The end of the hiatus!

Well, it's been a long, long while.

I've been busy with work--and also trying to do things that aren't tied to work or volunteering (and failing miserably it would seem). My defunct laptop screen hasn't helped matters, but I've had lots of awesome people willing to help me rectify that situation. I am now budgeting for my new screen and hope to be up and running at home sooner than later. (Worse case scenario I will be attached to my tv.)

But back to sharing : )

I had an experience this week that was all things, well, disturbing. And it was in the library of all places. I didn't know whether to go home and take a shower or just laugh it off.

I ended up doing both.

To set the scene (and provide you with background)--I go the library at least once a week. I read. A lot. I also enjoy books on CD in the car (yes--I know this makes me Super Nerd-Girl). I just finished listening to Sin in the Second City, which is all about hookers and madams in Chicago. I highly recommend it in audio or book form (I had both). This was the reason for my trip: I was going to return my finished items and pick up my hold (the new biography of the Bronte family-strangely enough not on Amazon in the US, but is up in the UK http://www.amazon.co.uk/Brontes-Juliet-Barker/dp/0349122423). This is not the part you should think is disturbing.

But maybe it should be?

Probably.

But I digress.

I picked up my hold from the shelf and wandered over to the Audio Book section wondering if there was anything to strike my fancy (I'm super picky; no fiction, memoirs need to be read by the author, etc.), when I was knocked into the shelf by a rather large, disheveled guy. Think this:
                                                         
Driving this:
                        

I'm thinking "You moron, did you not see me?!?" But I said "I'm sorry", because my first instinct is to always just accept it's my fault, I was in the way, blah-blah-blah (something I'm sure a therapist would have a field day with). What did Candy-Van man say?

Nothing.

He licked his lips and grunted at me.

Grunted.

At.

Me.

Then looked me up and down like Jabba the Hutt did every slave girl (green skinned with weird flesh appendages, Princess Leia, blue singing blob thing, et al.) in Return of the Jedi. I could literally feel my skin trying to come off of my bones. This dude? Was seriously creepy. His sweatpants were at least two sizes two small, his t-shirt was about ten sizes too big, and sadly, he was toting around the last Harry Potter book.

Sorry Harry.

I booked it to the other side of the aisle and put creepy dude aside (it takes all kinds, right?). But as I pulled out a book from the shelf--there he was on the other side.

And it gets better.

Cause then he audibly farted.

And it was not a sound, nor a smell, that a person could ignore.

And since my library experience was ruined for the time being, I took my Bronte book and headed to check out and get the hell outta there.

Farty McGee headed to the bean bag chairs in the kiddie section and started reading Harry Potter.

So there you have it! My male conquest of the week is Grunty-Gassy-Van-Man!

It can only go up from here people...and if not?

No. Really. It can't get any worse.

Las Drogas--

...They are the devil.

Or, if sticking with the Spanish theme--el diablo.

I've been sick.

Like--way, way sick. It's been almost three weeks. The hacking cough has stopped, but I still feel like I've been run over by a mack truck. I have the energy of a snail...wait--that's insulting to snails (Who, contrary to all appearances, are hauling ass and getting tons and tons of shit done. It's all about perspective.).
                                                        
                                              *See? They even have personalized stationary!*

Actually, I have the energy of a woman in her early 30's who has been sick for three weeks. There. That's better. And not insulting to anyone but me. (And YES--it also applies to everyone else out there that happens to fit this description. If you are a mom and fall into this category--shut your hole. I don't have your "super powers" yet. Cats don't require that kind of dedication.) This means I come home from work, flop on my bed, and fall asleep within five minutes of the bonus round on Wheel of Fortune.

Damn.

I am officially old AND sick. Damn, damn, DAMMIT!

Because I was tired of feeling like crap (I am also tired of my head being a snot factory. And not the kind that comes out of your nose...oh no, no, no, no. It's the kind that gets pumped straight from the sinuses down the back of the throat. You know, so you always feel like you're either gasping for breath, and it feels like knives are attacking your vocal cords? Or--even better--you feel like you are drowning in a sea of snot, and only when that mucus coating your throat clears will you be able to draw your next breath. I'm telling you people...it's pure awesome right now being me.), I went to the doctor. I was terrified I had pneumonia. Again. (I've had it 8 or 9 times since I was a kid. And it blows each and every time.) Thankfully, it's just a massively huge sinus infection (which explains the crazy bloody nose business that's been happening), and I'm given drugs and told for the next ten days, I should feel better--but will still have NO energy what so ever (thanks antibiotics!).

