Everything's Coming Up Bagels

I have an apartment!

I think.

It's a whole long story and I was all set to blog about it, but when I told the ladies at Bible Study last night all the sordid details, I realized it is interesting to exactly no one, including me. It's a lot of "she said this, then I said this, then she PROMISED this, then I was disappointed" and not a lot of interesting. But the bottom line is: after thinking I was going to have to abandon this rental company and fight with them to get my money back, they managed to get me into the floor plan I wanted for the price I wanted in the gated protion of the complex like I wanted. Now, I haven't actually signed any documents, so this is really no more secure then the LAST TIME I thought I had an apartment and is actually LESS secure because they have proven themselves UNTRUSTWORTHY since that time, but I'm throwing caution to the wind and getting my hopes aaaaall up. I have no one to blame but myself if I'm disappointed. Well, and them. I will definitely blame THEM. And probably myself not at all.

After the awfulness that was Friday and the recovery period that was Saturday and Sunday, I was not really expecting this week to be spectacular. Then my boss called me in for an impromptu performance review. I say impromptu only because I did not know it was happening that day or that minute, but I DID know it was coming. It was supposed to be last week, but she had to cancel for one reason or another. Anyway, I only really had 15 minutes to fret about it before I sat down at the table and got to it, so that was actually nice. I am, after all, a champion fretter.

I had completed a self-evaluation a few weeks before and knew that she would be adding to it and critiquing it, but I really had no idea what to expect. I've never had a performance review. When I worked for either of the Wonder Twins, they just yelled or sent passive-aggressive emails every few days and it was just kind of understood how my performance was rating (poorly. ALWAYS poorly). Then I worked for my church for a while, and they were mostly just pleased that I showed up at all. I mean, I basically created that job and asked if they wouldn't mind paying me gas money to do it, prettyprettyplease, so it's not like they really had performance metrics built in.

So I go into our newly-tiny meeting room (we recently put up a wall down the center of our conference room to make more offices and now we have a sad folding table and these four giant Executive Conference Left-Over Power Chairs that barely fit in the room) and my boss is late and I'm just fretting away. She comes in, hands me a copy of my self-evaluation and a copy of her edits to the same document. And then she tells me I have one of the highest scores she's ever given a new employee.

What?

No, this is the part where you air all the grievances you've been storing up for the last five months. All the things you SHOULD have talked to me about, but didn't have the guts or the interest, so you just let it fester. This is when you really get to pull that bait-and-switch maneuver my other bosses were so fond of. This is where you yell and I cry and you pat yourself on the back for being a excellent molder the young minds of the future of tomorrow.

Instead, you say that you LIKE me? That you're very glad you hired me? That you're impressed by my abilities and you value my constructive DISAGREEMENT because it makes you better at YOUR job?

This must be black magic.

Seriously, guys. I have no idea. I went in with dread in the pit of my stomach. I expected some dark secret festering rage to smack me in the face. I had NO REASON to expect this (in fact, when she had announced that reviews were coming, I did a nervous chuckle and not-actually-jokingly asked, "Do I have anything to worry about?" and her answer was "No." But that's part of the tradecraft). Everything has been going relatively swimmingly, so I shouldn't expect the worst. But expect it, I did. I guess some of the old wounds still haven't healed, although I think this meeting went a long way to helping them.

She showed me places where I can improve and they were all things I agreed with--even though I totally had to bite my tongue to keep from getting defensive about them because that's ALSO what I'm used to in meetings like this. She showed me places where she was more confident in my abilities than I had been on my review. The overall score she gave me was higher than the score I gave myself. This is partly due to it being on a scale of 0-4 and I didn't know we were ALLOWED to use FRACTIONS, but I still would have probably given myself the same score because SCREW FRACTIONS.

Also, if you gave yourself a 1 or a 4, you were supposed to provide documentation to support it and the only thing I gave myself a 4 on was a statement that said something to the effect of "Is nice to others" and I AM nice to others. Really REALLY nice (at least out loud) and I go out of my way to BE nice, but how exactly do you document that? Anyway, she only gave me a 3 on that because while I AM nice to others and probably even nicer than many on staff, all of the ways I am nice are basically expected of all staff members and a 4 is designated "EXCEEDS expectations" and since we're all Christians and are EXPECTED to be like JESUS, ain't none of us getting fours on that one. Apparently.

Anyway, this is all to say that yesterday was a good day for me. I got an apartment and not only did my boss NOT yell at me (the opposite being a pretty standard Monday in my experience), but she said some very NICE and CONSTRUCTIVE and UPLIFTING things to me. So Monday totally kicked Friday's butt. And by kicked its butt, I mean Monday made a shank out of all the happy things that happened that day and STABBED Friday in its black little heart until it DIED. Wow, that, uh, got a little dark. Sorry. In my defense, Friday was a really awful day.

So I am going to tempt the wrath of the whatever from high atop the thing* and leave the title as it is, even though the last time I used that phrase, I had an interview get cancelled and when we finally rescheduled it, I was LATE to it and did not get the job and also other bad things happened. And even though leaving the title as is kind of giving me the heebie-jeebies (which I want noted for the record, which can be used as a mitigating factor in case of an appearance said wrath of the whatever).

Bad Decision Tuesday

The Dumbest Decisions I've Ever Made, A Bulleted List

• Moving in with Liar. I still want my $900 back.
• Reading the word "Szechuan" on a restaurant sign aloud as "Saskatchewan." In front of my junior high youth group and pastor. And then not reading their incredulous expressions before wondering aloud at the business viability of a restaurant devoted to such a specific Canadian cuisine.
• Moving in with Crazy Boss Lady. I absolutely regret moving in with a psychopath.
• Being a stupid over-achiever and electing to take high school chemistr. The reasons with decision was dumb is four-fold:
• I had already fulfilled my science requirements 
• the teacher turned out to be a demoralizing jerk and also kind of pervy
• I could have been taking...art? I dunno. My school had very few electives, but anything would have been better than chemistry
• it was the only B I ever got in high school and was the reason I did not get to be Valedictorian 
• Eating all the leftovers in my fridge at the end of college. 
• I regret the stomachache
• I also regret that this was the moment I started gaining back the weight I had just lost
• Not trying out for volleyball in sixth grade when no one knew what they were doing and I would have probably made the team and thus been more active and maybe would not have gotten so heavy during adolescence and would not have had all those wistful moments freshman year when I realized I WAS interested in volleyball and that all the girls already knew what they were doing and there was no chance of me making the team. 
• Blogging about Big Jerk Boss Man from the office. I've recently reread that post and...despite being true, it was MEAN. I'm about 97% sure he read it and I wish I'd never written it, because I know it must have hurt him. I cannot apologize, because he's gone now.
• Bangs.
• Veering toward the ditch instead of the wide open street while playing Bicycle Cops and Robbers with my brother and a neighbor kid. The resulting broken fingers from my desperate attempt to use the handlebar brakes and my hyper-extended fingers ramming into Neighbor Kid's shoulder blade kind of put a damper on that summer. Brand new rock climbing wall at the summer camp facility? Noooooope. Not with a cast on your hand. Swimming in the lake instead? Nooooope. No with a cast on your hand. Changes in barometric pressure fourteen years later? Suuuuuure, if you like dull aches that no painkiller will touch.
• Telling that girl in seventh grade my worst thoughts about myself and my fears about what other people think of me. It was seventh grade. We'd only been friends for a few weeks. How did I not see that coming?
• Those six months I overused the word "spiffy" because I thought it made me seem quirky and interesting. 
• Thinking I could write poetry.
• Resting my head on Travis's shoulder and holding his hand during that play about Thomas Edison. I didn't even like him. I just thought that was what you were "supposed" to do. It wasn't really a big deal, but I still wish I hadn't been so...easily swayed by my peers..
• Allowing my mouth to say stupid things, like the time I told Corey I wanted to sleep with him.
• Putting so many of my worst decisions on this blog.

What My Cover Letters Are Really Telling You

Dear Hiring Manager,

My name is Elise Seaton (Well, no, it's not actually, but for the purposes of this blog post? Sure!) and I am interested in the open position of [ANYTHING EVER I DON'T CARE I NEED MONEY OMG]. My background with both [Crazy] and [Hostile] offices, along with my Bachelor of Arts degrees in [Highly Unmarketable Liberal Art] and [Useless But Important Sounding Quasi-Business Thingy], give me a unique skill set that would serve this position well.

