Bye Bye, Bruce Banner

Mind over matter, my ass. Meltdown #1 has occurred. Poor Doug, he just sat and watched (and grilled) as I just cried and cried and cried last night. I could not stop. Part of my brain was still functioning and knew I was being ridiculous. Unfortunately, that part was the minority party and couldn't outvote the majority. I kept thinking of ERT, who has had REAL issues to cry about this week. But that kind of logic was not heard over the crying. In fact, that small part of my brain that was still functioning normally kept thinking I really wish I had an electronic counter like Bruce Banner that would go from 33 days backwards to zero like on the newest Hulk movie. That would rock.

They are currently tearing down the former Borden factory in Starkville. Wonder if I might possibly buy the sign that used to be out front: "Days without accident: __"

Meet the Fleabags

We have so many animals now that I have to shelve and catalog them.

Priss (bottom shelf): Eight-year old spayed female. Found as a kitten by Penny's dad. I believe we got her in December 2000. She, like me, is overweight. Plus, she has saggy belly, which I like to play with. Allergic to fleas (REALLY?!?) and gets "scabbies" around her neck when they get out of hand. Liked Elliott until he became mobile. Has lived lots of her life in hiding. I am her #1. Her favorite time of day is when Elliott goes to bed, and she can come out and lounge with me.

Phillip the Female Cat (top shelf): Basic info can be obtained in previous post. Half vampire, half spider monkey. I have never had a cat that likes to bite for fun so much. Climbs the shower curtain on a regular basis. Conducts jingly ball practice in the bathtub for that true roller derby feel. Killer of roaches. Patient with Elliott as if she understands her lot in life as "his" cat. Thinks she is my baby, and likes to be held accordingly. Has found that an open Stats book is a great place to sleep. Lover of Corn Pops.

Luckily, they have found a peace together in their room (the laundry room) that Priss and CW would never have managed. Party on.

Uno, Dos

Shot #2 has been administered. You have been warned. (EVIL GRIN)

Vegas Baby!

I am super pumped about the pending destination celebration for the combined 30th birthdays of my 3 BFFs and myself. And after being on Cloud 9 all day about it, I realized, "Hey, Fattie, you could make a good push in the next few weeks and maybe feel a little better about yourself in Vegas." So I promptly looked at my calendar: 7 weeks until tentative departure. I am challenging myself to exercise MINIMALLY 5 days a week and to only treat myself to DP on Sundays. Still in negotiations with sugar, my arch enemy. Say a prayer for my motivation and time management, please!

Versatile

Capable of or adapted for turning easily from one to another of various tasks, fields of endeavor, etc.

A Tale of Two Fishermen

You may be wondering why they are facing away from the pond. Well, since Doug had abandoned us and took the cooler to keep the fish in (he doubted our abilities and moved on to another pond), Jeremiah was simply throwing his fish on the ground. I thought the dysfunctional twins were busy admiring the fish. Wrong. When William walked by, Corgan self-incriminated: "We are kicking this fish." My father's reply later was that she was going to need lots of therapy down the road. :)

Lookout, world.

Oh and I! I Will Survive!

A little Gloria Gaynor, anyone?

If I had gotten around to writing a post on Friday, it would have been something along the lines of "The Natives are Hysterical, and Not in a Good Way." Some confidential, intense work stuff coupled with being harassed about stupid stuff via IM and some other stuff that I now can't recall had me on the verge of tears and meltdown. But you know what? No tears were shed! No yelling commenced! I have reached the first challenge, and I won the immunity idol! Now if we can just eradicate the fleas, I might can keep my stuff together.

Day 22: Natives, Please Stop with the Campfires

I had a few moments this weekend where I could not get cool. The air would be on 75 (which is the lowest our air is allowed) and I'd still be hot, though it wouldn't last very long. So either the hot flashes have started, or keeping a 7-month-old child for nearly 33 hours is more exhausting than I remember.

