It's been a peaceful Advent season for Matt and me. Our church has led us to rethink Christmas, which has made this December somber, meaningful, and beautiful. We are so thankful for this. So thankful.
And on that note, a survey.
1. What kind of tree do you have?
We have a noble fir that we chopped down ourselves. (Actually, I stood there taking pictures while Matt worked. I did make sure to move the saw myself a few times just so I could say I helped. Which was hardly helpful of me.) In the past, we've always had a doug fir, which is lovely and all, but once we got out to the tree farm and compared the two... well, there's just no comparison. I'm in love with our tree right now, and I'm so sad it's almost time to recycle it.
2. What is your favorite Christmas movie?
Top 3: Home Alone 1, Elf, and Love Actually.
3. What is your favorite Christmas holiday food?
I hate how my family serves ham and only occasionally turkey. I HATE HAM. We usually have a delicious Christmas eve meal, though, like roast or soup. My mom also makes french toast Christmas morning, and my dad makes super crispy bacon, so it makes up for the ham fiasco. And as far as the sweets go, I love Snickers nutcrackers. Seriously, Snickers are infinitely better when in the shape of something. The lady at Target agrees with me.
4. Do you use wrapping paper or gift bags?
Here's where I'm torn. I love love love wrapping gifts and making them all pretty, and I also love ripping the paper off, but OH MY GOD. It creates an alarming amount of trash, and most wrapping paper cannot be recycled. I feel a little bit sick on Christmas morning picking up all the paper and filling two garbage bags. So it is better to use gift bags, but gift bags are way lame.
5. Do you have a nativity scene in your house?
Yes! And I love it! My parents got it for me last Christmas, and I was so excited to use it that I put it out on Thanksgiving. I stare at it a lot. Baby Jesus makes me happy.
6. What is your favorite Christmas song?
I feel silly that I don't have one favorite Christmas song. I love the ones that make me reflect. I have a chill Christmas mix that I have to listen to every day. Matt and I also do a fantastic duet to Baby, It's Cold Outside. And I can't hear Mariah Carey's All I Want For Christmas without laughing and dancing and thinking of Natalie, Katy, Amy, Mel, Mandy, and Brad.
7. What was the most memorable gift you received as a child?
One year in high school, my parents gave each of us kids something that once belonged to them. I got my mom's cross she had since high school, my sister got her ruby ring, and my brother got a baseball signed by someone cool from my dad. They each wrote us a letter explaining the significance. By far the most meaningful Christmas morning I remember.
8. What was the worst gift you ever received?
I don't remember. I usually like the gifts people buy me. I'm not picky, I suppose.
9. Most annoying thing about this time of year?
How unspiritual Christmas can feel. I read an article the other day in which an atheist said he feels completely comfortable celebrating Christmas because it has nothing to do with Jesus anymore. That bums me out.
10. Favorite thing about this time of year?
Family. My church. Jesus. You know, the good stuff.
Merry Christmas, everyone. I hope you feel peace and God.
Sunday, December 23, 2007
Sunday, December 9, 2007
Baby, It's a New Day
Oh, hi. You know when you're trying to come up with a really great introduction to some really great news and all you really want to do is just blurt it out and have everyone toast to you and praise Jesus for some mighty fine providing skills?
I got a job! HELLS YEAH.
That's right, folks. I'm totally a high school English teacher. (I'm still so tickled to say that.) I have keys to the classrooms, a desk to call home, and 100 names to learn. Last week was my first week teaching, and it was hard and overwhelming and awesome. And I love it. This is what I get to teach: creative writing (already fantastic), literacy (very challenging), and classic world lit (surprisingly a lot of fun). I'm very thankful.
I'm creating most my curriculum, which is fun but also a ton of work. So here's my request: to all my writer friends and English majors (and anyone else, please!), any excellent creative writing ideas you remember that you'd like to pass my way? I'm trying to channel Mrs. Kirk in class, but I'm afraid she's way too good to be channeled.
Also, I must decide between Macbeth and Hamlet. Thoughts?
And finally, everyone must know how incredibly grateful I feel right now. It's a new day.
I got a job! HELLS YEAH.
That's right, folks. I'm totally a high school English teacher. (I'm still so tickled to say that.) I have keys to the classrooms, a desk to call home, and 100 names to learn. Last week was my first week teaching, and it was hard and overwhelming and awesome. And I love it. This is what I get to teach: creative writing (already fantastic), literacy (very challenging), and classic world lit (surprisingly a lot of fun). I'm very thankful.
I'm creating most my curriculum, which is fun but also a ton of work. So here's my request: to all my writer friends and English majors (and anyone else, please!), any excellent creative writing ideas you remember that you'd like to pass my way? I'm trying to channel Mrs. Kirk in class, but I'm afraid she's way too good to be channeled.
Also, I must decide between Macbeth and Hamlet. Thoughts?
And finally, everyone must know how incredibly grateful I feel right now. It's a new day.
Monday, November 19, 2007
How a 6th Grader Apologizes
I've been subbing now for over a month and, surprisingly, I love it. I was always so afraid to be a sub, but it's not nearly as bad as I expected and it's a great chance to sharpen my classroom management skills. Also, I'm trying to befriend every secretary at every high school so she can keep me posted on any job openings (because this district doesn't actually advertise open positions). Overall, it's a pretty great job and I am much happier than I ever was at my previous employer.
I only sub for high school and middle school, which seems like I'd have plenty of horror stories to share. Honestly, though, the students have all been pretty good, and as long as they're not loud enough for the teacher next door to come over, I'm okay. So far, I've only had to leave two negative notes for the teacher. To me, that's awesome.
Last week, I subbed for a middle school art class. Most of the classes were respectful and easy-going. But there was one class of 6th graders that was unbelievably terrible. I exhausted all levels of punishment left by the teacher and still they continued being awful human beings. By the end of the period, I hated who I was: a cold, mean bitch. I just wanted them gone. And after they left, I wrote a letter to the teacher.
This morning, I checked the mail and received a package from the middle school. I opened it and found 30 handwritten letters of apology to me. Here's some of the best:
"Ms. W always says, "Do they lock you up and make you stay absolutely silent all day long?" The answer is no, we just are apparently disrespectful of subs and teachers during this part of the day."
"I conclude that I am sorry for our bad behaviour and hope that you don't end up quit teaching because of us."
"I would like to apologize on behalf of my classmates. I know it must have been very tiring for you... p.s. I feel I was on task most of the time."
"I'm sorry for my classmates about their rude behavior. I hope that they will be more respectful next time you sub. I was sitting in the front left table. I was the one with blond hair and helped you with the class. Hopefully my classmates will apologize with respect."
"I know that I was talking a little bit and I am very sorry. It's just because I knew all that stuff on clay."
"I'm not sorry for not talking. I am sorry for all my classmates. I was on task."
Now that's awesome.
I only sub for high school and middle school, which seems like I'd have plenty of horror stories to share. Honestly, though, the students have all been pretty good, and as long as they're not loud enough for the teacher next door to come over, I'm okay. So far, I've only had to leave two negative notes for the teacher. To me, that's awesome.
Last week, I subbed for a middle school art class. Most of the classes were respectful and easy-going. But there was one class of 6th graders that was unbelievably terrible. I exhausted all levels of punishment left by the teacher and still they continued being awful human beings. By the end of the period, I hated who I was: a cold, mean bitch. I just wanted them gone. And after they left, I wrote a letter to the teacher.
This morning, I checked the mail and received a package from the middle school. I opened it and found 30 handwritten letters of apology to me. Here's some of the best:
"Ms. W always says, "Do they lock you up and make you stay absolutely silent all day long?" The answer is no, we just are apparently disrespectful of subs and teachers during this part of the day."
"I conclude that I am sorry for our bad behaviour and hope that you don't end up quit teaching because of us."
"I would like to apologize on behalf of my classmates. I know it must have been very tiring for you... p.s. I feel I was on task most of the time."
"I'm sorry for my classmates about their rude behavior. I hope that they will be more respectful next time you sub. I was sitting in the front left table. I was the one with blond hair and helped you with the class. Hopefully my classmates will apologize with respect."
"I know that I was talking a little bit and I am very sorry. It's just because I knew all that stuff on clay."
"I'm not sorry for not talking. I am sorry for all my classmates. I was on task."
Now that's awesome.
Friday, November 9, 2007
How I Spent My Fall Break
Or, that week in which I decided to take off work (yes! I'm employed again!) and school.
Last week, Matt and I went down to Arkansas for a family visit. I spent all day Saturday with one of my old roommates, Mel, a lovely new mama. We took her baby, Callie, for a stroll around JBU and introduced her to the buildings and our memories. Walking through the old halls of our dorm with a baby was an interesting experience. Basically, Callie owes her life to JBU because without it Mel wouldn't have met her husband Nate and thus Callie would not have been created. Here, Callie is just bursting with gratitude:
Last week, Matt and I went down to Arkansas for a family visit. I spent all day Saturday with one of my old roommates, Mel, a lovely new mama. We took her baby, Callie, for a stroll around JBU and introduced her to the buildings and our memories. Walking through the old halls of our dorm with a baby was an interesting experience. Basically, Callie owes her life to JBU because without it Mel wouldn't have met her husband Nate and thus Callie would not have been created. Here, Callie is just bursting with gratitude:
Later, when Matt and Nate returned from the football game, Matt kindly read to Callie the book that he bought her. She really seemed to enjoy it.
Yep, that's a children's book about scabs. We found it at a book outlet, and it's translated from Japan. It says things like, "Can I eat my scabs?" and "This tastes like poop!" For all of you out there looking for that perfect Christmas gift, look no further. You're welcome.
On Monday, I went and stayed with our good friends Seth and Amber. Amber is one of my best friends, and together they're about as awesome and real as it gets. They have been a huge blessing to me over the many years we've been friends. Amber also just had her third kid, bringing the grand total to 3 boys ages 3 and under. So I thought I'd join in on the fun for a week. It was FANTASTIC.
L to R: Isaac, Ian, and Jude. Oh how I miss them crawling all over me. Seriously. When I got married, my sister said in her toast, "This is the happiest day of my life. Until I get married." And to say something similar, I love these kids the most. Until I have my own. Just look at them!
