it is decidedly so… ?

Sorry if it seems like I’ve disappeared. My life is too boring to write about. Nothing ever happens around here. Plus I got sucked into the Oscars last night and couldn’t do anything else. I even watched like 2 hours of pre-show bullshit – glammed up stars answering stupid ass questions like “what are the nominees thinking RIGHT NOW?” – I liked Sandra Bullock’s “gosh I have no idea what they’re thinking right now” because DUH. The only response more appropriate than that one would have been “well I know what I’m thinking right now, you’re a colossal moron!” I haven’t watched the Academy Awards since 2007, because when the universe converted to DTV I was too lazy and broke to buy a converter, not to mention I didn’t really watch enough television that it made a difference. Have I missed having TV for the past 3 years?  Not really. I mean, obviously I missed the Oscars, and when the Olympics were happening I was bummed that I didn’t get to see any of it, because I love me some Olympics. And I admit, I have missed watching Jeopardy YES JEOPARDY go ahead and judge. I don’t know what pushed me over the edge yesterday – the chance to see Natalie Portman’s baby bump? The fact that I’d actually seen about half of the nominated movies? Mr. Darcy Colin Firth in a tux? Whatever – I wanted to watch so we found a cheap converter on craigslist. Anyway, on to my boring life. Today I was texting back and forth with my mom and she announced that she is very excited about the impending birth of her granddaughter. No you haven’t missed anything, I’m not pregnant yet. I want to be, wish I was, and hope that it happens very soon, but I’m not yet. I mentioned to her that it might be a boy – statistically speaking the chances are 50-50. She responded “nope, it’s gonna be a girl”. Followed by twin boys. Eighteen months after the birth of the daughter. Apparently The Universe has been speaking to her. My clairvoyant mother is cursing me with many babies in a very short time period. She might not be that far off, it does run in the family. My mom’s brother was born a little over a year after her first birthday (I think. Something close to it anyway),  my little brother was born two days before my first birthday (he came home from the hospital on my birthday and according to witnesses I slapped him in the face – parents take heed, a little brother is not the greatest birthday present of all time), and my aunt had babies a year apart as well. So, there’s that. On the bright side, I’ve been warned so at least I’ll be prepared in advance for the plethora of babies headed my way. YAYSUS.

reinforcement

This afternoon, at 3:21pm PST I received the following email:

Thank you for applying for the Pharmacy Technician (certified) with {pharmacy where I had job interview}. This position has been filled. We will keep your information in our database for consideration for future openings.
Sincerely,
{female name}
Vice President,
{aforementioned pharmacy}

At 3:42pm PST, I received the very same email again. I have a few things to say about all of this.
1 – if you’re the low-wage administrative assistant in charge of sending out the form emails informing people that they didn’t get hired, take a few extra seconds to put a check mark next to the names after sending, so you don’t send it twice. Better yet, BCC the whole group and send ’em at the same time. That way you can spend the rest of your shift on the internet.
2 – The Pharmacy Technician? Is that like The Pope, or The Queen?  How about thank you for applying for the position of Certified Pharmacy Technician? If you’re the low-wage administrative assistant in charge of sending out the form emails telling people they didn’t get hired, take a few extra seconds to proof read. That way you don’t sound like an uneducated boob.
3 – Vice President my ass.

