Recently I read another blogger’s post that talked about all the things that have been lost in her house. She called her house The Black Hole, and proceeded to list the items that had been lost recently. My first reaction: That’s it? Oh I’ve got that beat. Of course it didn’t occur to me until just then that my house also contains an invisible black hole that sucks in unsuspecting stray objects when no one is looking. What’s funny about it is the fact that most of the missing items have absolutely no connection to each other, other than being owned by my family. Apparently the black hole is completely random, and not the least bit picky about what it eats. Well, I take that back. It must be a little bit picky, because every once in a while it will spit something back out to be found again.
So I set about putting together a list of those things at my house that have gone MIA. At first I thought I could blame the disappearances on my cats, since the first few things on the list are things they would snatch, and have in the past. However, it occurred to me as I wrote out the list that the cats could only be partially blamed. A lot of the items on the list would not, and could not, have been taken by them. So, I figure the ones they probably did get their claws into were batted around for a while, and then forgotten, only to be claimed by the black hole. Here’s the list I came up with, and I was amazed at how easy this was to create (we’re missing A LOT!):
Pink rubber bracelet - my Breast Cancer Awareness bracelet – I hadn’t taken it off since I got it in 2005, and suddenly one day it was just gone off of my wrist. I feel a little naked without it!
Toy ball of string - from Sweetpea’s Mini Pet Daycare set – ever notice once you get past the age of 3 the toys start getting smaller and smaller?
Cat’s scrunchie - I know it’s been washed a few times from being batted into the piles of dirty clothes on laundry day, but I haven’t seen it in weeks
1 whole box of wooden beads - these disappeared little by little
Many, many rubber bands
Many, many pens, pencils, highlighters, crayons, etc.
Tiny Cinderella’s glass slipper - from one of my daughter’s tiny princess sets where all the pieces are so little you need a magnifying glass and tweezers to put the princess’s shoes on her – luckily Cinderella has a twin sister that doesn’t need her glass slippers most of the time
Plastic ziplock-style bag of loose tobacco - I’ll explain this…
Several sets of nail clippers
2 tank tops
2 bottles of nail polish
Several CDs - containing both pictures and music – one of which was just loaded onto my IPod mere weeks ago. *Poof* gone.
The Santa Clause DVD
Remote for the window air conditioner - lost three times, found twice
Countless single socks
3 cross stitch patterns
2006 tax returns - both state and federal
2 cooling racks
Countless notepads
My birth certificate - original copy
Whole set of corn-on-the-cob holders - those little pick things you stick in the ends of corn cob so you can pick it up to eat without getting your hands burned or too messy – these disappeared one at a time
My song list - ongoing list of songs that I keep that I want download from Itunes
Several Christmas Bears
There’s also a whole list of other items “lost” in our last move, but I suspect they are just still packed away somewhere. The cooling racks may be among them. I’m also sure there are things not on this list that I have given up looking for, and then just forgotten about. Amazingly enough, no Polly Pocket accessories or any of the various puzzle pieces have come up missing as of yet. I better knock on wood, Murphy may be listening. I am happy to report that since I put this list together, the black hole has spit out several things it apparently wasn’t pleased with the taste of: both tank tops, my birth certificate and The Santa Clause DVD (hidden under Sweetpea’s bed). In addition, several other things have been recovered that I didn’t even know were missing: a bone from Sweetpea’s Mini Pucci Puppy set, a pet toy from the Mini Pet Daycare set (soon we’ll have all the pieces again), and a necklace belonging to either Tiny Sleeping Beauty or Tiny Belle, we’re not sure which. They share anyway, so I’m sure it doesn’t matter much whose it is. I can’t wait till we move. Who knows what else we’ll lose…er…find.
So I said I’d explain about the tobacco. Recently, since these types of specialty shops are not available in my hometown, my mom sent my husband and me to a tobacco shop to purchase some loose tobacco for her to give as a gift to a friend who smokes a pipe. We made the purchase of two bags of tobacco, brought them home, and set them on a table out of the way to await delivery for the next time we saw my mom. For the next two weeks, every time I walked by the table I would find one or both bags of tobacco on the floor. I was continually picking them up and putting them back on the table, without thinking about why they were ending up on the floor. At some point I started to question it, I think, but then just dismissed it as a combination of “slippery” plastic bags and vibrations caused by people walking by the table that was causing them to slide and then fall.