My educational background makes me incredibly qualified to [sit on my yoga-panted rear and occasionally pass a standardized test]. I graduated Summa Cum Laude (Seriously, I know I'm acting like these degrees mean something other than "I paid close to $200,000 for these two pieces of paper to hang on my wall and they didn't even come with frames." I know no one is really fooled. But could you at least nod impressively while quietly dismissing four years of "hard" work? Thanks.), a full year ahead of schedule. During that time, I learned how to [BS really well], [play solitaire on Roommate's laptop while pretending to take notes], and [pass the aforementioned standardized tests].

My work experience has taught me [a lot of unnecessary lessons in the depths of the corruption of humanity and the things people will do to cover their own butts]. (You may have noticed a discrepancy in my dates of unemployment. I was unemployed for a 6 month stretch in 2010 and am once again unemployed for almost the same amount of time. I, uh... used that time for... traveling? Yes. I traveled. And did... VOLUNTEER WORK? And I also took time for educational pursuits, such as catching up on every episode of ANY SHOW EVER. It was very beneficial, let me tell you...)

I worked for [Crazy Boss Lady] for nine months (That is MUCH longer than you might think), during which time I gained experience in managing [hostile work and living situations], accepting responsibility [for projects and mistakes that belonged to other coworkers] (I think the experts call this "maintaining flexibility in a synergistic and collaborative work environment" or something), and researching [the best free coffee in the building]. I used my strong interpersonal skills to [unintentionally infuriate my boss on any number of occasions for reasons passing both our understandings] (mine because I couldn't figure out how to avoid pissing her off and hers because her understanding was about as extensive as a chihuahua's). If you would like a reference from that time period, please contact [ANYONE ELSE who worked in the building at the time, but please don't ask her. I have no idea what she would say, but it probably wouldn't be good. If she even remembers me...].

[After I took a nice long break for self-improvement] (see also: therapy and crying myself to sleep), I began work with [Big Jerk Boss Man]. This position required me to develop and maintain [a thick skin], to schedule and coordinate meetings for [the express purpose of public embarrassment] (his own or mine, it was always a toss up), and to liaise with other members of our organization to determine the accrual of [gossip, rumors, and slander]. References inquiries can be directed to [Conniving Ladder-Snatcher, as Big Jerk Boss Man died this week]. (Look, I don't really know what the rules are when your former boss dies and reaches a sudden and unexpected "beloved" status in your industry and you're still unemployed because you could no longer work for his soul-sucking office. It all feels a little... yucky. But a girl needs to eat, so where does that leave me?)

My skills and abilities include: efficiently and accurately meeting deadlines (if eating an entire pint of ice cream before the end of an episode of Castle qualifies), quickly assimilating [useless] data (Does anyone just NEED to know the presidents in order, forwards or backwards, with their first names? Then I'm your girl!), attempting new challenges with little or no supervision (last month I fixed our ice machine all by myself just by yanking on stuff until it made noise), developing strategies to [whisper babies], creating and modifying [but not FINISHING works of fiction], multi-tasking by [crying quietly in the corner of an office while also filing and answering phones], and determining the [absolute WORST working situations].

My background and education, along with my interpersonal skills, make me uniquely qualified to work for your organization. I believe that, given the opportunity to work with you, I could help your organization influence our community toward a better tomorrow (Or something a little less over the top. Okay, can we just agree that not having been to the dentist in years and running out of money to pay my student loans is reason enough to want this job?). Thank you for taking the time to review my credentials. I look forward to speaking to you personally regarding the position of [I NEED SOME MONEY]. Please contact me if you have any questions.

Sincerely,

Elise Seaton
[GIRL WITH LITTLE OR NO HOPE OF GETTING ANOTHER JOB EVER]


PS I'm pretty sure I'm going to get employment related spam over this, so if you're a hiring manager of any sort in any kind of industry in any part of the country, please, for the love of God, take pity on me and hire me?

The Crazy Boss Thing Started Early

Niece is currently napping, so I think it's a prime opportunity to post something. On a side note, has anyone ever researched the sedative properties of breast milk? Because this kid only nurses at nap time and bed time anymore, but it only takes about four minutes before she is in a FULL-ON MILK COMA. Sister-In-Law tells me it's just the combination of filling her tummy, comfort, and making her STOP MOVING long enough to fall asleep. And while that sounds reasonable and logical, I have further suspicions...

Anyway, moving on. A'Dell posted today about her first job and asked for other people's stories. And while I'm sure you are all SICK by now of hearing about my last two awful bosses and the crazy situations they put me in, I've never told you about my early years as a Productive Member of the Workforce.

Technically, my first job was babysitting. I started when I was twelve or thirteen, I think. Mostly a few hours an afternoon every once in a while during the summer--nothing that required more skill than watchful eyes and the ability to open PlayDoh containers. It was around that time that I started helping out in the nursery at church, so I feel like I've been taking care of babies and kids practically my whole life. I think this only fed my baby-fever from an early age.

When I was fourteen, my brother (who was sixteen at the time) worked for an ice cream shop--one that specializes in mixing the ice cream with various treats on a stone slab right in front of you. I'm sure you can guess which one, but I'm not going to say the name and you'll understand why in a moment. I would often accompany my mom when she dropped off or picked up my brother from work (he had his license, but limited access to the car) and the owner seemed to like me a lot. So one day, she offered me a job. I worked there from September 2001 until February 2002.

Now, fourteen is a VERY young age to start working at a real job that required a W2 and all that. In fact, it was the youngest you could work in my state and I was only allowed to work for three hours at a time, only nine hours a week, and I could not be scheduled after 9:00 pm. But I had a REAL JOB. And for a little while, I loved it! We got free ice cream every shift and I felt grown up and responsible and I had MONEY that was my VERY OWN and all of that.

And then. I began to realize that the owners were kind of off their rockers. They played mind games. They played favorites. They change their minds and changed favorites. They unexpectedly cut or added hours. They might have even stolen tips... They were just slightly unhinged. When my brother and I needed time off for a family vacation at Christmas, they messed around with our hours and threatened not to let us have the time off, which was stupid because my parents had already purchased plane tickets so the most they were going to accomplish was to force us to quit, not give up our vacation. Then, at the "Business Christmas Party," which happened to be the night before we were flying out, the owner wished us well and hoped the plane would crash.

No, that was not a typo. I didn't mean she hoped the plane wouldn't crash. And remember, this was December 2001. Three months after the biggest terrorist attack this country has ever seen that utilized AIRPLANES as its weapons. And she HOPES THE PLANE CARRYING TWO YOUNG TEENS AND THEIR FAMILY (and about 100 other people unconnected to her) WOULD CRASH. And then she laughed and laughed as if this was not the most terrifying thing our young minds could think of at the time. Needless to say, we both quit soon after.

My next job was working for some family friends who were photographers. The husband did scenic/landscape photography and his wife took pictures of dogs. For calendars. And coffee mugs. What? It's a LEGITIMATE BUSINESS. I swear. She made a profit and everything. They ran their businesses out of their home and, as sad as I am to perpetuate this stereotype about Far North, their home was a log cabin. Which meant it was drafty. And the office was in the basement. Most of us called it the Dungeon. And we would often wear two or three layers with gloves. In the summertime...

Anyway, the wife was a student teacher in Sister's 4th (?) grade class before she married the photographer and that's how we got to know them. Eventually, all of us kids worked for them at one time or another, doing basic office work, like filing the photographs and keeping up the database. But I was the only one who go to do the BEST part of the job. You see, the wife had JUST gotten into the dog photography when I was hired (she gave up teaching to spend time with her husband, who had to travel a lot for his artwork). She built a studio above their garage and had all of this miniature furniture and set dressings and costumes.

And my job in all of this? To stand behind her camera and jump up and down while making ridiculous noises to get the dogs to look at me. But not TOO much noise, because we didn't want the dog to leave the set and chase me. JUST ENOUGH to look up and let her get a good shot. This is a skill I do NOT list on my resume. As you can imagine, this did not turn out to be my life's passion or fulfilling work, so I moved on to other things, although I did go back and work for them in the summers during college, for some extra cash.