The Rocket Pop

This silly little story is such a good snapshot into why Doug and I work. Our best times are the moments when we are laughing uncontrollably about the stupidest things no one else would think are funny. Like that time we laughed for 10 unspeakable minutes after imitating Poco's meow. But I digress.

One night in 2005 (I think, not 100% accurate on that), Doug and I headed to Columbus to watch a friend in a karaoke contest. My mom was out of town, and my dad was in his boot (source of injury escaping me right now...was it stepping off a feed bag wrong? oh well). I believe our friend made it into the top 3 that night before we headed home once we realized my poor dad was in excruciating pain. On the way home, I stopped at a gas station and sent Doug in to get me AN ICE CREAM ON A STICK. That fact is very important to remember. Doug returned with A ROCKET POP. I ABHOR rocket pops. I'm not a big fan of popsicles, sherbet or anything not dairy that is in the freezer section. And I'm not really a big fan of ice cream in a bowl. It has to be ICE CREAM ON A STICK. And I flipped The Bitch Switch. I had a fit. My dad tried to take Doug's side, which just fired me up even more. So Doug started eating the rocket pop, and doing so in a very annoying way. Slurping, "ummm, it's so good," and offering me a lick every few miles all the way back to WP. And after every time, he would giggle. It was at this point I realized he had had more to drink than I had previously realized.

The mere mention of the words rocket pop can still make us laugh.

Day 19: Both Shoes Firmly in Place

I feel like there are a few people who are waiting for the proverbial shoe to drop aka for the first super crazy Emily fit. I would like to ensure to all interested parties that I am feeling quite well even though my female parts are trying to take over the free world and the universe is mocking me. I have no idea what would make them think such a fit is coming. I mean, it's not like I've ever locked myself in a bathroom while hosting Wrestling Night and reorganized my bathroom while my friends tried to slide a Xanax under the door wrapped in cheese. Sheesh. But should that have ever happened, I would like to say that almost anyone would have freaked out that day. It was the day my baby brother reported to boot camp. Something shitty happened at work (imagine that), and a pie plate full of food exploded in my oven ABOVE the other pie plate full of food. We were also 1.5 months into adoption paperwork, and I was working two jobs. An aspirin could have put me over the edge that day. And for the record, should you like to amuse yourself at work today, Google "lupron side effects" or something to that nature and read the horrendous stories ladies have posted on webboards. And then, DOUG, thank your lucky stars that the bathroom was still standing that day.

Smells Like Freshman Year

No, the signature scent of freshman year is not vodka. It's TAR! I was walking across campus this morning and the smell smacked me in the face. And after I wanted to vomit, I thought of Sessums Hall, my honorary dorm, and my dear friends and the good times we had there. Guess the tar wasn't all bad if it can evoke good memories. I mean, it's not every freshman who needs a flashlight to go to the potty, huh, Michelle? :)

Day 17: THE NATIVES ARE REVOLTING

Mock, mock, mock. Can you hear it too? The universe is mocking me. I've been practicing all this Mind over Matter bullshit for a whole 2.5 weeks, pepping myself up for every day I continue to feel like myself and not like some monster ruled by ass-injected hormones. And then today happened. Being the frequent urinater (I'm making up words I'm so pissed), I calmly strolled into the restroom at work (for those who don't know, I am strategically right beside the bathroom; awesome) only to discover I had started my period. I'm pretty sure I have 0-1 male readers, but in case any guys are reading this I apologize for what you have blindly stumbled into. Anyhoo, I come back and do three things immediately. One, email Erica. Two, google Lupron. Three, IM HS who has also been to Crazy Town. Two out of three, and my memory from 2005 (answer to come from 1 source), say that you are not supposed to have a period while on Lupron. In fact, drugs.com states, "Lupron usually causes women to stop ovulating or having menstrual periods." Please note the word USUALLY. WTF.

Happy 9-9-09! Mock, mock, mock.

