My heart won't let my feet do things they should do...

Wouldn't it have been great to start off my first blog post after three weeks of zip-o with a grand and exuberant announcement that I have finally after quite a few months (I'm not ready to use the word "several" just yet) landed myself gainful, full-time, permanent employment?

Wouldn't that have been great?

It would have been great, but I'm sad to inform you that I'm still bumming around the house trying not to eat everything in sight while I watch too much reality TV.

Some days are better than others, like the days when a new episode of Project Runway is on, the days when there are actually job postings that I'm interested in and qualified for, or that time that Lady Gaga made a guest appearance on Launch My Line. Good times.

Today's a very good day because not only did I find the first disk of season 3 of The Mighty Boosh from Netflix and this week's New York magazine in the mailbox, I also found the big box of tangerines that my mom and dad shipped to me from the orchards down the road from their house in Florida sitting out there too.

Anyhoo... my job searching hasn't been all terrible. I hit a hot streak a few weeks ago and had two interviews with two very different companies in the same week. Both were for decent jobs that I'm actually qualified to do. I got a little nutty that week fantasizing about how I could wow them both and start a bidding war for my amazingness but the first company gave me a rejection email within a couple of days.

I gotta say that at the same time I was a wee bit sad that I didn't get the job I was also kind of happy that they let me know so quickly. I was almost compelled to write and thank them for getting that shit over with. I think waiting around is the worst part and they ripped off the band-aid so fast, ka-pow!, and made my life much more bearable.

The other company I interviewed with later that same week - not so much. Still waiting. And it's not like I didn't hear anything from them in the mean time. I got glowing feedback after the first interview, glowing, and I interviewed with 4 different people mind you. Then the following week they had me fill out all different kinds of forms and personality assessments and then after that they contacted my recruiter to ask if I was available to set up a second interview. That was almost 2 flippin' weeks ago and at this point I'm near my boiling point. I can only assume that the kind of people who play these cruel waiting games have never themselves been unemployed or they wouldn't fucking do it.

It's not like I mind if the process takes a long time. I get it. I absolutely understand that these kinds of important hiring decisions should not be made in haste, but for the sweet love of Ray J at least let a bitch know when she can expect to hear back.

In the meantime I have Project Runway, Let's Talk About Pep, and the new season of Millionaire Matchmaker to keep me busy and I just signed up to teach English as a second language at my local literacy center, although it'll take awhile before I get to do actually do anything because they have to do interviews and background checks and I have to go through some training courses that don't happen until late April. Stupid interviews. I thought it was odd that they have the volunteer tutors go through such hoops but when an over protective husband who attended orientation with this wife asked if the tu-tees were background checked the literacy center lady hemmed and hawed and finally said she didn't know. Interesting.

Also interesting, while describing the types of people who come to the literacy center for help, she also quickly, and I almost want to say under her breath, mumbled some things that sounded remarkably like "work release" and "parole".

The over protective husband also asked whether or not his wife's time spent volunteering would be tax deductable and whether or not she would be reimbursed for mileage. What a jackass, although I'm glad MDH didn't come with me because those are exactly the kinds of jackass questions he asked me when I told him I wanted to do this. My answer to those questions: I don't give a shit - I'm doing it anyway.

In other news, after 3 failed attempts I finally found a pair of boots that work for me (insert chorus of angels singing Ode to Joy here). The only sort of flaw is that they are not real leather, but leather was merely a nice to have, otherwise they meet all my fucked up leg criteria:


1. Must have a full side zip as I cannot bend my right ankle to accommodate a pull-on style of boot.


2. Must have pointed toe. I can't abide a round or square toe. With my giant frame? It makes my foot look like a hoof.


3. Must have an extra wide shaft. Yeah baby, you heard me right, I said extra wide shaft. (Seriously, all sexual innuendo aside, I've got big calves.)


4. Must be flat or have extremely low heel. Fused ankle. What can I do? My foot is stuck in that position. Any higher than an inch and I can't walk.

So I found a pair that work. Halle-friggin-lujah. Attention People Who Know Me - be prepared to be sick of seeing them.

Something weird just happened. My fingers went all nutty while I was typing and now the font of this post looks janky. I can't figure out how to fix it either. Dang.

So where was I? Boots. Yep. I got boots. What else? Oh hell yes - MDH and I are getting an enormous income tax return this year and are going to buy a new bed. King size.

Our first big purchase as a couple 10 years ago was our queen size bed that we currently use. I use the word "we" loosely as most nights I start off in in that bed, but typically I end up running away to the guest room after having been driven off by some combination of MDH's ungodly snoring and my chronic back pain (because the bed now folds up like a taco when are both in it). I think it goes without saying that it's time for a new bed.