90 days

I’m not going to change jobs. That may seem like it’s coming out of left field because you haven’t been living up in my head for the past 2 weeks (thank your lucky stars for that), but it isn’t. After The Husband quit working where we worked (and where I still work) I started wondering if I should make my way out of there as well. Various reasons, not to be discussed, for wondering if the grass is greener over there on the other side of that fence led to me dabbling on some job websites, seeing what’s out there. To my amazement I discovered that other people will actually pay me as much as I’m making. I’ve been laboring under a misapprehension that if I wanted to seek gainful employment elsewhere I’d be looking at a pay-cut.  A particularly heinous day at work pushed me just far enough that I applied for a few jobs. And promptly forgot about it after the shitstorm passed and everything went back to normal. Monday afternoon a guy from one of the places called wondering if I’d come in for an interview. And I thought, “why not?” so I went. I dressed up, I chatted, I was charming.  I think it went all right. And I felt pretty good. Next morning the worrying began. Is now a good time to change jobs?  The Husband is temping so there’s enough money coming in to stave off that particular panic, but we’re both on my insurance now. If I change jobs, it would most likely mean a 90 day wait before benefits kick in. I don’t know about y’all, but being without insurance gives me nightmares and panic attacks. I think I’ve mentioned that for part of my adolescence I lived with my mom in a little placed called Poverty. One day Mom slipped in a puddle on the ground (it doesn’t rain much in Utah, so we’re not adept at handling puddles), reached out to break her fall and jammed her finger on the ground.  For a while it seemed like just a minor injury, but then it became obvious that it was broken. She weighed her options and ultimately decided to just do nothing about it and hope for the best because THAT’S WHAT IT’S LIKE TO LIVE WITHOUT HEALTH INSURANCE (and before you ask/wonder/berate/criticize yes, yes, FIRMLY yes, I am pro socialized medicine because I believe that access to healthcare should be a right, not a privilege. I also believe that The Gays should be allowed to marry – ha HA!!!  go ahead and leave some scathing comments, I dare you). Her finger healed and all, but it healed incorrectly. So, years later when she had insurance again and went to a doctor it was too late for him to do anything other than fuse the effing bones together in order to repair the damage and now my beautiful mother has a bendless finger, a finger without a bend. Let that be a lesson to you! Okay, anyway. I’m afraid to be without health insurance. Add it to the pile of leftover fears from childhood (along with the fear of not having enough food to eat, the fear of not having enough money to pay the bills and the fear of driving an embarrassing, ginormous, green car). So yeah. There’s that. Then there’s the actual reason that I don’t want to start a new job, the baby fever. My appointment for the yearly check of my lady bits is next week and if I’m lucky they’ll be yanking out my chastity plug IUD and Operation Let’s Get Pregnant will officially begin.  I know it’s not much time, but 90 days right now seems like a whole lot of time. These eggs aren’t getting any younger and what if 90 days is the difference between getting pregnant easily and struggling with infertility? Sure, sure, if  I’m anything like the rest of the Mormon pioneer ladies of my heritage, I’ll be pregnant by next month and having a baby just in time for New Year, but still, why wait 90 extra days if I don’t have to?  And even if I did, then what? Would I be able to take maternity leave? Some places require you to have worked there a full year before they will allow you to take it. It will be much less stressful knowing that my job will be saved for me while I take 12 weeks to adjust to a screaming, poop factory. Plus, what if their insurance is such that I can’t go to the hospital that I want to for the calving because it’s not in their network? I’m pretty particular about how I want to give birth, and if I get stuck in some crummy hospital that doesn’t employee midwives and where a jerk doctor forces me to have an epidural and/or a cesarean section I’m not going to be happy. So I’m not doing it. I’m staying exactly where I am, and sticking with my original plan. And I feel very calm and at peace with that decision. Which is not a feeling I’m familiar with having experienced it so infrequently, so I’m taking that as a sign that it’s the right decision. Despite the fact that some friends and family members would possibly disagree.

the finer points

I just watched a movie called New York, I Love You. It was my movie, chosen because Bradley Cooper is in it. When The Husband and I have exhausted the Netflix supply and the Redbox has nothing left but B horror movies and awful cartoons we find ourselves wandering aimlessly around one of the few remaining Blockbuster video stores still hanging on in the hopes that maybe people will suddenly remember how much they liked having to put their clothes on, leave their houses and interact with other humans in order to watch a movie, because streaming something on the interwebs and therefore not having to remove your Cheeto stained pajamas is too much of a bother. We usually end up renting more than one movie – one (or some) for us, and one for me. I watch more movies because I don’t currently have a jobby that takes up 89% of my time (by the way, in my head jobby is a combo term, comprised of the words job and hobby. I’m telling you that so you’ll refrain from googling it and then thinking that I’m talking about turds). His Siren – the sleek, sexy, new guitar – calls his name, beckons with her sleek, sexy voice and he must answer that call. Me? Not so much. Sure, I jabber on a blog occasionally, but mostly I’m too tepid for anything to consume that much of me. Oh I have moments (delusions of grandeur I like to call them) where I think maybe I’ll be a real writer, but mostly it just doesn’t take up much of my time, so I watch movies. Occasionally I think to myself “should it bother me that he spends so much time with that guitar? Should I want him to spend more time with me?” And then I realize how lucky I am that my husband’s mistress is a guitar, not a woman. Marriage is about compromise. Anyway, my movie. It was an independent, artsy flick, meaning it was odd. Not David Lynch odd, where you couldn’t follow anything and wondered why everybody else is always like “oh my GOD, the genius of David Lynch” because you’re like “What was with that strange guy with the shiny thing? Was he even part of the story?”, but odd enough that I rolled my eyes a few times. By the way, you David Lynch fans, before you crucify me, what is the deal? I just cannot get into his shit. Do you actually understand and appreciate his weirdness? Or is it like an emperor’s new clothes kind of a thing? When I was seventeen I had a crush on this guy who was older than me and taking film classes so he made me watch David Lynch movies and because I was A – an idiot, B – desperately trying to seem older than my years and C – hoping to lose my virginity that summer (sorry mom!) I went along with it. So yeah, my movie, this disjointed, indie flick. There were like a dozen different story lines, all happening in New York, all sort of coinciding with each other – kind of like Crash only not the worst movie ever made (don’t get me started on that movie, you will regret it. I. Hated. It. So. Much.) Each piece was written and directed by a different person – kind of like Four Rooms only without all the Tarantino/Rodriguez stank. Apparently it’s part of a larger project, the end credits will direct you to a cryptic website with very little information, the gist is that they’re making more movies about more cities. Next stop, Jerusalem. Whatever. My overall opinion of this movie can be summed up thusly:
NOT ENOUGH BRADLEY COOPER.
The End.

