Texas: Two Week Update

I've been here for two weeks. TWO weeks. Is it really only two weeks? At the same time, have two WHOLE weeks gone by? You can see that I'm conflicted. Everything is happening very fast and yet also feels like a nice, easy routine of playing with the baby and job hunting during naps and hanging out with the Welches and just plain enjoying myself. I don't know how else to do this update but in a bulleted list. Someone more creative might be able to find a way, but I am still getting my bearings. Yes, let's blame it on that. 

Texas: What I've Been Doing and My Thoughts About It (Which You Can Skip and Just Read the Last Paragraph [Entitled "To Recap:" In Bold] If You're Short on Time or Patience or Are Being Set Upon by Wild Beasts and/or Babies):

• I've gone to three different churches--three different denominations, two of which I've never experienced before--so I'm getting exposed to all sorts of different flavors of Jesus, which is pretty cool, actually.
• I get to play with a baby EVERY SINGLE DAY how cool is that? Those of you who are moms are probably like, so? but it's awesome for me. She's learning so much right now and it's amazing to watch.
• I've applied for a gazillion jobs already. Okay, probably a couple dozen. Some childcare related and some in my industry. There's been a little bit of bureaucratic non-sense and run-around on a few of them, but mostly it's been a relatively easy process. If you don't count my whole emotional response to YET AGAIN begging people to like me enough to hire me and contorting myself into what I think they might want while still remaining honest about my skills and abilities--that part's not so painless.
• I've visited Linnea's parent's house twice now and they are fantastic people who don't seem to think it's one bit odd that I'm from the Internet. In fact, they've been incredibly kind and generous and offered their home to me if I should need a place on the Fort Worth side of the metroplex. It's like meeting extended family I never knew I had, which is to say: awesome.
• I've also visited Linnea's in-law's house and she has a brand spanking new nephew who is incredibly wee and adorable and I just want to watch him sleep that special newborn coma sleep. 
• I'm enjoying the heck out of the warmth and humidity. Rereading that makes me chuckle, because I spent a summer in Washington DC and I could have cursed humidity into a thousand fiery deaths, but that was also 95%. Here, it's been much less than that, but still much more than this so-dry-your-skin-cracks-and-bleeds Far North. My skin is loving this. My hair... Well, it'll adjust. I hope.
• Along with the warm, I'm relishing the lack of snow. The Texans are probably looking at me really funny right now, but I'm just so JOYFUL to see leaves on trees and dry ground. It's not like I expected snow here. I just find its absence comforting.
• I'm learning that "waterbugs" is just a nice way of saying "cockroaches and beetles." I am not a fan, no matter what you call them. This is the only downside I've found so far.
• I drove. By myself! And I didn't get lost. I feel like I may be making this a bigger accomplishment than it really is.
• Well, other than missing my family. Although, I'm doing incredibly well, all things considered. The first Sunday was hard, because we are such churchy people and I am guaranteed to see the whole family on Sundays, if not other days of the week. The realization that I would not, in fact, be seeing them that Sunday or any in the near future was a little rough, but I powered through. This is not like college where I knew no one at first and spent a lot of time alone. I live with a family, who treat me like part of their family, so it's much less lonely. 
• I got to go to Internet Book Club (I have no idea if it has a real name, so that's what I call it in my head), where I got to meet very nice women, some of whom I knew already from twitter and some new faces.We ate taco salad and tried to remember to talk about the book, but actually spent a lot of time just talking about life and I enjoyed myself a lot.
• I also have been warmly welcomed into Linnea's Bible study group, which has been a blessing in so many ways. It's nice to have built-in friends and it's really cool to know that I can be completely honest and open with them, since we're all just trying to be more like Jesus and we all want to help each other grow.
• Unlimited Internet! No download limits! All the shows I could never watch before! Blogging with out (technical) frustration! Candy Crush! I am never going to get a job!

There have been all kinds of other things happening in the last few weeks, but the list is getting long and I'm not sure that any of this is interesting to anyone but me.

To recap: I'm doing really well and I'm excited for the opportunities Texas offers. Hopefully, I'll get back to blogging more regularly now that I have a) access to good internet and b) things actually going on in my life again. But we've all heard that before, so we'll see. What are YOU up to? (and do you happen to know of any jobs available in the DFW area? Just kidding. Kind of.)

Texas, You Had Better Have Tissues

So, um... I'm moving to Texas.

Many of you who know me on twitter or were at PJs at TJ's this year probably already know that. But, in case you missed it, as many people in my personal life have, I'm MOVING to TEXAS.

Fair warning, this post is likely to be both CAPSLOCKY and incoherently babblish. Just FYI. Becaaaaauuuse: I'm moving to Texas in FOUR DAYS. And I have not packed a THING.

Here's the deal. Waaaay back in July (so like four posts ago on this here blog of abject neglect), I visited Linnea and her family in the DFW area. I got to meet her super cute, super schmooshy baby (who has grown into a super cute, slightly less schmooshy TODDLER, but that's a different story altogether) and her great husband and her sweet pets and her lovely friends. Through the planning phase of that trip, we joked about me meeting a cowboy/oil barron and getting married and just staying in Texas. And then when I got there, we joked about me finding a job there and living in Linnea's spare bedroom. And then about half-way through the trip, we kind of sort of somewhat a lot stopped joking. By the time I got on a plane to come home, I had half-way convinced myself that it was POSSIBLE to perhaps, SOMEDAY maybe try to sort of spend some more time in the general DFW area. Because I am a decisive person with a firm five-year plan for the future. Ahem.

Anyway, I got home and, as I had suspected, I remembered all of the reasons I love Far North and that I was actually very comfortable here, despite all of the REALLY GOOD reasons I had come up with while IN Texas for why Far North wasn't doing it for me anymore. Except. Those REALLY GOOD reasons wouldn't go away. Reasons like: I had not worked in a year; I'm overweight and struggling to lose weight in the cold and the dark and the land of expensive produce; I'm single and there are very few single, eligible men in this town; I'm afraid to drive in the snow.

So I started praying about it. And I started googling about DFW and jobs and housing. And then, in a fateful staff meeting in August about our church's growth and seating capacity, one of the pastors said, "I don't want to build a new building or move. I want to stay right here and keep preaching and just ignore the problem. But that's a terrible way to preach the Gospel and that's not what God is asking us to do." And all I could hear in my head was "I don't want to move to Texas and start over. I want to stay right here and keep failing to meet my goals and just ignore the problem. But that's a terrible way to live and that's not what God is asking me to do."

For those of you of the faith-y persuasion, this might be a familiar thing. But I know that this has to sound CRAZY to those of you who don't do church or faith. And, to tell you the truth, it's a little bit crazy to me, too. But it also feels so incredibly right. I didn't hear an audible voice from the heavens--that would either make me insane or...Moses and I'm pretty sure I'm neither. But I did know, deep in my gut, that it was the best plan and I could feel this tug on my soul to move and grow and change and see what this opportunity had to offer.

Now, as I am wont to do, I procrastinated and hemmed and hawed and just generally ignored that moment of revelation. Well, ignored it as much as I could while it was nagging in the back of my head and the few people I'd mentioned it to kept nudging me and asking about it and basically shooing me in a southerly direction. I went on more interviews here and failed to get each and every single job, even ones that seemed like sure things (THERE'S NO SUCH THING AS A SURE THING). And I applied for jobs there, saying I wouldn't go without a plan and having a job there was part of the plan, no "plan" materialized. And then a house-sitting job came up and then the holidays came and then there was PJs at TJ's and and and AND AND I was a big chicken.

All of this to say that I am FINALLY taking the leap. I have a room and a car waiting for me and a hope of some part-time nannying until I can secure permanent employment. I have no idea where this will lead and I had a whole post planned about all the BENEFITS! and LOGIC! and WISDOM! of moving to Texas, but.

Instead, in the middle of writing this, I was called into our church auditorium (I'm writing this form the church office, since I've been temping here all week) and they made a "blessing circle" around me. Which sounds so much more churchy and mystical than it really is. I don't even know if anyone else does this, but my Worship Pastor (who also happens to be my best friend, which makes this all the more difficult) has developed this tradition of sending people off in TEARS. I mean... Wait.

You see, whenever one of us is going away (either moving or being sent out on the mission field or away to long-term training or anything longer than a few months), he gathers the whole worship team and forces the Leaving to sit in the center with everyone staring at them while each person takes a turn telling the Leaver how much they've been personally blessed by them and how much they'll miss them and how grateful they are for the Leaver's service to the church and basically GUILTS them into staying because how can you leave when everyone loves you this much?! And then, after you've done the ugly cry in front of everyone you know and you've had to figure up the appropriate facial expression to wear when someone compliments your humble spirit (there is no humble way to take that compliment and still, you know, TAKE it) and you've resisted the urge to look behind you twelve million times because a) they MUST be talking about someone else because while you are awesome, you do not feel THIS awesome and b) there are PEOPLE behind you waiting to say nice things to you and probably noticing that the shirt you chose that morning isn't really long enough to cover your lower back while you're sitting in a discount rolling office chair... After all of THIS, everyone stands up and puts a hand on you and prays blessings over you and your ministry and calling and new life.

And it is an amazing experience. It's humbling and beautiful and scary and powerful and awkward and abut eighteen other adjectives. And I was crying and trying not to be to noisy about it and trying to remember every last word spoke and also trying to perfect my spontaneous teleportation powers so I disappear on the spot because, man, I do not deserve half of the kindness that was given to me tonight. I kept thinking that there is so much imperfect about me and my walk with Jesus and if these people, these people who've known me most of my life and who know me so well, could ACTUALLY see my heart, they might run way screaming from the mess that I am inside.

But I think that's the point. We are, none of us, perfect. But it was amazing for just a few minutes, to see myself as others saw me. Not to build myself up and pat myself on the back for being able to cover my mess so well, but to see the way I HAVE grown and the ways I AM serving the Lord and loving people. It was kind of eye-opening in its ordinariness.