One of my favorite moments with the boys actually involved changing a dirty diaper. After his nap, Jude had one hell of a stinky mess in his pants. I wanted to be tough and not bother Amber with it, so I committed to changing it on my own. Isaac was sitting by me when I undid the diaper, and half-jokingly I said to him, "Woooo-wee, Isaac, I'm going to need some strength from the Lord for this one." And in my best southern voice, I smiled and said, "Help me, Jesus!" which Isaac continued to repeat. After it was over, Isaac and I high-fived and said, "Thank you, Jesus!" The next day, I was again changing Jude's diaper with Ike nearby. It wasn't a bad one, but Isaac ran up to me and leaned on my shoulder and said, "Did Jesus help you again?"
And that's how I spent my most awesome fall break.
Friday, October 19, 2007
Setting Theology Aside for a Second
The other night Matt, Gurley, and I went to a show and saw a Christian band. I can’t say that I’m super fond of these sorts of shows, but Matt really wanted to go and I really do enjoy this band’s music. So we went, and it actually was a pretty good concert. Except for one thing: In the middle of one of the songs, the singer asked everyone to raise their hands. (I felt skeptical so I did not participate, which was a good choice on my part.) He then asked everyone to start clapping. A couple thousand people were clapping above their heads when the singer happily said, “This is what we’ll be doing in heaven forever and ever and ever and ever and ever!” And the crowd DIDN’T SEEM BOTHERED.
Damn it! I hate clapping! Oh sweet Jesus, tell me I won’t have to clap in heaven forever. I only enjoy clapping to Deep in the Heart of Texas. And that song’s only like 30 seconds long.
After the singer said that, and after I momentarily panicked, and after I remembered that singer-man doesn’t really know, I started thinking about how I would want to spend my time in heaven, assuming there’s a choice in the matter. I imagine Jesus and me floating in a pool alternating between watching Friends on a floating screen and chatting about life and literature while eating all the foods that we crave, mainly ice cream and gorgonzola fries.
But I won’t have to clap. Right??
Damn it! I hate clapping! Oh sweet Jesus, tell me I won’t have to clap in heaven forever. I only enjoy clapping to Deep in the Heart of Texas. And that song’s only like 30 seconds long.
After the singer said that, and after I momentarily panicked, and after I remembered that singer-man doesn’t really know, I started thinking about how I would want to spend my time in heaven, assuming there’s a choice in the matter. I imagine Jesus and me floating in a pool alternating between watching Friends on a floating screen and chatting about life and literature while eating all the foods that we crave, mainly ice cream and gorgonzola fries.
But I won’t have to clap. Right??
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Being Well-Dressed Should Start on Day 1
All weekend long, Matt talked about how much he needed a neck pillow for his upcoming trips. By Sunday evening, he was still neck pillow-less, and MYGOD I was sick of hearing those words. I told Matt that if he would please just stop talking about it, I would go on a hunt for one on Monday.
My hunt failed. Where the hell can one obtain a stupid neck pillow?!!!
I went to Target on my search, and while I was there I thought I’d pick up some baby clothes for our friends who have had babies in the past two weeks. (Three new babies!) And next week, Matt and I will be in Arkansas and get to meet two of the babies, so naturally I want to bring gifts. But why must all baby clothes have some sort of creature sewed on? Every time I found a really cute looking pattern or color, I’d pull it off the rack to find a squirrel in the middle doing a dance or a bear waving while flying a plane. Is it just because I’m not a mom that I don’t find these sorts of things especially cute? Why does a lovely striped onesie have to be ruined with a choo-choo train? The print doesn't really bother me; I don't mind a shirt with something like ducks on the fabric nearly as much as I mind a huge duck sewed to the center of the shirt. You know, like a patch or a huge fuzzy sticker. It’s like the poor babies of the world are forced to go out of the house wearing one too many accessories. And that just doesn’t seem fair.
But good news: Matt bought himself a pillow this morning. We can all breathe a sigh of relief. Now if only I could solve the baby clothes crisis…
(Also, I want to personally apologize to Nikki and a certain Sunday School teacher. I did not realize I was frustrating you with my absence. I will work on it. And I do believe this is kind of a lame post, so I am also sorry for that. But I am afraid if I wait much longer for an exciting event to post, someone will tell Jesus and I’ll get kicked out of heaven because my Sunday School teacher filed a complaint against me. And that would make me immeasurably sad. And Nikki, please don’t send me any more hate mail and computer viruses. You used to be such a good friend.)
My hunt failed. Where the hell can one obtain a stupid neck pillow?!!!
I went to Target on my search, and while I was there I thought I’d pick up some baby clothes for our friends who have had babies in the past two weeks. (Three new babies!) And next week, Matt and I will be in Arkansas and get to meet two of the babies, so naturally I want to bring gifts. But why must all baby clothes have some sort of creature sewed on? Every time I found a really cute looking pattern or color, I’d pull it off the rack to find a squirrel in the middle doing a dance or a bear waving while flying a plane. Is it just because I’m not a mom that I don’t find these sorts of things especially cute? Why does a lovely striped onesie have to be ruined with a choo-choo train? The print doesn't really bother me; I don't mind a shirt with something like ducks on the fabric nearly as much as I mind a huge duck sewed to the center of the shirt. You know, like a patch or a huge fuzzy sticker. It’s like the poor babies of the world are forced to go out of the house wearing one too many accessories. And that just doesn’t seem fair.
But good news: Matt bought himself a pillow this morning. We can all breathe a sigh of relief. Now if only I could solve the baby clothes crisis…
(Also, I want to personally apologize to Nikki and a certain Sunday School teacher. I did not realize I was frustrating you with my absence. I will work on it. And I do believe this is kind of a lame post, so I am also sorry for that. But I am afraid if I wait much longer for an exciting event to post, someone will tell Jesus and I’ll get kicked out of heaven because my Sunday School teacher filed a complaint against me. And that would make me immeasurably sad. And Nikki, please don’t send me any more hate mail and computer viruses. You used to be such a good friend.)
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
The Apprentice: Season Who Cares Anymore
Life has been a bit hectic around the Tatum house for the past week or so. It’s like all our meetings, volunteer activities, work projects, school work, and laundry joined forces and created an epic battle over our time and energy. And oh did we come out sore losers. Quite literally.
Matt recruited me to help him out on a project for some ugly Nike boot that will soon be seen in stores near you. If you’re in the ghetto. The project has become a beast of sorts, and Matt’s office got stuck with the task of packing and shipping a million displays, which meant that Matt, Bryan & Laura (such kind friends and lovely co-workers), and I got stuck with the task of packing and shipping a million displays. This is to say that none of us can walk straight or feel our legs or feet or properly use our brains anymore. We have become a delirious group of people, pulling saws out of our purses at Chili’s, shouting to the chickens that are running around the warehouse, and truly believing that one of us is going to get fired by Trump when we have to go to the boardroom tomorrow.
We are all exhausted and sore. I am so tired that last night I woke Matt while screaming and wiggling in bed. I had a dream that there was a spider, who also happened to be an illegal immigrant from Mexico, on my neck and I couldn't’t get it off. I hate having things on my neck. As Matt woke me up, I went from screaming to laughing because I just realized what was really going on. I also had a dream that The View had a new cast: an old bald man, Joy (the red head), and a 5 year old Asian girl. It was not very good.
So today, I am tired. And I know the others are as well. But I have to admit, it has been fun watching Matt in action. He’s a pretty awesome project manager, and when we go into the boardroom tomorrow, you know who I’m going to throw under the bus? The damn chicken that crapped all over our car.
Matt recruited me to help him out on a project for some ugly Nike boot that will soon be seen in stores near you. If you’re in the ghetto. The project has become a beast of sorts, and Matt’s office got stuck with the task of packing and shipping a million displays, which meant that Matt, Bryan & Laura (such kind friends and lovely co-workers), and I got stuck with the task of packing and shipping a million displays. This is to say that none of us can walk straight or feel our legs or feet or properly use our brains anymore. We have become a delirious group of people, pulling saws out of our purses at Chili’s, shouting to the chickens that are running around the warehouse, and truly believing that one of us is going to get fired by Trump when we have to go to the boardroom tomorrow.
We are all exhausted and sore. I am so tired that last night I woke Matt while screaming and wiggling in bed. I had a dream that there was a spider, who also happened to be an illegal immigrant from Mexico, on my neck and I couldn't’t get it off. I hate having things on my neck. As Matt woke me up, I went from screaming to laughing because I just realized what was really going on. I also had a dream that The View had a new cast: an old bald man, Joy (the red head), and a 5 year old Asian girl. It was not very good.
So today, I am tired. And I know the others are as well. But I have to admit, it has been fun watching Matt in action. He’s a pretty awesome project manager, and when we go into the boardroom tomorrow, you know who I’m going to throw under the bus? The damn chicken that crapped all over our car.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Fine. Goodbye, Summer. Whatever.
So yes, summer is over. And this has put my mood into such mourning. I always feel like a little piece of me dies at the end of each summer. And I wish after that statement, someone could roll their eyes at me and say, “GAWD, you’re so dramatic.” But no one can. BECAUSE IT’S THE TRUTH. Overall, I think I’m a much better human being in the summer than any other time of year. I smile more, I’m nicer to strangers, and for the love – I’m tan.
So here’s my list of reasons Why the Summer Should Return and Give Global Warming One Redeeming Factor.
1. I prefer summer clothes. Please let me wear dresses and skirts every single day. I hate sweaters oh so much. I am a petite girl who feels swallowed and scared of sweaters. Remember on Friends when Phoebe is trying to put on a sweater but she’s really struggling to get it on? Her head gets caught and she shouts out “Monica, I’m scared!” This is exactly how I feel every time I put on a stupid sweater. Is this going to be the time I get caught and no one is around to save me?
2. I hate wet jeans. This isn’t a problem for the majority of the country, but I live in a little corner in which there’s a slight drizzle 90% of the day. Which means the ground is always wet. Which means my jeans always get wet. And oh this angers me. I end up walking on my tippy-toes while tugging my jeans up; it’s not a flattering look.
