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.)

Driving is disgusting...or is it men?

Okay...it takes a lot to gross me out. You're talking to (or reading from, more accurately) a woman who can eat dinner while watching autopsy shows. Enjoy a snack whilst watching how numerous wives/husbands/boyfriends/girlfriends have dismembered their significant others (Why is murder more okay than divorce? No..really. Tell me.)

That said.....there is one thing that can make me gag-a-maggot faster than anything. Snot/Mucus. (Spit comes in a close second due to an unfortunate incident when I was in fourth grade when a bully of a girl spit directly on to each of the lenses of my glasses. I promptly ralphed on her shoes. Payback's a bitch, huh?)

Okay, maybe it's not good for you to know my kryptonite, but there you have it. Why is this such a big deal?

I was minding my own business this morning, driving along in the gloomy mist of the morning (Oooh! Look at me being all fancy...) when I happened to take a look out my driver's side window.

And that...is when it happened.

The disgusting man in the beat down old Ford in front of me stuck his head out of his window...and.....

Hocked. A. Lugey.

No. Shit.

And it landed?

On my driver's side window.

Let that sink in. There was a big wad of another human being's SNOT on my window.

And it wouldn't come off! And I'm driving along trying not vomit as this lugey is wobbling in the wind.

God I hope it rains....I would really prefer NOT to scrape a snot wad off my car this afternoon. But hey--if it is dry, at least it won't jiggle like jello!

Okay, just even thinking about is making me want to throw up again. Blah.

Do me a favor people..don't spit out of a moving vehicle. Please?

Thank you in advance...

Sorta Squeamish

Slacker? Thy name is Rhea...

You want to get good at something? Then you should practice at it...you know--do it over and over and over again.

Well. Clearly someone doesn't plan on being a writer anytime soon. I can give plenty of excuses, but that's just what they are--excuses.

Play time is over children...I'm getting back to work.

Computer issues? Fixed. And look at the super cute new laptop case/bag/cover thingy I bought (this is the back):


Yes. I have the sense of humor of a 12 year old..I know, I know. (Kitty HATES you..bwah, hah, hah..it's an old joke that never doesn't make me laugh). And? If this doesn't get people to talk to me at Starbucks, I don't know what will. Great place to meet boys my ass....

In a mere few weeks, I will have new carpet down in my bedroom and office...which I will then re-design to actually allow me to write in it. Currently my desk is in my bedroom. And it gets used about as much as you think it would in such a poor location..it holds laundry that needs to be folded. And sad, sad socks that have lost their mates. Very, very sad. So sad that I really do think I'm going to make this thing and hang it on the door of my dryer--check it out (I found it on Pinterest...which is like crack for white girls...):

                                              

Clearly--I'm on said website, so you should totally follow me (roo13). I have very interesting things that could and should change your life. Like apple pies made from apples!
                                              

Is your mind blown yet?

It should be.

And when I get my groove back--don't blame me when your brain is shredded to bits.

Oh. Holy, Jesus. When did I become Bridget Jones??

Actually--it's been happening for quite some time. Don't believe me?

Read the book."Get the book here"

Not a reader? You can always watch the movie: "Watch this movie!!"

And you will see what a folly my life has become.

Don't believe me? Well children..I SO have a story for you.

What summed it up for me was last Thursday evening. I had a meeting of sorts to go to. I volunteer my time doing PR/Marketing for a smallish local not-for-profit. (Bridget? Works in "Publicity"..the much cuter sounding English equivalent.) So, I leave work..and it's a blizzard out. (In November? Really?) The snow follows me downtown, and I drive round the block of a fancy schmancy hotel (in which we are having said meeting) for ten minutes. Giving up, I park it in the mall and get myself across the street. The e-mail said we were to meet in the bar.

Not the lobby. The BAR.

Now. Let me just say. I am more than a tad under dressed for this place in my slip on, worn completely out work shoes (from Payless), my chocolate colored chinos and green corduroy coat (both from Target). While I have some makeup on..I am far from "made up". Oh! And my hair was in a jaunty pony tail. Mainly because I was too lazy to wash my hair that morning, but that's neither here nor there. (Washing your hair too much? Makes it dull and lifeless. It took my 31 years to figure this one out.) So..let's just say...all these ladies coming in from a convention in 4 inch heels and pencil skirts and exquisite scarves? Yes. They blew me out of the water.

I walked in to the bar and the hostess was helpful enough to point me in the direction of a couple by the window. Considering it was a man with a girl young enough to be his daughter I thought, "Probably not my group..". And no. She was not his daughter. How do I know? Because his hand was so far up her thigh that it made ME blush.