Whoa. Okay, before I sink too far into a nostalgic burst of self-inflated psychoanalysis, I should stop and get some sleep. There is a whole house to clean in preparation of my good-bye party (which I'm kind of throwing for myself, which is probably incredibly terrible etiquette, but Sister says its her house and she called to invite everyone, so SHE'S throwing the party, which, okay.) and I'm meeting a friend for lunch and I broke the church's copier today (how's that for being a humble servant, huh? I'm going out with a bang, I guess), so I'm going in to meet the copier guy in the morning even though the church is technically closed. Oh, and I have library books to return and a million other things to do and OH HEY PACKING, so I need some sleep.

But a post about moving to Texas would not be complete without at least a small note to say that this is ALL THE INTERNET'S FAULT. That's right--I'm moving to texas because of YOU! I never would have met Linnea or EVER thought about moving to TEXAS OF ALL PLACES if it weren't for the Internet. And more specifically, if it weren't for TJ putting a link to this blog on hers and if it weren't for Linnea clicking that link and finding me and if it weren't for TJ throwing a slumber party with an open invitation that made me feel welcome and brave enough to meet the Internet in person. And I think all of that is just a little bit nuts, but it's also just about the coolest thing I've ever heard.

This Whole Post Is Weird

It's been about two weeks since I wrote my last post, in which I promised to "get much more bloggy up in here." Which, A) did I actually say that? What am I, a blogging gangster? and B) who am I kidding? I can't keep my life together enough to make promises like that. But here are a few things that have happened since my last post:

1.     I got hired on as a temporary secretary at my church for two weeks while the real secretary is out of town. And I mostly just say, "Uh, I dunno. She'll be back on the twenty-first..." Well, that AND I'm doing a lot of graphic design stuff, which is so much fun and I think I may have missed my calling. If graphic designers all use Microsoft Publisher and "borrow" images from google. So, no? [A rant about Microsoft Publisher was here, but has been redacted because who the heck cares about my software preferences and also who the heck still uses Publisher?] So, YAY INCOME! For a little while, anyway.

2.     I had a second interview for a job I was very excited about. SPOILER ALERT (because of course there's another shoe needing to drop here): I was my usual Chronically Honest self and, when asked if I saw this as a long-term opportunity, I spewed my Texas plans and my new hippie "I'm going where ever life takes me" philosophy and told them I couldn't guarantee more than a year, although I wanted to stay longer than that. If you're really clueless about how the world works, skip down a little to find out how this ends.

3.     I realized I've forgotten how to be a productive member of society. That was a nice little wake-up call.

4.     My goddaughter was born! She's beautiful and healthy and wonderful and I'm so excited to get to watch her grow. Until I move to Texas. But we're not talking about that today. [A bitter rant about how some women have conceived, gestated, and given birth to whole children in the time I've been unemployed was here, but was also redacted because OOOOH PRETTY BABIES!!!]

5.     I started carrying a concealed handgun. And before you put on your judgey pants or gasp and clutch your pearls, let me explain:

• It is legal for me to do so where I live;
• I have had training on the safe and effective use of handguns;
• My church has recently received some threats and I spend a significant portion of my day alone in the unlocked building (by nature, the church needs to be unlocked). While the danger is probably not very high (the police are involved, nothing new has happened in about three weeks), the threatener is mentally unstable and I'd rather not tango with him unarmed;
• It is concealed so as not to cause a panic or instill fear in the normal church people;
• I have permission of the pastors and elders who run the church;
• I am not the only one in this building armed at any given time on any given day;
• I will not use it unless is it ABSOLUTELY necessary, which is a highly unlikely event. But that's why you carry a gun: to be prepared for that highly unlikely event.

ANYWAY. The reason I bring it up is that this is new and slightly weird. And, while I've always supported the CONCEPT of responsible handgun use, I didn't realize how much it would affect me to carry one. I am suddenly HYPER-AWARE of the deadliness and the social implications of having one on my person or around my house. I have also spent significant time thinking about dangerous scenarios and how I would react (both legally and morally). And then there are the SILLY things. Practical things like how this chunk of metal affects my balance, which clothes I wear, and how I maneuver throughout my day to keep it concealed. I guess what I'm saying is that this is so much more REAL than I thought it would be. Which, duh, of course it is. It's a huge responsibility and you shouldn't take it on without taking into account ALL of the variables and risks, which I believe I have done. What I'm saying is, it's no longer an abstract, cut-and-dry issue to me any more.

And, listen, I'm not really looking to have a politically charged gun discussion, but I DID bring it up, so if you MUST, give it a go. We can get ALL DISCUSSY in the comments, which isn't something that's ever happened here. Not that I'm mentioning this to BE DISCUSSY. Whatever. The bag is empty, the cat's gone, let's do this thing.

6.     I didn't get that job (cue everyone's SURPRISED FACE). And I know I said that if I didn't get it, I'd start looking in Texas and it would be the Lord's way of showing me His path. And I still completely believe that. But. Can I just say how incredibly discouraged and worthless I feel right now, just mere hours after I got the rejection call?

It's been 11 months of unemployment. It's been multiple failed interviews (I count them as failed if I didn't get the job, which is very glass-half-empty-of-me, but there it is). It's been 14 months of looking for a job. It's been THREE YEARS of work-related headaches, heartaches, and walletaches. And it's moments like these that make me ask the ridiculous and self-pitying question: Why doesn't anyone want me?

Tomorrow, I'll start again. Tomorrow, I'll turn my eyes toward Texas. Tomorrow, I will remember the Lord's promise. Today, I just want to look at Him and ask "Why?" and "How much longer?" and take comfort in the fact that He's a big enough God to handle my questions and doubts.

7.     There really isn't a seven, so go ahead and jump in with your comments now. Just know that if you're mean to me about #5, I might cry extra hard because of #6.

Funny. I promise.

Several years ago, I had this job. An assistant-y type job, where I did pretty much whatever my boss wanted me to do and didn't ask a lot of questions. One of my tasks was to look through the local obituaries and write condolence letters to anyone that my boss knew or to whom she was connected in some way (she was both prominent in the community and old, leading to A LOT of these letters). One day, I read an obituary that made me laugh out loud.

And then I sent Sister a long e-mail detailing what exactly was so funny about this man and his obituary.

I know, I know. I'm a terrible person. And since that's already true, I might as well go all the way to hell and write a post based on that e-mail and post it here where EVERYBODY can read it. And before you click away, I am not going to laugh at the WAY he died or get gory at all. I may be going to hell, but I'm not that awful.

**********

FROM: Elise
TO: Sister
SUBJECT: Funny. I promise.

You're having a bad day and I promised you funny, so here goes:

I have to look at all the local obituaries and gather the addresses of family members for condolences. This is not funny. But just wait, I'll get there.

One of the men who died this week was Robert "Bob" Smith.*  He was 85 and he passed peacefully. This is not particularly funny, either.

His wife's name was Elizabeth, but he called her Bunny. Funnier.





Actually, he seems to have called her "his Bunny." Like, "My Bunny, can you get me some more coffee?" or "Hi, My Bunny, how was your day with our 11 children?" See, the funny is starting to grow on you, right?

He had three sons. Pretty average. Not too funny.

They were named Robert, Jerry, and Clyde. Clyde's kind of funny. But only a little.

One of his sons goes by Bob. Also average; also not funny.

Except that it's his second son Jerry, not Robert, who goes by Bob. Funny.

He also had eight daughters. (See! I totally wasn't kidding with the 11 children thing up there) I'm guessing he didn't find that too funny when he paid for their weddings. I would, though. Lots of money is lots of funny.

His oldest daughter's name is Shereen. Maybe not funny, but weird. 

Until you meet her sisters: Laureen, Tareen, Joireen, Kathereen, Mareen, and Janeen. Now we've arrived at the funny.

Now, you're probably thinking, "Hey, that's only seven!" And you would be right, you great counter, you. Joining Shereen, Laureen, Tareen, Joireen, Kathereen, Mareen, and Janeen is the baby sister:  Carol. Poor Carol. FUNNY!



(We could also take a second here to be a little bit sorry for Janeen, who missed out on the R that her other sisters got, including Carol. But I'm giggling too much to be that sorry.)

PLUS? Carol and Clyde were listed together. Last. Named with the same letter. I'd like to think they were twins. That would be funny. And twins as your tenth pregnancy?  Even funnier. For everyone who is NOT Bunny, that is.

So, Mr. Robert "Bob" Smith. You had a long life. You did amazing things. You raised a (presumably) good family, albeit with odd monikers. And, you made a weary employee's day a little brighter. So thanks. God bless you. And God bless Bunny, Robert, Jerry "Bob", the 'Reens, and Carol & Clyde. Oh, and Janeen, who isn't actually a 'Reen.

Funny. I promised.

**********

*I changed the last name to make this less google-able, but I swear the rest of the names are real. If you want to verify, e-mail me and I'll send you the link to the obituary. The reason I'm  not linking it here is that it will give away my location, which is a closely-guarded secret. Also, you you happen to know this man or his family, I apologize for any offense, given or taken. Please e-mail me and tell me everything you know about these people, because I think I would really like them!

I Am A Secret Agent Of Travel (Which Is Different From a Travel Agent)

My vacation is over. I’m writing this from the air over Pennsylvania (and probably LOTS of other states), on my way from Philadelphia to Minneapolis, where I will spend 10 (probably long) hours before I fly home to the Far North (Ha! You totally thought I was going to give you a city name there, didn’t you? Admit it!). Three weeks away from home feels like forever and also doesn’t feel like nearly enough time with Niece and Biggest Brother and Sister-In-Law. 

To commemorate my last night in town, Niece attempted to kill herself. Okay, it wasn’t nearly that extreme, but my racing heart sure felt like it was. She took a header off of her “big girl chair” at the dinner table, landing on her chin and biting through the side of her tongue, which bled and bled and made her pregnant mother nauseous with both worry and blood-related aversions. Then, after she had calmed down and sucked on a few ice cubes and had her bath, she bonked her head on a doorframe, trying to avoid being more than three inches away from her mother’s side. Needless to say, the evening was a slightly traumatic way to say good-bye.

