Does this fat make my fat look fat?

Has it come to this, really? I'm afraid so. One post per month or less is all I'm able to squeeze of my brain these days. Never mind that in addition to feeling bad about never posting on my own blog, I also feel like a huge shithead for not reading your blogs as regularly as I once was able, and I never seem to find the time to comment on any of them either, which, when you think about is all we really want as we sit here typing, isn't it? Comments. That was at one time how I measured my success as a blogger - the number of comments and weekly visitors. Now I think it's pretty damn miraculous when I'm able to remember my password to log on.

Anyhoo... I was thinking today about possible blog post topics and have decided that a good old reliable numbered list is the way to go. I've been really busy lately and will share with you lessons learned during some of my various adventures, in no particular order:

1. I have very little in common with women who describe experiences having to do with their uteruses (uter-i? - is there a plural for uterus? anyone?), childbirth, menopause, or a particularly rough menstrual cycle as their "journey".

No.

Stop it. A four Pamprin cramp day does not qualify as a "journey". Also, I don't care how long you were in labor or how much you sweat in your sleep - stop saying "journey".

2. Speaking of "Journey" - I do not care for 80's Night. A few weeks ago MDH and I went out on a Saturday night with our friend Rachel and her new-ish husband Dave to something here in town referred to as "Mega-Eighties!" Which is the name of the band that plays 80's covers regularly at the giant nightclub we paid $10 per person to enter. The expansive nightclub features rock hard, concrete floors and bathrooms with no stall doors. Already not my cup of tea. (I'm a snob with sore feet who likes to pee out my cocktails behind closed doors, get over it.)

I'll admit there were some amusing things going on, such as grown women wearing "mall bangs", leg warmers and t-shirts with the neck cut out in an exaggerated "bateau" style, a la Jennifer Beales in Flashdance and men sporting mullet wigs and folded bandanna headbands, a la Loverboy. Cute. I get it. The hairstyles and fashion of the 80's were silly.

Before the band came on there was a DJ playing top 40 hits from the 80's and soon MDH and I collectively remembered that we despised this shitty music back then so why the fuck would we want to experience it again now? Frankly, the thick cloud of pot smoke and the acid induced haze I used to live under didn't really dissipate until well into 1993, so I didn't recognize most of the music anyway.

At this point the tone shifted for MDH and me. We went from being mildly confident, middle aged people to the wildly freakish outsiders we had once been. I, a pale and lonely Smiths worshiping, goth chick and he a pogo-ing, crowd surfing, skate punk. Standing still in the background while watching everyone around us having fun and dancing maniacally to Like a Prayer and Uptown Girl reminded us that we never belonged in this scene, and never wanted to.

We stuck around a little longer when the band finally came on, and also out of respect for Rachel and Dave, 'cause we love them, but I drew the line when the band started belting out a Poison medley and we bugged the fuck out immediately for home where we cleansed our ear holes with Siouxie and the Banshees, the Clash and a little Buzzcocks.

80's Night = Big not again

3. I had something seriously cute and funny planned for #3, but can no longer remember what it was as MDH has just called me from San Francisco, where he is in the middle of a corporate team building thingy, to inform me that he has finally been promoted and that we are moving to Texas. Like now. As in he starts work on Monday. What the fuck? Finally we leave the Tundra. We were only supposed to be here for 2 years and we have been here for 6 years. I suppose now I will have to switch seasons and start bitching about how hot the summers are. Hurray!!!! (I think).

4. Restaurant Impossible is exactly like Kitchen Nightmares, but with less screaming and cursing.

5. 3D is overrated.

6. I have finally learned, after all this time, how to use the shuttle service to get around Large Corporation. I used it all winter to whisk me straight to the door of my building like a 15 passenger magic carpet. I cannot express how great it has been to avoid trudging through the snow on my (literally) 10 minute trek through the Tundra from parking space to desk. You call and they come pick you up. It's awesome.

7. I have turned into a lazy, fat piece of fudge since learning how to use the shuttle service at Large Corporation. At first I vowed only to use it on wet, snowy days when the temperature dipped below 30. Or on days when my ankle was bugging me. Now all it takes is a hangnail and a bit of fog and I'm totally riding that motherfucker with all the other old ladies and fatties.

8. Oh shit - we have to sell this house, pack and move.

She runs the gamut of emotions from A to B

Updates, Apologies, Corrections, and a Confession, In No Particular Order

What a morning. Drama-O-Rama.

I would like to take a moment to thank you for all of your kind words and disturbing, yet somehow uplifting, suggestions for violence to be wielded upon the dastardly villains who didn't see fit to hire me. You have all helped me cope with my most recent bummer. Also, as indicated in the title I want inform you of updates, corrections, apologies and a confession having to do with events in my life that have occurred in the past 24 hours or so.

8:25am - The Correction
When I arrived at the office this morning, tear swollen and red rimmed from last night's crying jag, I found a new appointment in my schedule for a short meeting with the co-managers who had interviewed me for the job I wanted and did not get.