Then, for most of my sophomore and junior years of high school, I did occupational and behavioral therapy for a high-functioning autistic boy in my church. This was one of the most rewarding and most exhausting jobs I have ever had and I have an enormous amount of respect for both the parents of those on the spectrum and for those who live their lives on the spectrum. The little boy was almost four when I started working with him, about 12 hours a week, and he was one of the cutest and sweetest kids I have ever known. I worked with 3-5 therapists, his parents, and his doctor and I learned an incredible amount about parenting, autism, and life in general. My senior year was going to be hectic, due to my over-achieving ways, so I quit at the end of the summer. In some ways, it was a relief, since the mom could be difficult and I spent a lot of time babysitting the siblings while also trying to do therapy (not helpful for anyone). But in other ways, I missed it a great deal.

All the other jobs I took during college and after are too intertwined with the secrets I'm keeping from you and from Google (mostly from Google), so I can't talk much about them. But I will tell you that, despite the fact that these experiences shaped who I am and I wouldn't trade them for a second, none of these jobs have anything to do with what I do now. Or what I used to do. Six months ago. Before I quit doing it. Temporarily. I think...

But if you were to ask me what my dream job is, it would probably include more of those jobs and the skills they taught me than my current occupation: a stay-at-home-mom who eats ice cream with her kids and takes photos of her dog and also her kids and maybe even does volunteer work for spectrum disorders. That would be a pretty sweet life!

What about you? What were your first jobs like? Did they start you on the path you're on now or just fill your pocket for the summer?

Bad Behaviors That Annoy

Today, I'm going to climb on my high horse a little bit and "preach" about some bad behaviors that make me crazy. Like RAGE kind of crazy. I promise that none of this is about anyone in particular (unless it is and then it will be noted). I'm not calling anyone out, so calm down. But a few of these things really bother me and it's my blog, so every once in a while, I get to use it as a soap box. And you know what? I bet at least one of them is something that's bothered you before. Because that's the beauty of the Internet.

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Bad Behavior Number 1: People who only know one topic really well and steer EVERY conversation in that direction.

This one will need some background information. You see, I had this boss. I think I might have told you about her once or twice. I called her Crazy Boss Lady. Because she was a lady (using this term to mean only "female" not "genteel and gracious") and she was my boss and she was completely BAT-SHIT CRAZY (yes, I just swore...it's the only way to get the point across this time, sorry Mom). Crazy Boss Lady was incredibly incompetent for the position she held, which she had gained through a series of ridiculous situations that no one seemed to foresee as one of the signs of the impending APOCALYPSE. Okay, maybe not that, but close.

Anyway, Crazy Boss Lady's late husband had been a beloved dentist in our community. And before she got the job in which she tried to stomp all over my soul, she helped him run his dental practice. And by "run his dental practice," I mean, she answered phones at the front desk for a few hours a week. This made her an "expert" in all things dentistry.

And that was the only thing she knew. I'm not kidding. She seemed to have no other skills whatsoever, unless you count the ability to reach inside a person's mind and diminish their will to live by using only fake compliments and creepy smiles. And in case you are wondering, my job (and by default, her job) had NOTHING TO DO WITH DENTISTRY. Oh, but she tried to MAKE it about dentistry. In any meeting with clients, at any meeting with her colleagues, or in any conversation with her employees, she would relate everything back to dentistry, her husband's practice, or the fact that three of her five children had chosen to be dentists. You would not believe how many things can relate to the care of teeth if you try hard enough. It was like playing The Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon, but a lot less interesting.

The problem with this is not just that NO ONE wants to talk about teeth that much. It's how selfish AND stupid these people look when trying to turn the conversation toward their interest. Because, although Crazy Boss Lady makes the best example, I have watched countless other people fall into this pattern as well. In her case, I think it had to do with the fact that she wasn't understanding the current conversation and was too insecure to ask for an explanation. But some people do this just because they are bored with what YOU want to talk about, probably because it is not ABOUT THEM or THEIR INTERESTS. I think it's pretty obvious why this is a bad behavior that annoys me.

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Bad Behavior Number 2: Thinking that other people think you are amazing and repeating their "praise" of you to others.

I had another boss, right after I had Crazy Boss Lady. We call him Big Jerk Boss Man. Big Jerk Boss Man was about as qualified for his job as Crazy Boss Lady was for hers. Actually, he had three different careers before gaining his role as my boss and he was kind of intelligent in his day, but he's now in his seventies and has some health issues that I'm convinced have affected his brain. Also, he grew up as a scrawny kid in the gangland of Manhattan in the 1940s and 50s, so he pretty quickly developed an inferiority complex and the ability to tear people down with his words (since his hands weren't strong enough).

Strangely, this man had an ego the size of, well, Manhattan probably. Now that I'm away from him for good, I can see that it's all a defense mechanism--he actually hates himself and doesn't want anyone to see it. But the EGO on this man was enough to crush you flat if you stood too close to him. And he was constantly coming to us, his employees, for both validation and to brag about how much people liked him. I think it's pretty obvious why I quit my job....

On occasion, my boss would be invited to speak at community events or business luncheons. Often, we were required to go with, in order to fully appreciate his awesomeness. And he would stand up and begin his speech and I would cringe. He was NOT a very good public speaker. He rambled. He meandered. He used way too much personal detail and made people uncomfortable. He forgot what he had been asked to speak about and improvised. He never prepared in advance and was always flying by the seat of his I'm-too-big-for-these britches.

BUT. Inevitably, some well-meaning soul would approach him after the speech and tell him he did a good job. Or, more often, he would go and ASK people if they liked his speech. Yeah, he would walk up to someone, who was usually in the middle of a different conversation, and would interrupt them to ask, "So what did you think of my speech? It was great, right?" He was a Social Skills Train Wreck. And the person, caught off-guard and cornered, would say something like "It was very interesting..." or "I've never heard anything like that before..."

Now, I think you (and most everyone else in the WORLD) is smart enough to see through the non-answer in those answers. Words like "interesting," "special," "unique," and "informative" (without giving details as to HOW it was informative) are all the lazy man's way of saying "I have nothing better to give you because that speech was boring/weird/bad/uncomfortable and I don't want to offend you and you totally just put me on the spot" and/or "I wasn't really listening."

But, oh how the boss would glow and preen at these comments. He would come back to the office and tell us all about how people LOVED the speech. How he'd gotten SO MANY COMPLIMENTS. How HE WAS THE BEST SPEAKER MAN IN THE HISTORY OF MEN WHO SPEAK. And we would smile politely and give him the same kind of feedback as those who didn't know what to say. Because we liked our paychecks.

And GOD FORBID anyone EVER critique or dislike his speech. They were immediately eviscerated with his words (sometimes in person, sometimes behind their backs), shunned, and ignored forever. This man could hold a grudge like no one I've ever met.

And this brings me to the conclusion of Bad Behavior Number 2: repeating non-compliment compliments in an effort to stroke your own ego is not only arrogant, it's sad and pathetic. Just don't do it, okay? Big Jerk Boss Man was the worst non-compliment compliment taker I've ever seen, but just like Crazy Boss Lady before him, he's no special snowflake. I've heard other people repeat things they think were praise and I hear as "that's the word people use when they have nothing better to say." This has also made me suspicious of praise directed toward myself, since I'm always wondering if it was actually intended as praise or if it was just something you say to be polite.

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Bad Behavior Number 3: Women who constantly tear down their husbands and complain about their children on the Internet.

[WARNING: This is where I get less funny and more preachy. I would apologize, but I mean every word.]

I could probably just round this one out into "all people who spend the majority of their time complaining and whining about EVERYTHING THAT IS WRONG WITH THE WORLD AND THEIR LIVES OMG!" But I'm not going to, because this particular subcategory of complainers makes me rantastically crazy. And really, this is more directed at women who husband-bash than those who complain about their kids, because most women know that they'll get called out if they go too far in insulting their children but that most people will ignore husband-bashing rather than stand up for someone else's husband.

And I'm calling out WOMEN in particular, for these three reasons:
1. I don't spend a lot of time with married men without their wives, so I don't have a good sample of their whining, which therefore means;
2. When I see this behavior, it is almost always coming from a woman and finally;
3. Women just seem more prone to this kind of "public" complaining, which men may do with their buddies but don't seem to engage in online.