Since Niece is so verbal and has such an excellent memory (Example: when my parents visited two months ago, my mother made a comment about how, when Niece was a big girl, she could maybe ride a horsey, since she was so enamored with them. Now, any time we praise her for acting like a big girl, she asks, “Me ride horsey now? Ride black horsey? Mommy, daddy help?”), we decided to prepare her for my departure a day or two in advance. 

In order to help her understand that I wasn’t going to live with them permanently, I started asking where various people in her life live, thinking I’d ease in. But her response to every question formatted “Where does _____ live?” was “in church” or “to work.” So I started asking her where people slept. For some reason, that worked and she understood that I usually sleep in a bed in [Far North] in the same house as Sister (This is where I REALLY wish I used our real names, because then I could phonetically spell out the adorable ways she pronounces our names with her version of Auntie in front of them). But every time I tried to explain that I needed to go back to that bed and that I wouldn’t be there for Easter, she would frown very seriously and say, in the most matter-of-fact voice, “But me need you, Onta [Elsie].” Break my heart, kid. Go ahead; I don’t mind. 

Anyway, leaving was ridiculously difficult (I welled up a little, then did my classic feeling-avoidance moves and read about other people’s feeling son blogs) and I imagine she’s going to ask for me for a while and probably refuse to talk to be on the phone because GIRL CAN HOLD A GRUDGE! So, I’m totally looking forward to that… Compounding the issue was the obnoxion that was trying to check in for my flight on Delta. I cannot BELIEVE the things they are charging for these days and the hoops they are making us jump through. Okay, I’m sure I’m not the first to complain about this and y’all are probably all, “We’re SO over it by now. Oh, and also? Stop complaining about the ‘new’ body scanners already, that’s so 2011…”

But man, I miss my civil liberties and the money that used to be in my bank account. I guess this is just the cost of living safe in the land of the free. Wait… Huh? Okay, I’ll avoid getting all politically ranty up in here, since it’s PURPOSEFULLY not my style (on the blog anyway—meet me in real life and we will have a very different conversation), but can I just say that I HATE them? And that I stand inside them with my hands above my head with (what I hope is) a clear demonstration of my rage on my face and in my posture, just to make sure that those who are looking at my digitally naked body understand that I’m COMPLYING, but I am NOT HAPPY ABOUT IT (because, as a habitual Rule Follower, I am destined to be a chronic Hoop Jumper, no matter my level of indignation)? And also: that it boggles my mind that we have them at the Airport of the Far North, but Philadelphia doesn’t? Because that seems inconsistent and strange. 

I seem to have lost the thread of this post… Ah yes. Ending my vacation. I loved everything about this trip and am really sad it’s over. Pennsylvania, you’re kind of awesome (well, the twenty square miles of you I saw). You’re awesome enough that I started looking at job opportunities in the Philadelphia area, JUST IN CASE. You know, in case I get a sudden signal from heaven that PHILLY IS WHERE IT’S AT, ELISE. GO FORTH AND LOVE THE AMISH! Or something. 

I’m pretty sure that as soon as I get home, I will remember all of the reasons I moved back there in the first place, despite the six feet of snow remaining in my yard (which will probably still be there in May, even though the rest of the country seems to have collectively made a 2012 New Year’s Resolution “to prove some variation of the global warming theory and confuse meteorologists, just for kicks”). Added to this will be my DEEP LOATHING anything dealing with a) packing; b) moving; and c) things that are packing/moving ADJACENT, including but not limited to 1) house hunting, 2) cable/Internet installations, 3) learning new road systems, and 4) realizing that NO SINGLE PERSON WITH NO MONEY SHOULD HAVE THIS MUCH CRAP. All of this means I am probably NOT moving to Pennsylvania anytime soon. But you never know (See my capslocky rendition of the voice of God in the previous paragraph).

Which means that there is no longer any barrier to me looking for and, you know, OBTAINING some form of employment in my hometown. I kept putting it off because I was always just BACK from travelling or just ABOUT TO travel or in the MIDDLE of wearing yoga pants and watching television. But really? My last official day was October 3, 2011. It is now April 2012 (in case you somehow missed that fact). Enough is enough, Elise; get off your rear and be productive already.

But before I end this rambling diatribe masquerading as a blog post, I need to comment on the travel thing. I did not leave Far North ONE SINGLE TIME in 2011, so this year has been very weird. I did some math (counting calendar squares is math, right?) and I have spent a grand total of 47 nights in my own bed in 2012. That’s less than HALF of this year so far.  Wow, that might comes off kind of dirty. Let me assure you: except for seven nights spent stealing the covers back from Roommate and failing to keep her from sleeping in my armpit (oh, and the endless fights with Satan’s Cat to JUST STOP SCRATCHING MY FACE ALREADY), I have spent all those nights in other beds ALONE.

January started off normal, but I think it was just lulling me into a false sense of security. Then February hit. I spent three nights of February in my own bed. First, I went to see Roommate on my way to Phoenix (and PJ’s @ TJs). When I got home, Sister was out of town (being frivolous and learning how to do her new job, pfft) which meant I was in her room with Satan’s “I USE MY CLAWS TO SHOW MY LOVE” Cat. I thought March would be fine, since I only had the two night retreat, but then Pennsylvania called and I was off again. 

I’m not complaining, by the way—I feel truly blessed with all of these opportunities. I just find it all very unusual. But here is my one complaint: most of the other beds I slept in were queen-sized, which makes it more and more difficult to return to my pathetic little (broken) twin bed. And actually? I won’t even get to spend tonight in my own bed, even though I’ll be in my own house, since Sister is in Alabama being a Groomswoman for a college friend. So I will sleep in her bed to better corral Satan’s Cat. 

Maybe this is not noteworthy to you… Maybe you spend the majority of your nights in beds other than your own. Maybe you even do this in the fashion I unintentionally implied. Maybe you make a habit of sneaking into mattress stores and trying out a new bed every night just to be eccentric and have anecdotes of your eccentricity to put in your autobiography someday. Whatever. It’s notable for me. I am a creature of habit and I CRAVE stability. So 2012 has been a little more topsy-turvy than I’m used to. Not bad. Just DIFFERENT. 

Wow, apparently being trapped on a plane with no internet access—and no toddlers tugging me to “come on; me show you sumpsing”—makes me wordy. Wordier. Whatever. I wish I had a great way to wrap this up, but I have two hours of flight time left to ponder the imponderable and gaze at my navel, so I think I’ll just cut this off by saying that a Dunkin’ Donuts large iced coffee is indeed LARGE and I need to mosey down the aisle to avoid an unfortunate public incident. 

Until next time, when I’m sure I will again stun you with my limitless fount of blogging prowess. Have a Happy Easter. Or, you know, don’t. It’s really up to you.

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?

On Vacation (From My Not So Strenuous Life)

Hi guys! Thanks for all of your wonderful comments and support on my last post! I didn't intend to leave it up there for so long with no new content to push it down the list, since it's quite depressing. And there's even a part of me that wants to deflect and obfuscate and say that I didn't really mean a lot of it, that it was late at night, I'd had some wine, and was feeling sorry for myself. Or to make a joke of it all. Because that way it seems less real. But the truth is, I meant it all. And it's all still true, whether I'm comfortable with that concept or not. So it took me a while to be brave and be able to write a post that didn't brush it all under the rug.

And then there were all kinds of busyness on my end. Well, who am I kidding? I'm unemployed, so "busyness" to me is anything that requires me to wear something other than yoga pants. But I did go on a weekend church retreat with about 30 teenagers (five hours on a bus there 40 hours at the camp, and five hours back, with very little sleep in between), which was fun. Fun and exhausting. And for a split second, it was terrifying, when one of the boys put another one in a headlock and accidentally choked him into unconsciousness. But then the boy came to and seemed okay and his parents decided we didn't need to take him to the ER, so it all turned out okay. No last brain damage to date (that I know of), so I think we're cool.

My sister-in-law (who is married to Biggest Brother) called on the Monday morning after the retreat and asked me if I wanted to come visit. We'd been trying to arrange a visit for me for a month or so, since they had some spare air miles to use up, but we hadn't nailed down any dates. So we looked online and talked and the just... booked a ticket. For the following Sunday night. So I jumped up and did loads and loads of laundry and sent e-mails to get out of my (very limited) duties at church. And before I knew it, I was eating frozen yogurt at the airport waiting for my flight. Almost 20 hours later, I was landing in--

You know what? I'm getting kind of sick of my own secrecy on this blog. I bet you guys are, too. It's entirely necessary and sometimes I love the anonymity of it and I'm not going to stop on a lot of the important things like my name, location, or profession (basically anything that is easily google-able). But it's stupid to be so secretive about where I am when I'm traveling! So I'm just going to tell you.

Biggest Brother and Sister-In-Law (and Niece and soon-to-arrive Niece or Nephew) live in AMISH COUNTRY. Yep. Lancaster County, Pennsylvania. They just recently moved here from the suburbs of LA, so it's a huge change for them. And they LOVE it. There are rolling hills and farmland and horse-and-buggies and COWS and all kinds of countrish things. And it is wonderful. Brother has been known to yell "LOVE IT!" at random intervals while driving. It's actually unpleasantly loud and screechy (sorry, buddy), but the enthusiasm is infectious.

Also, Niece is in love with all things "horshie" (she just turned two years old), so this is like heaven on earth for her. Although I'm pretty sure everything dragon-related (what she calls "heynows" because of an Aussie kid's show called Jane and the Dragon, which has "Hey now, hey now now" as the chorus in the theme song) is quickly eclipsing the horshies. Heynows and drain-gons and Ell-ee-ut (Elliott from Pete's Dragon) are some of the favorite topics of conversation.