punk in drublic

What is it about beer that makes me say inappropriate things? I don’t drink very often, but last night The Husband had a gig. My little brother came with me and some friends of mine showed up and hung out with us as well. And I had two beers. Which if you hardly ever drink beer (and started your drinking career in Utah where the beer is actually water with some beer extract thrown in for flavor) is like actually drinking four beers. So I talked about my sex life and made reference to my giant boobs amongst other things. Good Lord. No wonder I don’t normally leave the house. Ray Ray, I apologize. I promise to just have diet coke next time. At least I didn’t have any tequila. That shit makes me crazy.

who can take a sunrise, sprinkle it with dew, cover it with chocolate and a miracle or two?

My mother just cheered me right out of a 3 day funk (remind me again why I moved 800+ miles away?). Here’s a snippet of our text conversation (edited for some content that is irrelevant and some iPhone edits that don’t make any sense – seriously, what’s up with the mini computer thinking it’s smarter than me? Dude, I actually wanted to say fuck, NOT DUCK).
Her: I found you 3 books at DI today (oh man I miss DI – it’s the Utah equivalent of Goodwill – DI stands for Deseret Industries, it’s owned by The Church and it kicks ass over Goodwill. Trust me. People in Utah give away some good shit)
Me: you did? I love books! (really Anjeanette? I never would have guessed)(oh, p.s. these sarcastic, parenthetical add-ons are me talking now, not part of the texting. In case you’re wondering. Which you aren’t because you’re not a moron).
Her: yes, two on being pregnant and one on baby’s first year.

And there, in that moment my blackened, sad, little heart grew three sizes.

 

Dang. It’s really too bad I couldn’t find that snippet with sound. The little sproing when his heart busts through the frame is awesome. But anyway, y’all, my mom is excited about the fact that I wanna be pregnant!  Somehow that makes everything better. And here is the part where you’re all like “um, of course she is?” with a big question mark on your face. Let me splain. Other than my sister and one of my brothers who also live here in Portland, we (me and The Husband) don’t see our families much, so we don’t get to hang out with them, bounce ideas off of them, discuss our future plans with them over coffee at Marco’s, borrow money from them when we spent all of ours on candy, sleep on their couches when we fight, you know, regular family stuff, so occasionally I start to feel like I’m marooned on my own desert isle and the life I’ve concocted for myself can sometimes feel a little unreal. And I don’t have a lot of close friends either. I moved here to run away from a lot of things – my childhood, my adulthood (as far as it had progressed at that age, which honestly wasn’t much), The Mormons (sorry, but it’s true) and somehow when I got here I didn’t make friends so easily. I’m a moody Taurus, I’m not very outgoing, all sorts of excuses – I’m sure it’s part of The Depression, but whatever, it is what it is. I am a rock, I am an island. I spend a lot of time up in my head, I do. Sometimes I can go days without noticing anything around me. It can get a little creepy. But today, thinking of my cute mom buying books about pregnancy for me was like a giant slap on the forehead, a great big DUH – wake up stupid – THIS IS FOR REAL. I got married, and soon I might get to have a baby. And it’s not just a fantasy going on up in my head anymore, we done TOLD PEOPLE. And they’s GLAD! Oh, I forgot to mention this a few days ago, but The Husband’s mom called to tell him that she had a dream that I was knocked up. So it’s not just my mom,  everybody is on board, yo. THE UNIVERSE WANTS A BUN IN MY OVEN. Ew. That just made it sound all gross and immaculate conceptiony. I promise I’m not planning on giving birth to a saviour of any type. Just a regular kid for me. Is that blasphemous? Great. I’m going to hell again.