I see it all the time on twitter and facebook and a little less often, but still frequently, on blogs. I even find it in real-live conversations at work and church and the grocery store. There are some women who apparently HATE their husbands and their children. Now, I understand that the Internet can be a safe and anonymous place to say all of the things you cannot say in real life, so a lot of venting takes place here. And I also understand that marriage can be difficult and that raising kids is no piece of cake, so there are times when you JUST HAVE TO LET IT OUT.

And, in case I haven't couched this one ENOUGH, it should be noted that I'm not talking about the joking kind of complaining. Like when you say, "OMG, my kid just painted the wall with his poop. In unrelated news, he is now for sale on ebay" or "The baby kept me up ALL NIGHT LONG. I'm so tired I can't remember her name. Remind me why I wanted kids?" Those are funny and real and help us understand that your day has been rough. I'm not asking for sunshine and ponies all day long in your twitter stream.

Btu there are some women (probably not as many as I think, they are just so loud and obvious so it seems like there are more of them than there really are), who never seem to have a  nice thing to say about their families. And the things they DO say are so incredibly demeaning and disrespectful and unloving, that I want to vomit. I've seen tweets similar to: "My husband is so EFFING stupid, I don't know how he hasn't accidentally killed himself yet" or "My kids are the most annoying creatures on the planet. Why won't they just shut up and leave me alone?" I'm even bothered by the seemingly more innocuous tweets that say "I am so annoyed at my husband right now" when I've seen the same sentiment more than three times this week from the same poster.

I don't think it's okay to call your husband stupid on twitter and mean it (not saying that he did something stupid, but implying that he is ever in a state of stupid). I don't think it's okay to call him a loser or other derogatory names, when you're obviously not joking. I don't think it's okay to talk about your kids as if you wish you'd never had them. Again, I see this more often directed at husbands than at children, but I still see some really negative things about kids.

I guess what I'm trying to say is this: I am a single woman and deep down to the core of my soul and the marrow of my bones, I ache to find that one person who will love me for me and know me better than anyone in the world, with whom I will raise a passel of babies and next to whom I will grow old and senile. And every time I see a woman who has all the things I want, TEARING IT DOWN like it means nothing, it makes me kind of sick.

Right about now, I have a feeling a few of you are hiking up your sleeves, about to attack your keyboard in an effort to give me a piece of your mind, because you think I'm talking about you. I'm not. Really. This is a general observation only. But? If you were thinking that, it might be time to examine the percentage of your tweets/updates/posts that are negative toward your family and see how many of them you were "joking" about...

Because ladies? If you're constantly talking that way on the Internet, it's more than likely that some of that resentment and disrespect has already crept into your real-life relationships. And if you're not willing to love and honor and respect your husband, he might go looking for a woman who will. I'm not saying I'm out to take anyone's husband (I am SO not) or that all men who cheat have complaining wives. All I'm saying is that I've watched too many marriages fall apart because "she" tore him down and "he" went looking elsewhere--both wrong, both with devastating consequences. So treasure what you have and be careful with your words. They have incredible power.

**********

Here is where I wish I had a Bad Behavior Number 4 to share, so I don't have to leave the post on such a bummer kind of note. But I don't have another one in mind right now and I'm not going to make one up for the sake of making you forget what I just said above. I'm also thinking about not posting this, because it might offend people or it's a little bit outside of the "Here's some crazy stuff that just happened to me and a recipe or two" thing I have going on. But I thought it and I wrote it and I still think it, so I guess I'm posting it. I'm also thinking of making a series out of these bad behaviors that annoy me, if no one yells at me too badly for this one. We'll see. For now, enjoy my opinionated rant and don't throw too many tomatoes, mmkay?

THINGS THAT ARE NOT ADVICE

Okay guys, I only have a half hour before I can go home from work and so I need to write this post all fast because I am trying to post more often but my evening is excessively full on Thursdays what with the pretending to sing and being good at computers and in case you are wondering why there is a lack of commas in this post it's not because I am a grammatical rebel (because come on please have you met me?) but actually to give you the impression of how fast I am really talking/typing and that THERE IS NO TIME FOR COMMAS because commas mean pauses and you know I don't have a lot of time because I JUST said so at the start of the sentence/paragraph/grammatical travesty that I'm not going to change NOW but oh my God I think I'm actually ashamed of myself and so I'm going to stop once you've fully understood that I have NO TIME. *gasp* *gasp* Ahem. Sorry about that. Like I said, time crunch.

So today, I'm going to rant about people who give advice. Cutting edge, right? No one has EVER complained on the Internet about other people giving unsolicited/unhelpful advice. Or maybe you only read the blogs where they manufacture sunshine and rainbows and butterflies. I don't know. All I know is that, even though I've read it and commented on it a thousand times, it never gets old to hear people talk about the advice people gave them that was completely unwarranted and unasked for and obnoxious!

And for those of you who don't follow me on twitter (WHY NOT?), typing the word "obnoxious" just reminded me that I made up a new word recently and you can feel free to use it: obnoxion. It's the noun form of obnoxious (which is really obnoxiousness but I find that cumbersome and, oh heck I'll just say it, OBNOXIOUS). So when you're trying to describe a situation that requires the noun form instead of the adjective, go ahead and use it. Need an example? I just happen to have one ready:

Once I have made up my mind about a difficult and/or personal decision, telling me how I should do it differently is not only a waste of time, it is an obnoxion.

Do you see how I somehow made my tangent loop back to the original topic? It's called organization dumb luck. So, unwanted advice. Many people complain about this in reference to weddings and marriage or pregnancy and parenting, because apparently when you do those things, you paint a giant sign on your forehead that says, "I am no longer an adult or sentient being with working neurons and now require YOU to run my life from here on out." Or something. So I've heard.

Anyway, since I have never attempted a wedding, a marriage, a pregnancy, and/or parenting, I have yet to experience this onslaught of advice giving. Or wait! Yes I have! Apparently, once you turn eighteen and strike out on your own and start to make big! life! decisions! on your own, you get a sign of your own: "I may have parents who are upstanding citizens and decent human beigns who are completely okay with my choices and I have used even better resources than you or your children had available to you fifteen years ago, but because I am under the age of 35, my brain is made of MUSH and I require YOU, perfect stranger/person who has only known me for six months, to tell me everything I'm doing wrong!"

Now, yes. I'm sure that not every eighteen year old makes the best choices. In fact, having recently been a teen, having hung out with a lot of teens, and now working in ministry with teens, I can tell you that many of them are IN FACT making bad choices. But since I am neither the parent to nor school counselor/therapist of said teens, I BUTT THE HECK OUT. Plus? When I was eighteen, I was working full-time in the summer and headed to college in the fall on a partial scholarship to getting two degrees at the same time. I'm not saying this to say I'M BETTER THAN ALL OTHER EIGHTEEN-YEAR-OLDS, ESPECIALLY THOSE WHO DIDN'T GO TO COLLEGE AND GET TWO DEGREES. I'm saying this to say that I was prety driven and thoughtful at eighteen.

And I have two parents who were incredibly engaged in my life, both educationally and otherwise, so I wasn't going without advice or direction. And now that I'm 24 and have said degrees and have held fairly responsible positions in the offices that I have worked in and have survived occupational hell and possibly undiagnosed PTSD, not to mention the fact that my parents and siblings are still heavily involved in my day-to-day life, I think I am qualified to make my own decisions. My decisions about my own life and my own financial/romantic/spiritual/dietary/recreational future.

So when the Advice Givers (who are not my family and/or particularly close friends and/or my spiritual leaders) put on their Advice Giving Hats, I don't see this as philanthropy. I don't see it as generous and helpful and genuine. I see it as rude and selfish and UNDERMINING my adulthood.

Because when I came to you, coworker/distant friend/annoying old lady at church/virtual stranger and confided in you (or answered your pestery questions) about the choice I made and the absolutely legitimate reasons I made that choice (and you even admit they are good reasons), your "yeah, but"s or your "have you thought about"s or even your (seemingly well-meaning) "I'm concerned for you because of"s tell me that you don't trust me to make the best decision FOR ME and you would like to make a better one ON MY BEHALF.

When you say those things, I DON'T hear, "I care about you."

When you say those things, I hear "You're making a bad decision." When you say those things, I hear "You're too young to know any better." When you say those things, I hear "You're stupid."

