Weigh In: Ten Percent and the SPIRAL OF DOOM

I went to my very last WeightWatchers meeting today. For a little while, at least. It's cheaper to do it online and I fume/cringe/gripe though my meetings (if I go at all), so it doesn't seem other the money right now. But I weighed myself on my new digital scale and it looked like I had lost enough weight to equal ten percent of my starting body weight. At WW meetings, you get a cool keychain in the shape of a 10 (that will hold other rewards, like the 25lb washer and the 16-week charm) and everyone claps for you and generally makes a big deal. So I decided I would go to ONE MORE meeting, get my keychain, and peace out. That's exactly what I did.

I wish I had never gotten out of bed this morning.

I REALLY wish I hadn't gone to that meeting.

The meeting was fine. Great, even. But this day, aside from (and directly after) the weigh in, was a complete disaster. I'm raw and teary and angry and embarrassed and eighteen other GIANT emotions. Here's a quick timeline of my day today:

7:30 am: Wake up and realize that my body will refuse to go back to sleep, despite my plans to sleep in today. Watch an episode of Flashpoint on Netflix in bed (this show is awesome and you should watch it and I love Canadians).

8:30 am: Get up, greet Bean and baby, convince myself to go to my meeting, leave for my meeting. I spend the drive working hard to stay under the speed limit, which is something I have been very good about since being pulled over on Saturday. I am reformed! REJOICE!

9:15 am: Stop at Starbucks to get a free latte courtesy of a screwed up beverage last month. Go to my meeting, weight in, get my keychain, be lauded, and smile graciously awkwardly. TODAY IS A GOOD DAY!

10:15 am: Leave my meeting, call my mom to tell her about my weigh in, giggle a lot. TODAY IS A GOOD D--wait, why are there flashing lights?

10:23 am: Get pulled over. Apparently, in my excitement about my weigh in, I lose track of my speed. I recognize this before I see the cop and am at the speed limit by the time I see his lights. This does not matter. As I pull to the curb, I catch my tire in a drainage slope and hit the curb HARD with my front passenger tire. Get ticketed for speeding and lacking proof of insurance (which is at home, on my dresser, exactly where one should keep such a document).

10:34 am: Pull away from the cop with ticket in hand. Get half a block away and realize there is something seriously wrong with the front passenger tire. Pull into parking lot. See flat tire. Call my mother and cry. Call Bean and cry some more. Bean sends her family to come rescue me.

12:15 pm: Pull out of the parking lot with a spare tire. Head to the shop where the tires are insured. Get a new tire, costing me only $23. Think maybe this won't be so bad. Realize that the ticket will likely be over $100. Cry again.

12:37 pm: Drive SO CAUTIOUSLY home, staying at the speed limit the whole time. Get passed by EVERYONE, some who do so in a disgruntled fashion. Do not see any cops. Get home and get a lovely hug from Bean. Try not to cry. Grab my proof of car insurance. Spend 20 minutes looking for my medical insurance card. Open two CDPs, because this day needs more than one (thanks, by the way, to Ginger for the make up and Miriel for the necklace! They brought joy to this awful day). Leave the house.

1:25 pm: Arrive at the courthouse to pay my fine and put this all behind me. Stand in line for 23 minutes to be told that the cop has not turned in his paperwork yet (he has 24 hours to do so), that my ticket is not in the system, and that I must return another day. Also I'm notified that the ticket will be $167 BEFORE administrative fees and credit card processing fees. Cry some more.

2:00 pm: Go to an auto shop to get my oil changed, which was on my list of errands before my day took a sharp nosedive. Present coupon for a $19.99 oil change, tire rotation (ridiculously unnecessary at this point), and break check. When my car is returned to me, I'm told about damage to the tire rod on the front passenger side that will cause major problems if not fixed in the next few weeks. But hey! It'll only cost $315. Also: I need new wipers, might need a new battery, and the oil pan is leaking. Forgo all options but the actual oil change (with other services described in the coupon), pay $25.72 for my oil change. Leave confused and weary.

3:15 pm: Return home believing that Crappy Day Presents must be mailed today (it's actually the 30th) and panic about wrapping paper and flat rate boxes. Find the actual ship date and relax. Talk to Bean, who reassures me that, although this day sucks, I do not suck as a human being.

3:37 pm: Leave for the grocery store for milk, a flu shot, and a DTaP. Sign up for shots at the pharmacy, go get milk while they're prepping. Buy the wrong milk (1% instead of skim), ice cream, and candy bars (in an effort to see how much of that 10% I can gain back in one night).