sleep on it

Do you ever wish you could have a different personality? I do. For the record, I feel like a twat for all that crap I wrote yesterday. Waiting 24 hours before opening your fat trap is a good idea, one that I shall try to remember in the future. Sure, it’s my personal blog and I can be a whiner if I want, but still. The 9 of you who viewed that? I apologize. And I’m not writing about work anymore.  As for my personality, I guess there isn’t much I can do except make a conscious effort to change, but in the meantime let’s just say that I frequently wish I were one of those pleasant people who are always happy and never lose their tempers. And let’s also say that if I weren’t planning on trying to get pregnant soon I would be on the phone with my doctor today asking for a new prescription for crazy pills.

the wrong side of the bed

This should be interesting. I’m attempting to write this post on The Husband’s computer since mine is still in the shop. He has an old mac, a desktop computer circa 1999, but hey – it’s still running, so why get a new one? That’s my philosophy about pretty much everything nowadays: (nowadays? good lord! how old have I gotten?!) if it ain’t broke, don’t pay to fix it, if it is broke, buy one cheap at Goodwill (and P.S. let it be known that I’m well aware of the grammatical errors in the previous sentence. In fact, let it be known that if you see a grammatical error in my post, 99 times out of 100 I’m aware of it and did it on purpose. The other times I’ve probably been eating peanut butter and crack sandwiches). Speaking of Goodwill, I got 2 new shirts today, neither of which were green. Ha! And, a jacket with buttons instead of a zipper. Take THAT, Universe!

Okay, onto the real reason for this post. My nasty mood. I woke up with it. Does that ever happen to you? Oh, and by nasty I mean foul, grumpy, mean and mad, not slutty and/or in the mood for kinky, dirty sex. Just so we’re all clear on what I’m talking about. I’m trying to keep the work talk out of this blog for fear of getting canned so I’ll try to be as cryptic as possible, but the nasty mood with which I awoke was severely exacerbated by my job and I feel like writing about it.

One of my colleagues annoyed me so much that I almost quit my job and stormed out. Then I remembered that my husband did that three weeks ago, and I’m currently the only one of the two of us with insurance and a retirement plan. So I stayed. And stewed. And realized that I cannot do this forever. I cannot work in a job that is beneath my intellect just to earn enough money to barely squeak by. I also began to wonder how in the hell this happened? And how did it go so far?  I am so unfulfilled and unhappy and maybe it has something to do with The Depression, but maybe it doesn’t? That whole big lie that they tell you with the work hard and get a college degree and then you can do anything? Yeah, if you haven’t figured it out yet, let me enlighten you – that’s bullshit.  I did that. Worked really hard. Got a college degree. And here I still am, doing the thing that I started doing to put myself through college. Why don’t those work-hard-and-get-a-degree people tell you to get a degree IN SOMETHING USEFUL? See how adding those three little words makes that sentence so much more logical?Those liberal arts degrees? They’re doing nothing for you. Especially right now!  Come on people! They’re a dime a dozen and unless you want to be a teacher don’t bother. Teach your kids that it’s either business, nursing or pharmacy. MONEY MAKERS. Had I my life to live over again I would get a business degree, work for five years and then get an MBA. Huge paycheck. Pharmacy also pays ridiculously well, but the hours suck nuts. Unless, of course, you’re a big fan of working on the weekends and possibly taking on-call shifts.  In case you missed it, I’m kind of bitter about the 50K debt I’m in for my liberal arts degree. [What’d you major in? They ask interestedly. Science. She replies in a barely audible, embarrassed whisper. With a minor in community health.]