So, Advice Givers. Before you put on your Advice Giving Hats, put yourself in my situation. How do YOU normally make decisions? Do you usually think long and hard about them (maybe even pray long and hard about them) before you finally decide? Assume I have, too (since I TOLD YOU I DID). How would YOU hear that kind of advice if you were in my situation? How helpful is it really? If you're thinking of it, I probably thought of it, too. And then, PLEASE! Think about whether your advice is meant to help ME or make YOUR life easier. Because my decision? Not about you. And if it somehow affects you, but is ultimately my decision to make? Then it's still not about you.

And now that I am past my allotted time, I will end this rant and ask that you all submit comments in the form of THINGS THAT ARE NOT ADVICE (I'm thinking of a blog title change here people, that's how serious I am), but that are THINGS THAT ARE STORIES ABOUT UNWANTED ADVICE. Because as much as I hate it happening to me? Reading other people's misery always makes me feel better. Does that make me a bad person? Don't answer that.

Physics, Inevitable Physics

I broke my bed this weekend.

And before you all start in on the fat jokes or the sexual innuendos, just listen to the story. The story in which 1. I am fat and 2. I hate physics and 3. No sex takes place (so if that’s the kind of story you’re looking for, you know, don’t waste your time).

Last Saturday night, Sister and I stayed up really late at Sister-In-Law’s house. Sister-In-Law has been asked to play piano and lead worship at an upcoming Christian ladies retreat. Sister-In-Law is nervous about this because she’s only been playing piano for a little over a year, so Sister went over to help figure out all the musical nuances and harmonies and compositions and all those other musical things that I pretend to understand, but really I’m just glad if I’m in the right key for more than 50% of the song. So. Sister helped musically and I helped. Not at all. But eventually, we realized that USUALLY when they sing, I get on a computer and put together a media presentation. It’s how I compensate for my faulty vocal cords. So Sister-In-Law handed me a computer and I went to town.

We were having fun singing. Oh, I was singing alright. Not well, but I was still singing. And then Brother came home. Now, Brother is an executive for a store that closes at 11:00 pm. So, if Brother is home after all of the closing duties and whatnot, it’s verrrrrrry late. By the time we got home, it was way past my bedtime. This is all pretty pointless setup to tell you that when I woke up on Sunday for church, I was tired. Like: could-barely-force-myself-to-roll-out-of-my-bed-this-“getting-up”-concept-is-not-even-an-option kind of tired. But I did. Because rolling out of bed would have caused some pretty severe bodily harm. I managed to open my eyes long enough to find some clothes that didn't clash too badly.

And I went to church. We even got there a few minutes before rehearsal. Sister and I high-fived. If you have met us, you understand what a triumph this can be. I spent the next five hours working, running around, and being “alert” which is something I would rather not be and so I put it in quotes.

After a rehearsal, two services, and endless socializing, Sister and I headed home, since no one really wanted to go to lunch with us. We’re pariahs or something. Okay, no. Not really. Brother and Sister-In-Law went to her parents’ house. Mom and Dad had food in a crockpot that was not enough for four. We don’t really have any other friends. Crap, we’re back to being pariahs. Anyway, moving on.

[By this point, you’re wondering why I’m telling you all of this and how the heck this relates to my broken bed and my fatness and physics and why I’ve been gone for over a week with no posts and barely a tweet and why this is the thing I’ve waited all this time to tell you and I really have no answers except for this next part, so listen up or you will have read almost five hundred words for nothing and that would be a shame.]

We got home and determined that the TIRED completely outweighed the HUNGRY. We decided to have a nap for lunch. Mmmm… yummy. I wandered around the hallway between the bathroom and my bedroom, taking off my jewelry and chatting at Sister, who had already made it into her bed because she is a napping expert. There was a lull in the conversation and I was ready for my nap, so I caled out, “Okay, well… I’m crashing!” to let Sister know that I would be in my room with the door closed in case she felt like continuing the conversation and talked and I wasn’t there, which would result in her feeling silly and/or frustrated with my lack of answer and nobody likes to feel that way, so I warned her.

Remember I yelled out “I’m crashing?” as in a colloquialism for “laying down in my bed and going to sleep”? Well, Sister and I are very literal people. So she yelled back, “3! 2! 1! CRASH!!!!” Hearing the countdown and knowing intuitively where she was going with it, I timed my steps to my bed to correspond and when she yelled “CRASH!!!!” I did. And so did my bed.

I thought it would be more of a flop. I’ve flopped into this bed before with no negative results. But I guess I was feeling exuberant that day. Or more likely, my recent weight-gain combined with the angle of my shoulder and also, you know, PHYSICS. 

Long story (and I am aware of how needlessly looooooong this story truly is) still pretty long, at least one, if not two slats, in my box spring are busted. So now the mattress sags in the center of the one end.

Right after it happened, I tried laying there for a moment, praying I hadn't jsut broken it and also knowign that my head was lower than my feet. So, you know. That prayer was answered pretty quickly and with a resounding, "DUH!" I knew I would never be able to sleep like that and that it might even mess up my back. BUT I NEEDED MY NAP! So I got up, pulled the mattress off and spun the box spring around so that the brokenness could live at the foot of the bed. I reassembled my bed, got back in, and eventually napped.

So, I’m currently sleeping on a saggy kind of slope. Which is bringing back all kinds of memories of when I lived with Crazy Boss Lady in a rented furnished home owned by an octogenarian couple with heart issues—the master bed was permanently propped at a 30 degree angle to help their blood flow or something. I have no idea. I just know that, for about 90 nights last year, I fell asleep in the normal sleeping position and woke up and the foot of the bed and had to crawl my way back to my pillows at least three times a night.

This is not a great headspace to be in, let me tell you, what with all the RAGE about my current boss and Crazy Boss Lady working down the hall from me. I’m pretty much already LIVING on Memory Lane. Apprently now, I’m having a block party.

Since the broken bed is the same one I slept on in high school and was given to me when I moved out of my parents’ home and OH YEAH IT’S A TWIN SIZE, I’ve been thinking of replacing it for a while now. But mattresses are expensive and I would really like to own my own car before I buy a nicer version (read: queen size) of something that I already have. AND? I bought agiant purple couch this summer. So there is no room in my bedroom for anything other than a twin bed (unless I don’t mind living without bookshelves and a dresser and I DO MIND). So why would I spend my money to replace something I already have but don’t like WITH THE EXACT SAME THING?

Except that I am fat and physics sucks and I will probably buy a new bed next week. The end.

I Have Never Been Convicted of a Felony

You guys! YOU GUYS! I was just smacked in the face with inspiration. It has been so ridiculously long since I felt this way that I thought I’d share the excitement about the inspiration before I share the thing I was inspired to write. And now I’m hoping that saying all of that didn’t just jinx my post. Because I have four posts sitting in draft form, you know. The jinxing has been epic lately. So, to avoid more of it, I’m just going to dive in.

After Sister graduated college (and while I was still in college), she moved to another state and took a really great job. Or so she thought. Wait. Crap. I have to go ask Sister if I can talk about this. Because even though it’s kind of my story and definitely my inspiration, it includes details about her life. And because I’m a good sister, I’ll ask permission. Hang on.

Okay. She says to write it and let her review it before publishing. She promises to read it faster than the other post, which took her three days to read and she ended up saying not to publish it. Which was the best choice, but her track record does not give me much faith for this post… Except this one will be GOOD! You’ll see, Sister. YOU’LL ALL SEE!!!!

So, Sister was working at this seemingly awesome job. And actually, for the first few years, it WAS awesome. But it was the kind of job where you work on projects with a team and a boss and when the project is done, you get a NEW project and a NEW team and a NEW boss. So, it was a bit of a Wheel of Fortune kind of spin every time she got a new project. On the fourth boss, the wheel landed on IMPOSSIBLE JERK.

Sister worked for this boss for about a year, with the situation starting out bad and getting progressively worse with each month. The man was verbally abusive and impossible to please and ridiculously demanding and incompetent and rude and whole host of other negative adjectives. We shall call him Big Jerk Boss Man. Big Jerk Boss Man is rivaled only by Crazy Boss Lady. I bet if those two got together, they could spawn something resembling Satan.