The first three days on Amoxicillin were....beyond horrid. I have never felt more nauseous in my entire life. Wait. There was that thing...okay--this was the second most nauseous I've been in my life. I really thought, since that was a side effect of the drug, that the tingling in my arms and feet, nausea, and other symptoms were just me making a big deal--and it was normal.

Don't be like me kiddies. It's NOT okay and it's NOT normal.

So, I yesterday, I received new drugs. Hooray! Goodbye wanting to puke every five seconds!

Hello scary as fuck terrifying nightmares!

(What? Didn't see that coming?)

The last thing I remember before waking up screaming (Not kidding....screaming. At the top of my lungs.) was the image of Yogi's sweet, little poly-dactyl feet like these:

                                                             

Turning into these:
        on my FACE!

So basically--I had a dream that Yogi turned into a ton of pissed off snakes that ate my face off. While the people I work with laughed and ate popcorn...like they were watching some sort of freaky reality show.

See? You would wake up screaming, too.

After I was up--I was UP. No more sleep for me after 1 am. So today? I'm in agony. I've seriously thought about skipping lunch and just sleeping on my office floor--but I don't think i would wake up until time to go home...so probably not. Rats.

Methinks it's time for Ambien. And restraints.

Cat in a.....tub?

This? This is Bernie Williams.

As many of you know--he lives in my house. He eats food I provide him, sleeps in my bed, conquers laundry baskets (you can see how successful his most recent campaign was above), and beats the living crap out of Yogi on regular basis. He is also a connoisseur of the finest catnips and left over people foods.

As of late, my adorable furball had decided there is one more thing in my house that is for him alone to use: the bathtub.

I have but one bathtub in my humble little home--and I tend to use it on a regular basis. Well. I did. Until I discovered that I will have to scrub it down any time I want to use the stupid thing.

(If you don't want to know somewhat personal information about yours truly--do not read on. No--it's not scary. I think?

That said--you've been warned.)

This is how I found out: Living alone, when I go in to the bathroom to, um, well...use the bathroom, I usually have "visitors".

Furry ones.

My boys are super intrigued as to what goes on in there. I've tried to tell them it's no different than the litter box to no avail.

(Probably because they are cats--and comparative to human children--have wee brains.)

And I don't have the heart to give them das boot. Mainly because Yogi sits on the other side of the door and whimpers like he's been kicked in the face. This is a noise that hurts my brain. Literally.

So, being followed in by Yogi is nothing new (someone loves the toilet in a way that is not normal--and I promise you that it's not me). What was new, however, was the weird slurpy sound I heard on the other side of the shower curtain. Tentatively I pulled back the curtain...only to be greeted by:

Yes. Yes--that is MY cat using my BATHTUB to take a freaking BATH! And that's not the worst part. That would be the dirty look he gave me. Well, I think it's a dirty look:

"Woman--you best be not taking peectures of me. Have you not heard of privacy?! GET OUT!"

How is it that I'm the one feeling the shame in this scenario? Does that make sense to anyone? Probably not.

And this? Is not a one time instance. This CAT is in the bathtub. Daily. Bathing. Or 'swimming'. Yes--'swimming'.  It's actually kind of cute--he dives in and flings his body around the curved part of the tub and slides around on his back. He also brings in toys. It's amusing and troubling all at the same time.(Why? Because how many cats do you know that voluntarily hang out in bathtubs? See? Weird.)

Since my boy is the next Esther Williams, I'll end this one with an image--that will hopefully wipe all of the above from your mind:

See? Now THAT'S cute!

Happy Thursday!

(And? More posts coming soon--it's just a matter of me typing up all the junk I've written in long hand!)

The Mystery of the Disappearing TP

Yup. You SO read that correctly.

And it is a mystery...not exactly like trying to figure out the Sphinx, but still....

Disappearing. Toilet. Paper??

So here is the deal, or rather, the question: How much TP do seven adults use in one day?

The answer is two of these bad boys:

 

So we aren't talking single ply super cheap nasty toilet paper (like you would find in most gas stations or employer bathrooms, actually now that I think about it...). This is cooshy two ply..with ridges! (I don't get it, but feel free to try to explain why my toilet paper needs ridges? Ruffles need ridges...paper for my bum does not.)

