Whupped!

Sorry to not have written in a while; the new job is wearing me out on a nightly basis! It's still great, but now I'm getting to the point where I think I have a grasp of what's going on and what needs to happen which means I'm that much busier trying to establish protocol and share this information with coworkers.

In the meantime, we're having a pet costume contest tomorrow at said place of employment. The picture is the process of trying to get Dexter, the most deserving of being shoved into a costume, into his. Not sure if you can tell, but it's Darth Vadar ...

Have a great week!

I WON POWERBALL!

OK, I didn't win ALL of it, but $7 ain't bad, right? (trust me, when unemployed for a month, seven bucks is GREAT!)

Speaking of GREAT ... the new job is exactly that. They gave me a spiffy new widescreen notebook PC (I swear to you ... it's not even an inch thick and is super light-weight), I have my own desk (okay, it's a cubicle but to me it's heaven) with my very own telephone that only rings when someone wants to talk to ME, my very own direct line with voice mail, a whole gaggle of company logo'd stuff like an anti-moldy water bottle and super cool zip up sleeveless hoodie, 401k, ESOP and health insurance for half of what it's been elsewhere (including dental!)

The people are exactly that ... people! I've not run into anyone yet who acts fake or schmarmy like you might think someone in the ad game would. It's like they screen for 'em. My coworkers are all very willing to help and actually listen to what I have to say! Seriously, my biggest complaint is that we have (did I already bitch about this?) stalled bathrooms and I simply can not bring myself to take care of serious business unless I go down to the first floor. (OH! 'Another cool thing to this desert hick ... I have to take the elevator to my office! Well, maybe not HAVE to, but seriously, I could have a 230lb coronary on the stairs between the second & third floors and nobody would find me for HOURS.)

The only other "complaint" I would have is that I'm super busy (as is everyone else) so I don't really feel okay about asking people questions. We're talking crazy busy, man. But again, when I do ask, everyone is kind (not nice, mind you, but kind.) And remember when I said I'd get to define my own role (I said that, right?) because they've never really had a production manager before? Snort, uh, yeah! There is very little in place as far as protocol and I get to define it baby! Uncharted territory! Space: the final frontier! That place right in the middle of your back you can never ... quite ... reach ... it's mine, all MINE!

OK, so the Dad person flew out to check out the home he & the wife are buying. We drove down to have dinner with him. He's good, but aging. It's so disconcerting to see your father go from 35 to 60, even if it DOES take 25 years to do so. Is it because I've not been there the past seven years to watch the process so I'm just floored every time I see him? What the hell?

The older sister is pissed off at me for pointing out to our mother that when our little sister (age 25) fell down a ditch and broke her ankle last week that she (the little sister) wasn't being klutzy, she was in fact being drunk. Apparently that's not a nice thing to point out to a woman who you feel ruined your formidable years by being a raging alcoholic. Sheesh. Show me the rule book, would ya?

OK, that's all I have in me for right now. The nervous twitch I've developed at work (did I mention how much I have on the plate?) has subsided and I still need to read thesneeze before bed.

Blessings and wellness to all. And remember; seven bucks in the lottery ain't a bad thing!

First Day Jitters

(alternate title: Parenthesis R Us)

I start the new job tomorrow. I'm pretty stoked; I went in today for a software training session and found out I can wear jeans! ('doesn't take much, what can I say?) It also turns out this week is the agency's United Way fundraising week and tomorrow is a bake sale followed by a chili cook-off on Friday. Needless to say, I signed up for both, knowing full well that my banana bread recipe (thanks, Coreen!) is far superior to what most people think of as food of the gods.

Upon leaving the agency, the afternoon progressed fairly normally. I came home and picked up a CD case for my little old lady (I volunteer for Computers for Seniors) and was off to pick up Sparkycus at school. The boy has confirmation on Wednesday nights, and the youth ministry staff opens the gym and rumpus room areas to the kids after 3:30pm on those dates. Dinner is served for a ridiculously low price ($2.50, I think!) then we parents converge at 6pm for a half-hour worship service. Then from 6:30-8:30, the kidlets do their classes and mess around. Where was I going with this? Oh! So Spartacus and I decided to have a "date night" kind of thing. We went to Johnny Carino's for dinner (Spartacus' current favorite place to eat.) We then meandered on to Fleet Farm (the upper midwest's answer to Lowes & Home Depot before those places found out that people up here actually DO exist) to look at oil-filled electric heaters in anticipation of ridiculously high heating bills this winter. By the time we got done, it was already 8:30. Being good parents, we had already arranged for Sparkycus to hitch a ride with a friend's parents.

At 8:37, we got a call: "The door is locked."

Good parent points: gone.

Instructing the child to go home with the friend, we told him we were en route (we were!) and would pick him up shortly.

Since Spartacus INSISTS on eating this sausage/pepper thing, he was brewing something nasty and asked ... nay ... DEMANDED to be dropped at home so as not to (and this is a quote,) "Gas up Mary Ann's house."

Since I like Mary Ann, I complied. (beware, ye mine enemies!)