Sister and I have been very close (ever since we stopped sharing a bedroom—good call, Mom), so when we lived in separate states, we talked on the phone every day. Sometimes multiple times a day. When she worked for Big Jerk Boss Man, she needed a pressure release valve and I fit the description well enough (funny how these themes repeat themselves in my life, huh?). So most evenings, during her hour-and-a-half commute home (usually leaving the office between 7:00 and 8:00 pm after having gotten there by 6:00 or 7:00 am), she would call me to yell or cry or rave or laugh or do anything that would help her slow the onset of The Crazy.

Somewhere along the line, I told her that I would not be surprised if we got a call from her company saying that they had found Big Jerk Boss Man dead, scotch-taped to his desk chair with a pair of scissors sticking out of his carotid artery and that they were pretty sure Sister had fled to sunny Mexico. Do you see this image? Because we really can’t move on until you see a middle-aged jerk strapped to a spinning and wheeled office chair with his head lolling back and to the side with a giant pair of scissors sticking garishly out of his neck causing a small trickle of blood that stains the collar of his oxford shirt and bolo tie. And you have to imagine a half-crazed, gleeful Sister bouncing excitedly on the rough fabric seat of a Mexico-bound Greyhound bus, clapping her hands AND feet like a small child and cackling defiantly. Got the image now? Good. We’ll move on.

“Scissors” became our secret catch phrase. All she had to do was say that single word and I knew how she was feeling. Then, since the horrors only got worse as the year drug on, “scissors” stopped being accurate enough. So we came up with a scale. It was kind of a “between 1 and 10” scale, but really more like “from Safety fiskars to Hedge Clippers” scale.

There evolved many jokes about her hopping on the bus to Mexico, commandeering it, and “swinging by” to pick me up. This was infinitely* hilarious, since there was no way in any kind of geographical logic that she could “swing by” a town severely north of her when she was headed south to Mexico. Sometimes, we left the scissors out of it and I would just ask, “Mexico?” The answer was ALWAYS yes.

For Christmas that year, I made her an escape kit. I bought a set of three nasty looking sewing scissors in progressively larger sizes—the largest one was so wicked looking, I was sure it would cause fatal damage if wielded irresponsibly (or with intent to maim). Then I fabricated two bus tickets to Mexico, but in a ridiculous way. I may have called it the “Off-White Canine Express” or something. [I  just looked it up in our e-mails and apparently I was feeling contrary that day, because I refer to it was the "Black Cat Express."] I do remember listing just “Mexico” as the destination city, with an intermediary stop in my incredibly-out-of-the-way town. Then I made her a fake ID. But because I didn’t want it to in any way look like I was actually trying to forge government documents, I used a picture of a giraffe and named her Beulah (I’m a RULE-FOLLOWER, remember? A line-toer. A law-abider. I only FANTASIZE about killing people with office supplies). Then I put it all in a box and labeled it “Use only in case of an emergency.”

She opened it the second I handed it to her.

Once, when I went to visit her (if I could find good airline deals, I visited for long weekends, holidays, and spring break), she had to go into work on a Saturday. Not like, “Hey, get your butt in here for a 10:00 am Saturday meeting in which we all work our tails off so corporate doesn’t close our branch…” or something. No. More like, “You should probably come in on weekends and work harder and longer than anyone else on the team because I hate you and oh hey you’ll be all alone in the office on the weekends, which will help your productivity, because the rest of us have lives and families and did I mention I hate you?” So she sat in her crackerjack sized office in the empty building and I wandered around trying to entertain myself quietly for a little while. I was mildly entertained when I went into his office and farted. Then I closed the door as I left and prayed it would stink until Monday. I’m pretty sure it didn’t even stink right then, but it’s really the thought that counts.

Eventually, she “escaped” that job and ended up moving home to…the town we’re now in (Whew! That was close. You totally just expected me to tell you where I live. Good thing I’m quick on my…er…fingers).  She moved home a few months after I had graduated and moved home, so when she bought her house at the end of that summer, it was only reasonable that I move in with her. Financially reasonable. Why? Were you thinking for an alibi? That’s silly. Just because I have a super top secret identity and won’t tell you where I live does not mean I am an accomplice to Murder with a Deadly Weapon (namely, a wicked pair of scissors). I live in FAR NORTH, remember? Nobody fled to Mexico. And that’s all I’m going to say about that (under advice of counsel).

The bottom line is: Sister and I have survived some crazy stuff. And we now have secret code words to express our frustration. When I started living with Crazy Boss Lady, all I had to say during our nightly phone calls was a nonchalant “scissors” and she understood. Which was good, because Crazy Boss Lady was listening at the door most nights, unbeknownst to me, and I think I would have gotten fired a whole lot earlier than I actually did if she had heard me making threats to her carotid artery. Hmmm… Maybe this was a miscalculation…

And now, every time I get on twitter and somebody is talking about getting stabbity-mad or about bludgeoning their coworkers with office supplies, I think back on those awful days and smile just a little. Because it’s always good to have a plan an outlet for your rage fantasies.

*Hilarious only to us probably. And occasionally to our mother. But mostly just to us. We’re happy to let you join us in the hilarity, though. 

[The author of the post does not endorse, encourage, advocate, and/or condone in any way the stabbing, maiming, dismembering, killing, and/or otherwise physically and/or psychologically damaging of one’s employer(s), coworker(s), and/or colleague(s) with scissors, Safety Fiskars, Hedge Clippers, and/or any other cutting instrument or office supply. Nor does she endorse, encourage, advocate, and/or condone in any way the forging, falsifying, and/or altering of any legal government documents.  She does, however, endorse, encourage, advocate, and condone the use of humor, witticism(s), fantasizing, and Twitter to express one’s discontent, rage, frustration, observances, musings, hatred, and/or other human emotion regarding one’s situation in life, employer(s), coworker(s), and/or colleague(s), family member(s), friend(s), and/or stranger(s). The author also wishes to convey that she did not receive any form of payment or sponsorship for the entirety, and/or any subsequent part, of this post and is kind of miffed about that, because this was pretty funny, if you ask her.]

A Russian Roulette of Emotional Angst

Last year, when I had to relocate for a few months because of my job with Crazy Boss Lady, one of the only things that kept me from harming myself or others were the e-mails Sister and I exchanged throughout the day. It was a tiny pressure release several times an hour. The following is a copied and slightly redacted version of one of our many e-mail streams. If you need background information on Crazy Boss Lady, read this post.  Oh, and the subject of each day’s e-mail was a movie or TV quote. Bonus points to anyone who can figure out the source of this one.

WARNING: This may be funny to no one but me and Sister (and please note the incredibly codependent way I leaned on her during this time. Some things haven’t changed…Also, note the overuse of emoticons. I think I was compensating.)

“Okay, but this is seriously the LAST thing I do before I quit!”

ELISE (Tue, Mar 30, 2010 at 8:09 AM):

I have managed to start the day off with Crazy Boss Lady ticked at me before we even got to the office. Want to know how you do that?  It's really easy.  Don't be told what time they want to leave and make your best guess, because you’re not allowed to ask.  No matter what it is, you're going to be wrong. But if you don't try, you're wrong then, too.  8:00 am meeting?  Plan to leave at 7:45 am because no one told you different?  7:35 am was the ticket...  

I have tried covertly asking her what time we’re leaving and no matter how I slice it, I get into trouble.  A few weeks ago, she was talking about the next morning and said, "I think...  nine o'clock.  Maybe 9:30... I'll have to think on-- Oh, by the way, did you hear about ______?"  And then went off on a twenty minute tangent and never got back to the point.  The next morning, I decided to clarify, since "9:00 or maybe 9:30 or maybe I'll think about it and come up with a firm answer" didn't seem too specific to me. When I asked, I got this response, "Elise, didn't we talk about this last night?  I already gave you my answer. Remember we talked about you asking about this and that you should take my first answer unless I change my mind?" So I went into my room and shot myself.  

Okay, not really on the last part.  But a lesser person might have been tempted to...

DISCLAIMER: I am in no danger of doing harm to myself or in any way attempting to end my life. 

Other people's lives are a whole different ball of wax....

ELISE (Tue, Mar 30, 2010 at 10:16 AM):

I hate my job. I can't even explain the minute and various ways Crazy Boss Lady makes me feel stupid and how she drives me crazy. I've got to start focusing on the things I'm grateful for or I'm going to lose it. 

Here's what I have so far:

1. I did my absolute best to anticipate what time I was supposed to be out of the house today.  I could not have done anything different with the information I had.