And you know what else is going to blow your mind? There are only TWO ladies that work in this ENTIRE building (and YES, smart ass, I am one of them). So...men are using this much? Wait. I thought boys didn't care about this stuff as much as girls do? Trust me..I've dated enough to have experienced it all...everything from stolen gas station toilet paper to Taco Bell napkins...and please--feel free to let your skin crawl here.

So. Does age have something to do with this? Older men have realized hygiene and comfort are not just things for women?

Huh.

Well...if that's true, I guess I understand why all these 20 year old girls want to date men old enough to be their fathers. There's not a chance you'll have to scrounge around under the sink looking for something, anything, to take care of business in a strange man's house (is there anything worse?) I bet once they hit 40, fellas even have extra rolls stored under their sinks.

Just like a good boy should.

Letter to myself...

Do you ever stumble across something that is sort of an epiphany of sorts? Something that makes you sit up and take notice and pay attention?

I've had one of those moments. Not anything super deep---just horrifying.

So I wrote myself a letter to read five years down the road. Why am I sharing it with you? Because I want it to stick! I'm not sharing all of it (you would die of boredom--and you aren't my therapist), just the bits and pieces I like the best. So..here you go--enjoy:


Health:

Are you going to the dentist twice a year? I know those bastards at the ADA are trying to say once a year is enough, but I cry bullshit. Clean teeth are happy teeth. Especially since you are probably still paying for dental insurance out of pocket. Unless you are married to some nice man who is willing to share his insurance with you. (If that's not a definition of true love, I don't know what is.)

Speaking of teeth--kitties need clean teeth, too. Don't be cheap. Take them to vet! Your nose will thank you for this.

And please, please tell me you are finally scooping the litter box every day? (Hey! I can dream, can't I?)

Same goes with the annual exam. I'm totally cool with you skipping out on a mammogram until 40--but downstairs? Well..it needs to be inspected every year--American Cancer Society be damned.

Relationships

Well--the most important one is with yourself...so....are you happy? (Remember--you shouldn't lie to yourself!)

If not? Do something about it. NOW.

Are you co-habitating yet? If not--whatever. I know it's a hard idea for you to wrap your head around, but if you are--be nice. Don't mock or make fun. Unless it's totally called for. Men have egos that need to be pampered. (Big effing babies.) But if you are? He better be putting away the laundry. If he doesn't do this simple task? Kick him to the curb--he's worthless. You can do better.

Okay--babies. Are there babies? If there are--well--sister how far you've come. Just remember the cardinal rule: ONE and done. There are enough unwanted, undertaken care of welfare babies out there to make having more than one child a terrfying thought. Want a bigger family? Adopt. Save a kid from a horrible situation (IE crappy parents) and make the world a little bit of a better place : )

Also--you are not your child's friend. They don't earn that privilege with you until they 1) have a high school diploma 2) pay taxes 3) pay rent, bills, buy their own food 4) have moved OUT of your house and have NO financial dependence on you what so ever. Once all these obligations have been met--then--you may begin to establish your new role in this fully functioning adult's life...but not before. It's bad news bears if you do. Look around. *Shudder* You know this is the right thing to do.

Job
A precious lesson--life is too short to be treated like crap. Work is what you love to do--so if you aren't happy where you work? Find someplace new. You spend too much time there to hang around to be miserable. Playing it safe isn't always the best thing for your health....


It does go on from here...but that's really all that's cool to share for now. I think it's relatively sound advice--don't you?

Who knows..five years from now I could be living beach side in Spain because I've won the lottery. This means I will have lots of botox, a super hot Spanish boy-toy, and people to do my laundry AND scoop the cat boxes....

I'm leaving right now to buy tickets. That just sounds too good to be true!

Roll with the Changes, yo!

No worries--I haven't run away with REO Speedwagon...

(Whoa. Who just dated herself. Did I really just reference REO Speedwagon? Crikey.)

I've been in my new job now for almost a month...and?

I LOVE it. Love my morning commute (5 mins), I adore working in an office full of men (Get your mind out of the gutter....these guys don't censor themselves, that's all I mean. Walk by an office and you may hear a veritable bouquet of profanity. People? I'm home.), there are donuts on Friday, conversations about music, literature, cars, and yard care over lunch....just a really nice place to be. I look forward to coming here everyday. I have my office mostly set up, and I'm almost fluent in the accounting system...all in all? A leaving my old life behind? A very good thing indeed.