3. I’d rather pick berries than go snow-skiing. Berry picking is actually better for your health: you don’t have to feel claustrophobic in clothes, berries provide antioxidants, and it is extremely rare for someone to plow into you from behind or for you to lose your balance and plummet down the mountain.
4. I have more lazy Saturdays when it’s not summer. I sleep more, and Matt and I spend the day watching movies and eating junk food in our pajamas. Which sounds nice occasionally, but we do this EVERY SATURDAY that the sun is not out.
5. I can’t handle all the football. It’s loud and obnoxious and, frankly, it doesn’t look that hard. I could do it. So football? BIG WHOOP.
6. I’m happier when I’m warm. Nothing puts me in a bad mood faster than being cold. I can’t get comfortable, I don’t feel like talking, and I definitely don’t feel like moving around outside. This makes it difficult to go out since Portland doesn’t believe in parking lots and every restaurant you want to go to requires a 7 block walk. Thank goodness for a husband who doesn’t mind dropping me off while he circles the entire city looking for a parking spot.
7. Matt and I have a recurring fight in the winter. He says, “You can’t wear that.” I say, “Why not?” He says, “It’s 40 degrees outside and a silk strapless top won’t keep you warm.” I say, “I don’t care! I refuse to let this stupid cold weather dictate how I dress!” He rolls his eyes and walks away. Later I say, “I’m freeeeeeezing! Can I wear your jacket?” He says, “BITCH I warned you! Get your own jacket!” (So Matt is actually quite kind to me and will usually offer his jacket before I ask. But I bet that’s what he’s thinking in his head since we really do have this discussion every single time we go out. He even has nightmares about it in the summer. True story. Ask him.)
8. Our car’s leather seats are awfully uncomfortable when they are cold. And I love the idea of starting the car 5 minutes before I leave, but I feel a bit guilty letting the car run when it’s not in use. I’m torn on this.
9. It gets dark at 4:30!!! I strongly believe Oprah should not be watched in the dark. Nor should I go to work before the sun gets up and leave after it’s already down. Which is why I have given up working.
10. I fall in the winter. I like to think I’m a fairly graceful person, as in I can at least walk straight without looking like a total goon. But since living in Portland, I have fallen while crossing streets, walking into a store, and leaving my own house. I think it’s a combination of walking on my tippy-toes to avoid wet jeans and walking in heels on slippery and icy steps. And each one of my falls has left bruises on my body and rips in my clothes. So I guess I’m not that graceful.
So, fine. Summer I can’t keep you from leaving me, but know I will always welcome you back with open arms and a bbq.
So here’s my list of reasons Why the Summer Should Return and Give Global Warming One Redeeming Factor.
1. I prefer summer clothes. Please let me wear dresses and skirts every single day. I hate sweaters oh so much. I am a petite girl who feels swallowed and scared of sweaters. Remember on Friends when Phoebe is trying to put on a sweater but she’s really struggling to get it on? Her head gets caught and she shouts out “Monica, I’m scared!” This is exactly how I feel every time I put on a stupid sweater. Is this going to be the time I get caught and no one is around to save me?
2. I hate wet jeans. This isn’t a problem for the majority of the country, but I live in a little corner in which there’s a slight drizzle 90% of the day. Which means the ground is always wet. Which means my jeans always get wet. And oh this angers me. I end up walking on my tippy-toes while tugging my jeans up; it’s not a flattering look.
3. I’d rather pick berries than go snow-skiing. Berry picking is actually better for your health: you don’t have to feel claustrophobic in clothes, berries provide antioxidants, and it is extremely rare for someone to plow into you from behind or for you to lose your balance and plummet down the mountain.
4. I have more lazy Saturdays when it’s not summer. I sleep more, and Matt and I spend the day watching movies and eating junk food in our pajamas. Which sounds nice occasionally, but we do this EVERY SATURDAY that the sun is not out.
5. I can’t handle all the football. It’s loud and obnoxious and, frankly, it doesn’t look that hard. I could do it. So football? BIG WHOOP.
6. I’m happier when I’m warm. Nothing puts me in a bad mood faster than being cold. I can’t get comfortable, I don’t feel like talking, and I definitely don’t feel like moving around outside. This makes it difficult to go out since Portland doesn’t believe in parking lots and every restaurant you want to go to requires a 7 block walk. Thank goodness for a husband who doesn’t mind dropping me off while he circles the entire city looking for a parking spot.
7. Matt and I have a recurring fight in the winter. He says, “You can’t wear that.” I say, “Why not?” He says, “It’s 40 degrees outside and a silk strapless top won’t keep you warm.” I say, “I don’t care! I refuse to let this stupid cold weather dictate how I dress!” He rolls his eyes and walks away. Later I say, “I’m freeeeeeezing! Can I wear your jacket?” He says, “BITCH I warned you! Get your own jacket!” (So Matt is actually quite kind to me and will usually offer his jacket before I ask. But I bet that’s what he’s thinking in his head since we really do have this discussion every single time we go out. He even has nightmares about it in the summer. True story. Ask him.)
8. Our car’s leather seats are awfully uncomfortable when they are cold. And I love the idea of starting the car 5 minutes before I leave, but I feel a bit guilty letting the car run when it’s not in use. I’m torn on this.
9. It gets dark at 4:30!!! I strongly believe Oprah should not be watched in the dark. Nor should I go to work before the sun gets up and leave after it’s already down. Which is why I have given up working.
10. I fall in the winter. I like to think I’m a fairly graceful person, as in I can at least walk straight without looking like a total goon. But since living in Portland, I have fallen while crossing streets, walking into a store, and leaving my own house. I think it’s a combination of walking on my tippy-toes to avoid wet jeans and walking in heels on slippery and icy steps. And each one of my falls has left bruises on my body and rips in my clothes. So I guess I’m not that graceful.
So, fine. Summer I can’t keep you from leaving me, but know I will always welcome you back with open arms and a bbq.
Monday, September 10, 2007
3 Year Olds
For a year now, I've worked with the 2 year olds at our church, but recently I moved to the 3s room. The 2s were fun, but the 3 year olds? They know how to tell some kick-ass stories and do some hilarious things. Yesterday was my time to be with the kids, and it was so refreshing to remove myself from the stupid adult world that's been making me all mopey and weepy. Instead, I played with the legos and drew a picture of my mom and ate some animal crackers while making monkey noises. My only complaint is that I couldn't get in the moon walk (or bounce house, whatever you called it as a kiddo) -- apparently I'm too big or something.
During circle time, we discussed that God made today to which a child shouted out: "God also made the alligators!" God made today and alligators. Got it?
After our very brief discussion, we sang This is the day, this is the day, that the Lord has made, that the Lord has made... When we were done, we asked the kids if there were any other songs they'd like to sing. Well, one little boy clearly must have all the right answers so he suggested Jesus Loves Me. After singing that song, we asked if there were any other songs they'd like to sing.
"Jingle Bells!"
"Yeah, Jingle Bells!"
The other teachers and I looked at each other and didn't really have a good reason not to sing. So in a very hot gym on a very hot day, ten little children and 3 big people sang Jingle Bells.
During circle time, we discussed that God made today to which a child shouted out: "God also made the alligators!" God made today and alligators. Got it?
After our very brief discussion, we sang This is the day, this is the day, that the Lord has made, that the Lord has made... When we were done, we asked the kids if there were any other songs they'd like to sing. Well, one little boy clearly must have all the right answers so he suggested Jesus Loves Me. After singing that song, we asked if there were any other songs they'd like to sing.
"Jingle Bells!"
"Yeah, Jingle Bells!"
The other teachers and I looked at each other and didn't really have a good reason not to sing. So in a very hot gym on a very hot day, ten little children and 3 big people sang Jingle Bells.
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Clearly, This Housewife Thing Hasn't Left Me with Much to Write
My computer has picked up a nasty virus that kind of scares me. When I start the computer, all is well with the standard green meadow stretched onto the background. After thirty minutes of use, the background changes to blooooooood red and makes this noise: Mwhahaahahahahahahaha. It's creepy, so I don't like to be around my computer much right now. It's like The Blob is taking over.
Oh, right. It doesn't really mwhahaha. But it totally does in my head.
And also, I kept this virus a secret from Matt for a day because, you see, we may or may not have legally or illegally downloaded an episode of Weeds because I might have been going crazy knowing that there was an episode out that I hadn't seen. (Our friends, acquaintances, and every stranger I've asked do not have Showtime. We had NO CHOICE, PEOPLE.) And basically, I was afraid that Matt was going to blame Weeds for the nasty virus and then tell me we had to give it up. But the virus kept mwhahaha-ing at me, and I got all freaked out, so I told him.
And praise the Lord, Matt loves Weeds just as much as I do. We downloaded another episode the next night. Matt says the virus has been with us for awhile now. Well, welcome.
And for the love, does anybody out there watch Weeds? Anybody? Hello?
Okay, fine. I'll stop talking about it then. Your loss.
Oh, right. It doesn't really mwhahaha. But it totally does in my head.
And also, I kept this virus a secret from Matt for a day because, you see, we may or may not have legally or illegally downloaded an episode of Weeds because I might have been going crazy knowing that there was an episode out that I hadn't seen. (Our friends, acquaintances, and every stranger I've asked do not have Showtime. We had NO CHOICE, PEOPLE.) And basically, I was afraid that Matt was going to blame Weeds for the nasty virus and then tell me we had to give it up. But the virus kept mwhahaha-ing at me, and I got all freaked out, so I told him.
And praise the Lord, Matt loves Weeds just as much as I do. We downloaded another episode the next night. Matt says the virus has been with us for awhile now. Well, welcome.
And for the love, does anybody out there watch Weeds? Anybody? Hello?
Okay, fine. I'll stop talking about it then. Your loss.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Playing House
So often I feel way too young to be living my life. A few times a week, I’ll think this is my house? And he’s my husband? And this is our city we call home? And then I feel thankful and weird that yes, I am old enough for this, even though some days it feels like Matt and I are just playing house and soon he’ll drop me off at my dorm.