4:12 pm: Get flu shot, which my insurance covers at 100%. SCORE! Pharmacy nurse says good-bye. I ask for my DTaP (which I'd signed in for). She says it was not on her form and it will be several more minutes until she can get it ready. I stare forlornly at my ice cream. Pharmacy tech tells me my insurance will not cover DTaP and that'll be $60. I call my insurance company, whose obnoxious automated system tells me I'm covered for "Adult Immunizations: in network, out of network, in office, out of office; at 100% with no copay." Pharmacy tech shrugs and says her fax machine tells her different. Pay the $60, take another needle to the arm, go home with soggy ice cream.

The night did not get better from there. I won't go into more details, but it just sucked all around. For the only the second time since I moved to Texas, I uttered the phrase "I wanna go home." I don't really, but I DO want to run away from the mess that five minutes of excited distraction have cost me. I won't because I'm a grown-up, but it's really tempting. I decided against calling the apartment complex to check in on that mess of a situation (which I'm not sure I posted about, so you might be confused. Basically, it's a mess and I don't actually have an apartment YET, but they took some of my money and I'm not sure if they plan to make good on their promises), because I was done crying at this point and I thought I might yell really loudly if they told me what I expect they will tell me.

I ended the night in the kitchen with Bean with chocolate milk and prayer, because that's how we roll (okay, technically, I'm ending it blogging, but whatever). This is exactly what I needed at the end of this day--to remember I have a God who loves me, whether I break the law or do everything right. He will forgive and He will be with me and this day does not get to win. I'm not trying to get all philosophical--I don't have enough brain cells free at the moment to do that--I just know that this day is not some kind of cosmic mistake and it will not get in the way of the larger plan. And that it is perfectly okay to say "That day SUCKED."

Something New (Two. Two Things New.)

Back at the end of September, I planned out NaBloPoMo on a calendar and scheduled Saturdays to be "new" things. Last week was a new habit (which I told you about and did not actually implement yet, sooooo...success?). This week was supposed to be a new place. I meant that in very broad terms, like "try a new restaurant" or "go to a museum" or something else that would force to to go explore Dallas more than I have in the last nine months. And while I DID accomplish some of that while my parents were here (we went to the zoo, the aquarium, the arboretum, two outlet malls, and a dozen new restaurants), I actually have a much more literal answer for this post.

I put a deposit on an apartment. New place, indeed! There's no reason my application should be denied, so it should be mine within the week. If all goes as planned, I move in January 1st. That's just in time for me to fly home to Far North at Christmas and pack all my belongings (yay, purple couch!) into a moving van headed for Texas. I'm really excited and also worried I've made a giant mistake. Which is how I feel about all decisions, large or small. Seriously, how important is which Chapstick brand I choose? Pivotal, apparently. 

Anyway. Except for three months during relocation in Far North, I've never lived alone. I've never set up an apartment for myself. This is exciting and thrilling and very adultish. Also, it feels a little crazy that I'm doing this in TEXAS. If you asked me a few years ago, I never would have said this is where I'd be. And I am so glad this is where I've ended up. No regrets. 

It also feels a little bit like moving away for a second time. In March, I got on a plane to move here. For all intents and purposes, I HAVE moved here. But getting an apartment (even more than getting a job) makes is really real. If that makes any sense, which it probably doesn't. Oh well. 

I had planned for next Saturday to be about a new experience. I'll admit right here that I was stretching a bit when I wrote that. I had no idea what that was going to look like. It just sounded good on my calendar. And since none of you were going to see it, it didn't matter if I didn't do it. 

Well, I have a new experience to report: I got pulled over by a cop last night. First time ever. Apparently, I had failed to use my turn signal. In a dedicated turn lane. It would have been illegal for me to do anything other than turn. And I used my signal to GET INTO the lane. But apparently, it turned itself off. Or I accidentally turned it off. Who knows? I did not end up with a ticket, probably partly due to the fact that I USED MY TURN SIGNAL to pull over for the cop. Because I'm a CHRONIC SIGNALER. Seriously, I signal EVERYWHERE. Into the driveway. In parking lots. EVERY. WHERE. I did not expect those words to come out go the cop's mouth (I had no idea what she was going to say, since I didn't think I was breaking any laws).

Now, I speed more often that I should (which is, ever. I should not speed ever. I know.). I sometimes don't come to a COMPLETE stop at four way stops when no one else is around or when I'm turning right on a red and the other lane is clear for miles. I break traffic laws from time to time and I shouldn't. And I have renewed conviction to fix these issues, thank you, Officer. But signaling HAS NEVER been a thing I break the law with. 

I really don't know where I think this indignation is taking me. I did not get a ticket. It was a less-than-five-minute interaction. The officer was very nice--she even wished me a good evening. Nothing bad happened. And yet, I am indignant. Fruitlessly and ridiculously indignant. And at least it's a new experience. I wonder what I'll write about next Saturday?