Then, one night as I was picking up the rest of the room, I once again found a bag on the floor. But this time there was only one bag. I looked everywhere in the general area, but could not find the other bag. It then occurred to me that the tobacco, even through the thick plastic bag, had a very strong odor. And, most likely, a very attractive odor to a cat. Like a ton of bricks, it hit me. One or both of the cats had been up on the table, after the tobacco. They were the reason the bags were constantly on the floor. And now, they’ve stolen a whole bag of tobacco! They’re tobacco thieves! Tobacco cat burglars! Upon closer examination of the remaining bag, I found what could have easily been a scratch caused by kitty teeth, and then a puncture mark just about the size of a cat’s fang. Now granted, there was only one scratch and one puncture mark, and by experience I have found that if a cat begins to chew on something, they don’t normally stop at half a bite, unless they’re startled/chased away from whatever they’re chewing.
So, though I have no definitive proof, the absence of the second bag is awfully incriminating. Being that these are indoor cats, the bag has to be in the house somewhere, right? You’d think. But my husband and I have searched the house from top to bottom, and cannot find the bag anywhere. We’ve checked the places the cats normally hang out – under beds, behind furniture, the bathtub, a couple closets, every little nook and cranny. Nothing. Of course we had our fun wondering if the cats made a pipe out of a bear-shaped honey jar or a hollowed-out apple, and then stole some matches and had a good ol’ fashioned ”pipe” party. We speculated whether tobacco gives them the munchies. We even checked their fur for hidden bottles of Visine and air freshener. No evidence whatsoever. So, until we move, we’ll probably not know what they did with the bag of tobacco.
In other pet news, I’m saddened to announce the passing of both Mr. Fish (the beta) and Nemo (the plecostomus). A few weeks ago we awoke on a Sunday morning to find both fish had died during the night. I suspect they fought and ended up killing each other, but we’ll never know for sure. As for us, we won’t be fish owners at home for a while, (though I still have Gill at work). The tank has been retired. Of course, Sweetpea was understandably upset…for about a minute. We didn’t even have to have a funeral. A simple flush with no fanfare seems to have provided enough closure for everyone concerned. I think they would have wanted it that way.
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
Doctor Obvious
To my few but loyal readers, I would like to apologize for my delay in posting. I had an unbelievably busy week last week that netted me enough hours that I managed to leave work early on Friday. Unfortunately this only extended my delay in posting, since the scratchy throat I woke up with on Friday morning turned promptly into Strep Throat. That’s right, I’m sick again. Though I would have to say that it has been quite a while since I’ve been sick. Weeks even. I’ve managed to ward it off pretty well the last couple of times. This one, though, came on with a vengeance and definitely got even for all the colds I’ve fought off for the last few months. I blame last week’s stress; there was plenty of it! I even had to call in sick yesterday, for only the second time since I started this job 10 months ago. Not a bad record, though. You know, I told my boss recently that I get sick when I get stressed. I don’t think he believed me. I wonder if he believes me now.
So I woke up Friday morning with a little scratch, and immediately began my home remedy treatments to fight of the oncoming cold. By the end of the day, I had a full blown sore throat and thought there was no way I was beating off this one. By bedtime that night, I knew I had Strep. See, I had Strep a little over a year ago, and if you’ve ever had it as an adult, it’s not something you forget the feeling of. Plus, every cold I get is a head cold. (All I can figure is that the virus attacks the weakest areas, which is my sinuses.) So normally I don’t have a sore throat until the cold starts to break up, and, therefore, drain. I ended up taking about 800 mg of Ibuprofen that night, and slept like a log (literally, I woke up in the same position I fell asleep in) until about 6:00 in morning when I figure the medicine wore off. All at once. That’s right, 6 hours later, to the minute, and I was wide awake and in complete pain, but afraid to take any more medicine for fear of overdose. (Yes, I know I’m silly, but since Heath Ledger died it has concerned me.) I managed to get a little more sleep, but woke up with horrible aches and pains through my whole body, and a throat that felt like I was trying to eat rocks every time I swallowed. I discovered swollen glands down each side of my neck and on the back of my head, and in a few places I didn’t know I had glands. Speaking certain words literally made me gag because my throat was so swollen. The only thing missing was the fever, though I’m sure that was because of the Ibuprofen. So I called my doctor’s office at 9:00 that morning. Or at least I tried.