Well nothing snaps me out of that idea quite like walking through a college’s freshman orientation, which I happened to do yesterday afternoon. They were standing in a large circle, with two-by-fours and rope in the center, doing some awful character-building activity. And thank God I didn’t have to participate. Because there are few things I hate more in life than those stupid “games” that are played at any new person orientation. I HATE THEM. They’re not games, so don’t try and trick me into playing with you!
(Perhaps I still have some anger issues to work out between me and everyone who tricked me into playing a Do You Trust Me game. Because 1) no, I don’t trust you. I don’t know you. You could really hate my shoes and thus choose to drop me and I will be hurt and sad. And 2) that’s not a game! Don’t lie to me! I hate being coaxed into playing a game, only to discover there’s no game!)
So after watching the freshman go through the pain of orientation, I drove home and started making dinner. I decided to make one of Matt’s favorites, meatloaf. I hate meatloaf. I hate the way it looks, the reputation it has, the name (it’s a loaf of meat!). But Matt’s been all sweet and breadwinner-y since I quit my job, and if meatloaf can convey my thankfulness, then meatloaf it is. I stood there mashing and sculpting, and again I suddenly felt way too young to be making meatloaf for my husband.
But then Matt went for seconds, and everything felt just right. Sometimes I feel too young, and sometimes I feel too old – but I’m learning to always feel thankful.
Well nothing snaps me out of that idea quite like walking through a college’s freshman orientation, which I happened to do yesterday afternoon. They were standing in a large circle, with two-by-fours and rope in the center, doing some awful character-building activity. And thank God I didn’t have to participate. Because there are few things I hate more in life than those stupid “games” that are played at any new person orientation. I HATE THEM. They’re not games, so don’t try and trick me into playing with you!
(Perhaps I still have some anger issues to work out between me and everyone who tricked me into playing a Do You Trust Me game. Because 1) no, I don’t trust you. I don’t know you. You could really hate my shoes and thus choose to drop me and I will be hurt and sad. And 2) that’s not a game! Don’t lie to me! I hate being coaxed into playing a game, only to discover there’s no game!)
So after watching the freshman go through the pain of orientation, I drove home and started making dinner. I decided to make one of Matt’s favorites, meatloaf. I hate meatloaf. I hate the way it looks, the reputation it has, the name (it’s a loaf of meat!). But Matt’s been all sweet and breadwinner-y since I quit my job, and if meatloaf can convey my thankfulness, then meatloaf it is. I stood there mashing and sculpting, and again I suddenly felt way too young to be making meatloaf for my husband.
But then Matt went for seconds, and everything felt just right. Sometimes I feel too young, and sometimes I feel too old – but I’m learning to always feel thankful.
Monday, August 13, 2007
How to Feel Like an Accomplished Housewife
What a lovely weekend. Good friends, good food, good TV. (OHMYGOD, has anybody seen the show Weeds? It's the best new thing in my life right. Unbelievably addicting, which I think is all cute and appropriate since you know, it's about pot. So, if you haven't seen it, run to Blockbuster right now or throw it in your queue and cancel any other plans you might have. You're welcome.)
(And also, Mary-Louise Parker should totally be my BFF. We could sit around and talk about how cute her big brown eyes are or how much I want to look and dress like her, or haha you sell drugs and you're a mom and I can't separate fact from fiction, but whatever! We're BFF!!)
Anyway.
We went to a wedding this weekend that was one of the most adorable and classy weddings I've ever attended. And I love going to weddings. Everyone is so happy, and it's the only time Matt will really go out and dance with me. I wish I could go to a wedding every weekend. Except at this last wedding I spilled red wine all down my dress. I would like to go to a wedding every weekend and not make a fool of myself.
This was especially embarrassing because it was at the very beginning of the reception. It was my second glass, and I hadn't even had a sip out of it yet. But I was also famished and my mind was entirely focused on getting the cheese and cracker into my mouth while still holding my purse, cardigan, and glass of wine. It was a tricky move that didn't work out. All of a sudden I felt something very cold trickle down my entire dress. Just lovely.
I went to the bathroom to try and salvage my poor dress, and somehow, miracle of miracles, it worked. The stain practically vanished. I have been playing housewife for two weeks now, and I have already conquered red wine stains in emergency situations.
I am so domestic. I think it's time I go out back and pick apples from our tree and make a pie.
Don't think I'm kidding.
Just seconds before I added stripes to my dress.
(And also, Mary-Louise Parker should totally be my BFF. We could sit around and talk about how cute her big brown eyes are or how much I want to look and dress like her, or haha you sell drugs and you're a mom and I can't separate fact from fiction, but whatever! We're BFF!!)
Anyway.
We went to a wedding this weekend that was one of the most adorable and classy weddings I've ever attended. And I love going to weddings. Everyone is so happy, and it's the only time Matt will really go out and dance with me. I wish I could go to a wedding every weekend. Except at this last wedding I spilled red wine all down my dress. I would like to go to a wedding every weekend and not make a fool of myself.
This was especially embarrassing because it was at the very beginning of the reception. It was my second glass, and I hadn't even had a sip out of it yet. But I was also famished and my mind was entirely focused on getting the cheese and cracker into my mouth while still holding my purse, cardigan, and glass of wine. It was a tricky move that didn't work out. All of a sudden I felt something very cold trickle down my entire dress. Just lovely.
I went to the bathroom to try and salvage my poor dress, and somehow, miracle of miracles, it worked. The stain practically vanished. I have been playing housewife for two weeks now, and I have already conquered red wine stains in emergency situations.
I am so domestic. I think it's time I go out back and pick apples from our tree and make a pie.
Don't think I'm kidding.
Just seconds before I added stripes to my dress.
Tuesday, August 7, 2007
Made it Home
I made it back from Texas last night. Just as I said I would, I brought home 14 pints of Blue Bell ice cream. It was a bit more challenging than I anticipated, though. My mom and Katy have both carried ice cream on to planes before, and all within the past year. Neither one of them had issues, so I didn’t expect to either. WELL. After I put my cooler on the conveyor belt, I look up to see TSA Lady #1 staring at her monitor. She looks at me, looks at the screen, and yells out, “Bag check!!” I tell her it’s okay, it’s just frozen ice cream with a bit of dry ice ,which yes, it is okay to carry on less than 5 pounds of dry ice (mama researched it). Well, that’s when she gave me evil eyes and said, “No, this bag isn’t going past security.”
This is the part when my passion for ice cream develops into anger at TSA. Because like I’ve said before, nobody gets in the way of me and my Blue Bell. I explain that my mom did this two months ago, and my friend did it a year ago, and can you just let me move on? At this point, I’ve been handed off to TSA Lady # 2 who is told to handle me.
And this is when I put on my bitch face. I start ranting that if only TSA remained consistent with their rules and regulations then maybe I’d take this stupid homeland security thing a bit more seriously. I am then handed off to TSA Lady # 3, who takes my cooler and walks me out. She says I have to check it in, which, fine, whatever, I can do that. But then she says that it’s going to cost me $70 since I’ve already checked two bags, and oh yeah, there’s a dry ice handling fee. So of course this sends me over the edge, and I start to cry.
I go all the way outside to the curbside check-in because the man who processed my bags the first time around was so kind to me. I walk up, teary-eyed and pathetic and beaten down and he just looks at me and says, “No worries.” He took my bag, didn’t ask for money, and just smiled and said have a great flight. I had to go back through security, and is anybody shocked to learn I was patted down and searched?
This morning I sent an email to Continental and told them how lovely their employee, Mark, was. And then I got up, opened my freezer, and just marveled at all the beautiful pints, relieved to see they made it here safely.
And for the record, I’m all for TSA -- IF ONLY THEY WERE CONSISTENT!
This is the part when my passion for ice cream develops into anger at TSA. Because like I’ve said before, nobody gets in the way of me and my Blue Bell. I explain that my mom did this two months ago, and my friend did it a year ago, and can you just let me move on? At this point, I’ve been handed off to TSA Lady # 2 who is told to handle me.
And this is when I put on my bitch face. I start ranting that if only TSA remained consistent with their rules and regulations then maybe I’d take this stupid homeland security thing a bit more seriously. I am then handed off to TSA Lady # 3, who takes my cooler and walks me out. She says I have to check it in, which, fine, whatever, I can do that. But then she says that it’s going to cost me $70 since I’ve already checked two bags, and oh yeah, there’s a dry ice handling fee. So of course this sends me over the edge, and I start to cry.
I go all the way outside to the curbside check-in because the man who processed my bags the first time around was so kind to me. I walk up, teary-eyed and pathetic and beaten down and he just looks at me and says, “No worries.” He took my bag, didn’t ask for money, and just smiled and said have a great flight. I had to go back through security, and is anybody shocked to learn I was patted down and searched?
This morning I sent an email to Continental and told them how lovely their employee, Mark, was. And then I got up, opened my freezer, and just marveled at all the beautiful pints, relieved to see they made it here safely.
And for the record, I’m all for TSA -- IF ONLY THEY WERE CONSISTENT!
Thursday, August 2, 2007
Vacation Time
So last Friday was it for me at work. All I can really say about it is that it was an extremely bizarre day. Just weird. But the cutest thing in all the world happened -- each of my co-workers brought me an apple. My desk was covered in apples as they all wished me well on pursuing my teaching career. The best part, though, was when the three foreign employees came up to me and said, "I don't know why, but I was told to give you an apple."
And now I'm in Houston. I've divided my time into eating and floating in the pool. Tomorrow we're headed to the beach for the weekend and right now it's storming. Normally, I feel a little guilty when I have time off and Matt doesn't, but he's currently in Germany with work, so the guilt? Not so much. But I do miss him. I know he's jealous of all the food I've consumed. I mean, who wants to eat sausage for dinner??
And now I'm in Houston. I've divided my time into eating and floating in the pool. Tomorrow we're headed to the beach for the weekend and right now it's storming. Normally, I feel a little guilty when I have time off and Matt doesn't, but he's currently in Germany with work, so the guilt? Not so much. But I do miss him. I know he's jealous of all the food I've consumed. I mean, who wants to eat sausage for dinner??