2. Janet invited me to Easter at her house. Which I think is exactly what I need.

3. I now have two W2 forms winging their way to me so that I can do my taxes on time.

4. I was left alone for almost an hour and a half this morning in the office, which means I didn't have to deal with the crazy for part of this day.

5. I kept my cool and was gracious (I think, I hope...) in the three obnoxious situations I have had to deal with already with the Queen of Mount Coffeelava.

6. I got a new picture of [brand spanking new] Niece.

7. My brother is really sweet, even if he tries to play the tough guy.

8. I'm working on it.

SISTER (Tue, Mar 30, 2010 at 10:33 AM):

Those are all really good. I would add:

9. People love you. Especially me.

10. People miss you. Especially me.

11. You didn't get hit by a bus on the way to work this morning. I think we're both grateful for that.

ELISE (Tue, Mar 30, 2010 at 10:38 AM):

I'm clinging to 9, since it's getting harder and harder to believe that here in the vortex of human emotions. I'm hoping 10 is true, because it would be really pathetic if it weren't.  And 11 is negligible...  Okay, not really (See earlier disclaimer). But I bet if I were hit by a bus and moderately-to-severely injured, they'd have to let me go home... :)  Not that I'll go looking for any buses, or anything.

SISTER (Tue, Mar 30, 2010 at 10:39 AM):

DON'T GO LOOKING FOR BUSES!!

12. You have a sister that looks out for you.

ELISE (Tue, Mar 30, 2010 at 10:45 AM):

13. [Creepy Old Man] thinks I'm beautiful. I still can't decide if this is something I can find the good in and leave behind the bad, but I'm trying... We'll see.

SISTER (Tue, Mar 30, 2010 at 10:46 AM):

No. That's not OK.

13. I think you're beautiful.

Yes, that's better.

ELISE (Tue, Mar 30, 2010 at 10:49 AM):

13. Crazy Boss Lady thinks I'm beautiful and "could make something" of me on the pageant circuit... I'm not sure this works either.  Somehow, I end up feeling ugly and also patronized...

SISTER (Tue, Mar 30, 2010 at 10:51 AM):

13. I think you're beautiful.

14. You don't have to go on the pageant circuit to prove your worth, but you'd still kick ass without her help.

ELISE (Tue, Mar 30, 2010 at 10:59 AM):

Now 14 I can get on board with!

15. I love you.  You're awesome.

SISTER (Tue, Mar 30, 2010 at 11:03 AM):

So my Easter dress solid teal. But last night I was having doubts about finding shoes and thinking how much easier it would be to get the lilac one on Target’s website, since I already have shoes and jewelry to match it.

ELISE (Tue, Mar 30, 2010 at 11:10 AM):

I prefer the teal. And white shoes work for Easter, but black or brown are completely acceptable.  Just make it strappy. Also, how much do you love that Target gives you the option to "Search by sleeve length"? I think it's pretty much genius!

16. Papa and Mom calling me randomly through the day to check on me just because they know I need to hear their voices.

SISTER (Tue, Mar 30, 2010 at 11:11 AM):

"Get me a shoe, and make it strappy!"

17. Your sister's kinda funny.

ELISE (Tue, Mar 30, 2010 at 11:31 AM):

17. My sister's REALLY funny.  And also thinks a lot like her sister. :)

18. Colored tabs may be a pain in the ass, but they're pretty. I am trying to be grateful for the pretty. Also, that I was allowed to give my OCD free range on this ridiculous assignment. :)

19. Water coolers of filtered water and cute purple metal water bottles help me to get all of my water for WeightWatchers.  And they give me a reason to escape the office to both fill it up and then to "empty" it out of my body.

20. Her meeting may take a while today, since I think they're tackling the budget-- this means no crazy for at least an hour. :)

ELISE (Tue, Mar 30, 2010 at 11:36 AM):

20. Scratch that. No budget. But she has been gone for 36 minutes, which must be the grace of God. Also, that means I'm only 24 minutes from lunch... :)

SISTER (Tue, Mar 30, 2010 at 12:54 PM):

21. This ordinal is greater than or equal to the number of days until you come home, barring a special session. You have more grateful things today than days left on relocation!

ELISE (Tue, Mar 30, 2010 at 12:59 PM):

OH MY GOD, YOU'RE BACK!  I'M SO GLAD YOU'RE BACK. I MISSED YOU SO MUCH. DON'T EVER LEAVE ME AGAIN! YOU'RE BAAAAAACK!!!!!

(Over-reaction is my state of mind right now...)

22. I love my sister's emotional mathematics.  Or mathematical emotions...

SISTER (Tue, Mar 30, 2010 at 1:04 PM):

Wow. Yes. I'm back. :)

23. Mom left a present waiting on your bed for when you get home.

ELISE (Tue, Mar 30, 2010 at 1:08 PM):

24. For half of an irrational second, I thought you meant my bed here. I actually got halfway through wondering how she would get it on my bed here before I realized what you meant.  I am trying to be grateful for a present at all. :)

SISTER (Tue, Mar 30, 2010 at 1:09 PM):

Awww...now I'm bummed for disappointing you.

25. It could be worse. You could be Miley Cyrus's sound engineer at her recording studio. Now there's a job with ANNOYING written all over it.

ELISE (Tue, Mar 30, 2010 at 1:12 PM):

25. I happen to like Miley Cyrus. I would be grateful to have that job.  It would be better than this job.

26. I have to go pick up an extra copy of an interview with Crazy Boss Lady at the local news station (I have no idea why we need 2 of them, but I go where I'm told), but at least I get to get out of the office and see the sky once today. :)

ELISE (Tue, Mar 30, 2010 at 1:17 PM):

27. Her meeting was postponed at 11:45 am.  Usually, they just cancel and reschedule.  Instead, they took a break until 1:00 pm.  Which means she's back in the meeting now and out of my hair.  As soon as the cronies get back, I'm out of here, but it's nice to know she won't be popping in on me with stupid tasks... :)

ELISE (Tue, Mar 30, 2010 at 2:59 PM):

28. I ran into one of my elementary school teachers and he recognized me. Okay, he asked for my last name and then recognized it from Brother and I had to tell him he taught me, too, but that he had probably blocked it from his memory because I was one of those terrifying little girls who cried frequently... :)

SISTER (Tue, Mar 30, 2010 at 3:07 PM):

28 makes me laugh. :) Just the way it devolved...

29. You're still funny.

ELISE (Tue, Mar 30, 2010 at 3:19 PM):

30. I have prepared Crazy Boss Lady, to the best of my ability given the expressed expectations, for her 4:30 pm meeting on the audit.  And I'm kind of a genius. They just can't see it. :)

ELISE (Tue, Mar 30, 2010 at 3:35 PM):

She may not be happy with it, but it's all I can do. I also think she's hit the 3:00 zone where nothing actually sticks to her grey matter long enough for her to get angry or excited about it.  She's pretty much done absorbing information or making substantive decisions by 1:00 pm, even if the day requires those things until 6:00 (which is a strong argument that a person should not get up at 4:30 every morning if you have to work until 6:00 pm, but I'm only 23 and I don't know what I'm talking about...). The most exciting thing about this is that some of those things that don't stick on Monday afternoon don't bounce off either.  They slide along the surface until Tuesday morning (or even Friday noon), when they finally stick and actually come back to bite you.  Usually taken out of context, given a sassy tone, and with the words all mixed around.  It's like a Russian Roulette of Emotional Angst.

31. I have stayed within the WeightWatchers points I planned to consume prior to dinner (with the addition of four cinnamon jelly bellies, which can't really count, right?) and I'm not feeling inclined at the moment to bust out the p-corn.

SISTER (Tue, Mar 30, 2010 at 3:43 PM):

31 is MUY MUY bueno. You are good leetle girl.

ELISE (Tue, Mar 30, 2010 at 3:50 PM):

32? The Queen of Mount Coffeelava is back.  I am grateful that God is trying to teach me patience?

SISTER (Tue, Mar 30, 2010 at 3:50 PM):

I’m Ron Burgundy?

ELISE (Tue, Mar 30, 2010 at 3:56 PM):

Exactly.  I'm not sure I can be grateful.  However, she hasn't spoken in about 7 minutes.  That can be my 32. :)

SISTER (Tue, Mar 30, 2010 at 3:57 PM):

33. Less than three hours until you get to go home for the night. I say that because it really should be only an hour, but you never know with your boss. But you're still well over half done with your day!