The appointment was titled "Hiring Decision" and was set to occur in 20 minutes. I barely had time to remove my snow boots and the furrow from my brow, get coffee or practice thinking about the whole situation without crying.

8:45am - Apology #1
They were shocked to discover that I already knew I didn't get the job because, as it turns out, HR sent me the robo-rejection by mistake and they had intended all along to let me down in person. They were very sorry for the robo-rejection.

9:15am - The Confession
As the meeting was wrapping up we were all smiles and sunshine. Then one of the co-managers insisted on giving me a hug. Under normal circumstances this would have been fine. I'm all about the hugging. I like hugs for the most part and under the right circumstances I find them perfectly acceptable at work and I think that our meeting totally qualified as the right circumstances.

However.

Due to serious downward mood swing caused by the previous evenings robo-rejection, I didn't pay as close attention to my wardrobe selection this morning as I might normally. I chose a pair of slightly too loose corduroy pants paired with a slightly too short sweater, thus causing a theater curtain sized portion of my flabby be-stretch-marked midsection to be exposed to daylight during the hug. I have since learned that stretch marks have nerve endings that are extremely sensitive to air and daylight because I swear to god I felt physical pain.

9:30 am - You're Killing Me
I had just started to recover from meeting and the whole exposed midsection incident and get back to work when I looked up and saw the sweet, kindly co-worker I bitched about yesterday. The one who keeps asking me if I've heard anything about the job. She had that look on her face. I knew what was coming so I cut her off at the pass. People, I didn't even take off my headphones or give her enough time to speak. I just looked her square in the eye and sharply said, "No!" As if I was correcting a bad dog.

And then I pointed down the hall as if to say keep walking.

9:50 am - Apology #2
I received a phone call from HR with a formal apology. I was in no mood to answer the phone and accept the apology graciously or in person, so I let the pathetic HR dude leave a grovelling voice mail. Also this way I get to listen to it over and over again and that can be very satisfying. That's right HR dude. Bow and cower in my presence.

10:15 am - Unfucking Believable
I checked my gmail only to discover that I had received yet again the exact same robo-rejection from HR that was apologized for not 30 minutes ago. Yes. The asshole apologized and then RE-SENT it.

Update - Yippee! I'm Number Two
Here's the poop: It was down to me and one other person who happened to be an internal candidate. They hired someone internally. No surprise there. It is very difficult to get a job here. They almost always hire internally. They have since changed the rules and you can only contract here for a year and a half before you get shit canned, but I know people that were contractors for as long as 6 years before getting hired. So my beef was not so much that I didn't get the job. No. My beef was the robo-rejection. Today they gave me my love, so I'm feeling much better.

Apology #3
I am sorry I called my co-worker friend a Twat in my post yesterday. She doesn't read my blog, but still.

Holding Back

I've been pretty hush-hush about the fact that I applied for a job with the company where I'm currently a contractor. I don't like to keep secrets, so it's been rather a strain on my nerves.

Add to that the fact that I work in very close quarters, share a printer, ladies room, and break room with the people who interviewed me, and you will understand that there have been some awkward moments here and there as I run into these nice people and try to restrain myself from shaking them by the collar and begging them to please put me out of my misery and let me know if they are going to hire me already.

So far, so good, but I'll be glad when this whole thing is over.

As if walking around pretending to be all normal and shit while I wait to find out whether or not I got the job isn't difficult enough, I also have had to put up with a well meaning, fellow contractor friend of mine, one of the very few and privileged people I happened to let in on my secret job interviewing, who comes sniffing around my cube twice daily, asking in loud whispers, if I've heard anything about the job.

She has been doing this for what has now become weeks, like ever since I applied for the job and began the interview process. I'm ready to kill her.

Like dead.

Or at least maim her in some serious way that will leave marks, blisters and/or bald spots.

On Monday I asked her, in what I perceived to be the nicest way possible, to please not ask me about it any more. I assured her in calm and soothing tones that she would be the first to know. She seemed taken aback and quite stung by my request. I felt bad and wondered if I had used a harsher tone that I intended because I swear I saw tears well up in her eyes. So I promised that I would call her to let her know before I even call my own husband with the good (or bad, but I'm trying to remain optimistic) news.

I promised that she would be the first to know. Promised.

It seems that she has taken my request seriously because she doesn't come over to my cube twice a day and ask me about the job anymore. Thanks for that.

No. Now she comes over to my cube twice a day and in an understanding, wink-wink, overly sunshiny tone asks how am I "doing today". Insert air quotes here.

I'm not sure she knows it, but I immediately recognized this as a poorly disguised way of asking me if I've heard anything about the job. I'm pretty smart that way. I catch on.

I have so far responded by giving her one of those lip less smiles of mine where I don't show any teeth and my lips are pressed together, nod my head a little and say, "I'm fine, thanks for asking".

What I really want to do is leap from my chair, press her into a headlock and shove the contents of my recycling bin up her nose and scream,
"For fuck's sake you nosy twat, leave me the fuck alone. Stop fucking asking me about it. Fuck!" and then storm around my cube and knock shit over until I calm down, professional wrestler style.

I fear doing this may jeopardize my chances of getting the job.