I've been here for almost a week and a half, which is exactly halfway through my trip (It's amazing how easy it is to travel when you have no responsibilities and someone else paid for the ticket! I could totally get used to this!). Niece's vocabulary skills are exploding! She speaks in paragraphs now and it's amazing some of the things she tells me. She calls me "Onnie [adorable child version of my real name that I wish I could share with you, but I cannot]" She even learned one of the songs from Pete's Dragon, "I love you, too," which she sings as "Ahlowah, too." That's also how she says "I love you" at bedtime: "Ahlowah, too, Daddy! You okay? Guhnite!"

The other day, she looked at me and said, very seriously, "Me two. [holding out two fingers] You a hunna dolla." We're still not sure if that means I'm worth a hundred dollars or if I'm a hundred dollars old, and whether that's big or little. But it was adorable nonetheless. She knows "hunna dolla" because when she sings "Tomorrow" from Annie, she sings "bet your bottom dollar" as "bet ya hunna dolla." I cannot get enough of this kid!

I'm loving it here and am actually considering a relocation. Wait! Pause. Slow down (Mom and Sister, especially). Don't get ahead of yourselves. I have no actual plans to move. But after my two failed attempts at being a Responsible Grown-Up with a Reliable Income in the Far North, I'm contemplating going back to school for some kind of grad work and any decent school would require a new address. Plus, the last few times I've been out of Far North, I've felt this pull to stay where it is warm and sunny and cheap...

BUT! I have not given the job search the old college try yet this time. Oh, Lord, this time? My life is kind of a trainwreck, huh? Okay, don't answer that. Where was I? Oh yes, reasons to stay in Far North. It's about to be spring there, which means there will be less snow on the ground soon, as opposed to the MONTHS of accumulating it ad nauseam. PLUS? I have a pretty sweet deal with Sister and I live so close to family. AND? More school debt? Not really an enticing idea.

BUT! The East Coast would be great for school and would be warmer for more of the year and also would be close to SOME family, especially the growing and changing portion of the family (see: Niece and soon-to-arrive Niece or Nephew), which I ache to know that I'm missing out on this for most of the year.

SO.

I have no idea. I'm really conflicted. And a lot of it is the fact that this winter has been hard. Don't get me wrong, Far North winters are always rough and getting to lay around in yoga pants all day kind of sounds like a dream. But spending a long, dark, cold winter cooped up in the house with Snow Anxiety and nothing to accomplish and beginning to feel like you left your job for no other reason than you are stupid and selfish and a coward who can't hack it is not really the delight it pretends to be. So I should probably give Being Employed in My Hometown one more chance before I make any radical decisions. I think....

What I do know is that I miss blogging. I REALLY miss it. I dream about it. I write posts as I'm drifting off to sleep (hey, do you think that might be why I dream about it?). And it's not like I've RUN OUT OF THINGS TO SAY! I've just gotten lazy. And a little discouraged by my laptop/Internet issues. And, as far as excuses go? NaBloPoMo was a lot of work, but it was fun and I loved having a relationship with my readers. But afterward, I felt kind of burned out and I totally used that as a crutch. But this is a thing I CAN accomplish. And I should pour a little bit back into the thing that kept me sane through my last job-failure. So while I am searching for and (hopefully) adjusting to a new job, I'm going to be here, yakking your ear off, come hell or high water.

Having good Internet here at Brother's house and a set nap time for Niece should totally help. Here's hoping I can find my rhythm again.

In Which I Brag About Traveling and Make Up Another Word

I have some fun and exciting news! As I've alluded to in various posts, I'm going to PJs@TJ's! For any of you who do not follow Temerity Jane, she's hosting a get-together and pajama party for about 18 bloggers and twitterers at her home (!) in the Phoenix area next weekend. Which I think is both awesome and incredibly brave! Not that any of us are scary or anything. Just that opening your home to 18 strangers (and some of their babies) is a big deal. I'm very grateful to have the opportunity to go to something like this and to meet these women. It's going to be AMAZING!

But wait! THERE'S MORE! Since I live in the (top secret, vaguely guessable) Far North, it's kind of expensive to travel ANYWHERE. So anytime I leave Far North and don't cross the Mississippi River, I try to lump together several West Coast visits into one trip. With that in mind, I am flying out tomorrow night for a week-long trip to see... wait for iiiiit... ROOMMATE!

I am so excited about this! And judging by the multiple, exclamation point laden texts she has sent me over the last few weeks, she's excited, too. She has all of these secret plans for us, including hiking some kind of mountain or hill or other tall earthen formation--I'm not sure... she's very secretive when she wants to be. We'll watch the Super Bowl together (which neither of us is really that into, but there will be food and friends and beer and fun, so I'm stoked) and eat at Olive Garden, which is my favorite restaurant in the WHOLE WIDE WORLD. And up until a month or so ago, Far North did not have a single one. NOT ONE!

AND!? After I leave Roommate and spend what is shaping up to be the best weekend ever with the amazing ladies of PJs@TJ's, I'm grabbing a five hour layover in my old college town to see a dear friend and her family. These people and their adorable children are my surrogate family.

They took me home after Bible studies and fed me home cooked meals and let me play with their babies (none of which are babies any more, oh my word) and just generally filled in for my Far North family (both biological and church) when I couldn't go home for long stretches of time. Now that I've moved home, I see them about one every year or two (usually on layovers) and talk on the phone only slightly more frequently. But none of that matters, because the second we see or talk to one another, it's as if no time at all has passed.

So, as you all can easily imagine, the next two weeks are kind of big for me. I'm very excited, but I'm also slightly nervous. Some of it is meeting all those new people (although I already kind of know them through their blogs and tweets) and some of it is just the unexplainable anxion of traveling.

Anxion? Yes, anxion. I know it's not a word. And I totally could have used "anxiety." But this nervousness is slightly different from anxiety. Remember when I made up the word obnoxion? Because "obnoxiousness" is a mouthful and doesn't convey what I want to say? Apply the same rules to anxion. I suppose it's kind of a cross between anxiety and angst...? Who knows what I'm talking about? Lord knows I don't. Whatever.

Where was I? Oh, yes. I was talking (kind of unintentionally bragging?) about this AMAZING trip that I am going on and how I have the jitters. I'm sure it will be wonderful. I'm actually a little worried I've built it up too much. But probably not. I'm sure it's going to go really fast and before I know it, I'll be back in yoga pants on my couch, without any remaining excuse not to get a job. So, this is kind of a last hurrah before I dive into full-employment again. Or, at least, full-employment seeking. Which seems like a job in and of itself.

I must go pack. It looks like it's going to be about 60 everywhere I go, which would be awesome if I hadn't gained a bunch of weight since I (barely) fit into my summer clothes. This might be no fun at all, come to think of it... I'll let you know how it goes.

Head Injuries Make Awful Love Stories

After yesterday's anti-sleep propaganda post, I sat and twittered (tweeted?) for a while. Then I tried to novel. And my eyes crosses and everything got pretty blurry. So just as the sun was finally lighting up the world (about 9:45... yeah, I know, right?), I went and curled up on my couch and finally drifted off to sleep. Sister woke me at 12:45 to say she was leaving to go shopping with Mom and offered me her non-broken, lovely queen sized bed for further sleep. I slept until a little past 3:00. At which point the sun was hanging low in the sky. So basically, I got about 2.5 hours of daylight yesterday. Oh, Far North, how I have mixed feelings about you...

I'm happy to report that I got about 6 hours of sleep last night and about three more this afternoon, which will hopefully only keep me up until 1:00 or so tonight and I'll be back on track. Or I'll become a bat and only flit about the world at nighttime. Whatever... Not that ANY of you cared to know this much detail about my sleeping habits. Because, seriously? Who else cares but me? And maybe my mother (Hi, Mom!). Moving on.

Since I spent most of yesterday like a zombie (LIKE a zombie, not BEING a zombie--hold off on your blowtorches and machetes, zombie killers) and most of today churching or napping, I don't have anything really interesting to report.

Well, except that Papa was struck with a very painful headache last night (rapid onset and high level of pain) and actually AGREED to go to the hospital to get checked out, which was pretty scary. He hates going to the doctor, so you know his pain has to be ridiculously high when he agrees to go. Anyway, it turned out to be an abnormal presentation of a migraine, not a stroke or an aneurism (not that my mind jumped to those conclusions or anything), but they gave him some pretty hefty painkillers and sent him home. The only thing is, he still had a terrible headache, he was now just woozy and disoriented on top of that, because the drugs didn't touch the headache. So Sister and I spent a lot of last night waiting at my parent's house for news about his brain and then an hour or so trying to be helpful with a very sedate and funny Papa.

But, again, that's probably not that interesting to you guys either.So I thought I would tell you a story. The story of my first kiss. I know. Awesome, right? Are you ready for this?

I was four (shhhh! I'm telling a story; don't interrupt with your laughter). His name was Jordan and he was three (which is kind of funny, because I have never again liked a younger man). His mother babysat me a few days a week (maybe less, maybe more... I'm not sure; I was four) and Jordan and I would play together for a few hours. My favorite thing to do was to dress up like Belle from Beauty and the Beast and make him waltz with me all around their basement playroom. It was my favorite movie at the time. I had a satiny yellow dress like the one she wears in the ballroom scene and my mother made me a blue cape with a hood, just like hers. So I would make Jordan be the Beast and I would play Belle and we would dance ALL DAY. Because I was a nice friend and never monopolized out playing time.

We also played other things, including Tonka trucks, which I thought were kind of awesome. We also colored, played in his sandbox, and did all of the general "kid" activities one does with a friend at age four. His mother was the first to introduce me to rhubarb, which I hate to this day. His mom also gave birth to twins at some point that year, which was the first time I had ever encountered that concept. Let's just say, my mind was BOGGLED by the idea of two babies at once and the fact that they could possibly look EXACTLY THE SAME (these two didn't, because one was a boy and one was a girl). Actually, I'm pretty sure that's why I have always wanted twins. The funny thing is, if I had been just slightly older and had noticed how tired and frazzled she looked and how difficult it was for her to get both of them to sleep at the same time, I probably would have a life long aversion to the idea.