So, I go around the bar again, and there is a very handsome older man, maybe in his 50's, sitting at a large table by himself. He's in a suit that costs more than I make in a month, I'm sure. Drinking scotch, or bourbon, on the rocks. Did I mention he was nice looking? Cause he was. Very. Yowza. "Bingo" I thought to myself. Since I was looking for an academic, I figured this was my guy. I walk up to the man, and the first thing out of his mouth was "You look familiar. Have I seen you before?"

Silly me. I was flattered. Maybe he had seen me on the website or something. I sit down and start to pull my things out. He asks me what I'm drinking. I politely decline and get out my notes and notebook and pen. He looks confused. I am confused by his look of confusion. I ask him if he wasn't Mr. X, and he says no. "So you're not with the committee from the museum?"

Nope.

That's right. I just plopped myself down in front of a very attractive man, obviously a "Somebody", like I knew what in the hell I was doing in a coat from Target and in Payless shoes. And he? Was just another in my very long line of Daniel Cleavers throwing out a cheesy pick up line. And it worked. Oh. Dear. Lord. If the earth could have swallowed me whole in that moment, I would have been ecstatic.

I grab my things, apologize for idiocy and bolt from the bar to wait in the lobby.

Just wait. It gets better.

The concierge kept asking if he could "help" me. I told him I was waiting for someone. I'm pretty sure he thought I was the cheapest hooker he'd seen in a long while. A step up from streetwalker, sure, but not exactly what I would call a fantasy come to life.

I blame the cheap shoes.

So, I do what I should have done before I came to the stupid meeting. I googled the person I was meeting.

And guess who had been sitting in the lobby for the entire time?

You guessed it.

Oh. And it gets worse.

Rhea is not an expert on the topic at hand. Rhea has been brought in to "fanny about with the press releases". I know nothing about these teaching methods (I'm so NOT a teacher...and I have the utmost respect for those of you that are), nor have I read everything a certain author has written.

The guys in my meeting. Are. And Have.

I HATE feeling like the stupidest person in the room. Hate, hate, hate, hate it. But jokes were told that I didn't get. Books dissected that I hadn't read. I had the overwhelming urge to ask "Do you know....where...the toilets are??", but I bit my tongue. I was there for PR and Marketing. I left with no idea how to do either for this project. (Don't fret, it WILL come to me. But I was blindsided by all the academic brilliance and super smart author talk I had been exposed to.)

It made me kind of sad. I so very much want to be one of those super brilliant people who wows people with her smarts. Instead, I got lopsided grins of "Aww..isn't she cute? Trying so hard! It's adorable."

Sigh.

My only saving grace right now is that if I die "fat and alone", I won't be found three weeks later half eaten by wild dogs.

Nope. It will be cats.

And I better not be fat.

At least I didn't wake up in my car....

So. Got to try out the new medication last night...and I will admit--I was a little leery.


Last time I took 100mg of Imitrex, I woke up to find my car parked sideways in the driveway, windows down, my purse in the front seat, and various bags of half eaten food from fast food establishments.

I had a drug induced junk food binge which led to me sleeping for like 12 hours straight.

Scariest part? I remembered none of it. And I'm the kind of person that remembers 95% of the stupid, humiliating, horrid things I say, do, see when I'm intoxicated. It's a curse, really. No blacking out for me..oh no. Even when I've prayed for it to happen...no such luck.

So, last night I'm driving home from the boondocks of Hamilton County and I feel it start. The pulsating behind my eyes, the sudden super (it's crazy how fast this happens) sensitivity to light (which is perfect for night driving--makes it a real treat), feeling like my dinner is going to shoot up my throat any second, and finally the radiation of pain all over my skull, down my neck into my shoulders. Yup. Migraine number two of the week (maybe it's the weather??).

Off to CVS I go to pick up my pills. Nine pills. Just nine. Apparently, that's the highest number of these bad boys you can have at one time. So this explains the 10 refills on my script...cause I thought the doctor said 90 pills with all those refills. Hmm. Maybe I need my hearing checked, too. (YIKES) Paid my little fee, drove home, took my pill, grabbed a book...and waited.

After about a half an hour, I had this grody burning in my nose and an awful taste in my mouth. In fact, it's still kind of there. Like when you chew on aspirin. Nastiness that just won't go away. Still had a headache, but not as pounding (still do, actually).

At midnight, I finished my new book, turned off the light and tried to go to sleep.

And this is where it gets weird.

I had the most insane, weird, creepy dreams. Like falling constantly and seeing people falling with you. Talking to them, watching them splat to the ground (and yes--all people I know) and probably die--but I just kept on falling and falling and falling. It was unnerving just floating about waiting for my turn to squish apart on the ground.