So that's pretty much it....except I'm trying to garden cheap this year (I bought seeds! And a starter thingy! IF my bluebonnets grow? I'll share pics for sure and will be so excited I won't be able to stand it, I'm sure), revamp the house on the fly, repaint the whole shebang, get sucked back in to TV (Bones is back tonight...and? I don't care how "sqaure" he gets..it would take a whole lot of evil to make me want to break up with Don Draper), and...well. That's it in a nut shell.

Hopefully with the warming of the weather, I will find myself getting into all kinds of shenanigans...because let's be realistic..it is ME after all!

All good things must come to an end, right? Right.

So. Many of you know that I have been pounding the pavement (so to speak) for roughly six years (Let that sink in....Six. Years.) looking for a new kind of job. Going to grad school was supposed to open doors (NOT), putting in my time was supposed to lead to a promotion (again..not), etc, etc, etc.


What DID happen was a lot of hair pulling, cursing, bruised eye-balls (there's only so much job hunting a person can do online before her eyes want to fall out of their sockets), therapy, and the feeling that I was never, ever going to find anything I could do besides what I had done professionally for the past 13 years.

Boy. Was I wrong.

Thank. God.

That said, do not think for one second that I am not grateful to the company who is employing me until March 8th, 2012. I am. Very much so. They provided me with the opportunity to buy my own home, my car, take a smattering of trips and all in all, having not too bad of a life.

Leaving something you know like the back of your hand? Is scary. But it's time for me to step out of my comfort zone and embrace my future.

And that future doesn't include unpacking boxes, being mistaken for a college student (damn!), and a job that has become so monotonous, I don't have to think much anymore.

So, I'm on to learn a whole new world, meet all new people from all walks of life. I'm super excited, but extremely appreciative of the colleagues I've had for the past six years. They have made my job enjoyable, even fun sometimes. I can't say I loved coming to work everyday, but it wasn't because of who I worked with--but rather--what I was doing and how trapped I felt in my life. That, I'm truly hoping, is a feeling I won't have again for a long, long time. (Big thanks to all of you--and you know who you are).

Now. For the funny stuff.

For someone who hadn't had an interview in several years, the past seven months were a slew of meet and greets (And by slew--I mean 3. And that wasn't for lack of effort. I found over 400 cover letters on my thumb drive..that should tell you something right there.) One of the interviews was in a building downtown. It was actually my second interview for a position shockingly similar to what I currently hold, but I was flattered to have the opportunity and was stunned, at myself, when I told them "Thank you--but no thank you." They had me come in for the second interview anyway. I figured, what the hell--why not. It's good practice, right?

Yeah. It's good practice until you walk into the men's room.

But that's not the worst part.

Nope. That would be the fact that I used the men's room.

Yup. I was so out of it, I walked right in, hung my purse on the hook on the stall and took a seat. The outside door opened and I noticed a pair of loafers.

Large. Loafers.

And stupidly then thought "Gawd. That poor woman has HUGE feet. Wait? Why are her feet facing the wall. Is she peeing? How in the hell is she peeing facing the wall?!?!"

Earth to moron. You are the one peeing the wrong room, not the man using the urinal. You have no idea of the horror and mortification that hit me all at once. I was peeing. In the men's room. In a building where I had just had a job interview. I suddenly was cursing myself for not noticing the shoe choices of the men on the panel who had conducted the interview. It's a mistake I will never make again.

Or maybe I shouldn't make trying to figure the best way to sneak out of the men's room a habit? Then the shoe choices of random men won't be so important. Hmmm.

I had to wait for him to finish (And was pleasantly surprised when he washed his hands. Trust me, if women think they are alone in the bathroom--they don't. Well, I do--but I have found I am not the norm. I don't know why, but I'm very good at hiding in bathrooms.) to sneak out and run in to the ladies across the tiny hallway. I wasn't taking any chances of hand washing in the men's room. I had pressed my luck enough.

The lesson? Be sure to read the sign on the door--your kind may not be welcome inside : )

And new jobs may be scary--but it's all for the best in the end. (And they certainly aren't as scary as potentially being labeled a pervert in the workplace.)