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Everyone Knows Food is the Way to My Heart
Here’s what rocks about turning in a two-week notice: a lot of free stuff. I have been taken out to lunch four different times, have two happy hours scheduled, and have been given teacher trinkets and books for my month off. I’ve learned that people are actually bummed to see me go and so they want to, you know, do something kind. Instead of purchasing myself coffee, I’ve learned to wait thirty minutes. In that time, someone is bound to get on the elevator for coffee. If I make eye contact and smile before the elevator arrives, they will think to themselves, “Gee, Nicole’s leaving and I sure will miss her…” and two seconds later, I’m being asked what kind of coffee I like. Carmel latte, please. It's worked for a week straight.
I should have turned in a four-week notice. I think I missed out on a lot of free food.
---
As a completely random thought, I was browsing Powell's website and noticed the top five bestsellers at the moment are four Harry Potter books and a Pottery Barn book. It's like people were thinking HarryPotter, HarryPotter, HarryPotter, Pottery Barn, HarryPotter. And all the people went home and collectively said shit! How did that happen?!
I should have turned in a four-week notice. I think I missed out on a lot of free food.
---
As a completely random thought, I was browsing Powell's website and noticed the top five bestsellers at the moment are four Harry Potter books and a Pottery Barn book. It's like people were thinking HarryPotter, HarryPotter, HarryPotter, Pottery Barn, HarryPotter. And all the people went home and collectively said shit! How did that happen?!
Sunday, July 22, 2007
No Spoilers Here
Oh, Harry. Harry, Harry, Harry.
Perfect. Just perfect.
So Friday evening, we had dinner with several of our neighbors. Matt and I knew we had to leave by ten, though, and the entire hour leading up to that I was a total dud. I couldn't think of anything else other that THE SEVENTH BOOK WAS ALMOST HERE. None of them are Harry Potter fans, so I was trying to be kind with my departure, but THE SEVENTH BOOK WAS ALMOST HERE! By 10:15, we ditched them and were on our way to the party at Powell's.
We showed up around 10:30 and found the end of the line. It seemed terribly long, and it was, but I have never experienced a faster moving line. We were in and out by 12:30, which I think is quite impressive, considering the line weaved through every aisle. We got our copies and ran out to the car to GET HOME. Such an exciting weekend, to know this was the only chance to find everything out on your own, before everyone in the world knows. So magical.
And the weeknd? KICKED ASS.
Perfect. Just perfect.
So Friday evening, we had dinner with several of our neighbors. Matt and I knew we had to leave by ten, though, and the entire hour leading up to that I was a total dud. I couldn't think of anything else other that THE SEVENTH BOOK WAS ALMOST HERE. None of them are Harry Potter fans, so I was trying to be kind with my departure, but THE SEVENTH BOOK WAS ALMOST HERE! By 10:15, we ditched them and were on our way to the party at Powell's.
We showed up around 10:30 and found the end of the line. It seemed terribly long, and it was, but I have never experienced a faster moving line. We were in and out by 12:30, which I think is quite impressive, considering the line weaved through every aisle. We got our copies and ran out to the car to GET HOME. Such an exciting weekend, to know this was the only chance to find everything out on your own, before everyone in the world knows. So magical.
And the weeknd? KICKED ASS.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Being Thankful
There are about a million things I won’t miss about my job. I don’t need to list all the awful things that made me seriously consider jamming a pen up my nose and pulling it through my eyeball. But, I cannot deny the fact that I am unbelievably grateful for my experience because of what it taught me. And that has to do with the environment.
I’m a sucker for mentors, and any time a wiser, older person wants to invest some time in me, I’m all over it. At work, there were two women who took me under their wings and opened my eyes to all things green. They’re both extremely influential in the company, and they’re both extremely intelligent. One of them sent me to a class in California to learn more; another let me research and write papers informing others how to live green. They both let me take part in important meetings that discussed issues like climate change and greenhouse gasses and sustainable investments. They don’t believe in God, but they profoundly affected my faith.
Matt and I did a complete turn-around with our life after I started my job. We live with an eco-conscience, meaning we question the things we do and buy in relation to the earth. Sometimes I don’t think my parents recognize us. I may hate my job, but I am filled with gratitude for the two women that taught me how to take care of creation.
Sometimes it really pisses me off that JBU never discussed this as an issue. We had hot topic chapels that discussed gasp! homosexuals, but did we ever discuss a believer’s role in caring for creation? Live Earth took place a few weeks ago, and regardless what you think about its impact on resources, it did raise some awareness. I was pretty indifferent to Live Earth, but like my mentor at work said, “Anything to get people thinking twice.” But there was a moment while watching a concert that I got really sad – it seemed like this was a movement that believers of God and creation should have started ages ago. I mean, if we’re going to be bold and claim that this planet and these people are His creation, then shouldn’t we be leading the pack when it comes to taking care of it?
Thank God somebody is leading.
I know I don’t look the part of a tree-hugger. That’s because I’m not. The only high maintenance thing that I cut out from my life when we moved up here was that I don’t wear fake nails anymore. (That’s not to say I don’t want to, though.) But that’s the thing – there’s not a certain look to loving the earth. Recycling or changing your light bulbs or riding the bus or praying for earth-friendly legislature doesn’t mean you’re a hippie or a liberal or Captain Planet himself – it hopefully means you’re just one person hoping to leave the world a little bit tidier than when you first showed up. And that's not really asking too much.
I’m a sucker for mentors, and any time a wiser, older person wants to invest some time in me, I’m all over it. At work, there were two women who took me under their wings and opened my eyes to all things green. They’re both extremely influential in the company, and they’re both extremely intelligent. One of them sent me to a class in California to learn more; another let me research and write papers informing others how to live green. They both let me take part in important meetings that discussed issues like climate change and greenhouse gasses and sustainable investments. They don’t believe in God, but they profoundly affected my faith.
Matt and I did a complete turn-around with our life after I started my job. We live with an eco-conscience, meaning we question the things we do and buy in relation to the earth. Sometimes I don’t think my parents recognize us. I may hate my job, but I am filled with gratitude for the two women that taught me how to take care of creation.
Sometimes it really pisses me off that JBU never discussed this as an issue. We had hot topic chapels that discussed gasp! homosexuals, but did we ever discuss a believer’s role in caring for creation? Live Earth took place a few weeks ago, and regardless what you think about its impact on resources, it did raise some awareness. I was pretty indifferent to Live Earth, but like my mentor at work said, “Anything to get people thinking twice.” But there was a moment while watching a concert that I got really sad – it seemed like this was a movement that believers of God and creation should have started ages ago. I mean, if we’re going to be bold and claim that this planet and these people are His creation, then shouldn’t we be leading the pack when it comes to taking care of it?
Thank God somebody is leading.
I know I don’t look the part of a tree-hugger. That’s because I’m not. The only high maintenance thing that I cut out from my life when we moved up here was that I don’t wear fake nails anymore. (That’s not to say I don’t want to, though.) But that’s the thing – there’s not a certain look to loving the earth. Recycling or changing your light bulbs or riding the bus or praying for earth-friendly legislature doesn’t mean you’re a hippie or a liberal or Captain Planet himself – it hopefully means you’re just one person hoping to leave the world a little bit tidier than when you first showed up. And that's not really asking too much.
Monday, July 16, 2007
Hermione VS. Sabrina
My sister is not a Harry Potter fan, much to my disappointment. Her boyfriend is, though, thank God. She called last Friday, when Matt and I were on our way to the Delta Cafe for some good ol' fried food, to let us know she would be watching the first HP film that evening. Her boyfriend, John, planned a HP marathon before he took her to see #5 in the theater. Bless his sweet soul.
I told Steph I thought she'd enjoy them, if only she'd give them a chance. She responded, "Yeah, you're probably right. I do really love Sabrina the Teenage Witch."
And I really love my sister.
I told Steph I thought she'd enjoy them, if only she'd give them a chance. She responded, "Yeah, you're probably right. I do really love Sabrina the Teenage Witch."
And I really love my sister.
Friday, July 13, 2007
The Beauty of Blue Bell
I feel much better today. Today I am excited and hopeful. In two weeks, I will be walking away from my terrible job for good. And the day after that, I will be flying to H-town to pick up some cake batter Blue Bell. I told my family I was coming to visit them, but I'm actually on a mission to bring back as much cake batter ice cream with me as possible. I was made to love this stuff.
When my mom visited two months ago, she brought a whole variety of Blue Bell pints with her. We still have a few in our freezer. One of them was cake batter, and ohmygod, the second it touched my mouth, I felt heaven. We totally got our church on, with all the Jesus-praising that happened in our kitchen. It's so good, it would make Nietzsche believe God was alive and kicking again -- if Nietzsche were alive and kicking. Matt and I committed to two spoonfuls a day, and we held to it. We finally ran out a few weeks ago, and it was a very sad moment. I wanted to dip my head in the container and lick the sides because surely, surely the taste had been absorbed. I didn't, though; I still have some of my dignity, thankyouverymuch.
But in two weeks and one day, I will be reunitied with the lovely cake batter ice cream. And I will stock up and bring some home, making sure to buy enough to share with friends. If you haven't tried it, go now. But if I run into you at the store, and there's only one pint left, I will kick you in the face. Nothing comes between me and my ice cream.
When my mom visited two months ago, she brought a whole variety of Blue Bell pints with her. We still have a few in our freezer. One of them was cake batter, and ohmygod, the second it touched my mouth, I felt heaven. We totally got our church on, with all the Jesus-praising that happened in our kitchen. It's so good, it would make Nietzsche believe God was alive and kicking again -- if Nietzsche were alive and kicking. Matt and I committed to two spoonfuls a day, and we held to it. We finally ran out a few weeks ago, and it was a very sad moment. I wanted to dip my head in the container and lick the sides because surely, surely the taste had been absorbed. I didn't, though; I still have some of my dignity, thankyouverymuch.
But in two weeks and one day, I will be reunitied with the lovely cake batter ice cream. And I will stock up and bring some home, making sure to buy enough to share with friends. If you haven't tried it, go now. But if I run into you at the store, and there's only one pint left, I will kick you in the face. Nothing comes between me and my ice cream.
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
I Did It!
I really quit. And it was not at all amazing like I thought it would be. I started to cry. Yes, I am that LAME. So here’s what happened:
I walked into his office, letter in hand. I gave it to my boss, and he said, “Why am I not surprised? So does this mean you got your teaching job?”