Wow. That was a giant digression. I’m not even sure I can recover from that and go back to the original point. But, I shall try. I don’t have very many specific duties at my job. The colleague, he stole one. And didn’t tell me. I began to notice something was awry and thought perhaps I would have to involve the IT guys. Do you have IT guys at your job? Are they rude and condescending?  I thought so. They’re also hilarious and fun, and I really do enjoy talking to them, but still, if you don’t have to involve them, you won’t – am I right? Luckily, The Still Small Voice (yes, I’m busting out the Mormon terminology again, suck it) inside of me told me to ask my colleague before I did anything. Sho ’nuff, it was him. He stole my job. His reasoning?  He was trying to help out “because you’re overworked”.  Um, no. I’M NOT. In fact, I’m usually just the right amount of worked, and occasionally I’m underworked, but I am definitely not overworked. And, for the record, despite my complaining about how it’s beneath me, I take my job seriously. I do it right, I do it efficiently, and when people mess with it, I get a little annoyed. Especially because he was being all sneaky, behind-my-back about it. So I sort of blew up. I’m a Taurus, I deal with things poorly, but this incident was also a straw on the back of a very impatient camel who happens to already have a lot of straw on her back. This colleague? He does other annoying things. And always under the guise of “trying to make it easier” – hey, guess what? When you do that, and say that? It makes me actually think that you don’t like the way I’m doing my job, that I’m not doing it fast enough or correctly enough, and that you think you can do it better. And it doesn’t make things easier, it actually makes them more difficult. And AND! There’s an actual way of doing things that is the correct way! They’re called standard operating procedures and they are there for a reason! So, Captain Passive-Aggressive, YOU are doing it wrong, and  I’m giving you the finger.

Then I went to pick up The Husband from his temp job for the week (did I mention he’s working this week? Well he is. It’s a crappy, temp job but hey, it’s 40 hours of work and when mama has to pay the rent that money will definitely come in handy) and discovered that he had worn my favorite hat to cover his head while he walked in the soggy, Portland weather for ten minutes to get from the bus stop to the warehouse. Then he shoved it into his bag where it sat all day. And now it’s all soggy and smells slightly mildewy. My favorite hat. That I got in Canada. That ten people compliment me on everytime I wear it. And I got mad. And he didn’t understand. Men? You are all from another planet. I just thought you should know.

sad mac

My computer had to go to the doctor. If you have a macbook you’re aware of the screen problem where suddenly, without warning it shuts off. Not very helpful when you’re trying to view things on it. Also, the cd/dvd burner is busted. I’ve been holding out for a very long time, what with my new found Scroogesque, money misering philosophy, but it finally got to a level of ridiculous that even I had to notice, so off mac went to some place in Texas,  hopefully to get fixed and last a few more months so I don’t have to buy a new one. That, my friends, is why I haven’t posted since Friday (or whenever the hell it was) and until I get my baby back, I’ll be stuck updating on my lunch break. Which is where I am now. Eating my “healthy” (who do they think they’re fooling?) frozen dinner, catching up on my internet stories and wondering which crappy movies I’ll be getting in the mail in a couple of days because I forgot to update my netflix queue. And yes, I still get the goddamn dvds in the mail because I don’t pay for the interwebs at my house and can’t do the streaming thing. Don’t get me started on technology and how I can’t afford it and don’t really care because half the time I wonder when it’s all going to come to a crashing halt and cause the apolcalypse. Um, yeah. Moving on. Can I just say I’m bored? With work, with life, with winter. Yes. Bored. It’s time to move on already. Dear Universe, I am ready for spring. Or something else new and exciting (hint: a baby would totally count). Anyway – lunch break is short so my posts this week will be too.  Today I’d just like to say, valentine’s day is a stupid holiday made up by a certain greeting card company. And I’m not saying this because I’m a fat, bitter, single 30 something. If you will remember, I am a fat, bitter, MARRIED 30 something. And AND quite in love with my husband. Instead of exchanging pink, heart-shaped cards and/or candy and/or expecting expensive jewelery (ladies, who the hell are you kidding with this? really? REALLY?) he will be rehearsing and I will be reading Rhett Butler’s People (which is turning out to be much better than I expected). Maybe if he gets home early enough we’ll practice our baby making skills. Whoops! I said it.

i’m up to 4

my Chinese horoscope thinks I could be a dietician. I just counted how many times I’ve had pizza this week and I beg to differ.