Inane Grammar Rants with Elise: TRYING My Patience

It should surprise no one that I am somewhat of a grammarian. Is my own grammar perfect? Not even remotely. But I do understand the difference between a possessive, a plural, and a contraction ("Elise's grammar is not perfect," "Many Elises worry about grammar," and "Elise's a grammarian."). I know, and am avidly conscious, about split infinitives even though most people don't even think this is a rule any more. I try to use commas appropriately, but I am known to overuse them from time to time. I also don't really care if I end a sentence in a preposition, but I DO understand why it's a rule and that there is much debate on the subject. And I freely admit that I haven't the slightest clue why certain words get capitalized in titles and others don't, so I often just capitalize them ALL, which is not really a solution and I should just learn this.

With this said, I ALSO try not to be a snob about it. There are times I avoid Facebook simply because I CANNOT stand the lack of capitalization and punctuation (along with the plethora of inappropriate abbreviations; I'm looking at U, U-users), but I don't correct people either.

This is a rambly introduction. Sorry about that. What I'm trying to say is that I NOTICE bad grammar and GRATES. But I try to just go with the flow and ignore it, because who wants to be this guy? But every once in a while, I will point out poor grammar to a third-party. And it usually bites me in the ass. [GASP! She just SWORE! On the blog where she PROMISED not to swear! She must be tired of living up to her own expectations! Or maybe she just thought it was funnier than "bites me on the booty." Because maybe she doesn't want to sound like she's talking to toddlers? Hmmm...]

In light of the previous three (useless) paragraphs, let me tell you a story. When I was in high school, this song was popular:

Green Day - Brain Stew/Jaded:

I'm sure many of you remember it. In case you're wondering, I'm not exactly ADVOCATING this song, as the rest of this post will surely make clear. I'm just saying it was POPULAR and lots of people probably know it. You don't even need to watch the video to understand my point. In fact, save yourselves the agony, because my point involves ONLY the first line of this song. It goes a little something like this:

BUHdum BUHdum BUHdum BUHdumBUHdumBUHdum [What? It's not easy turning sounds into text!] BUHdum BUHdum BUHdumBUHdumBUHdum "I'm having trouble trying to sleep..."

Maybe you're not seeing where I'm about to go. Maybe you are and that means that you are my PEOPLE. But probably, this is just something that got warped inside of my head and no one else can see why. But this song bugs the ever-loving DAYLIGHTS out of me.

Having Trouble Trying to Sleep: A Grammar Rant by Elise Seaton

It was 2002. I'd recently had an English assignment in which I had to choose a popular song and analyze the lyrics, much like one would dissect a poem. I'd heard Brain Stew a few times, but I'd never really given it much thought before. One day, it came on the radio and my Dissector started pinging. I made an idle comment to my brother (who was driving the car that held the radio that was playing this infernal song) that it's pretty much impossible to HAVE TROUBLE TRYING something.

And thus, a decade-long, entire-family-versus-just-me disagreement began.

Think about it, though. You can have trouble sleeping. That's reasonable. You lie down in bed [FULL DISCLOSURE: I just had to look up the correct use of lie/lay bacuse that one is still tricky for me], you close your eyes, and you count sheep only to find that you are STILL AWAKE, despite your best efforts. I have been there. I understand this. I understand this ALL TOO WELL. You have ATTEMPTED to sleep and you have been unsuccessful in ACHIEVING sleep.

BUT! Think about what you're saying if you're having trouble TRYING to sleep. You attempt to lie down in your bed to attempt sleep and there is a force-field between you and your bed. Or you continuously lie down and fall immediately out of your bed. Or you attempt to close your eyes, but someone holds them open and you strain and strain to get your eyes closed. That is what having trouble TRYING says to me. That you are ATTEMPTING to sleep and that you have having trouble with your ATTEMPT.

BUT! Even then? You are having trouble GETTING INTO AND/OR STAYING BED. You are having trouble CLOSING YOUR EYES. The trouble is not in the ATTEMPT, the trouble is in the ACTUAL DOING. As Yoda says, "Do or do not. There is no try." Except the grammar of THAT statement is also questionable, so FORGET I USED IT OMG.

What I'm TRYING to convey here, and perhaps I am failing in the ACTUAL CONVEYANCE, is that you cannot have trouble TRYING. You can only have trouble DOING.

And I'm pretty sure I'm right about this.

By now, you may be asking yourself: "Why the hell is this important? [She swore again! She must be riled up! Except that really? She just made YOU swear. Which is different than actually swearing. It's like quoting a movie--it's not REALLY swearing.] It's one line in one song that wasn't all that good [I'm projecting good taste on to you, just go with it] and isn't really ever on the air anymore anyway. Not to mention all of the other songs with greater grammar issues. Why is it such a big deal?"

