, selling, influencing, consensus building, persuading, delegating authority, entertaining, and lobbying. These Interests often lead to work in marketing, advertising, training, therapy, consulting, teaching, law, and public relations.

Working Style is Yellow
People with yellow styles perform their job responsibilities in a manner that is orderly and planned to meet a known schedule. They prefer to work where things get done with a minimum of interpretation and unexpected change. People with a yellow style tend to be orderly, cautious, structured, loyal, systematic, solitary, methodical, and organized, and usually thrive in a research-oriented, predictable, established, controlled, measurable, orderly environment. You will want to choose a work environment or career path in which your style is welcomed and produces results.

New Favorite Blog

This has been cracking me up

The tone and style of Irate Savant reminds me of a fabulous book I read last year: The Epicure's Lament by Kate Christensen.

(Thanks to Melissa for pointing this out, and for the lovely box o' books I received today!  A reminder, readers: Cara loves books, and also other presents.)

Still no job.

New Favorite Blog

This has been cracking me up

(Thanks to Melissa for pointing this out, and for the lovely box o' books I received today!  A reminder, readers: Cara loves books, and also presents.)

Still no job.

Happy Blogiversary

Happy Blogiversary to me!

Aw, I missed my own blog anniversary while I was at home making myself psychosomatically ill.  My first ever blog post was on November 11, 2003.  Since then, I've posted 200 times and completely eradicated any chance I ever had of running for political office. 

Thanks to all of you who have been reading this thing all or some of that time!