I am lucky enough to have a doctor’s office that takes Saturday morning appointments for “emergencies”. I have had to use this service several times. However, “emergencies” means you cannot set an appointment ahead of time. The only way to get an appointment is to call the second the office opens at 9:00 on Saturday morning, in hopes of getting in before they are all filled up. The only problem with that: the office didn’t open at 9:00. It was supposed to, their “after-hours” phone recording said so. But it didn’t. It didn’t open until 9:25. I know this because after the initial 9:00 call, I was petrified all the appointments would fill up before I could get in, (forgetting in my deliriously ill state that if I was getting the after-hours message, so was everyone else calling in), and I would have to live with this misery until Monday. So, I continued to call the office everyTHIRTY SECONDS few minutes until someone finally picked up. At 9:25. Then he tells me he can get me in at 9:45. I say great and hang up. Oops, did he say 9:45??? That’s in 20 minutes! Since my house is a 5 to 10 minute drive from the doctor’s office, depending on traffic, that really only left me 10 minutes to get dressed and make myself at least a little presentable. I don’t think I’ve ever moved so fast while sick. I managed to pop a few more Ibuprofen, change clothes, brush my teeth, brush my hair and stick it up in a ponytail (with a little hairspray, even), put on a little blush (though I skipped the washing of the face), throw on a little perfume and run out the door. I made it only 5 minutes late. Why, you ask, did I bother to do all of this if I was so deathly ill? Well, I certainly wasn’t going to the doctor’s office in my pajamas, since they only consisted of a tank top and shorts. They might have thrown me out, or at the minimum had me arrested for indecent exposure. No one wants to see me in my pajamas. Believe me. Not to mention it was pretty cold out; we had a storm heading in. I did only throw on sweatpants and a sweatshirt, so it’s not like I went dressed to the nines, like my grandmother would.
As far as my hair is concerned…well, no matter how sick I get, I do not ever leave the house without my hair done at least a little bit. Even if that means just up in a ponytail or pulled back with a headband, or even putting on a hat, my hair will not be visibly disheveled in public. I blame my mom. She is forever and a day trying to get me to run to the store with her RIGHT NOW, and I’m always saying I’m not ready to go yet. She’ll say “there won’t be a soul there you know” (one of her signature phrases). And guess what. Murphy immediately goes to work and there always is someone, at least one person, that I know that we inevitably run into. I quit going disheveled years ago. Damn that Murphy.
And the blush and perfume, you ask? Well, you know how it is when you’re sick. I couldn’t really tell if I smelled bad or not, (I’m guessing not, since I’d just showered the day before) but not having showered that morning, I was afraid the nurses would catch a whiff of me, catch sight of my pasty white complexion and deep dark circles under my eyes, and then hear me speak, and immediately call the morgue to find out if one of their cadavers had gotten up and walked away. I didn’t want to frighten them.
Once I checked in at the front desk, I waited only a mere minute before being summoned to one of the examining rooms. The nurse asked few questions. She didn’t have to. I told her I knew I had Strep, and proceeded to tell her why I knew. She was very nice to me, and only said she’d wait to see what the doctor said. Which is nurse for “Yes dear, but you’re not a doctor so I don’t believe a word you say, regardless of the fact that it’s your body we’re talking about.” Then she looked down my throat with that awful wooden tongue depressor and mag light. (Have I mentioned not liking to have anything wooden in my mouth? Like tongue depressors or wooden spoons?) “Say aaaaahhhh…” I think that “ah” bull is just that. It’s just a ruse for their entertainment, it doesn’t help their examination any. I’m sure people will try to tell me differently. I don’t buy it. I never say it for very long, they don’t seem to complain.
Then she said, “yep, that looks pretty sore.” Ya think?!? At this point it was probably a good thing I was having so much difficulty speaking. I maintained silence for safety’s sake (hers, not mine) and waited patiently for the doctor. Thankfully it was only a few minutes. I swear this had to be the shortest doctor’s visit I’ve ever had. Of course, I suppose that’s bound to happen when you’ve already diagnosed yourself.