And I will tell you: IT'S NOT. It is not important AT ALL.

EXCEPT! I made an idle comment TEN YEARS AGO and this is STILL a family joke. They think I'm being a grammar snob. And they also think I'm WRONG in my clearly-outlined and completely RATIONAL AND LOGICAL conclusions stated above. So every time I hear this song, it sets my teeth on edge. Partly because it just stands there in its WRONGNESS and is flagrantly WRONG, but also because of the hassle I'm going to get from ANY MEMBER of my family if they realize what song it is. Or if I use any combination of the words "trouble," "trying," and "sleep" in the same sentence. This has reached LEGENDARY status, people, and not in the awesome-Barney-wait-for-it-Stinson kind of legendary.

I don't even argue back anymore, because it will just ENCOURAGE them and AGGRAVATE me to no end. But I'm ashamed to admit how often I still argue this out in my head. So the other day in the shower, while I was yet again arguing with myself and my mental versions of my family members (what? shower time is THINKING time), I decided to write this post. I figured 1) this is my blog; 2) if nothing else, I will be able to get my whole argument laid out on record (whatever kind of record a blog is...) without interruption; 3) the Internet is huge and maybe I will find someone to stand with me in this never-ending battle; and 4) this is the perfect subject for the kind of ranty-style post my blog has been missing since I left my rantastic job.

I have clearly thought about this far longer than is reasonable or necessary.

SO! In conclusion: You cannot have trouble TRYING, you can only have trouble DOING. Tune in next week for Inane Grammar Rants with Elise, in which I explain how absolutes with binary states (unique, pregnant, equal, etc) CANNOT and SHOULD NOT be paired with adverbs denoting intensity (really, very, somewhat, etc). This should be a rip-roarin' good time.



P.S. I know that I just painted a giant TARGET on my blog that will encourage OBNOXIOUS people to go through this and other posts and point out all the times that I have used less than perfect grammar and you know what? I'm not even going to dissuade them. Because I DID kind of ask for it and these people are not the type to be dissuaded anyway. But fair warning? I will point out any grammatical flaws in your comment if you do this. As is my right. Let the obnoxion begin.

CAPSLOCKTRAINWRECK

Today was a weird day. And usually, this kind of weirdness would make for excellent blog fodder. Except that this weirdness is SO WEIRD that I’ve been asked to keep it confidential. And not like, “Hey, Elise… Could you, maybe, keep this between us?” kind of confidential. More like “This is a legally binding confidentiality agreement that stops just short of you SIGNING DOCUMENTS saying as much.” So… this whole paragraph just served the same purpose as me holding cookie in front of your nose and not allowing you to eat it. That was… unkind… and not entirely intentional. Sorry.

 BUT! On my way to do the thing I cannot tell you about even thought I really want to, something weird happened that I CAN tell you about. I stopped for some food (this is not the weird thing, please be patient). At Wendy’s. And while that was a bad decision (hey, it’s Tuesday, what can I say?), especially if I want to stop looking like an Oompa Loompa, it is ALSO not the weird thing. The weird thing was that the car ahead of me contained none other than the Conniving Ladder-Snatcher of a Former Co-Worker and her incredibly stupid and co-dependent dog named Buddy (seriously, he goes EVERYWHERE with her, including work, where he sits sadly in her car all day waiting for her to come back and LOVE HIM OH GOD PLEASE LOVE HIM!).

And the thing I was on my way to do, the weird thing I can’t talk about? WAS ABOUT MY LAST JOB! In a rather roundabout way and I’ve probably already said too much, but it was really WEIRD! I haven’t seen her since my last day, during which she said less than ten words to me and tried to pretend she hadn’t thrown me under the bus with my former boss. And then, out of the blue, I have to go do this THING, this THING I can’t tell you about but wish I could. This THING that relates to her and my job and ALL THE THINGS I CAN NEVER TALK ABOUT. This thing I was not looking forward to DOING. Which is already weird, the way THAT all came about. And then? WHO HAPPENS TO BE AT WENDY’S? Victimpants McLiarson, in the flesh. Fleshy flesh.

Luckily, I don’t think she saw me. Because at the last second, I allowed a truck to go ahead of me, so there was a VEHICLE BUFFER between us. But it was STILL WEIRD. And there is no way she could have known what I was on my way to do. And it’s not like she would have gotten out of her car and tried to make conversation with me or anything. NOTHING would have happened if she had seen me. She probably would have pretended that she HADN’T seen me. And I’m completely overreacting and I am AWARE and I am overreacting. But STILL. IT’S JUST WEIRD, RIGHT? For me to see her on the SAME DAY as this other THING? Maybe? Slightly odd? Somewhat notable?