Day 16: The Natives Are Bitchy

Hey, hey, hey, wait just a minute. Give the natives a break. They are wife-bitchy, not Lupron-bitchy. Let the record show that I have never needed a medical excuse to activate The Bitch Switch. Here is a rundown of Labor Day weekend:

Friday:
Supper at LAF with Erica and kiddos and my mom. Getting there late is like being 5 shots of tequila behind everyone else. You need to have been there when the momentum reached 100, not just walk into it. Shew. Then we headed to the OHA football game. Went pretty well considering. We wisely left following the half-time show.

Saturday:
PAF! I love PAF like a loyal WP'er should. Mom, Elliott and I (Doug was at work at the Co-op) started our morning with a funnel cake (8:15ish), and E and I quickly followed it with a chicken-on-a-stick (9:30ish). PAF appetite is like no other. Gorge fest! Elliott was super whiney, and we finally called it a day around 12:30. Elliott and I went home to nap; Doug went to the MSU game. Note we haven't seen him since 7 am. I woke up from my nap with a horrendous headache which I suspect was from the overindulgence of food and sugar. Took an Ultram. Nothing. Took another one. Went to church. Head is still killing me. I couldn't even sing. And people, I LOVE to sing. God simply forgot to insert the talent. Anyhoo, we left church (Mom, Penny, the girls, E and I) and headed to Artesia for a post-dove hunt hamburger cooking. Head still hurting, so I also take an Aleve. That's right, 2 Ultrams and 1 Aleve. FINALLY sometime during Artesia I start to get a break from the headache. I'm now at like 25% headache and 75% slight buzz. At least I can function now. Doug finally arrives from the game, 12+ hours since we've last seen him.

Sunday:
The three of us head to Louisville to have lunch with Doug's family. Shea, Terry and the kids were there for the weekend. Now, even though we are "together" and at his family's house, that doesn't mean Doug hangs out with us. He still finds time to go get his game camera from the woods and assorted other activies. We leave there to head to Palo Alto for (1) Doug to dove hunt that afternoon and (2) Penny's b'day supper that night. So bye-bye Doug from 2:30 until 7 pm. And who was there to console a little boy who wanted to go? ME. Nice supper and b'day cake. I, sensing how tired and ill Elliott already was, wanted to leave at 7:45. Instead we left after 9 and boy did we pay the price.

Monday:
Doug got up and left around 7 am to go to the country and work on his box stand. There MIGHT have been a half-assed invitation to join him, but I knew better than to not let Elliott have any downtime at home before starting a new week. So on top of having Elliott by myself for another entire day, I also did dishes, laundry and cleaned the bathroom. Oh yeah, and I cooked supper.

Now I ask you, members of the female jury, wouldn't you be pissy too?

Quotable

"For I know the plans I have for you" declares the Lord "plans to prosper you, plans to give you hope and a future." ~Jeremiah 29:11

Just read this quote and thought it was pretty darn good: "Oh, my friend, it's not what they take away from you that counts. It's what you do with what you have left."

Thought this quote was fitting for the day......"I know God will not give me anything I can't handle. I just wish that He didn't trust me so much." ~Mother Teresa

Two people near and dear to my heart (shoutouts to KTV and SRe) have been struggling in their jobs for quite awhile now. In their struggles they appropriately have turned to inspiring scripture and quotes (above). I kind of hold myself up as the friend you know who survived THAT job and lived to tell the tale. But I haven't been much help or hope to them considering I stuck it out for SEVEN YEARS. I think I'm now ready to write about it.

Two things have hit me this week that made me want to write this post: the second quote above and something that happened during my volunteer work this week. I'll conquer the volunteer moment first.