Anyway, do any of you remember doing that thing, where you're at a friend's house and your parent shows up to take you home and you hide? Anyone? It wasn't a naughty kind of hiding, like I hated my parents or I was going to refuse to leave this person's house or I'm hiding JUST to frustrate and annoy my mother. It was more of a, "Hey, let's be funny and hide in this closet and giggle as Mom walks past on her way to the playroom, then jump out and say HI!" type of thing.

One day, I hear my mother upstairs, talking to Mrs. Jordan's Mom and he says, "Hide!" And I giggle and run around looking for a spot. He opens the laundry closet, which is basically louvered doors in front of a space exactly the depth of a washer and dryer. In order to do laundry, you have to open the doors and you can't stand in there when they're closed. But if you're four, you can sit cross-legged on TOP of the washer and the door closes just fine. So I'm sitting on the washer and I can see Jordan through the slats of the door. I hear my mother call for me and I giggle again. Then Mrs. Jordan's Mom calls for him and, being a very obedient three-year-old at the time, he immediately opens the laundry door to tell me we have to go upstairs.

But as soon as he opens the door, I LAUNCH myself at him, all flying squirrel-like. I hit him in the shoulders, knocking both of us to the floor and squashing him underneath me. Then, impulsive like I have never been since, I peck him on one cheek, then the other, then his lips. Then I jump up giggling and flounce up the stairs as if nothing has happened. I'm pretty sure my mother told me to say goodbye to Jordan, which I just yelled down the stairs in his general direction, and we were out to the car before he appeared.

And that is the story of my first kiss. It was a good one, right? I wasn't ashamed of it or anything, but I also never thought to tell anyone about it. Until my first year of college. A bunch of us girls were sitting around talking about our first kisses and I was slightly embarrassed that I was eighteen and had never been kissed. And then I remembered Jordan. So when it seemed like my turn, I told that story, not letting on that I had not been kissed since. The girls thought this was an incredibly funny and also enormously original way to kiss a boy.

And it became this thing. They would say something like, "I really like him! Maybe I'll take him to the laundry room and just tackle him, Elise-style..." with a licentious eyebrow waggle in my direction. And I would remind them that: A. the laundry room was not private, by any means, so they would need to be cautious if "tackling him" meant anything other than kissing; and B. the laundry room floor was poured concrete, which meant they were far more likely to concuss their love interest than they were to kiss him. None of them ever seemed to listen to me. But none of them ever tried it either, as far as I know. No traumatic brain injuries occurred in the basement of our dorm building while I went there, anyway...

One of my friends, who had been there when I told the story, was completely enamored with one of our guy friends. She claimed he had given her all sorts of signals, but she was still waiting for him to "make his move." And even though each of us had gently tried to help her see that he wanted nothing to do with her whatsoever and had told more than one of us so, she remained smitten. In fact, she would devote significant portions of her day (and our conversations) to planning their wedding and naming their children. She was a little... off-kilter. But she was particularly fond of my story and the idea of "tackling him in the laundry room." And every time I hung out with him, I had the strangest urge to go all PROPHECY VOICE on him and say crap like, "BEWARE THE PLACE WHERE CLOTHES ARE CLEANED" or "DETERGENT AND SOFTENER MEAN DEATH TO ANY HE WHO ENTERS HERE."

But, instead, I stopped spending time with crazy people and boys who play with girls' emotions. Three years later, I ran into both of them, separately, around graduation time. All she was could talk about how much she liked him and wondering when he was going to make his move (!) and he didn't know who I was talking about at first when I mentioned seeing her. She's engaged now and I think he's a priest. So it all worked out for everyone, I guess.

Except for me, the girl who STILL hasn't been kissed. And I used to be embarrassed about it. But when I think back to all the stories those girls told, most of them regretted who they kissed or it was awkward and disappointing. So I figure it will happen when it happens and when it does, it will be GOOD. And until then, I am content in knowing that I was once bold and impulsive and an example to amorous college freshmen and that I make an impressive flying-squirrel.

I'm Like Dr. Seuss, With All These THINGS

Today, a blog in Things.

THING ONE:
I really hope you guys who haven't read and commented will go read and comment on my post yesterday. It's not a very good post (I'm totally selling you on this, right?), but you have the opportunity to tell me how to kill people without anyone judging your violent tendencies. So, go. Comment. Tell me how and why to kill people. They're fictional. But you can pretend they're not, if that's your kind of thing...

THING TWO:
I remembered to pay my credit card bill on time. It's not like I'm really bad at this. I'm not dodging the bill or barely making the minimum payment. I pay the whole balance every time. So I only fail a little, but I do it every month. You see, with the time difference between Far North and Big City Where Credit Card Companies Are Headquartered, I'm always about a half hour late.

That's right. A HALF HOUR. And that means a full day, because they are closed by 9:00 pm their time and cannot process my payment until the next day. So for the last four months, I have been stuck with a $1.50 late payment or something equally silly. But it's money I don't need to spend and it may be affecting my credit score (I'm not sure about this...). So, today is THE SEVENTEENTH. And even thought my bill is always due on the NINETEENTH, I paid it TODAY.

And I'm not even going to fake it; I'm incredibly, ridiculously proud of myself.

THING THREE:
I have a strange thing on the underside of my chin that is very likely a pimple that got lost on its way to my nose or forehead, but is just as likely (in my mind anyway) to be some kind of cancerous growth or the subcutaneous egg pouch of some exotic spider that got me while I was sleeping. I think I might be spending too much time over at the Sarcasm Goddess's blog, where she discusses her hypochondria proactive approach to health care and her twisted love-affair with WebMD. Probably.

Oh, AND? I totally forgot to tell you guys--or maybe I did and I can't remember. I don't even know how I would go about looking for this. So let's pretend that I never told you and if I did, please gasp and widen your eyes appropriately, okay? So, starting over:

Oh, AND? I totally forgot to tell you guys that while I was away being all piratey and kind-of-sort-of-but-not-really getting fired, I GOT BITTEN BY FLEAS!!! I'm not even exaggerating here. Five or six of the women who went to Ladies Retreat developed these tiny hard red bites all up and down our arms and legs. And when we looked them up, the only ones that matched were FLEAS.

The camp claims we are crazy and I never knew fleas even existed in Far North, since we don't have any kind of poisonous snakes, insects, or spiders--it's just too darn cold here for them to survive past the first frost. But I think we get some stuff here every spring in shipments and on airplanes and they die off by the fall, but in the meantime? FLEAS! It's crazy right? But I swear it's true. Just ask Sister or Sister-In-Law. Or my pastor's wife. She wouldn't lie about the FLEAS. Trust me.

But back to the thing on my chin. It just showed up today. Like, when I got out of the shower. It was all of the sudden just there! And I had one on my forearm last night. My forearm. That's not normal, right? So I'm going to go with exotic bug and/or amnesiac pimples. Which is probably more information that you needed to know about my skin, but whatever. In fact? I'm going to take it one step farther and tell you about the time I got shingles. No. No, I'm not. Because it's a hard time to talk about and also, ew.

THING FOUR:
The book is going better. I'm still not sure why all of these people are dead, who killed them, or how my detective will figure it out. but I drew a really complicated and confusing plot map this morning and it made me feel better. It didn't solve ANY of my problems, but just looking at it makes me feel like I'm getting somewhere. I'm not, but the trick is to just feel like I am so that I keep writing.

THING FIVE:
Just in case you guys didn't get enough of me talking about my body, I just have to let you know that I have two small woodland creatures taking up residence on my forehead. Seriously, my eyebrows are OUT OF CONTROL. I get them waxed every time I get a hair cut and then I try to keep them nice until my next haircut, because I know they grow faster than my hair (especially since I keep my hair several inches past my shoulders). I tweeze and I pluck and I ATTACK!

But there comes this point. About a month and a half after the haircut, that they are suddenly, irrevocably Muppet-like. And my tweezers just cannot keep up. I'll pluck them the day before and then the next day, BAM! It's all over. Does this happen to any of the rest of you? Maybe this is just because I stole Groucho Marx's eyebrows. I feel bad about it now, but this curse is disproportionate to my crime. Like those pirates with the gold. Or something. Does anyone even know what I'm talking about now? Do I? Probably not...

THING SIX:
I dreamt last night that I was on a cruise ship and I was afraid of several of the staircases and hallways, because I thought I would get stuck. I had an ACTUAL FEAR and avoided certain parts of the ship, because I was TOO FAT TO FIT (I think we all know the meaning of this dream, which I contemplated extensively while I was munching on some delicious chocolate-chip cookies).

ANYWAY, that's not even the real part of the dream. That was just like background noise in the dream. No, the dream was that I kept getting drunken texts from famous football players. They apparently had gotten my cell number from The Bloggess. Because apparently, she knows a lot of famous football players who like alcohol and she knows my cell phone number. Because she and I are besties and all that. And by using the term "besties," I am simultaneously mocking those who use it unironically and also telling you that I wrote The Bloggess an e-mail the other day with an idea for a holiday card involving her giant metal chicken (that post has gotten me the most traffic ever) and SHE RESPONDED, saying that she had already thought of it. We think alike AND she responded to my e-mail. That totally makes us best friends. Or something.

THING SEVEN:
There is no thing seven. I just can't stop typing. Type-ity-type-type. I think it's a sickness or something. Probably a side-effect of the bites from the Amnesic Pimple Spiders. I'm going to go eat some fajitas. Bye.

Job Fairs and Dumb Fears

Sister and I are on our way to the city (about an hour away) to a job fair, in the hopes that we can capture one or two of those elusive beasts called incomes. I have fifteen copies of my pathetic little resume in a cute pink plaid folder and I'm not wearing my yoga pants. So. You know. Chances are pretty high that I-- well, no, the chances are pretty much the same as before.