Enter tears. “No. I don’t have a job.” (What my boss heard was “I’M CRAZY! I’M QUITTING WITHOUT A NEW JOB AND HERE! PLEASE TAKE MY STEADY PAYCHECK BACK! I LAUGH IN THE FACE OF DANGER! [Or maybe that’s what I heard.])
Actually, he was very kind to me. He offered me tissue, but then he realized he was out. (Thought that counts, right?) I explained my somewhat solid plans for the future, which include grad school and substituting. We briefly talked about my time here; he apologized for not providing me with a more solid and challenging position and he wished me the best for the future. I feel relieved to be leaving my job, but there are a lot of people that I’m actually going to miss. Sure, I have lots of great stories about incompetent people, but this is an office of 130 – there are also plenty of fantastic people.
A lot of my co-workers see me as their bartender. I constantly let people lean on my desk to gripe about the latest issue, personal or professional. I always offer to pour them a drink, and then I slide them some candy. But on my last week? I’ve decided to bring in the booze. Give the people what they deserve. You need a pick-me-up in your coffee or coke? Come see the bartender. She’s only here for a few more days.
(I have more to say later. Right now, though, I am not in a proper emotional state to be discussing any more of my future. I am hungry.)
I walked into his office, letter in hand. I gave it to my boss, and he said, “Why am I not surprised? So does this mean you got your teaching job?”
Enter tears. “No. I don’t have a job.” (What my boss heard was “I’M CRAZY! I’M QUITTING WITHOUT A NEW JOB AND HERE! PLEASE TAKE MY STEADY PAYCHECK BACK! I LAUGH IN THE FACE OF DANGER! [Or maybe that’s what I heard.])
Actually, he was very kind to me. He offered me tissue, but then he realized he was out. (Thought that counts, right?) I explained my somewhat solid plans for the future, which include grad school and substituting. We briefly talked about my time here; he apologized for not providing me with a more solid and challenging position and he wished me the best for the future. I feel relieved to be leaving my job, but there are a lot of people that I’m actually going to miss. Sure, I have lots of great stories about incompetent people, but this is an office of 130 – there are also plenty of fantastic people.
A lot of my co-workers see me as their bartender. I constantly let people lean on my desk to gripe about the latest issue, personal or professional. I always offer to pour them a drink, and then I slide them some candy. But on my last week? I’ve decided to bring in the booze. Give the people what they deserve. You need a pick-me-up in your coffee or coke? Come see the bartender. She’s only here for a few more days.
(I have more to say later. Right now, though, I am not in a proper emotional state to be discussing any more of my future. I am hungry.)
Friday, July 6, 2007
A History of My Jobs
I just spoke with a co-worker who said she's only worked 3 jobs. She's 26, and this just seems absurd to me. I don't have anything to do today, so I thought I'd list my jobs. Turns out I had a lot.
This is also in honor of the fact that today was supposed to be my "I'm quitting" day, but as I was writing this, I got an email from the boss-man who said he wasn't coming in. So, dammit.
---
First Job: Checker at NASA. (or Kroger, whichever name you prefer to call your grocery store) This was my first real job, the first time FICA stole my money, and I had to wear a uniform. I enjoyed this job a lot, actually. I hated the idea that I worked at a grocery store, but most of the people I worked with were very funny. Or they at least thought I was funny, which automatically meant I liked their company.
Favorite Moment: My new boss had a terrible case of lazy eyes. I didn’t know this, and the first time I talked to him, he kept staring off to the side. I nearly said, “Would you please look me in the eyes?” but thank goodness I didn’t. His response would have been, “No, I can’t look you in the eyes.” And that would have been awkward.
Quitting Time: I was looking to get promoted into Customer Service but instead was moved to Video. And OhMyGod, video is, like, where the losers work. So I decided it was time to end the relationship.
Lasted: 8 months
---
Second Job: Babysitter for two children that my friend Nikki used to baby-sit. What Nikki didn’t tell me was that the younger boy was a direct spawn from Satan.
Favorite Moment: One time I locked my keys in the car and we had to sit outside in the heat waiting for my dad to save the day. It was fun watching the evil child melt. And I scored my highest bowling score that summer – 180. And that made the evil child cry.
Quitting Time: “I’m going to camp, so I think it’s best we end this now.”
Lasted: 6 weeks
----
Third Job: Hostess at Taste of Texas. This was a very established, very organized nice restaurant, and I worked with several friends every Saturday and Tuesday night. Unfortunately, we had to wear a cumber bum, bow tie, and hose. This definitely was the worst uniform I ever had to wear.
Favorite Moment: It’s a tie. At the end of each night, I’d grab a cheese roll, a regular roll, and a cup of Coke to go. Coke never tasted so good. I still quiver when I think about it. My other favorite part of the job was being Caller 1 or Caller 2. Those were the hostesses who were stationed out in the restaurant, and when a table got up to leave, she would call in on her ear piece to the front that a 6 top would be available in 2 minutes. God, I loved that ear piece. It was all very James Bond, with the cumber bum and tiny microphone.
Quitting Time: Left for college. It was actually quite sad.
Lasted: 15 months
---
Fourth Job: Secretary for Faith Community. I got to work with awesome people and do awesome things. This might be my favorite job ever.
Favorite Moment: Entertain Nicole days. On Thursdays, the pastor, youth pastor, and the other secretary had the day off. It was just Scott (who was supposed to be the youth intern) and me, and Scott spent most of the day making me laugh, because he is one of the funniest people to ever exist. Oh! This is also the summer Harry Potter came out in theaters. Scott looks JUST LIKE Harry, and I still remember the day Daniel Radcliffe appeared on Yahoo and the other secretary and I yelped because Scott! Was on the internet! As Harry Potter!
Quitting Time: Back to college. BOOO.
Lasted: 3 months
---
Fifth Job: Youth Intern at Faith Community. I played around all day with kids. I got to expense taking people to Chick-fil-a and Baskin Robbins. It rocked.
Favorite Moment: Having my brother and sister around in the youth group. They’re awesome. I also backed into the youth pastor’s truck and made a tiny dent. There was a kid in the car, and I think I said shit. She probably thought I was evil. Come to think of it, she didn’t really come back much.
Quitting Time: Again, back to school.
Lasted: 3 months
---
Sixth and Seventh and Ninth Jobs: Admin crap for my mom at her jobs, and admin crap for my in-laws.
Favorite Moment: getting my mom to buy me lunch.
Quitting Time: For school, duh.
Lasted: two summers
---
Eighth Job: Order puller at Dayspring. I showed up, was given a list of orders, and had to walk around the warehouse packing up boxes. It was awful, but I got to make my own hours, and I made pretty good money for a college kid.
Favorite Moment: I cannot think of a single good moment.
Quitting Time: I called and said, “I’m not coming in today.” The next day, “I’m not going to make it in.” And the next, “I think I’m done.”
Lasted: 4 months
---
Tenth (and final) Job: Administrative Assistant/ Marketing Assistant/ Sustainability Assistant/ Receptionist. I work for a bunch of architects and engineers, who are surprisingly helpless considering they’re able to build buildings and all.
Favorite Moment: I have a document on my computer that is a script I’ve been writing using real life office moments. I intend to submit this script to The Office, and I hope to catch some of my situations on TV one day. The script is filled with favorite moments. Here’s an excerpt:
Michael: (leaning on Pam’s desk, sighing) Hi, Pam.
Pam: (not looking up from her screen) Hi, Michael.
Michael: Listen, are you going to videotape the all staff meeting today?
Pam: No, we don’t have a recorder.
Michael: Oh, man. Because I won’t be able to hit that.
Pam: (stunned, shocked look) Oh. You know, you really shouldn’t say that.
Quitting Time: Well, I was supposed to turn in my notice today, but my boss is “working from home.” Looks like it will have to wait until Monday.
Lasted: 18 months
---
Eleventh Job: who the hell knows anymore?
This is also in honor of the fact that today was supposed to be my "I'm quitting" day, but as I was writing this, I got an email from the boss-man who said he wasn't coming in. So, dammit.
---
First Job: Checker at NASA. (or Kroger, whichever name you prefer to call your grocery store) This was my first real job, the first time FICA stole my money, and I had to wear a uniform. I enjoyed this job a lot, actually. I hated the idea that I worked at a grocery store, but most of the people I worked with were very funny. Or they at least thought I was funny, which automatically meant I liked their company.
Favorite Moment: My new boss had a terrible case of lazy eyes. I didn’t know this, and the first time I talked to him, he kept staring off to the side. I nearly said, “Would you please look me in the eyes?” but thank goodness I didn’t. His response would have been, “No, I can’t look you in the eyes.” And that would have been awkward.
Quitting Time: I was looking to get promoted into Customer Service but instead was moved to Video. And OhMyGod, video is, like, where the losers work. So I decided it was time to end the relationship.
Lasted: 8 months
---
Second Job: Babysitter for two children that my friend Nikki used to baby-sit. What Nikki didn’t tell me was that the younger boy was a direct spawn from Satan.
Favorite Moment: One time I locked my keys in the car and we had to sit outside in the heat waiting for my dad to save the day. It was fun watching the evil child melt. And I scored my highest bowling score that summer – 180. And that made the evil child cry.
Quitting Time: “I’m going to camp, so I think it’s best we end this now.”
Lasted: 6 weeks
----
Third Job: Hostess at Taste of Texas. This was a very established, very organized nice restaurant, and I worked with several friends every Saturday and Tuesday night. Unfortunately, we had to wear a cumber bum, bow tie, and hose. This definitely was the worst uniform I ever had to wear.
Favorite Moment: It’s a tie. At the end of each night, I’d grab a cheese roll, a regular roll, and a cup of Coke to go. Coke never tasted so good. I still quiver when I think about it. My other favorite part of the job was being Caller 1 or Caller 2. Those were the hostesses who were stationed out in the restaurant, and when a table got up to leave, she would call in on her ear piece to the front that a 6 top would be available in 2 minutes. God, I loved that ear piece. It was all very James Bond, with the cumber bum and tiny microphone.
Quitting Time: Left for college. It was actually quite sad.