When I arrived for my first exciting day at the adoption agency (!!!), my leader as I shall call him asked me if I could make a brochure. Sure, I replied, though I'm probably a little rusty. Luckily as the details unfolded it turned out that I didn't have to come up with an original design and lay it out (they had 2 brochures that it needed to be modeled after and a company who would do the actual layout). So I needed to do the copy (the text) and pick some appropriate images and inspiring quotes. By the time I left that afternoon I had a complete draft accomplished. And it occurred to me on the way home that there are a lot of things I learned to do in my previous (hated) job I mentioned a few posts back. And you know that whole "baptism by fire" thing? Most of my skills I learned that way. Stressful, yes, but also a long learning experience in a lot of different areas.

Also this week my current boss complimented me on my ability to catch small ticky details in documents. Not so much something I learned in that job as much as something that was BEAT INTO ME. ;) About the time these two things made my lightbulb go off, then that second quote above hit. And I thought, ah, that is where I went wrong.

Why, you may ask, did you stay for SEVEN YEARS? Well, for one thing, I didn't see any other options available. I was married, had a house, and couldn't just walk. Two, they paid me well. LISTEN UP, KIDS: Not only can money not buy love, it cannot buy workplace happiness. It can dull the pain for awhile, but eventually it will not be worth it. Three, I was bound and determine not to screw myself over worse in my misery. My catch phrase became, "I'm not going to jump just to jump. I'll tough it out until a real option comes along." And thank the good Lord above it finally did.

But it's not important now to focus on the details of the bad. There are, however, some lessons gleaned. There are invaluable friends I made while working there. (Are you happy now, VV? Kisses!) That can never be taken away from me. If it wasn't for those individuals, I probably would have gone over the edge. I am thankful for all of them, and even more thankful that several of them remain in my life to whatever degree possible.

Here is the kicker, though. When stuck in a bad job, you must find a way for self preservation. The friends mentioned immediately above kept me from total misery (as did my friends and family who had to listen to me vent constantly), but I lost a piece of myself. Yes, I know that sounds dramatic, but it's true. Let me repeat: I LOST A PIECE OF MYSELF. And worse, I ALLOWED that to happen. I gave up. I withdrew inside. I went from an outspoken, intelligent person to a worker bee who found it easier to follow the status quo. In retrospect, I could always tell when I lost another worker to the same affliction. These young go-getters would also go from "Let's fight!" to "Whatever, just tell me what you want." So yeah, on one hand, I was not alone. But it took a year after leaving before I climbed out of the hole and started becoming me again. A year of recovery from losing a piece of myself.

So I challenge you. Find your self preservation and stay in the tough-it-out phase, or get out. You have to find your "What is it really worth?" point. For me, happiness equaled $7000 less pay. But what I gained, friends, is invaluable.

The L Word

LICE!!! More cases of lice have been found at daycare, exactly 64 days after we found it in Elliott's hair. Now hear this, if we have to deal with this in our household again, I will be calling for some medication. I have to end this post now as I'm in the fetal position, rocking and sucking my thumb, all of which make it a little difficult to type.

I've Been on the Other Side

I returned to the sheriff's office at 7:45 this morning. This morning's dispatcher casually mentioned that there would be a $25 charge to be fingerprinted. Dang, I wish I had access to a mirror at that moment because I would have loved to see my face. First all encompassing thought is why didn't someone tell me that YESTERDAY. Next words out of my mouth, ever so bitchily: "I hope you take a check." Nope. Second instance of needing a mirror. Cash only. I muttered something about I've already been up here once, stalked out, went a couple of blocks down the street, took $25 out of my checking account, and returned. I'm not kidding you, when I got back in there I waved my crisp bills at her. Then she instructed me where to go pay and then to return to the Jail. UM, WHAT? So this time I'm not so obliging. "Will there be someone to assist me in the jail unlike last night?" And she said, "Yes, there shouldn't be anyone around there right now." I think she meant there would be no inmates out and about. And at that moment I realized exactly what female guard #2 had said last night: "They sent you up here at this time of day?" Aha, that is why they fingerprint until 3 pm. After that I suspect it conflicts with the inmates schedules. Seems my panic may have been justified.