Anyway, this means I'm blogging from my phone. In the car. On the highway. CALM DOWN, Sister is driving. Despite being unemployed, single, and heavier than I ever planned on being again, I am NOT suicidal. I can barely focus as a PASSENGER (more on that later).

I know I said this post would be about Satan's Cat, but all of the photos I want to show you are on my computer. So that won't happen right now. And if I wait until I'm near my computer before I post, I will probably break my NaBloPoMo promise, too.

[Hey! Side benefit of me posting from my phone: I can't type nearly as fast and get tired of it pretty quickly, so I won't be nearly as ridiculously wordy as I usually am. Which is a benefit to you, I think...]

In an effort to try to keep part of my promise, I'm going to tell you about my new phobia. I am afraid if cars. You remember? Those giant metal objects with the ability to maim human flesh? Yeah. Those.

You see, my father and I were in an accident a few Christmases ago. I was home from college for Christmas. He was driving us to the city about an hour away (the city I'm currently job fairing in, coincidentally). It was snowy and icy and we were in his truck. The bed of the truck was empty, so it was very light. Suddenly, the back tires lost traction and we were swerving. Then spinning.

On a bridge.

We hit the guardrail. We left our seats for an instant, held by our seat belts only. My feet somehow found themselves ABOVE the dashboard. The back of the truck left the pavement and we tipped toward the edge. I caught a glimpse of the icy, raging river 50 feet below.

An million moments and prayers later, the rear tires slammed back to the roadbed. We continued to spin to the far end of the bridge and onto solid ground. We settled in the ditch on the opposite side from the impact, buried in the snow up to the tops of our tires, but upright and still in our seats. Alive. Mostly whole.

When we finally stopped moving, I did a rapid mental self-check while asking Papa if he was okay. It seemed I was mostly just scared. But Papa was pretty disoriented and said his neck hurt. A firetruck/ambulance, some refused care, a tow truck, a little dinner, and (finally!) a hospital visit later, it turned out he had broken his tailbone when we came out of and then forcefully returned to our seats. Plus some whiplash and probably an undiagnosed minor concussion. I never saw a doctor, because I felt fine. Or fine enough.

Several hours later, the muscles around my shoulder were in spasm and I was sore. Whether from the adrenaline letdown or from the accident itself, I didn't know. It wasn't until the next day that I found the bruises, one diagonal stripe from right shoulder to left hip and another from left hip to right hip. Oh. Seat belt. Duh.

Once i was back to college, our insurance company mailed me a letter informing me of my right to sue my father for any damage his driving had inflicted on my person. I declined. But I teased my dad that he had to financially support me for the next two years, which was the statute of limitations.

In the end, we were both fine, the truck was repaired, and we went on with our lives. Every once in a while my shoulder will go into spasm, but it's been less and less often for shorter periods of time. In fact, I can't remember the last time it did it.

However, the next winter saw me living back in my hometown. I was driving my current car--a 2000 Plymouth Neon (built for snow, right?). The snow tires (do you people know about studs? as in: studded tires? we use those here) were crap--probably bald from past years' use. One evening on my way to go Christmas caroling, I lost control of my car and spun into the ditch. Usually not a big deal here in the Far North. You dig out or call a tow or get a neighbor to help. But for me, it was terrifying. Because as I was spinning, I wasn't seeing the flat, straight road I was on. I was seeing a bridge. With a 50 foot drop and icy water. I was having a flashback.

Now it's three years since the first accident and two days since the first real snow. I find myself short of breath and long of adrenaline and clenched muscles every time I get into a car. It's better if I drive myself, because at least I'm in control. But still white-knuckley.

I spent Sunday in various stages of panic attack. That was the first snow. The first ice. And that was the day we decided to drive up a winding road into the mountains to babysit for a friend. Winding! Mountain! Icy! Roads! Without snow tires!

It's gotten better since all the vehicles I ride in or drive have gotten studs put on them. And some of the ice has cleared.

And we can totally justify this by my experiences and the "trauma" and whatever.

BUT? It was like an INCH of snow. I usually MAKE FUN of all those other places and people who freak about a tiny bit of snow. I'm usually like, "Big fat chickens! You shut down your city for THAT? It's like the apocalypse for WEENIES! Come to the Far North and we'll teach you how it's done." And? I even knew I was being ridiculous while I was crying in the front seat of Sister's car with my fists and MY FEET so tightly clenched that my bones hurt. I could tell I was being stupid. And yet? There was no convincing myself that I was safe. And I totally was. Sister is a good driver, her car is safe (lots of airbags, if all else failed), and most of what I was feeling as sliding and low traction WASN'T ACTUALLY HAPPENING. It was phantom slippage.

And rather than think about the therapy and pharmaceuticals that could be in my future if I don't get a handle on this madness, I'm just going to MAKE FUN of myself, like I deserve. Because, self? You live in the freaking FAR NORTH! How the heck are you going to function. at. all. if you cannot get in a vehicle? You live TEN MILES from anything important. It's not like you can walk anywhere. Even if it's NOT -15 degrees, which IT WILL BE in a few weeks, you've never walked ten miles in your life! And? YOU LIVE IN THE FREAKING FAR NORTH. There's going to be SNOW. For like SEVEN MONTHS OF THE YEAR. You call it FAR NORTH for a REASON! You'd better just move now if this is how you're going to behave, self! Stop being a weenie.

How about the rest of you guys? How do you deal with semi-traumatic events and/or phobias? Are you afraid of anything that you know logically is completely silly to be afraid of, but you CAN'T NOT clench your feet and cry about? Please tell me I'm not alone.

A Ridiculously Long Post With a Prize Inside

Well, I have to say, you guys are awesome! The comments on my Sunday Meet and Greet post were entertaining, thought-provoking, and plentiful. I love my readers! Also, you guys asked some really great questions. But before I get to answering all of them (and adding all kinds of information you didn't ask for, which is kind of like a bonus), I have a bone to pick with you. All of you. Or maybe just the universe.

We need to revisit question number ten:

10. When you fold your hands, which thumb is closest to you, left or right?

See, this was a fifty-fifty kind of thing. Only two possible answers. One answer was the right thumb. The other answer was the wrong thumb. I had no idea how many of you would did this wrong. It's obvious that the right thumb goes on top. It's weird and uncomfortable and obnoxious otherwise.

What do you mean other people do things differently? What do you MEAN I phrased the question in regard to your personal thumbs? I don't care if you thought it was about YOUR thumbs, there is still a RIGHT way and a WRONG way to do this hand folding/clasping thing. What do you MEAN I am not the center of the universe? That's just crazy talk.

Okay, so to make sure I'm not erroneously placing myself in the center of the universe (which is where I BELONG, people!), I looked into this issue. According to some very strenuous scientific research (i.e. Google), it seems that either the population is split 50-50 on this or that the left thumb is more common (somewhere within 40-70% of the population). Which is also crazy talk. But according to the comments on this blog, 70% of you go with the left thumb (Linnea, I'm not counting your husband, because he didn't comment for himself and also 8 out of 11 is a more difficult number to turn into a percentage than 7 out of 10).

THIS IS ALL CRAZY TALK!!!

Ahem. Moving on. Since you all showed up in a big way to answer all my question and ask me some pretty awesome ones, too, I thought it was only fair that I have to answer all of them--the ones you asked me AND the ones I asked you. If you've been reading for a while, you know a lot of my answers to these questions, but for the sake of the newbies, I'll do it anyway. But I won't number them. Because I will not be constrained by your rules. Wait, what's that you say? They were my rules to begin with? FINE! I will not be constrained by MY rules. Better? Here goes:

I am single, but I would like to be married. Like yesterday. Married yesterday would be nice. And I don't mean single in the "this government form has three boxes: single, married, or separated and even thought I'm with someone, I'm not married to them yet, so I'm technically single" kind of way. I mean single in the "I may die alone surrounded by a lot of cats and not be found until my neighbors cannot abide the stench any longer" kind of way. Just so we're clear.

I do not have any biological or legally adopted children. But I have taken it upon myself to "adopt" any of my friends' children in so far as I take them for whole days at a time for fun with Auntie Elise, but give them back at bedtime. And I have a niece and a godson. But the above answer should be enough to explain why I am currently childless.

My favorite day of the week is probably Saturday. But that may be skewed by the current situation at my job and the fact that Saturday is my escape. So I'll come back to this one when my soul isn't being crushed by the oppressive weight of a tyrannical and incompetent workplace. I'm thinking it will still be Saturdays, though.

Something weird about me? I think the archives of this blog probably have enough evidence of me wackiness. But I HAVE TO answer the questions. So. Hmm... Here's one I don't think I've mentioned: I think I have a strange form of dyslexia in which I can identify and read letters no matter their orientation (upside-down or mirror image) or position (scrambled among other letters or jumping around the page). I also have to work pretty hard mentally to figure out my right from my left (I know I'm 24 years old and should be able to do this by now, but I swear it's a brain problem, not a lack of teaching or practice). Combine these two and that whole "make an L with your thumb and forefinger to help you remember which is left" thing absolutely.doesn't.help. This may be why I get lost on the way to parties all the time--the directions are both hard to read and hard to follow.

A small change I would make in the world would probably go something along the lines of "The only calories that count are the ones our bodies need to survive and the rest are just for our taste buds." Because it's lame that chocolate cake costs me calories from my daily budget, but celery does not.

I don't think I can effectively answer the favorite blogger question without offending someone. But if you look to your... right? Yes, on the right side portion of the screen is my blogroll, so those are the ones I'm reading all the time. And if you really pressured me, I would probably say Temerity Jane or The Pioneer Woman. But I don't want to diminish my love for all the other ones I REALLY DO LOVE. So forget that last sentence and assume I love them all equally.

I don't know if I can pick out just one favorite childhood memory. The ones that are coming to mind most are the bedtime routine memories, where I'm safe and loved and untroubled. Snuggling up with Papa to read books in my PJs. Laying in bed in the glow of the nightlight with Mom singing over me. Papa telling his Eric the Aardvark stories (remind me to tell you about these someday). All of us kids piled on one of the beds listening raptly as Papa told us about Eric and his animal buddies on a camping trip drinking hot plaid root beer (seriously, I need to tell this story eventually). Those are probably some of the best.