Upon arriving at the friend's, I was invited in and asked to help with the assembly and set-up of an air hockey table. A BIG one. Not very inclined to actually perform manual labor, but always glad to entertain, I stayed. It soon became clear that my (lack of) muscles wasn't going to cut it. Sparkycus put in a call to his father and he soon appeared at the door. (we live something like four blocks from one another.)

Now keep in mind that the last thing I said to my family as we parted ways was, "now, I gotta go home and make banana bread and I'm wearing my last pair of clean underwear, so we can't screw around you guys. Let's get our stuff done and get home. Use your time wisely, okay?" Idiot.

So we get the table set up, we play a game and BAM! it's NINE FRICKING THIRTY!! Idiot.

We rush home, we start laundry (funny side note: it's midnight and I just jumped up, hit "save as draft" and ran my fat ass downstairs exclamining, "oh shit, oh shit, oh shit" on every step because guess what ... I FORGOT ABOUT THE CLOTHES IN THE DRYER!! Say it with me ... "idiot.") Laundry started, I begin sacrifing bananas at a rate never seen before by human eyes. Now, keep in mind this is a recipe I've been using for six plus years ... it's old hat, right? Wrong! Along the way, I decide that since it's for a bake sale and I'm going to have to slice it before wrapping it, I should just make muffins instead. I paw through the packed tight cupboards and unearth cupcake liners. (thank God they don't expire, that's all I'm sayin') I whip up a batch of dough in no time and pop those little suckers in the oven. In something akin to slamming the car door just as you realize that not only are your kids in the car with the keys, but you've also just locked the door, I realized that I omitted the two eggs in the recipe. I, of course, think this is hilarious. Spartacus, however, does not. What he does do, however, is help me squeeze the contents of almost two dozen little paper liners back into a bowl to receive their dose of chicken progeny. Superman strikes again! Somebody remind me to make a "contains nuts" sign (I had an even split of nuts/no nuts ... in pink or blue cups, mind you) since I had to mix it all together in the end.

That's all for now. I need to check on the laundry again and figure out a way to get to sleep so I can rise at 7:15. (I think there's probably going to have to be some caffeine involved.)

Last paragraph: His majesty (Spartacus) thinks it's cheating to use the same mix I use for all of my chili since it comes out of a bottle for the cook off. What's the difference? It's not like I'm opening a can. In fact, I open SEVERAL cans of different types of beans and tomato sauce before resorting to the all-in-one spice bottle. Is it cheating?

Shout outs

'Sending "shout outs" (Ellen Degeneres, watch out!) to:

- Laura the stay-at-home Super Mom
- Katie the raven-haired PA student

Not too terribly much happening around here. I did have an interesting exchange with my girlfriend Laura. She questioned my choice of Bobby Flay over Julia Child. My reply? "As for Bobby Flay, well ... have you SEEN his arms? Yum! Then again, if we were talking about body parts, the even bigger attraction for current culinary icons belongs to Alton Brown for his brain." And frankly, Laura, let's just face it ... Julia may have cooked her ass off, BUT SHE LOOKED LIKE A MAN!! (warning on the Julia Child link: she's holding up a fish that I'm pretty sure she waded into the Hudson and caught BARE HANDED with her massive MAN HANDS.)

I made sugar cookies tonight (found a GREAT recipe here) for Sparkycus' confirmation class tomorrow night. 'Normally not a huge fan of the sugar cookies, but that recipe flat out ROCKS.

I go in for more training tomorrow at my NEW JOB. I'm having serious "I Only Possess Ugly Clothes" anxiety, coupled with "holy shit, I'm a fat bastard" syndrome. I can't imagine how I'm going to get through dressing for tomorrow, much less Thursday. Oh, God ... and Friday!!! Good times, good times ...

My husband helped me clean the kitchen today (SUPERMAN!!) and we even got some organizational stuff done. That in and of itself is a freaking miracle of nature, let me tell you.

I also had the satisfying experience of calling the nice lady at the mortgage place and telling her I start work this week so that she can ye old ball rolling on refinancing the house (again). I can not wait for Spartucus to quit his middle of the night job. He's so tired, he's not able to help around the house and I frankly, am of little to no use when left to my own devices. (for the last six or seven years, anyway)

'Had family portraits done with his parents, sister and her husband this last weekend. Proofs out tomorrow. Yet another shining moment in shining forehead history, I'm sure. (mine) This is the first set of pictures taken since Sparkycus has overtaken me in the height department. Ten bucks says I cry when I see 'em.

OK, a few things y'all should check out:

www.thesneeze.com (great big thanks to Laura - I laughed my ass off reading this one)
www.thesuperficial.com (they're not updating as much as I'd like, but it's still good)
www.romaniheart2.blogspot.com (my favorite blog; check out her archived stuff ... she is a FABULOUS writer)

If you've not already checked him out, take a listen to Michael Buble. A voice like butta!

For music to work and/or relax by: www.cities97.com

The greatest book by a current author: The Time Traveler's Wife

And finally, the reason I don't blog like I should: MSN's Collapse.

May someone enjoy the recommendations!

YEEEE HAAAAWWWW!!!!