Lasted: 15 months
---
Fourth Job: Secretary for Faith Community. I got to work with awesome people and do awesome things. This might be my favorite job ever.
Favorite Moment: Entertain Nicole days. On Thursdays, the pastor, youth pastor, and the other secretary had the day off. It was just Scott (who was supposed to be the youth intern) and me, and Scott spent most of the day making me laugh, because he is one of the funniest people to ever exist. Oh! This is also the summer Harry Potter came out in theaters. Scott looks JUST LIKE Harry, and I still remember the day Daniel Radcliffe appeared on Yahoo and the other secretary and I yelped because Scott! Was on the internet! As Harry Potter!
Quitting Time: Back to college. BOOO.
Lasted: 3 months
---
Fifth Job: Youth Intern at Faith Community. I played around all day with kids. I got to expense taking people to Chick-fil-a and Baskin Robbins. It rocked.
Favorite Moment: Having my brother and sister around in the youth group. They’re awesome. I also backed into the youth pastor’s truck and made a tiny dent. There was a kid in the car, and I think I said shit. She probably thought I was evil. Come to think of it, she didn’t really come back much.
Quitting Time: Again, back to school.
Lasted: 3 months
---
Sixth and Seventh and Ninth Jobs: Admin crap for my mom at her jobs, and admin crap for my in-laws.
Favorite Moment: getting my mom to buy me lunch.
Quitting Time: For school, duh.
Lasted: two summers
---
Eighth Job: Order puller at Dayspring. I showed up, was given a list of orders, and had to walk around the warehouse packing up boxes. It was awful, but I got to make my own hours, and I made pretty good money for a college kid.
Favorite Moment: I cannot think of a single good moment.
Quitting Time: I called and said, “I’m not coming in today.” The next day, “I’m not going to make it in.” And the next, “I think I’m done.”
Lasted: 4 months
---
Tenth (and final) Job: Administrative Assistant/ Marketing Assistant/ Sustainability Assistant/ Receptionist. I work for a bunch of architects and engineers, who are surprisingly helpless considering they’re able to build buildings and all.
Favorite Moment: I have a document on my computer that is a script I’ve been writing using real life office moments. I intend to submit this script to The Office, and I hope to catch some of my situations on TV one day. The script is filled with favorite moments. Here’s an excerpt:
Michael: (leaning on Pam’s desk, sighing) Hi, Pam.
Pam: (not looking up from her screen) Hi, Michael.
Michael: Listen, are you going to videotape the all staff meeting today?
Pam: No, we don’t have a recorder.
Michael: Oh, man. Because I won’t be able to hit that.
Pam: (stunned, shocked look) Oh. You know, you really shouldn’t say that.
Quitting Time: Well, I was supposed to turn in my notice today, but my boss is “working from home.” Looks like it will have to wait until Monday.
Lasted: 18 months
---
Eleventh Job: who the hell knows anymore?
Tuesday, July 3, 2007
How Not to Multi-Task
A note taped to the refrigerator at work: “Please use spoon to get ice. Do not use your hands; I’ve seen you do it. Eew.” For real. There is such a note, unsigned, on our fridge. I love how passive-aggressive this office is.
Here’s what grosses me out: when I see people take work into the restroom. (And by people, I mean men. Because it’s the only restroom I can see from my desk.) Please do not make changes to that document while you’re sitting and doing your thing. Because I’ve put my drawing-to- conclusions skills to work, and if a man has work with him and he’s missing in the restroom for several minutes, he must be sitting. Which, eew. My biggest fear is that the work-related thing is going to be directly handed off to me for something. And I’m going to vomit. I’ll see a colored speck in the recycled paper, and although it’s clearly the recycled part of the paper, I will immediately assume it is a particle of something because that’s how my mind works. You want to multi-task? Listen to music while filing.
So I’m going to sneak into the men’s restroom and put a poster in each stall that reads “Are you doing work in here? Are you planning on giving that to Nicole? SICK.”
Here’s what grosses me out: when I see people take work into the restroom. (And by people, I mean men. Because it’s the only restroom I can see from my desk.) Please do not make changes to that document while you’re sitting and doing your thing. Because I’ve put my drawing-to- conclusions skills to work, and if a man has work with him and he’s missing in the restroom for several minutes, he must be sitting. Which, eew. My biggest fear is that the work-related thing is going to be directly handed off to me for something. And I’m going to vomit. I’ll see a colored speck in the recycled paper, and although it’s clearly the recycled part of the paper, I will immediately assume it is a particle of something because that’s how my mind works. You want to multi-task? Listen to music while filing.
So I’m going to sneak into the men’s restroom and put a poster in each stall that reads “Are you doing work in here? Are you planning on giving that to Nicole? SICK.”
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
This Will Literally Knock Your Socks Off
Of the three of you who read this, if you have not checked out the Literally blog on the side of this page, you must. It makes my heart swell with happiness. My only complaint is that it’s not updated hourly.
I tried explaining the website to Matt, who just kind of gave me a funny look and then spaced out. He apparently didn’t see the hilariousness of it all. Or I did a lousy job explaining, which I highly doubt. But! The other day we experienced an excellent ride to work, which helped Matt understand.
Our morning commute goes like this:
rush out the door and into the car
drive two blocks
turn around to grab Matt’s phone, laptop, or breakfast
either park at the train or hop on 26
IF we drive in on 26:
gripe about the traffic
promise to ride the train tomorrow
turn on the news
flip between CNN, CNN headlines, FOX, and ABC News to avoid the awful commercials XM chooses to air
gripe about the construction downtown
throw Nicole out of the car (Quick! There’s a bus behind!)
So the other day, we were listening to FOX (which let me tell you why I hate FOX – not because of their political stance [although that too can be bothersome], but because of how much they talk about Paris stinkin’ Hilton.)
(I changed stinkin’ from freakin’ because my daddio reads this, and although I can get away with saying nearly anything to my papa, it makes him shudder when I say freaking. So I will vow never to say freaking on this again.)
Man! I should not have had that last latte! I can barely write straight.
Back to FOX. After some update on Paris, the newsperson said, “And when we return, a story that will literally stun you.” I looked at Matt and said, “Quick! Change the station! I don’t want to be stunned!” The rest of the way in to work, Matt and I took turns pretending to be stunned in various poses. And let me tell you, Matt rocks at stunned poses. He’s like my very own mannequin.
Thank you, FOX. It was the best commute to work ever.
(p.s I know stunned can mean to shock or astonish someone, but it can also mean to make unconscious. Which clearly that's what FOX meant. the end. )
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
A Story of a Table
At the end of my sophomore year of college, I bought a kitchen table from Wal-Mart for $100. Mel and I found it and thought it’d be perfect for our skanky little duplex we were going to live in the next year. I decided I’d splurge and purchase it; after all, $100 was A LOT for an unemployed college girl to spend at one time. But I was proud of it, and it felt like my first big furniture purchase.
The table was cute. It served its purpose in the duplex and moved with Mel, Natalie, and me to the triplex. We spent lots of time talking, eating, and laughing around the table. Most of the time it was covered in homework and books.
Then the table moved with Matt and me to our first apartment in Fayetteville. We just got married, so the table was always set with placemats and flowers and dinner at 5:30. Before long, we decided to move across the country. When the movers came, the table went with them. And it actually showed up in our Portland apartment in one piece. In that apartment, it started looking kind of frumpy. I was getting tired of it, but we didn’t have any room for a nicer, bigger table.
When we moved to our house a year ago, the table came, once again. Matt and I really began to loathe it. It became super wobbly – anything that had to be cut with a steak knife was out of the question for dinner. We couldn’t have many people over for dinner because we only had room for four. And it didn’t look right; we had this great living room with this awful, cheap ass table off to the side. The table hit rock bottom when our friends carried it into our kitchen for Flip Cup, a relay race beer chugging game that made our kitchen sticky for weeks. The fact that our table was perfect for Flip Cup was the final straw. We decided it was time to find a new table, and in January we bought a lovely modern dining room table from West Elm. This table was sturdy and big and pretty and Could Not Be Used For Beer Games.
The new table didn’t come with chairs, though. We wanted some sleek leather chairs to match, and we found some at a local Ross. But we only found two. So our quest for chairs began, and during that time we used the chairs from the old table to occupy our new table, ghetto fabulous style. We hit up every Ross in the Portland metro area weekly for months. We found one. Then we found another. And then we got stuck. With only 4 chairs.
And I don’t know if people know this about Ross, but they’re bitches when it comes to returning things. So we were truly stuck with four chairs.
But finally, finally, we found some lovely leather chairs that ended our search! And the table is just perfect. And this meant we could now sell our old Wal-Mart table on Craigslist. We posted the ad on Sunday evening, and by morning we had 10 offers.
And folks, I am unbelievably proud to say we sold the Wal-Mart table to two college girls.
They came to check it out and discussed re-upholstering the chairs. When those girls asked me where I bought the table, I told them Target. Because hello! They ban Wal-Marts out here! And I wanted the table gone!
The girls took it. And I hope they brag about their great Target find on Craigslist to all their college girlfriends.
The best part? We sold it for $80. BOOYAH!
The table was cute. It served its purpose in the duplex and moved with Mel, Natalie, and me to the triplex. We spent lots of time talking, eating, and laughing around the table. Most of the time it was covered in homework and books.
Then the table moved with Matt and me to our first apartment in Fayetteville. We just got married, so the table was always set with placemats and flowers and dinner at 5:30. Before long, we decided to move across the country. When the movers came, the table went with them. And it actually showed up in our Portland apartment in one piece. In that apartment, it started looking kind of frumpy. I was getting tired of it, but we didn’t have any room for a nicer, bigger table.
When we moved to our house a year ago, the table came, once again. Matt and I really began to loathe it. It became super wobbly – anything that had to be cut with a steak knife was out of the question for dinner. We couldn’t have many people over for dinner because we only had room for four. And it didn’t look right; we had this great living room with this awful, cheap ass table off to the side. The table hit rock bottom when our friends carried it into our kitchen for Flip Cup, a relay race beer chugging game that made our kitchen sticky for weeks. The fact that our table was perfect for Flip Cup was the final straw. We decided it was time to find a new table, and in January we bought a lovely modern dining room table from West Elm. This table was sturdy and big and pretty and Could Not Be Used For Beer Games.