The earliest memory is a diaper change. Mom cloth diapered all of us kids (before they were the adorable, easy-to-use things they are now). When I was about 22 months old, I was Almost Potty Trained. My parents were moving us from the Midwest to Far North, so Mom gave away or got rid of most of the cloth diapering things, thinking she wouldn't really need them in Far North. She figured she'd use disposables for the road trip and the last weeks before I was completely done potty training. But I apparently didn't like the idea of moving and reverted back to Not Potty Trained At All until I was past three (I sure showed her!). One night, we ran out of disposables, so Mom found an old cloth diaper and put it on me with a large safety pin with a plastic yellow ducky for a cap. I remember the pin and laying on the floor near our fireplace. And I remember being VERY uncomfortable in the giant rubber pants. I'm glad those are gone now.

The tweeting question is kind of silly when posed to me, so I'll just say this: If you're interested in my incessant ramblings in 140 characters or less (a big change from this ridiculously long post), click on the little birdy on the top right.

The thing I value most is my family. I should probably give you some churchy answer about how I value Jesus Christ the most (and don't get me wrong, I LOVE that guy) or how my faith is the most important thing to me, but I really think I would not have the faith that I have or the love and reverence for Jesus that I have if it weren't for my family. Both in raising me in the truth and for holding me accountable to it now that I am grown. Plus, they're kind of awesome and they love me. And who doesn't want to be around people who love them?

I'm pretty sure we don't need to go over the whole thumb thing again. But in case you somehow missed it, I PUT MY RIGHT THUMB ON TOP. Just FYI.

Now, some of you have asked for more Satan's Cat stories. Here's a quick one: Our refrigerator has a ice and water dispenser on the outside, but the water has been incredibly slow lately--we think there might be a blockage in the line. A month or so ago, I tried just leaving my cup there (strategically weighed down with ice and propped to keep the water flowing) and coming back in a moment or two because it was taking so long. It worked! So I did it again. And completely overestimated how long I had before I needed to come back to the cup. So I flooded the whole front of the fridge. It was a mess to clean up and water kept running down the front in little droplets, which Satan's Cat tried to chase. A few days later, somehow thinking I had obtained new timing skills, I tried this method again and. Well... I think you know what happened. Apparently twice is enough to train this cat, because now if anyone so much as walks past the fridge, Satan's Cat perches right in front of the door and waits for the drips that will never come. It's gotten to the point where she looks like the Diet Minion Here to Judge Your Food Choices. You have to whack her with the fridge door to get her to move so that you can USE the fridge. My question is, why isn't twice enough to train her not to EAT MY FACE??? Twelve times has not been enough...

Someone else asked what my favorite smell is. That one has me stumped. I think I may have to just say "food in general." Here are a few, though. Freshly ground coffee beans. Baking bread. Baking cookies. Fresh laundry. That tiny spot behind a baby's ear. Apple-cinnamon-caramel-brown-sugar-nutmeg-and-allspice-Thanksgivingy goodness. Cucumber-melon bath products. The mixture of Irish Spring soap and Old Spice aftershave. Freshly mown grass. Newly churned soil after a heavy rain. Gosh, I could go on and on.

Mom: I want a car for Christmas. I know you cannot buy me a car. I know that would not be fair to the other kids, even if you could afford it. But I need a new car. And a new bed. But both are pretty expensive and kind of lame as gifts (because necessities make sad gifts). So maybe an iPad? I don't know. I'll start my list soon, I promise. Probably books, a few CDs, and a movie or two. Oh, and maybe a guest post from you. Because my readers seem to want it. And I think it would be AMAZING! So that, too.

And one of you clever people asked about my favorite holiday. Two days ago, I would have said Christmas--lots of food, the family together, people give me stuff, I get to make people smile by giving them stuff, ALL of the baby Jesus stuff, twinkle lights and decorations, ALL THAT IS RIGHT WITH THE WORLD. But then. Yesterday, I invented a holiday. And it's definitely my new favorite. It's called All Quitter's Day (also known as My Day Of Jubilee). Every year on September 26th, anyone who hates their jobs and wants to quit but cannot work up the courage or feels obligated to stay for very silly and only half-valid reasons is allowed to QUIT THEIR JOBS GUILT-FREE. Like I did. Yesterday. And every year, on September 25th (henceforth known as All Quitter's Eve), we will all partake in gratuitous sleeping pill use to calm the crazies in our bellies and the racing in our chests and to work up the courage necessary for the next day. I think this will catch on, don't you?

Someone else asked about my dream job and whether that was against the rules. Yes and no. My dream job in a career/vocational sense is kind of off limits, because it directly relates to what I'm doing right now. But, in general terms, I would like a job that utilizes my talents and pushes me to grow without throwing me in the deep end sans support or guidance and then ridicules me when I fail. And I would like to work for a nice, smart boss who is in the office more that he is not and coworkers who are supportive and friendly without being all up in my personal business. And I would like to be able to leave work at work when I go home. But really? At the end of the day? My dream job is to be a wife and mother. I like working (theoretically, if I could get a good boss) and will do it if I need to after I have kids. But I would love to stay home a keep house and raise decent human beings and spend my day with the people I love and care about. That's the dream.

This same person also posed the ice cream question. I will eat almost any kind of ice cream (please no chunks of frozen fruit), but my hands-down favorite right now is Starbucks Java Chip Frappuccino ice cream. YUM!

Finally, one of you asked about how I express myself when I'm passionate about my topic. I will tell you: VERY LOUDLY and with lots.of.hand.gestures. I have a volume modulation problem most days. I have a voice that projects and some good lungs in my chest, so I have worked all of my life to use my indoor voice. It's actually rather embarrassing, because I often don't realize it and sometimes can't help it. And when I get passionate? All my hard work goes out the window. And also? I'm an incredibly passionate person. It's kind of exhausting, but I have this innate drive to debate and discover and discuss and interact. And I also usually have strong opinions. So my passion bubbles up a lot and so does my volume. The last time I got into a passionate conversation was either regarding how my boss treats me (badly, and I'm indignant) or the direction of our church's Youth Group (because I love those kids and want the best for them). I would rather it be about politics or religion or philosophy or something, because those are fun and also a little less "immediately personal."

So those are my answers. And a lot of extra information. And a prize of sorts. If you found it and it was the kind of thing that you would call a prize. I mean, I did. But maybe you all don't care. And I have no barometer of my sneakiness, so maybe it was obvious. Or maybe you have no idea what I'm talking about. But I'm leaving it as is and we'll figure it out later. And I would apologize for how long this post is, but all this information is CRUCIAL (heh...) and also it's not that much longer than my normal blathering, so... You know. Not sorry.

A Brief Attempt at Non-Negativity

Here in the Far North (or “Deep North” as my bloggy-friend Alyssa likes to say), we have fully entered fall. I imagine that it will all be over by next week. Which is very sad, but pretty typical. You see, here in Far North, we don’t really have “autumn.” We have about two or three weeks of leaves dying and falling, followed by a month or two of sparse, frosty brownness, and then we have snow FOR FOREVER. So fall doesn’t mean anything but that winter is coming. That’s a bright image, isn’t it?

Well, I’ve been ignoring it—I’m still wearing flip-flops. I’ve been refusing to acknowledge that the weather has turned colder, that the leaves are golden (which is really just media spin for “dead and brown”), and that the light is fading earlier and earlier every day. However, this morning on my drive to the brewing mental health issue that is my job, I happened to glance up at the mountains. And what did I see? Not a “premonition,” not a “hint,” not even a “dusting,” but a full-on LAYER of snow.

For a moment, I just stared. And then I did what any sane person alone in her car on the highway would do: I chuckled, gave a serious head nod to the mountains, and then said, “Well played, Far North. You win. Congratulations.”

So now it’s fall. Because I’ve said so. And even though summer is my favorite season—warmth, sunshine, and driving on clean roads: what’s not to love?—I will say that I am looking forward to making soup, readying for the holidays, and breaking out the sweaters and Uggs. Don’t judge me, they’re comfy. And I NEVER tuck my pants into them or wear them in anything other than a casual setting. Plus, they were hand-me-downs, so it’s not like I paid any money for the hideous comfort footwear.  Besides, I shouldn’t have to defend myself! I wear YOGA PANTS more often than any other pair of pants, so we all know where “fashion” lands on my priority list.

Now that I’ve got that off my chest, let’s move on, mmmkay? Where were we? Oh yes, fall. Like I said, I’m not really looking forward to the cooler weather, the icy roads, or the darkness. But there’s something so beautiful about a world blanketed in snow with the stars twinkling overhead, bundled up in front of a fire with a good book. I’m going to hold on to this idyllic picture when the blanket of snow creeps its way into my shoes and down the neck of my coat, the stars are twinkling at FIVE-THIRTY in the evening, and there is not time to read before the fire because driving from Point A to Point B will now take THREE TIMES AS LONG.

I’ve decided to think only like Norman Rockwell would think. Wait, do I have the right artist? I’m thinking of the guy who painted all the pastoral landscapey type paintings that make you feel nostalgic for any time period that is not this one. See, THIS is why I should have majored in Art History. I knew I would regret that someday. Anyways, I’m going to think like that guy, whoever he was. Because I think you have to be a pretty positive person to see the world that way and to paint that stuff. And I need to be more positive (I was totally going to write something like “I cannot be not positive anymore” just to make it negative, but I wasn’t sure how obvious that joke would be, so never mind).

So I’m thinking positively. I’m imagining Thomas Kincaid cottages bathed in glowing light. I’m holding on to the idea that snow is magical and beautiful and not a curse from the underworld. I’m believing that my car will magically stay on the road at all times, moving in the intended direction and no other. I’m loving the crisp, clean air entering my lun—HOLY MOSES, it’s cold out there! Am I going to have to scrape ice off my car windows this week?!