Then the one where Yogi could talk. Oh god. I rolled over to see him sleeping next to me, he turned his head and snarled "Hey lady, back OFF! This be my spot!" (Apparently my little fur ball is an angry Jamaican). It was so real that when I woke up freaking out to see him sleeping next to me I actually got out of bed and moved to the couch for a while because I was so weary of him bitch slapping me and calling me names in my sleep.

So. Today? I'm exhausted. I slept like crap and I still have the remnants of a headache. I'm supposed to give this a month and see how I do. If it doesn't improve?

I get put on a Topamax regimen. And it? It has a side effect I can fully support: Weight Loss.

Web MD--you are the devil. And I'm an idiot.

I have found something tragically true about myself.

I have enough information to be dangerous when it comes to my own health. Very. Dangerous.

For example, I have this funny bump behind my ear. I'll be honest, it's kind of freaking me out. Here's a snippet of my inner dialogue every time I think about said bump or, heaven forbid, touch it. Which is constantly.

"Oh God! Is that a lymph node? I wish I had eyes back there! What color is it? Is this why I'm waking up to hoarf my guts out in the middle of the night?" *Panic* " Is it the nasty C word?!??!"

To make matters worse, I'm a literate adult. Who was raised by a nurse. Who was in school when I was a kid. Who tended to leave textbooks lying about. Who should have realized this was an issue because her four year old was reading almost at an adult level...and able to sound out even the nastiest of diseases. Even better? The same kid came wide eyed at her with freaky looking pictures of diseased bits of people asking "Mommy??? What IS THIS?!!!!" So--nothing was really ever censored in my house. No cute names for your bits and pieces and full disclosure in regards to communicable disease.

Which is probably why I REALLY don't like people touching me.

But back to me and my nodule of death....

I went to WebMD to see what the frack this thing IS. Let's see it could be a cyst (most likely), it could be a blocked hair follicle (behind my ear? probably not), it could be cancer, it could be nothing at all and I'm just a freak of nature that breaks out in weird flesh colored bumps.

My eye? Goes straight to cancer. As in "Oh my god. I have cancer. All the headaches and retching? Make total sense. I'm going to die."

Which is a load of total crap (except the dying part--we all bite the dust at some point). I have to rein myself in and tell myself that I don't have cancer, it's just a weird fluke thing, and it's FINE.

Besides I'm going to the doctor tomorrow anyway for new migraine drugs...and I will tell him what I found online at WebMd and the Mayo Clinic and show him my bump....

And he will laugh.

At me.

Right to my face.

And I will deserve it.

Same as it ever was.....kinda. Sorta. Maybe?

Okay--I have to start off by saying watch this:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I1wg1DNHbNU&feature=related

I don't know what it is about this song--but it seems appropriate for big decision moments in ones life. For example, I made one yesterday.

Big. Big time.

And it's done. I've put a date on my calendar. I have a deadline to myself--and I refuse to go back on it this time. Refuse!

It's nothing personal--just professional (NO--I am NOT going back to school. I wish! But that's what the future is for. One day, I will be a Dr. of something--trust me.) I sent out a request on Facebook yesterday, and I will repeat it here: If you know anyone who could spare 20 mins of their time to speak to me about Marketing, Advertising, Public Relations (kinda the preferred genre, but I'm not going to be picky), Project Management, etc--please let me know! Know me? Send me an e-mail? Don't know me? Leave me a comment!

So--on a more fun topic...my possessed car? Is fixed!

What was wrong with my car? Well.

Long story short?

It was messed with. The mechanic at the dealership said someone tried to get under the hood of my car--without the benefit of releasing the latch on the inside of my car. This, screwed up the alarm system, which caused the lights to flash and the horn to honk at all hours of the night. It also destroyed the mechanism that keeps the hood down. So--I'm damn lucky it didn't blow up when I was, oh, I don't know, driving on the interstate at 75 miles an hour. I could have killed someone. Or been killed. So--to the stupid, idiotic morons who not only tried to get under my hood, but messed with my tires, too in Bedford?

You will SO get what's coming to you.

Karma? She's a real bitch. And you will deserve: Every. Single. Horrible. Thing. That. Happens. To. You.

So, if it weren't for a really good friend and her amazing soon to be husband? (Thank you Colleene and Mike!!!! You are awesome!)

I would be out some serious cash money.

And you all know how much I hate to be separated from my funds.

And that? Well...I think I will turn to David Byrne again....

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-Smge23DCE8

Qu'est-ce que c'est??

(And do I plan on causing anyone any harm? No! Because I'm not crazy like so many people are. But I do love that song....)