That's it for now except that I'd like to say a hearty congrats and sad farewell to my young friend Jogger who is getting married this Saturday and then moving away to Texas. Good luck kid. Stay in touch or I will hunt you down.

Here's the song I've been singing around the house today, hence the title of my post ...

Did you have a good time? It depends...

My darling has but one weekend a year to forget that he is an uptight corporate slug. He trades in his starched button down shirts and neatly pressed khakis for old gnarly tee shirts, over sized cargo shorts, and turns into a drunken slob hippie for 3 straight days and nights. He rolls around a public park, drinks gallons of draft beer and smokes god knows what from various lit objects that get passed around by god knows who.

He lives for this shit, but it's not my scene.

It's one weekend a year, so I am able to ignore his disgusting smell and beastly behavior and know that the lovely, reliable, non-hippie type guy I married will come home to me. Meanwhile, Comfest has become my excuse to drive to Columbus and spend time with my friends - husband free. I drop him off at the park and head off to the suburbs.

The short version of my trip to Columbus can be described in two words - Laughing Jag. I don't think that I have laughed so much in the last 4 years as I did in the 2 days I spent hanging out with my friends. The long version is described in bullet points below.



Friday:

• Met my friends Becky, Amy and Amy's daughter LBL for 2 hour lunch at a favorite old haunt, a Turkish restaurant in a local mall. If there is a better way to start off your Friday afternoon than with a little babaganoush, a lamb kebab and a lot of gabbing with old friends, I have yet to hear about it.
  
  
• After lunch we did a little browsing around the shops, but mostly we just walked around and made fun of people.
  
  
• Later that evening Frenchie and Nature Boy hosted a little soiree. I brought all the fixin's for guacamole and chopped up everything and made it on the spot, while standing in the middle of Frenchie's kitchen. Awesome. I love to make food while hanging around with my friends.

Saturday:

• I drop kicked a hung over MDH out of bed, reminding him that he had made plans for us to have brunch at a greasy spoon with our friend S.
  
  
• After brunch I rolled MDH out of the car in front of Comfest and drove straight to Amy's and hung out with her until it was time for us to meet Dan and Becky at the movies. We saw The Love Guru and were the only people in the theater. The movie wasn't that great, but we laughed our asses off anyway.
  
  
• Dan, Becky and I headed back over to Amy's and spent the evening eating pizza and chicken wings and watching back to back episodes of Flight of the Conchords. Like I said, laughing jag.

Sunday (in the wee small hours of the morning):

• MDH came crashing into our hotel room at around 2:30am, rudely awakening me from a blissful (sober) slumber.
  
  
• He continued to talk to me at full drunken hippie volume about his wondrous day at Comfest, as if I had not moments before been soundly asleep.
  
  
• As I became more aware of my surroundings and how much I hate hippies, I noticed that the previously pristine and perfect white hotel bed linens had become soiled and brown at the foot of his side of the bed.
  
  
• Now fully alert, I could see that the source of the filth was MDH's giant sandled feet and that he had lain in our bed after apparently wallowing through a muddy cow pasture.
  
  
• I screamed at him to go and wash his feet.
  
  
• After some grumbling and cursing he washed his feet and I allowed him to come back to bed.
  
  
• He fell immediately asleep while I lay fully awake, wild eyed and fuming.
  
  
• I got up to go to the bathroom and when I returned a few moments later found him sleeping spread eagled, hogging up the entire king-sized bed and all the pillows. Even the decorative ones.
  
  
• I shoved him all around until I was able to squeeze in back in, but that's about the time the drunken snoring began. Oh joy.
  
  
• At around 3:15am I packed up my shit, and drove home.

Two clarifications (so you won't think I'm an economy sized asshole):


1. We were planning for me to leave on Sunday without him anyway, just not quite so early. He made other arrangements to get home because he likes to stay for the entire Comfest event. I, on the other hand, could give a shit and was hoping to get home early enough to do some laundry before work on Monday morning.



2. I woke him up and kissed him goodbye before I left.



One realization (about making rash decisions while tired and angry):
1. My decision to begin a 6 hour drive through mostly rural Ohio all by myself at 3:30am was probably not so smart. I realized this about 2 hours into my trip home when it was pitch black, there were no signs of civilization, no other vehicles on the road, and the urge to pee suddenly became excruciating. That crazy astronaut lady who wore the diaper on her attempted murder spree through Florida started to seem not so crazy as I pulled into a dark and empty roadside rest.



One more realization:


1. I probably shouldn't have gulped down a giant cup of gas station coffee on my way out of town.