Crap. I guess that phase is over.

How about you guys? How is your fall going? What are you looking forward to doing? What are you dreading about the changing season?

Elise's Day Off Extravaganza

Before you get all judgy about the fact that I promised to post everyday and then went and...didn't post yesterday...I have to tell you something important. I didn't post yesterday, because I WAS BUSY HAVING A LIFE! No. Don't take that the wrong way. I'm not trying to imply you don't have a life. What I'm trying to imply is that I don't usually have a life, but that yesterday I DID!

Okay, so here's what happened. On Tuesday afternoon, I finally worked up the courage to ask my jerk-of-a-boss for a day off. I have not have one since the end of May. I've needed one since approximately the first week of June, when he got all buttmuncherish. So, I girded my lions (or something less... vaguely dirty) and asked for Thursday off to go to the State Fair with Sister because it will be $2 Thursday, but only if you get there between 12:00 and 2:00 pm (usual price is $11). Here's how the conversation went:


Me: (hesitantly poking the beast) "Hey, Boss? I have a quick question for you."
Boss: "Quick? I have time; it doesn't have to be quick..."
Me: (incredulous at this display of magnanimity)  "Well, the question itself is short, but the time it takes really depends on how long your answer is. So... May I have Thursday off to go the Fair with my sister?"
Boss: "Is [Coworker] going to be here?"
Coworker: "I'll be here."
Boss: "Then yes."
Me: (effervescent with joy, but trying to play it cool) "Wow! Thanks! I really appreciate that!" So cool, right?
Boss: (suddenly shifting into nit-picky voice, but still wearing his magnanimous face) "That was a quick question. I think we need another one. Give me a longer question."
Me: (knowing I will instantly regret this) "Well... I would like to take two days off at the end of September to go to a church retreat. I went last year. Umm... Right after you hired me?"
Boss: (remembering the world revolves around him) "Well, what am I doing at the end of September? Am I even in town?"
Me: (checking his calendar and hoping I don't need to worry about making observations) "You'll be at Big Conference In The Next Town Over."
Boss: "You should go to Big Conference In The Next Town Over, too."
Me: (feeling the conversation slipping from my fingertips)"Umm... I wasn't invited... I don't think anyone in my staff classification is allowed to go..." Seriously? Are you kidding me with this?
Coworker: (supremely unhelpful) Actually, we were invited, but we have to pay for it ourselves. Unless we volunteer to help register people or something... They haven't asked for volunteers yet, though. Thaaaaaanks....
Boss: "Well, then you should volunteer to register people or something... Hey, [Coworker], have we talked about Completely Inane and Entirely Off-Topic Subject yet? Because I think we should." Mouth gaping, I am left at a loss as to whether I get the time off or not as they move onto other things.


So... You know. I got Thursday off, but I may or may not be attending Big Conference In The Next Town Over that has nothing to do with my job and may come out of my paycheck instead of the church conference I'm trying to go to. So... Yeah. That.

Anyway. I still got Thursday off. So Sister and I made all kinds of plans. Wednesday night, after Youth Group (aka Hooligans Anonymous), we were going to go see Crazy Stupid Love at the local movie theater with our free movie passes that we've been trying to use for weeks. We went to the grocery store right before to stock up on cheaper-than-the-movie-theater snacks and smuggle them in with Sister's large bag (yes, we do this often). The grocery store took longer than we thought it would, but we still got there about three minutes before the start time listed on the theater's website. And found out they'd removed the movie the day before and forgot to change the listings, because... Who the hell knows why? The three seventeen-year-old "experts" running the place had no answers.

Angry, we decided to take our enormous amounts of candy and go home to watch something on our own TV. We stopped by Taco Bell on the way home, because... Who the hell knows why? We were hungry, decided candy wasn't enough, and Taco Bell is good angry food, I guess. We pay at the first window. We pull up to the second. The guy leans out the window. Like ridiculously OUT OF THE WINDOW. And then says, "We just ran out of beef. It'll be like.. a half hour or so..." Sister says, "Seriously? Are you kidding me?" The guys shrugs and says, "Sorry." Sister (at that point fed up with ALL customer service in general) grabs her credit card and says, "Then can I a refu---" Dude interrupts her and says, "Nah. Just kidding! Your food'll be out in a sec." Sister gives him what for, because. Well, we all know why, right? Because he's an idiot and could have said "yes" to her "are you kidding me?" but didn't, and also HE GOT BETWEEN US AND OUR TACO BELL. I didn't have to explain this, right?

Properly chastened ("Uhhh... Sorry. That's just something we... do. Like as a joke? Sorry?"), the dude hands us our tacos and we go home, where we proceed to watch several episodes of Grey's Anatomy, stuff ourselves with junk food, and try not to fume about our ruined plans. We stay up until at least one in the morning, since I don't have to work the next day (yay!). I sleep in, which is amazing. We take our time getting ready for the Fair, alternating getting ready activities with episodes of Law & Order SVU and eating leftover candy for breakfast. Best morning ever!

We head to the Fair around noon. I have a free parking pass, but I'm not sure if it's valid. It is! Success! We get to the gate. It is not $2 Thursday. Failure! Apparently that was only last week. The newspaper's website had it wrong. We're beginning to doubt the truth in anything we read online (Which? About time, am I right?). We pay full price, which is not that bad, but still. We shrug it off and head into the Fair.

I love the Fair. We've been going since we moved to this town before I was two years old. I used to love the rides. And the rigged games that lure you in with awesome prizes and flashing lights. Then it was the shops with all the cheap crap that seems cool at the Fair, but what do you do with a four-foot-tall inflatable Scooby-Doo once you get it home? As I grew up, I realized the best part of the Fair is the food.

We pretty much eat our way up and down the paths. Sure, we look at the animals and the farm produce, the crafts and photography. We peruse the artsy shops and watch the street performers. But we really go for the food. Once we've eaten all the favorites (aka made ourselves sick on carbs, grease, and sugar), it's time to go home. This year, that took abut four hours. By the way, we had this whole plan to photograph all the things we ate for me to post and blog about. But we kept forgetting and eating them and then remembering and none of you want to see photos of sad empty paper plates and smudged napkins, right? The first time we forgot, we actually went up to someone who had just ordered what we had already eaten and asked if we could photograph it. They thought we were crazy, but agreed. Then we forgot to photograph anything else, so you get this post instead...

At 5:00 pm, our friend's band was playing a set at one of the venues, so we stopped to see them. They rocked, as usual. We were sitting at one of the sticky, beer-stained picnic tables and Sister pulled out her iPhone, you know, as you do. And noticed that the last Harry Potter was playing at 6:25 pm at a theater about 45 minutes away. That was enough to send us racing to the parking lot to continue ELISE'S DAY OFF EXTRAVAGANZA!

This time, the movie was ACTUALLY playing. We go there with about five minutes to spare. Sister still had a little bit of her candy in her giant bag, which she graciously shared with me. Neither of us needed the extra calories (Fair food smorgasbord, remember?), but we sure enjoyed it! And we enjoyed the movie, too! We're kind of book purists, so I wasn't sure it would ever live up to our imaginations, but it was worth the drive and $10, so take that as you will. I won't say anything else, for those of you waiting to rent it.

After the movie, we realized we were only about 20 minutes form the airport. No, we didn't hop a plane to an exotic location (I wish!). I only had ONE DAY off, remember? But the airport is the only place within 100 miles of our house that serves good frozen yogurt. It's not one of the name brands, but it's kind of like Pinkberry or Cherry on Top. And it's my favorite EVER! So Sister used more of her precious gas to drive us over there, completely the opposite direction from home. Because SHE'S THE BEST SISTER EVER! And we ate our weight in frozen yogurt. Which is exactly what we needed. Because we were starving.*

As if this was not already the perfect day (just to recap: no Jerk Boss or Vindictive Coworker, Sister all to myself, sleeping in, the Fair, lots of food, great band, Harry Potter, candy, and frozen yogurt), Sister detoured on the way home and stopped at BARNES & NOBLE! That's like my favorite store ever. A store full of brand new books and squashy armchairs? Where's bad? I bought two new books with a coupon from Sister and we finally headed home. It was the best end to Elise's Day Off Extravaganza.

You guys, I had no idea how badly I needed a good day. I mean, I've known for two months that I hate my job, that I'm bored and miserable and abused, that I need a change, and that I'm running out of steam. But until I combined all my favorite things on one day, I had no IDEA how long it had been since I had had a good day. Not a non-bad day, where nothing sucky happened. But an actual Good Day, defined by good things happening instead of by an absence of bad things happening. They were all pretty simple things. Okay, so kind of expensive by the end of the day, but still simple. But they reminded me how good my days CAN BE.

So, let's get down to business: the participation portion of this post (I try to pull you guys in when I can. Have you noticed?). I partly wrote this post to tell you all about my awesome day. Not to make you jealous or anything... Of course not... You know, to SHARE my JOY. Gosh. You doubt my motives? Anyway, I also wrote it to encourage you all to take a day for yourself every once in a while. Even if you're not in a bad situation like I am. Even if you think you're already having good days. Sometimes, being intentional about joy, about relationships, about goodness? Sometimes, it's good for the soul. And you doubted my motives... This was all for you! Well, most of it. Okay. A tiny bit of it... But still.

So tell me all about what makes you happy. What is a perfect day? Describe it to me. Have you had one recently? Tell me all about it. Need one as badly as I did? Dream some dreams in the comments. Make plans. Then go do it. You'll thank me later.

Just beware that taking a Thursday off before a three day weekend makes it REALLY hard to come back to work on Friday morning. Also, that much food may make you sick... Just a Fair warning (heh...).

*Please see this as the sarcasm intended and don't tell me about how the average American does not EVEN KNOW what "starvation" is, because... Hello? I was 300 lbs once. I understand that we/I have issues with food and that there are ACTUAL STARVING CHILDREN in the world. We're all clear on that, so don't go on a Social Justice rant in my comments. Mmmkay? Thanks.