This blog post has gone nowhere. Or, nowhere good. At best, none of this makes sense to anyone but me (and even then, I’m not so sure). At worst, I just breached an ORAL CONFIDENTIALITY AGREEMENT or something equally terrible. Except you have no idea what I’m talking about. SO…. Anyway… I’m just going to go whistling in the opposite direction of the Internet and pretend I did not just create a CAPSLOCKTRAINWRECK on my blog.

How’s your day going?

How I Quit and Then Got "Fired" and Then Didn't Care

Hi guys! I know I’ve been incommunicado this week. No, I didn’t get lost on my way home from retreat. I’ve just been dodging lemons and the bruises they leave. I think I even caught a few and am in the process of making lemonade (I think I have just killed that metaphor, but I’m not going back and changing it now). Anyway, life’s been weird and crazy and good and also awful and surprising and… You know what? Here’s a timeline of what’s been going on in my life for the last week and a half, for your edification.

Monday, 9/26/11:

• I resign from the oppressive soul-sucking borderline mental health issue that I called my job.
• The Jerk (my boss) accepts my resignation and the October 14th effective date.
• This day becomes known, the world over, as All Quitter’s Day.

Tuesday, 9/27/11

• I go into work, even though I wish that Monday had been my LAST DAY.
• Coworker decides it’s time to clean out two giant file cabinets, but that it’s my job to trek to the dumpster with the piles of paper while she sits on her chair pulling the paper out of the drawers and dropping it on the floor for me.
• I make seven trips to the dumpster in my heels, trying not to curse her.
• I get a call for a job interview for a position I applied for over a month ago and had written off. I schedule the interview for 4:00 pm on Wednesday, because that’s the latest they can do it.
• Coworker puts up a stink about how SHE has to go meet her cable guy at that time and we can’t leave the office empty.
• I tell her I’m going anyway and she can figure it out—The Jerk is out of town all week, so she can leave, too, and the office will be fine. The day ends at 4:30, anyway, so CALM DOWN.

Wednesday, 9/28/11:

• I trudge to work again.
• Coworker isn’t really speaking to me, but she does send me a passive-aggressive e-mail in list form of all the things she needs me to do before I leave.
• Most of these things are her job, but she is too lazy or incompetent to do them and thought she’d use me as slave labor.
• I attempt a few of the tasks, but in a slightly passive-aggressive manner (i.e. when asked for “step-by-step instructions” for one of my duties, I draft it so that a monkey could do the job).
• I leave early to make it to the next town over for my interview.
• Coworker smiles and waves and wishes me both a good weekend (I'm leaving for retreat the next day) and good luck on my interview. FORESHADOWING ALERT.
• I go to the crazy interview.
• I go to Youth Group, then I stay up until 1:00 am packing and writing a blog post about the interview (which I think I schedule for 8:30 am on Thursday, but I actually schedule it for 8:30 am on Friday because I am SMART!).

Thursday, 9/29/11:

• I get up and finish packing, then we pile into the car and begin the 4.5 hour trip to the retreat.
• We stop for lunch and I eat a burrito the size of my head. This is not important to the story, except that it was a REALLY GOOD burrito!
• I check on the blog post to make sure I'm not a schedule spaz and realize that, yes in fact I am. I publish from my iPhone with on extended coverage, which is FUN! Not.
• I enjoy the evening session and the worship and the fellowship.
• I fall asleep to the dulcet tones of three women snoring in a slightly smelly cabin.

Friday, 9/30/11:

• I wake up at 6:15 in order to get a somewhat warm shower, in which I pretend not to be creeped out every time the nasty shower curtain gets stuck to my leg.
• I eat whole wheat pancakes for breakfast. They are pretty yummy for being so healthy, but that may have had more to do with the syrup and whipped cream on top of them…
• I enjoy the morning session and the worship and the fellowship.
• I go to a workshop on Bible memorization and the facilitator quotes the entire book of Philippians from memory in under fifteen minutes, making the letter from Paul to the church at Philippi more real than I have ever read it.
• I sit amazed.
• The Jerk calls my cell phone. It silently vibrates in my hand. I figure he’s butt-dialing me.
• I determine in my head that I will not be answering this call, but before my face can convey that, Sister grabs my phone and throws in on the floor far away from me and says, “He can call back.”
• I smile.
• A while later, Sister hands the phone back to me. There is a call, a voicemail, and a text from The Jerk. Plus a call and a voicemail from my friend who works next door to my office. For a moment, I wonder if the office building burned down (I do not hope, just wonder... GOSH, do you think SO LITTLE of me?)
• The text says, “Elise, I accept your resignation effective immediately. Please come in on Monday to turn in your keys and gather you things.” I am confused, since I thought we already did this.
• I call the friend. She has no idea what The Jerk is up to, but she said I was on her heart and she thought she should call me. This makes me smile. But I am still worried.
• I call The Jerk back. He doesn’t answer. I call him a while later and he says that his text said it all and he cannot tell me why any of this is happening.
• I get an e-mail from another work friend asking me what I did. Apparently Coworker has been using my vacation to tell everyone in the building that I have “done something terrible,” that I’m “not the person they thought I was,” and that she couldn’t really talk about it, but that I know what I did.
• I freak out a little SO MUCH, but I try to focus on the retreat.
• I get an e-mail asking me to interview for a job I applied for in July that I was pretty sure I was unqualified for and never thought I would hear back on, but that I really wanted. I am excited and I feel like I’m on a roller coaster.
• I hate roller coasters.
• Later, I dress like a pirate and eat fried chicken.
• Someone inadvertently tries to light the building on fire with the votives on the banquet tables. Sister-In-Law’s sister stomps out the fire. No one is hurt.
• We take pictures as pirates.
• I enjoy the evening session, the worship, and the fellowship.
• I get a voicemail from the same friend who had called earlier, telling me that she ran into The Jerk and he told her that he had to "fire" me because he “found out some things about me" and something about "I cannot believe she calls herself a Christian and would do that” something similar.This. Feels. AWESOME.
• I freak out a little more.
• I go to bed and sleep terribly.