Have I mentioned that doctors don’t like it very much when you diagnose yourself? The doctor came in asking the same questions the nurse had. Yes, it hurts, everywhere. Yes, I have swollen glands. Yes, I have aches and pains. No, no stuffiness. No, no fever, but I’ve had 1200 mg of Ibuprofen since midnight last night. Yes, my throat feels swollen. No, I’m not allergic to any medication. Tell me again why they have a nurse if the doctor is just going to ask the same questions over again? Not only that, but he jammed that stupid tongue depressor down my throat again, and peered in with the mag light. Do you think if they shined these things skyward at night, you could see the light from space? Yes, I am perfectly aware that it looks sore. It IS sore! Thank you Doctor Obvious. Can I just have some antibiotics now? This, of course, is where he put on the ‘tude. His answer was that he didn’t know for sure that it was Strep. I told him I knew for sure that it was Strep, this is a repeat of when I had it last year. I even told him that last year the throat swab test came back negative but the throat culture came back positive from the lab. He said he supposed he would just go straight to the throat culture then, and that we could wait until the results came back to treat but it would be until Tuesday. He didn’t give me the chance to answer; I think the look on my face said it all. He immediately wrote out the prescription for the antibiotics. I tried to make amends for my self-diagnosis and asked a few questions: when should I take it? How long until I’m no longer contagious? Will they call me with the results? His answers were short, to the point and included no extra information. He didn’t even walk me out the door like he usually does. No, they definitely don’t like it when you tell them what’s wrong with you. But really, why should they care? I still had to pay to see him. He still gets his money. Shouldn’t he be happy that he didn’t have to solve some enigma about a strange, unknown disease I may have contracted in the far away jungles of…Wyoming? Did I mention we’re considering switching doctors?
Unfortunately upon my return home with my prescription, I couldn’t go straight to the bed or couch like I wanted. I had committed to make a cake for my nephew’s second birthday party, to be held that evening. Luckily I had managed to bake it the night before, and being just a character cake it didn’t take all that long to decorate. Of course, in the condition I was, even with 800 mg more of Ibuprofen, every minute was torture. By the time I was finished I didn’t even care what it looked like. I didn’t take any pictures. I don’t think I even learned anything from this cake, except maybe that ‘birthday’ definitely has an ‘h’ in it. I did manage to catch that little error before sending the cake to the party, though. Which I missed. What’s most amazing about that is I think it’s only the second family birthday party I’ve missed in 13 years.
After the cake, I spent the next, oh, 2 1/2 days on the couch, pausing only to spend the night in the bed. Then back to the couch. Like I said, I called in sick yesterday. I did make it off of the couch yesterday, though, as my husband had an 8:00 a.m. meeting, leaving me to deliver Sweetpea to daycare. Imagine my surprise when I awoke to find this:
This is the view from my front porch.
These are the mountains I can see from my front porch, and the end of storm that was passing over them.
This is the view down my street. While only a spring storm, it was sufficient to bring out all the idiot drivers who seem to have forgotten already how to drive in the snow. I mean, after all, it’s been a whole TWO WEEKS since the last snow storm. That’s just really too long for them to remember how it’s done. Utah really amazes me in this respect. How do you live in the Rockies, (albeit in a valley, but the Rockies nonetheless,) and not know how to drive in the snow? And believe me, there are people here that don’t. Plus, they are usually the ones with 4-wheel-drive vehicles. You’d think that this is a good thing. The problem is that apparently no one told them that just because 4-wheel-drive enables them to go in the snow and ice, it does absolutely nothing to help them stop.
But I digress…
So, while I’m not feeling fabulous yet, I have started feeling better little by little. A better grade of lousy than yesterday, I’d say. I no longer feel like I’m swallowing boulders. The swelling in my glands has gone down quite a bit, and most of the aches and pains are gone. I’ve cut down my dosage of Ibuprofen to a mere 1200 mg per day. I did make it into work today, though several coworkers told me I didn’t look so great, and several others said I didn’t sound so great. Both would be accurate. Today I’m wearing my “I don’t give a damn what I look like” outfit. No, I don’t have just one. This one consists of jeans, a black and white striped t-shirt, a red “big” shirt and white shoes. At least I managed to match…sort of. I just did the headband in the hair, didn’t even bother to dry it after my shower this morning. I did put some make-up on. Like I said, didn’t want to frighten anyone. I also managed to match my jewelry today. I only went that far because I was afraid my coworkers would want to have me committed if I showed up without.
I would say I am completely disappointed by the fact that the doctor’s office did not call today with my test results. Not that I really need them, but still. I discovered this when my husband called from home at 5:04 this evening to tell me there was no message. I immediately hung up and called the doctor’s office. Got that stupid after-hours message. They may not be interested in opening on time, but they sure have NO problem closing on time!