The new table didn’t come with chairs, though. We wanted some sleek leather chairs to match, and we found some at a local Ross. But we only found two. So our quest for chairs began, and during that time we used the chairs from the old table to occupy our new table, ghetto fabulous style. We hit up every Ross in the Portland metro area weekly for months. We found one. Then we found another. And then we got stuck. With only 4 chairs.
And I don’t know if people know this about Ross, but they’re bitches when it comes to returning things. So we were truly stuck with four chairs.
But finally, finally, we found some lovely leather chairs that ended our search! And the table is just perfect. And this meant we could now sell our old Wal-Mart table on Craigslist. We posted the ad on Sunday evening, and by morning we had 10 offers.
And folks, I am unbelievably proud to say we sold the Wal-Mart table to two college girls.
They came to check it out and discussed re-upholstering the chairs. When those girls asked me where I bought the table, I told them Target. Because hello! They ban Wal-Marts out here! And I wanted the table gone!
The girls took it. And I hope they brag about their great Target find on Craigslist to all their college girlfriends.
The best part? We sold it for $80. BOOYAH!
Thursday, June 14, 2007
The Good Attitude Initiative
I’m not sure I slept last night. I know I went to bed, but this morning I feel like I was up all night cramming for a final or something. Coffee didn’t help. Of course, I’m sure it doesn’t work as well when I’m slurping it down while curling my hair and getting dressed because I refused to get out of bed on time. Coffee is meant to be enjoyed, right?
I had a pretty lousy day at work yesterday. Nothing out of the ordinary happened. But I went into work yesterday with every intention of having a good attitude. This meant no complaining, griping, rolling of the eyes, cussing under my breath, and using sarcasm as my only tone. I even went so far as to ask Jesus for help. And yes, I was sincere. I really did want to change my attitude. But by 12:45, I gave up. I couldn’t take it anymore, and frankly, I’m proud I made it to lunchtime.
I realized I used my sarcastic jokes and witty complaints to get me through the day. And when I tried to have a good freaking attitude, I depressed myself. So at 4:55, I left (my phone is 5 minutes fast, so I go by its time), got on the train, called Matt and said, “I need pizza and beer.” It helped. And then when we got home, we played some air band -- nothing makes me feel better than pretend-rocking to “Cold Hard Bitch.”
The evening turned into a game night with Bryan and Laura, and I didn’t crawl into bed until 11:30. I can handle staying up late, and I realize 11:30 isn’t that late, but I was exhausted after my failed attempt at The Good Attitude Initiative.
And now it’s another day, and I’m barely awake, but at least I have my sarcasm to keep me going. Screw The Good Attitude Initiative.
But you know what? Today is Matt’s birthday, which means it is a happy day. Because if he had not been born 26 years ago, I would have never had such an amazing lead guitarist for my air band.
I had a pretty lousy day at work yesterday. Nothing out of the ordinary happened. But I went into work yesterday with every intention of having a good attitude. This meant no complaining, griping, rolling of the eyes, cussing under my breath, and using sarcasm as my only tone. I even went so far as to ask Jesus for help. And yes, I was sincere. I really did want to change my attitude. But by 12:45, I gave up. I couldn’t take it anymore, and frankly, I’m proud I made it to lunchtime.
I realized I used my sarcastic jokes and witty complaints to get me through the day. And when I tried to have a good freaking attitude, I depressed myself. So at 4:55, I left (my phone is 5 minutes fast, so I go by its time), got on the train, called Matt and said, “I need pizza and beer.” It helped. And then when we got home, we played some air band -- nothing makes me feel better than pretend-rocking to “Cold Hard Bitch.”
The evening turned into a game night with Bryan and Laura, and I didn’t crawl into bed until 11:30. I can handle staying up late, and I realize 11:30 isn’t that late, but I was exhausted after my failed attempt at The Good Attitude Initiative.
And now it’s another day, and I’m barely awake, but at least I have my sarcasm to keep me going. Screw The Good Attitude Initiative.
But you know what? Today is Matt’s birthday, which means it is a happy day. Because if he had not been born 26 years ago, I would have never had such an amazing lead guitarist for my air band.
Monday, June 11, 2007
Reason Number ONE BILLON Why I Need A New Gig
A very important person in the office asked me to proof a letter he wrote. Now this person has notoriously awful grammar. I understand grammar mistakes happen – you make them, I make them, we all make them. Sometimes I even make them on purpose. Like fragmenting a sentence to convey a thought. But people – you’re not supposed to embrace grammar errors.
This person embraces all things wrong.
First sentence of the letter: Welcome back, hope your vacation was enjoyed and relaxing.
And my take: Welcome back -- I hope your vacation was enjoyable and relaxing.
I know there’s some passive voice going on that probably should have been fixed, but I know this person would have disagreed with me, demanded a change, and hit me with a chair. I had to be super conservative in my mark-ups. I mean, I am at the very bottom of the totem pole here. Beneath the surface of it, in fact. (I know that’s a fragment. It’s my style, yo.) I’ve lost my point.
Oh. So this very important person read the first sentence with my changes and said:
“You changed enjoyed. I liked it better enjoyed.”
And I just stood there. No response. Waiting for my cue to get the hell out of the office.
Later, I told my co-worker this story. I said, "When I'm boss, I'm going to demand all my employees use proper grammar." And then I realized I just described being an English teacher.
This person embraces all things wrong.
First sentence of the letter: Welcome back, hope your vacation was enjoyed and relaxing.
And my take: Welcome back -- I hope your vacation was enjoyable and relaxing.
I know there’s some passive voice going on that probably should have been fixed, but I know this person would have disagreed with me, demanded a change, and hit me with a chair. I had to be super conservative in my mark-ups. I mean, I am at the very bottom of the totem pole here. Beneath the surface of it, in fact. (I know that’s a fragment. It’s my style, yo.) I’ve lost my point.
Oh. So this very important person read the first sentence with my changes and said:
“You changed enjoyed. I liked it better enjoyed.”
And I just stood there. No response. Waiting for my cue to get the hell out of the office.
Later, I told my co-worker this story. I said, "When I'm boss, I'm going to demand all my employees use proper grammar." And then I realized I just described being an English teacher.
Thursday, June 7, 2007
Won't you be my neighbor?
When I was in kindergarten, I had a super-cool way of meeting friends. I still remember the first time I used my friend-making system. We were getting ready to do our round robin stations as a class. I scoped out a girl that was pretty and had nice shoes (some qualities in a friend never change, do they?). After choosing the soon-to-be friend, I went and stood near her, but I didn’t say or do anything else. I waited. And then when she looked at me, I looked back with a confused do I know you? kind of look. You know, tilted head, eyebrows scrunched, lips twitched to the side. And then, here’s how it all goes down: I said, “Um, I can’t remember. Are we friends?” Hell, yeah.
And we became friends. Because when opportunity knocks, mama always said to seize it.
Twenty years later, I’m not sure I could get away with the same method, as foolproof as it once was. I guess you could say people are smarter or something. We finally met our new neighbors across the street. Matt and I think we’re a great match (obviously), but really I just want to know if they’re on board with us or not. Are they willing to play games, eat our ice cream, and let me borrow sugar or not? Let’s just get to the point – are we friends?
It’s not that we’re desperate for friends; we’re not. I just really hate that ambiguous time in a relationship when you have no idea what kind of relationship you’re in. And maybe I’m just really excited about our neighbors. Because neighbor friends are some of the best, don’t you think?
Maybe we'll even rally a game of Hide & Seek with the other neighbors. Excluding our elderly neighbor -- she can just bake us a pie.
And we became friends. Because when opportunity knocks, mama always said to seize it.
Twenty years later, I’m not sure I could get away with the same method, as foolproof as it once was. I guess you could say people are smarter or something. We finally met our new neighbors across the street. Matt and I think we’re a great match (obviously), but really I just want to know if they’re on board with us or not. Are they willing to play games, eat our ice cream, and let me borrow sugar or not? Let’s just get to the point – are we friends?
It’s not that we’re desperate for friends; we’re not. I just really hate that ambiguous time in a relationship when you have no idea what kind of relationship you’re in. And maybe I’m just really excited about our neighbors. Because neighbor friends are some of the best, don’t you think?
Maybe we'll even rally a game of Hide & Seek with the other neighbors. Excluding our elderly neighbor -- she can just bake us a pie.
Blah Blah Blah
Look at me! I’m writing again! Big whoop.
Doesn’t everybody blog now? I think so. My dog probably freaking blogs. Wait – no, she doesn’t. Our computer at home is broken. It’s for the best; she’d probably just bitch about how we never give her enough water or something. Well, Taylor! I don’t want to hear it!
So once upon a time I hung out on xanga. It was cool for a wee bit of time. But then it’s all about comments! comments! I need more comments! And that became lame. So my daily posts became weekly and then monthly and then never again. But then at work I went from kind of bored to poking my eyes out with the nearest sharp object might be fun bored. I decided for my own sanity (and for the sake of my pretty little eyes) I’d just goof around a bit more in this whole writing thing.
And really, one of my favorite people in all the planets finally created a blog, and I want to be just like her. So there you go – Alabamber is to blame.
p.s. Did you know that Unabomber is in the spell check system?
Doesn’t everybody blog now? I think so. My dog probably freaking blogs. Wait – no, she doesn’t. Our computer at home is broken. It’s for the best; she’d probably just bitch about how we never give her enough water or something. Well, Taylor! I don’t want to hear it!
So once upon a time I hung out on xanga. It was cool for a wee bit of time. But then it’s all about comments! comments! I need more comments! And that became lame. So my daily posts became weekly and then monthly and then never again. But then at work I went from kind of bored to poking my eyes out with the nearest sharp object might be fun bored. I decided for my own sanity (and for the sake of my pretty little eyes) I’d just goof around a bit more in this whole writing thing.
And really, one of my favorite people in all the planets finally created a blog, and I want to be just like her. So there you go – Alabamber is to blame.
p.s. Did you know that Unabomber is in the spell check system?
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