Saturday, 10/1/11:

• I wake up and shower with my eyes closed so as not to anger the gods of the slimy shower.
• We pack most of our things.
• We go to the last of the workshops, then the last session.
• We finish packing and pile in the car, only to stop ten minutes later for mediocre Chinese food. I am sad it is not better Chinese food. My fortune claims that I am about to find my lost treasure. I eat another cookie that claims I'm about to get my luck back. 
• I am wary of trusting baked goods.
• We drive home in a deluge of rain and we can see that it is snowing just slightly up the mountains, so we pray we get home safe. We do, although Sister may have the stress hunchback forever.
• Sister and I spend the rest of the night watching The Office and I try not to think about how angry and betrayed and confused and annoyed I am.

Sunday, 10/2/11:

• I get teary at church a few times because I cannot believe that Coworker would say these awful things about me, especially since I have been incredibly kind and compassionate to her (even when I didn't want to be nice, I was).
• Sister and I go to lunch at Red Robin with my parents, my pastor, his wife, and his son (who is also a pastor) and we have a really strange conversation about the movie Untamed Heart.
• I spend Sunday trying not to think about my life.

Monday, 10/03/11:

• I go into work, turn in my keys, gather my personal things, and finish the paper work.
• No one will tell me what I’m supposed to have done wrong.
• The Jerk will not answer his phone.
• I have been banned from the computer, so I cannot even send my goodbye e-mail.
• Everyone, including other bosses, tells me that they know me and know that these rumors are not the truth. Some advise me to get a lawyer. I feel a little better, but SERIOUSLY? Why does this need to happen at all???
• I go home and watch many, many hours of The Office while playing board games and doing puzzles with Sister. Because. Why not?
• The Jerk finally calls me back, denies everything I have heard, dodges every question, and tells me I am “an unhappy person.” He also claims that his reasons for letting me go early are “personal and confidential” and refuses to tell me anything.
• I am done with this job.
• Thank the Good Lord.

Tuesday, 10/4/11:

• I go to my interview for that really cool position and it goes really well, but I have no idea how many other people had really cool interviews, too.
• If they like me, I go in next week for a second round.
• I go to lunch with Sister and Mom and then spend most of my day watching TV and eating things I shouldn’t (not like light bulbs and batteries or anything, just, you know, junk food) at Mom’s house while Sister applies for jobs.
• We clear out our DVR of all the unwatched shows from the last two weeks. Then more of The Office.
• We stay up till 2:00 am. Because I have no reason to get up at a normal hour any more.

Wednesday, 10/5/11:

• I woke up at 10:00 am today with absolutely no where to go…
• Life is good.

UPDATE: We’ve decided to go eat Monte Cristo Sandwiches the size our heads. And if you don’t know what that is, I not only feel sorry for you, but I’m not sure I can allow you to continue reading this blog. Because I’m pretty sure if you won’t eat one, you’re too classy for me and I don’t want to drag you down to my level.