So I woke up Friday morning with a little scratch, and immediately began my home remedy treatments to fight of the oncoming cold. By the end of the day, I had a full blown sore throat and thought there was no way I was beating off this one. By bedtime that night, I knew I had Strep. See, I had Strep a little over a year ago, and if you’ve ever had it as an adult, it’s not something you forget the feeling of. Plus, every cold I get is a head cold. (All I can figure is that the virus attacks the weakest areas, which is my sinuses.) So normally I don’t have a sore throat until the cold starts to break up, and, therefore, drain. I ended up taking about 800 mg of Ibuprofen that night, and slept like a log (literally, I woke up in the same position I fell asleep in) until about 6:00 in morning when I figure the medicine wore off. All at once. That’s right, 6 hours later, to the minute, and I was wide awake and in complete pain, but afraid to take any more medicine for fear of overdose. (Yes, I know I’m silly, but since Heath Ledger died it has concerned me.) I managed to get a little more sleep, but woke up with horrible aches and pains through my whole body, and a throat that felt like I was trying to eat rocks every time I swallowed. I discovered swollen glands down each side of my neck and on the back of my head, and in a few places I didn’t know I had glands. Speaking certain words literally made me gag because my throat was so swollen. The only thing missing was the fever, though I’m sure that was because of the Ibuprofen. So I called my doctor’s office at 9:00 that morning. Or at least I tried.
I am lucky enough to have a doctor’s office that takes Saturday morning appointments for “emergencies”. I have had to use this service several times. However, “emergencies” means you cannot set an appointment ahead of time. The only way to get an appointment is to call the second the office opens at 9:00 on Saturday morning, in hopes of getting in before they are all filled up. The only problem with that: the office didn’t open at 9:00. It was supposed to, their “after-hours” phone recording said so. But it didn’t. It didn’t open until 9:25. I know this because after the initial 9:00 call, I was petrified all the appointments would fill up before I could get in, (forgetting in my deliriously ill state that if I was getting the after-hours message, so was everyone else calling in), and I would have to live with this misery until Monday. So, I continued to call the office every
As far as my hair is concerned…well, no matter how sick I get, I do not ever leave the house without my hair done at least a little bit. Even if that means just up in a ponytail or pulled back with a headband, or even putting on a hat, my hair will not be visibly disheveled in public. I blame my mom. She is forever and a day trying to get me to run to the store with her RIGHT NOW, and I’m always saying I’m not ready to go yet. She’ll say “there won’t be a soul there you know” (one of her signature phrases). And guess what. Murphy immediately goes to work and there always is someone, at least one person, that I know that we inevitably run into. I quit going disheveled years ago. Damn that Murphy.
And the blush and perfume, you ask? Well, you know how it is when you’re sick. I couldn’t really tell if I smelled bad or not, (I’m guessing not, since I’d just showered the day before) but not having showered that morning, I was afraid the nurses would catch a whiff of me, catch sight of my pasty white complexion and deep dark circles under my eyes, and then hear me speak, and immediately call the morgue to find out if one of their cadavers had gotten up and walked away. I didn’t want to frighten them.
Once I checked in at the front desk, I waited only a mere minute before being summoned to one of the examining rooms. The nurse asked few questions. She didn’t have to. I told her I knew I had Strep, and proceeded to tell her why I knew. She was very nice to me, and only said she’d wait to see what the doctor said. Which is nurse for “Yes dear, but you’re not a doctor so I don’t believe a word you say, regardless of the fact that it’s your body we’re talking about.” Then she looked down my throat with that awful wooden tongue depressor and mag light. (Have I mentioned not liking to have anything wooden in my mouth? Like tongue depressors or wooden spoons?) “Say aaaaahhhh…” I think that “ah” bull is just that. It’s just a ruse for their entertainment, it doesn’t help their examination any. I’m sure people will try to tell me differently. I don’t buy it. I never say it for very long, they don’t seem to complain.
Then she said, “yep, that looks pretty sore.” Ya think?!? At this point it was probably a good thing I was having so much difficulty speaking. I maintained silence for safety’s sake (hers, not mine) and waited patiently for the doctor. Thankfully it was only a few minutes. I swear this had to be the shortest doctor’s visit I’ve ever had. Of course, I suppose that’s bound to happen when you’ve already diagnosed yourself.