SISTER (Tue, Mar 30, 2010 at 4:28 PM):

Solve for "i":

9x - 7i > 3(3x - 7u)

ELISE (Tue, Mar 30, 2010 at 4:51 PM):

You're weird. And i<3u, too. :)

UPDATE: Bonus points, everybody! Crazy Boss Lady just walked into my office to tell me something about our building (I work near her, but not for her). She left and then came back, gave me a great big hug, told me she loved me, was so glad we were talking again, and that she's so glad she gave me my "start" in the industry. This post about her amazing heights of idiocy was open on my screen while she was HUGGING ME! Seriously. I cannot make this stuff up!

My Life Isn't Interesting

So, over a week ago, I posted a really obnoxious survey. And at the end, I promised to answer any questions you might ask as a reward for completing that ridiculous questionnaire. I got a lot of awesome answers, but only one question. So I put off posting the answer until I got more responses. Then I realized that this was all I was going to get. Then I forgot to upload the photo. Then I got home last night and watched a not-so-great movie and forgot to post it. So, here we are, over a week later, on a Tuesday (this fact is not relevant or important, but I like the word Tuesday), and I am finally posting it.

And by the way, this photo as taken right after I saw the question, so I'm following your rule, Kim. I'm only late in posting, not in taking the picture. This is my nightstand (or as some call it, bedside table):

And here is my nightstand with number labels so that I can inform you about how not interesting my life is. Ready? I thought so.

      1. My lamp. I have had this lamp since the sixth grade. It has been dropped and broken, so it has a crack that has been sealed with some kind of clear glue. Also, it has one of those new eco-friendly light bulbs in it that's all funny shaped. And the shade of this lamp is supposed to attach to the bulb, so the shade teeters and slips all the time. Yes, I know you can buy them to look like regular light bulbs. NOW. Now I know that. Where were you before, huh? Geez! Oh, and the light bulb buzzes, which is kind of obnoxious. Interesting, no? No. Alright, moving on.

      2. My super cool insulated cup from Walmart (Let's just get this out of the way right now: yes, I occasionally shop at Walmart and no, I don't care who knows it). It kind of looks like a Starbucks cold cup, but it's covered in lime green polka dots and has a matching straw. Which is awesome! I also have one with red polka dots. I usually keep a cup with a lid next to my bed, since I get thirsty at night and I live with Satan's Cat.

      3. A small glass of water. Because sometimes I like to live dangerously. Except it's here because I was too lazy to go find my cute cup when I was thirsty, not because I'm particularly risky (I should have known the cute cup was by my bed, since that's where I keep it...). This cup sat here for three days. Also because of my laziness. Which is not notable. But the fact that the cup remained in this position for three days with the water remaining inside the cup for all of those days is a testament to the capriciousness of Satan's Cat. It's actually still there, more than a week later, since I'm sleeping in Sister's room right now. Watch, I'll post about this and then Satan's Cat will spill it all over the place tonight.

      4. My iPhone charging cord. Which I only just plugged in near my bed for reasons that even I just don't understand. I used to keep it across the room... And then someone would text me at night and I would have to go get it to text back or make it stop buzzing. I think it may have been an outlet-space issue. But really, there's no excuse for this kind of ridiculousness. So now it's next to the head of my bed and I can text or tweet long past the time I should have been asleep.

      5. The remote to my SkullCandy Pipe that I got for Christmas last year (thanks, Mom!). And yes, that does sound vaguely like drug paraphernalia. Okay, more than vaguely. And the website kind of plays into that. But really all it is, is a speaker system for an iPhone or iPod. So I dock my iPod and can then control my music from the rest of the room. Which is sweet! The remote is on my nightstand because I listen to my lullaby every night. What is my lullaby? I'm glad you asked. My lullaby is an instrumental song by Josh Kelley called 23 on his album To Remember, which you can preview here (I tried to find a better link for it, but this was the best I can do. But go listen. It's totally worth it! I mean, I listen to it every night, so it's gotta be good, right? Right.)

      6. A book called Finally Thin! by Kim Benson, a woman who lost 212 pounds with WeightWatchers. It was given to me by a friend who knew I was already doing WeightWatchers (so it's not like they were calling me fat or anything). It's basically a description of her journey, not a weight-loss plan or anything. It's actually really funny and also kind of eye-opening, so I encourage anyone who's struggling with weight issues to read it.

      7. Another book, Young Adult Fiction this time. It's The Throne of Fire by Rick Riordan (he's the guy who wrote the Percy Jackson books). It's the second in his Kane series, which is about a brother and sister who have just discovered they're descendants of the gods of ancient Egypt and have magical powers. It's pretty good so far. I liked the first one, too, so if you're looking for something new to read, check it out.

      8. A metal bookmark with cute charms hanging off of the end. My father made it. Now would probably be a good time to tell you that my mom and dad own a very small jewelry business, which is more of a hobby from which they sell their creations. They order the semi-precious stones from various companies and then design necklaces, bracelets, and earrings to sell at craft fairs and small weekend markets (no soldering involved, just stringing and crimping wire). For Christmas a few years ago, my dad made a my sister and I each a bookmark. He chose the charms himself--different ones for each of us. It was very sweet and it makes me smile every time I look at it (which I think may have been his nefarious plan). Mine has two different butterflies, the Statue of Liberty, a little girl praying, and a colorful strand of beads. I don't remember what Sister's has, but I'm pretty sure none of it means he loves her more than me. Because we all know he loves me best. Right, Papa? Right?

      9. Two issues of Women's Health Magazine. One of them has Julianne Hough on the cover not wearing enough clothing (tiny denim shorts and a bandeau bikini top). The other has "Glee's Heather Morris" on the cover not wearing enough clothing (a hot pink bikini and a jean jacket--Why a jean jacket? I have no idea...). One of the magazines claims to be a "Special Weight-Loss Issue!" but I have to wonder which issues of Women's Health aren't about weight-loss... Anyway, Roommate gave me a subscription for Christmas and I haven't been near my post office box enough to have read much of them (my job makes me relocate for a quarter of each year and also: Sister and I are terrible mailbox checkers). But I totally plan to read them, because it was a nice gift and I could use the advice. I just kind of resent the tiny, half-naked girls on the cover...

       10. A cute gift bag filled with ridiculous dollar items from Sister. You see, after I got home from living with Crazy Boss Lady and was so...damaged..., Sister did everything she could to cheer me up. And to make me feel loved and safe. What better way to do that, than to get me a gift bag filled with squirt guns, pinwheels, coloring books, crayons, a magic wand (that lit up and sparkled!), a pull string disc launcher thingy, and a notebook with a Schrute Buck for a cover? No other way! I laughed so hard when I opened it and we had a lot of fun playing with all the stuff (especially the disc launcher, which drove Satan's Cat out of her mind). However, you may wonder why this bag is still next to my nightstand over a year later. Well, what does one do with a bag full of things like this once one has sucked the fun out of the marrow of each item? Like you, I have no idea. Plus, I'm lazy, so that's where they live until Godson or some other child visits and I realize I need some age-appropriate toys. Which is handy, let me tell you!

      11. This is a crate of Play-Doh that was also in the bag. It is unopened, which is sad. But I've never really had a good opportunity to break out the PlayDoh. I'm not sure why I need a good opportunity for Play-Doh, but I've been waiting for it. Maybe tonight's the night. Except Sister is still out of town and it is kind of sad and pathetic to be a 24-year-old playing with Play-Doh alone on a Tuesday night (again, I'm pretty sure it's not relevant or important that it's Tuesday, but... Umm.... It's my blog so there. HA!) [I'm not quite sure why I linked to Play-Doh, or even why it's spelled "Play-Doh" (I keep doing the Homer Simpson "Doh!" every time I type it), but it is trademarked, so I thought it might be wise...]


So, there you have it. That's my nightstand as it looked one Saturday earlier this month. I hope you've realized just how interesting my life is (read: not interesting at all) through this process and I encourage all of you to take pictures of random surfaces in your home and give an inventory to strangers on the Internet. It's actually kind of liberating. Liberating from what kind of bondage, I have no idea. But people seem to be feel liberated a lot and I think this might be what they're feeling. Either that, or I'm hungry. It is 8:30 pm and I haven't had dinner yet. But we'll say liberated. Sure.