Large Metal Objects That Have the Ability to Maim Human Flesh

Dear Drivers of Other Cars,

Listen. It's time we had a talk. I've been avoiding this confrontation for years now, using passive-aggressive hand motions and only yelling at you from the safety of the interior of my vehicle. But all of that has to stop now. I've reached my limit. So here goes:

Please learn to drive. No, I'm not trying to insult you (it's just a happy side-effect). I'm actually telling you to do what you need to do to learn how to drive. Hire an instructor. Take a class. Whip out that little booklet produced free of charge by the DMV. Because if you do? I really think you'll realize quite a few of the things you do in your normal course of driving are actually EGREGIOUS errors and may even be illegal. If they aren't, they're still just plain obnoxious. Here are a few:

• Turn signals are standard issue in every vehicle for a reason. USE THEM.
• You ARE allowed to turn right at a red light. You ARE NOT allowed to do so without stopping and checking traffic first!
• When pulling from a turn lane onto a two lane street, it's not just customary or advisable to pull even with the closest lane. It's MANDATED. BY LAW. Stop trying to side swipe me.
• Smoking, texting, and dealing with your children all at the same time may constitute distracted driving and may get you a ticket. Or kill someone. NAMELY ME! And probably your children, if those pesky rumors about second-hand smoke are to be believed...
• Brake lights are not optional. I'm talking to you, Dude With The Tricked Out Truck With Heavily Tinted Windows and a Modified Tailgate--you can't just remove your brake lights and replace them with metal. It's not okay!
• GREEN MEANS GO!!!!!
• Four way stops. Just review them. Or avoid them. But stop doing it wrong.
• On a clear day in the middle of the summer on a straight paved road, it is not reasonable to go fifteen miles an hour under the speed limit. Just sayin'.
• Turning left from the far right portion of the lane (or vice versa) will not win you friends or influence people. Unless you would like me to influence the paint right off of your car. 
• Pulling out in front of me, switching lanes with no warning, or passing me AND THEN going slower than I am is just. Well... Not only do I now want to hit your car out of spite, but I would also mark you down as someone who does not play well with others.
• If a cop is going under the speed limit on the highway, it's okay to pass him as long as you don't go over the speed limit. That's why it's called a limit. They can't getcha unless you pass the limit. Maybe you should take an English class after you finish your driving class.
• Stopping in the middle of the neighborhood road (and I do mean the exact middle) to chat with people or talk on your cell phone or do your make up or whatever the heck it is you are doing when you block my path out of the neighborhood and then pretend I'm not waiting patiently behind you makes you a jerk. FYI.

If any of you Drivers of Other Cars feel that any of these suggestions or, you know, THE LAWS OF THE ROAD are too difficult to master, please visit your local DMV office and hand in your license and take a cab home. Because seriously? It's not that hard.

And before I sign off, I would like to say one more thing. I hate to just to conclusions or stereotype anyone, but I have a strong suspicion that you Drivers of Other Cars who struggle with the concepts above are the same people whose children do not have THE FEAR. You know, THE FEAR? I think I can see the root of our problem already. THE FEAR is what well-parented children have of punishment, danger, or death.

So just in case these are your kids, after you've handed over your license or have recommitted yourself to decent citizenship, please instruct your children in the correct way to behave around these large metal objects that have the ability to maim human flesh that we call cars.

• When they are riding their bikes or playing in the neighborhood, advise them to GET OUT OF THE EVER-LOVING WAY of any approaching vehicle. 
• It would also be helpful and appreciated if you would prevent them from building ROCK TOWERS OR WALLS across the road, since they would probably rather go to college than pay for my repair bills. 
• If they are using dirt bikes, ATVs, or other motorized recreational equipment, instruct them to keep to the proper trails and to AVOID POPPING UP FROM NOWHERE RIGHT IN FRONT OF MY CAR.

Because I'm pretty sure you love them and want them to see their eighteenth birthday. Or you don't really love them, but you can't wait until they reach their eighteenth birthday because then they aren't your problem. Either way, just trust me and do yourself a solid. I promise you'll thank me later, either because you have live children or because you're not in jail.

All my love and both my middle fingers (I'm just kidding, MOM!),
Elise

THINGS THAT ARE NOT ADVICE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Observatio​ns, Conclusion​s, and BUTTMUNCHE​RY

The following occurred between my boss and myself yesterday:

“Hey, boss, you have a few weeks free if you want to go visit your family. I know how much you miss them,” I say, glancing at his calendar. 

“Elise, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something. You see, I’m a science kind of guy. And science is all about observations and conclusions. Do you know the difference between observations and conclusions? I’ll let you think about it. Do you have them in your mind now? You know the difference? No, I don’t think you actually do. And I’ll tell you why. I hear you say things like this all the time: ‘You’re free on such and such a date.’ How the heck do you know I’m free on that date? Because you looked at my calendar? Not everything I do with my day is on the calendar. So your statement would be a conclusion. What’s the observation you should have made?”

He looks at me expectantly. He waits for my answer. He actually wants me to say it out loud? I answer stiffly, “That you do not have any appointments on that date?”

“Very good! That’s the observation. You should try to speak in observations more often. I thought this would be helpful to you.”

I nod. I assemble what I hope looks like a grateful smile and slap it onto my face. I say, “Thank you, sir. I will try to make that improvement.”