I've got a new job! The ad agency came through ... I start next week! Decent starting salary, benefits (naturally) and at the place I want to work; what more could a girl want? More when I know about it. For now, just know that two bottles of cheap champagne and some good chocolate were consumed in celebration when Troy & Chanda came over.

'SO RELIEVED!!

My Husband is Haunted

For that matter, every man who cooks/grills/bakes in my presence is haunted. By two men I've never met. Two men who's food I would have to pay to eat, in the event I could even get a reservation.

When I see someone press down on a succulent specimen of meat while grilling, my heart palpitates, my eye twitches and my brow beads in sweat ... "What are you DOING?!?!" I screech like a wounded banshee. "Bobby Flay says to never, never, never squish the meat; it forces the juices out. Don't you WANT juicy meat?!?!? "

The same goes for Emeril Lagasse. Man, if Emeril said so ... in my mind ... well, it's just plain gospel. Not just by the definition of gospel as being "the good news", but in that EMERIL WROTE THE BIBLE OF COOKING. Screw Julia Child (may she rest in peace,) that Spago cookin' weirdo Wolfgang Puck and Miss 30 minute meals Rachel Ray ... Emeril Lagasse is THE MAN. Not because I like a nice andouille sausage (I don't) or because I too, believe that butter & garlic should grace every dish (some desserts, too!) but because he uses the word "BAM!" and cooks with pork fat like it's going out of style and he's got a warehouse full. It's that simple.

My culinary tastes are no more refined than Homer Simpson. I am not, nor will I ever be, a wine connoisseur (cheap is good, thanks.) Prosciutto? Please, if they haven't put it on pizza, there is no point. Nope, my reasons for believing in Emeril's culinary prowess is because he's entertaining and cooks with things that are bad for you that I can find at the grocery store. And Bobby Flay? Yeah ... I think he's cute.

Can I get a great big "what the F&^%"??

OK, I get a stupid little report every week from sitemeter that tells me (and I'm paraphrasing here,) "AIN'T NOBODY READIN' YER BLOG." Turns out there ARE some folks reading ... I actually talked to one of 'em! Shouts out to Miss A and Mr. JM ... thanks for dropping by!

So, let's play catch up:

Firstly, I am compelled to tell everyone I know to visit www.operationeden.blogspot.com Just go. Your spirit will tell you what to do next.

I have a couple of interviews in the next couple of days and FINALLY got an email from the ad agency today:

"Sorry I missed you today. Too busy. I also will be out all morning, and only have a couple of hours after lunch. I can't say anything "official", but I feel really good about making this work. The only thing I need to do is check a couple of references, if you have someone available that I could give a call. I know you had some letter of recommendation, but I better confirm who you like me to contact. If I can get them by noon tomorrow, I get rolling on them very soon.
Thanks for your patience..."

So right after that I get a phone call from him (at 8:40pm) followed by another call from the call-center in Moorhead that wants to pay someone $42k to manage folks. After establishing that it's a M-F normal hours no holidays position, we made a date. They'll be talking to me in person on Monday. I'm promising to take tomorrow and not think about any of it.

I've started going to the chiropracter again. He does trigger point therapy. I know it's stupid, but I forget how good it feels to be aligned! If you're not going to a chiropractor but have a laundry list of complaints, give 'er a whirl! I suggest, however, the trigger point thing rather than the bone-cracking. I also found that he was able to do some stretchy-thingy on my wrist and my tendonitis isn't HALF as bad as a previously good day was. If you'd like my Super Doc's name & number in the Fargo/Moorhead area, please post a comment with the question and your email address which will then be emailed to me and I will respond. I just realized I'm starting to sound like I'm ready to retire to Florida and find someone to treat this darn bursitis, so that's enough of that. Good Lord. I probably almost told you all about my last bowel movement.

My Dad & Karen are officially buying the Barrett House in Barrett, MN on Barret Lake. (shades of Marcia, Marcia, Marcia?!?) What they're NOT doing, however, is listening to me regarding what airport to fly into when Dad comes in to check it out before the final signing. I mean, I FRIGGING LIVE HERE!!! Sheesh. So far two Landmark graduates agree that I'm just mad Dad is listening to Karen's findings from the net (instead of mine FROM MY BRAIN) based on the fact that he remarried so quickly and to someone we girls hadn't pre-approved.

OK ... enough of me being a hoser. If I've learned anything, it is that the choice is mine. Any choice. Every choice. All mine. I can choose to be a whiner about the job thing ... or I can choose to take this time to truly analyze why I've been settling. Further, I can choose to just let my Dad be my Dad instead of some superhero guy that I've always thought of him as. All of this deep thinking lead me to a place I like to go to recharge ... I found a GREAT quote on Jodee Bock's site and I think I'll close with it:

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It is not just in some of us; it is in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others. - Marianne Williamson

AAARRRRGGGGHHHHHHh!

I do not know what to do. The ad agency brought me in LAST THURSDAY to sit in on their computer training session (they are getting a new system) but I still haven't been offered a job. I have to be working by mid-next week in order to not fall into a black hole of financial doom. I've applied at several different positions, all of which interview in the next two to three weeks.

And nobody is reading my damn blog.