So I walk back up that horrid ramp, precariously peering up to see if I will again be met with the site of striped pants. Free and clear. But when I reach the booth this time, he instructs me to go THROUGH THE FRONT DOOR. This door? This door right here? This door that is locked and that inmates were coming and going through last night? This door that has a note on it that no purses are allowed through it? THIS DOOR? But I went, and one guard makes me stand out of the way while he escorts a new inmate elsewhere. And I'm looking around at the phone where I suspect you get to make that one call, and I think for the second time in two days that maybe tours of this horrid place would make people think twice about committing crimes. My mind is going 90 to nothing when suddenly I think, is that Saved by the Bell I hear? Apparently one of the guards watches Saved by the Bell. Finally the man in the booth comes out, and let me say that he is a very nice man. He explained that they have a new kind of ink that works on paper but doesn't get on your clothes (shut your mouth!). I was shocked by their new technology. Granted it wasn't water and electronic prints in a sterile environment like at CIS, but at least I didn't leave looking like I'd been booked.

So friends, my fingerprints are once again on file, and I am now $25 less rich for a job that I will not get paid for. And my commitment to being a law abiding citizen has never been higher.

But I Don't Look Good in Stripes!

In 2005 Doug and I good naturedly trudged to Memphis to the CIS office to be electronically fingerprinted for our adoption paperwork. Though a government building is never the nicest, our wait there wasn't too terrible overall. That experience now seems like Buckingham Palace compared to my latest fingerprinting debacle. For my volunteer work I again have to be fingerprinted. But this time with the actual icky ink at the county sheriff's department. I headed up there this afternoon thinking it shouldn't be too bad. Mistake #1. It had occurred to me to call first, but I made sure to get there before 5. Mistake #2 not calling. To say the entrance is outdated is an understatement to end all understatements. The dispatcher instructed me to go to the jail. "UM, HUH?" But I, being a good citizen, followed her instructions without questioning, following the homemade carved wooden sign with "Jail" branded into the wood through a door into...a cavernous hallway that looked like I was under a stadium. Uh, this is weird. And when I get to the top of that hallway (yes, it was a big ramp up), what do I see but CRIMINALS RUNNING LOOSE. I'm not joking, there were 2 inmates just chillin' in the hallway, the same hallway with little ole' me. There was a large and impressive looking guard in a safety booth..IN A SAFETY BOOTH. NOT OUT IN THE HALLWAY WITH ME AND THE CRIMINALS. I practically yell to get his attention, and he has the nerve to tell me to take a seat...next to the criminal. Um, no thank you. I stood as my anxiety level reached an all time high. Did I mention that one of the criminals was casually eating a hunk of watermelon? Yeah, he was. So, I'm chillin' and here comes ANOTHER inmate through the dividing door. He just waltzed through like he had all the access in the world. Freak out coming in huge waves. Finally here comes a young, attractive officer. He bellows, "Front Door" and then he disappears to the other side. Um, did you not notice the crazy eyes or the panic, sir? Could you not assist me? Obviously not. Next up, criminal #3 waltzes back through Front Door after casually mentioning to Tank (yes, that's right, the man in the booth is named Tank) he needs through. WHAT KIND OF SECURITY IS THIS?? Poor little ole me is now noticing further down the hallway that more criminals are out and about on janitorial duty. I'm approaching needing a paper bag. I'm not sure how long all this lasted because in my mind it was ETERNITY. It was hot, dirty, and filled with criminals. Not exactly my element. Finally a second female jailer (first one didn't help enough to even get included in this story) addresses me with, "They only do that paperwork from 7-3 everyday; why did they send you up here?" I wait like 20 seconds after she disappears through Front Door, and I haughtily stomp back down the ramp hallway. When I reach the dispatcher, I very bitchily ask if it would be better if I returned tomorrow between 7 and 3.

Second attempt Wednesday morning. Report to come. If I make it out alive.