He nods. He smiles beneficently. He goes on his merry way. Emotional destruction is the only sign he has been here.

Scissors, people. SCISSORS!

Okay, so the man has a Masters in Biology. He taught remedial Biology to disinterested teenagers for about four years. About forty years ago. But don’t be fooled into thinking that he has worked in any kind of science related field for several decades. Unless you count attending a two day conference once a year that has an hour long class titled “Renewable Energy in Business” as science. I, personally, do not. 

So instead of “I’m a science kind of guy,” I heard “I’m a ‘science’ kind of guy.” I even added imaginary air quotes as he was speaking. Plus, “science guy” made me want to hum the Bill Nye the Science Guy theme song. Now, a day later, I’m replaying it with him saying, “I’m a schmience guy!” with jazz hands. The brain has amazing coping mechanisms, no? Anyway, let’s pretend, for the sake of argument, that his “science” background is the most important part of his professional experience and directly pertains to my occupation (not really and, uh, not at all).

Let’s also set aside the fact that my main job is NOT the maintenance of his schedule. Sure, I put things on it sometimes, as the situation warrants. And I often get accused of not doing my job when I have changed the schedule on my computer and his iPhone (which is the very first version they ever sold with no updates) hasn’t updated yet. Yes, Boss: When I say I changed it, but you can’t see it, I MUST be lying. It couldn’t possibly be that you are 1000 miles away, in a different time zone, and using outdated technology. Nope. I’m a lazy incompetent liar. So, pretend with me, if you will, that my only task, my one reason for living and breathing and accepting a paycheck, is to create tiny colored boxes in Microsoft Outlook. 

With all of this pretending, we’re going to need some dress-up clothing and a tea set. But we’re a low-budget operation around here, so tough bananas. Just solidify in your mind that my boss is the KING OF SCIENCE and that I am CALENDER GIRL. No wait… Not that kind of calendar. Let’s try this again: My boss is the KING OF SCIENCE and I am the SLAVE OF THE SCHEDULE! Much better. Have we all “got this in our minds”? Good. 

Now, being the King of Science comes with a lot of weighty responsibilities, I’m sure. The golden safety goggles, the Armani smock, and the fur-lined rubber gloves must become tiresome. And I’m sure the throne (made of beakers and test tubes), must be a little uncomfortable at times. Thank God being King comes with so many privileges—he gets to christen new Bunsen Burners with bottles of hydrochloric acid (this sounds like a really bad idea…) and there’s that whole “naming new elements” thing he’s got going for him. 

And I know being the lowly Slave of the Schedule obviously means I do not have a mind of my own and that I must be kept in line (for my own good, you know). I can’t possibly understand these things he calls “science” so he needs to speak very slowly, repeat himself often, only use words made of five letters or less, and ask for my participation so that it sticks. He’s so magnanimous and patient and benevolent. I am eternally grateful. Uh… Not. 

So I ask you, while you’re still wearing your pretending hats (which are pretend in and of themselves because low-budget, remember?), is this any KIND of appropriate way to speak to one’s employees schedule slaves? Personally, I wouldn’t speak to a child this way, even if the child did, in fact, NOT KNOW the difference between observations and conclusions. Then again, I have never been in charge of managing people. And I don’t have a degree in “science” either. So what the hell do I know, anyway?

SO. MUCH. RAGE. 

But in the interest of…needing to post something this week, I thought I would share my rage with you all. You see, it’s a golden opportunity. Because it doesn’t give away specifics about my industry and is a perfect example of what I have been dealing with EVERY. DAY. FOR. TWO. MONTHS. 

Okay, let’s face it. He’s been saying crap like this since I started working here a year ago. But it was less frequent and less… less ridiculous, I guess, back then. Or maybe I handled it better back then. Who knows? This summer, I swear he’s kicked it into overdrive. I wonder if he wants to fire me, but he doesn’t have the stones (or the cause), so he’s pushing me to quit and save him the trouble. Then I wonder how this kind of BUTTMUNCHERY could possibly be part of a COORDINATED EFFORT. Because please! This man has trouble remembering the names of the TWO PEOPLE who work for him. TWO! PEOPLE! I’m pretty sure he doesn’t have the brain capacity for evil plans right now. 

I’m sorry. I think that was a conclusion.

As you can tell, people, I need your help. Please tell me about your work-related buttmunchery.  Fast. Because I need to laugh at your pain share in the human experience that makes up the Internet. Tell me your bad boss stories. Tell me your incompetent coworker stories. Tell me your they-don’t-pay-me-enough-to-put-up-with-this-crap job stories. Tell me your CONCLUSIONS, dammit!

And then tell me it’s okay to quit my job. Because I just might do it anyway. But the approval of the Internet would make me feel better.