Have I mentioned that doctors don’t like it very much when you diagnose yourself? The doctor came in asking the same questions the nurse had. Yes, it hurts, everywhere. Yes, I have swollen glands. Yes, I have aches and pains. No, no stuffiness. No, no fever, but I’ve had 1200 mg of Ibuprofen since midnight last night. Yes, my throat feels swollen. No, I’m not allergic to any medication. Tell me again why they have a nurse if the doctor is just going to ask the same questions over again? Not only that, but he jammed that stupid tongue depressor down my throat again, and peered in with the mag light. Do you think if they shined these things skyward at night, you could see the light from space? Yes, I am perfectly aware that it looks sore. It IS sore! Thank you Doctor Obvious. Can I just have some antibiotics now? This, of course, is where he put on the ‘tude. His answer was that he didn’t know for sure that it was Strep. I told him I knew for sure that it was Strep, this is a repeat of when I had it last year. I even told him that last year the throat swab test came back negative but the throat culture came back positive from the lab. He said he supposed he would just go straight to the throat culture then, and that we could wait until the results came back to treat but it would be until Tuesday. He didn’t give me the chance to answer; I think the look on my face said it all. He immediately wrote out the prescription for the antibiotics. I tried to make amends for my self-diagnosis and asked a few questions: when should I take it? How long until I’m no longer contagious? Will they call me with the results? His answers were short, to the point and included no extra information. He didn’t even walk me out the door like he usually does. No, they definitely don’t like it when you tell them what’s wrong with you. But really, why should they care? I still had to pay to see him. He still gets his money. Shouldn’t he be happy that he didn’t have to solve some enigma about a strange, unknown disease I may have contracted in the far away jungles of…Wyoming? Did I mention we’re considering switching doctors?
Unfortunately upon my return home with my prescription, I couldn’t go straight to the bed or couch like I wanted. I had committed to make a cake for my nephew’s second birthday party, to be held that evening. Luckily I had managed to bake it the night before, and being just a character cake it didn’t take all that long to decorate. Of course, in the condition I was, even with 800 mg more of Ibuprofen, every minute was torture. By the time I was finished I didn’t even care what it looked like. I didn’t take any pictures. I don’t think I even learned anything from this cake, except maybe that ‘birthday’ definitely has an ‘h’ in it. I did manage to catch that little error before sending the cake to the party, though. Which I missed. What’s most amazing about that is I think it’s only the second family birthday party I’ve missed in 13 years.
After the cake, I spent the next, oh, 2 1/2 days on the couch, pausing only to spend the night in the bed. Then back to the couch. Like I said, I called in sick yesterday. I did make it off of the couch yesterday, though, as my husband had an 8:00 a.m. meeting, leaving me to deliver Sweetpea to daycare. Imagine my surprise when I awoke to find this:
This is the view from my front porch.
These are the mountains I can see from my front porch, and the end of storm that was passing over them.
This is the view down my street. While only a spring storm, it was sufficient to bring out all the idiot drivers who seem to have forgotten already how to drive in the snow. I mean, after all, it’s been a whole TWO WEEKS since the last snow storm. That’s just really too long for them to remember how it’s done. Utah really amazes me in this respect. How do you live in the Rockies, (albeit in a valley, but the Rockies nonetheless,) and not know how to drive in the snow? And believe me, there are people here that don’t. Plus, they are usually the ones with 4-wheel-drive vehicles. You’d think that this is a good thing. The problem is that apparently no one told them that just because 4-wheel-drive enables them to go in the snow and ice, it does absolutely nothing to help them stop.But I digress…
So, while I’m not feeling fabulous yet, I have started feeling better little by little. A better grade of lousy than yesterday, I’d say. I no longer feel like I’m swallowing boulders. The swelling in my glands has gone down quite a bit, and most of the aches and pains are gone. I’ve cut down my dosage of Ibuprofen to a mere 1200 mg per day. I did make it into work today, though several coworkers told me I didn’t look so great, and several others said I didn’t sound so great. Both would be accurate. Today I’m wearing my “I don’t give a damn what I look like” outfit. No, I don’t have just one. This one consists of jeans, a black and white striped t-shirt, a red “big” shirt and white shoes. At least I managed to match…sort of. I just did the headband in the hair, didn’t even bother to dry it after my shower this morning. I did put some make-up on. Like I said, didn’t want to frighten anyone. I also managed to match my jewelry today. I only went that far because I was afraid my coworkers would want to have me committed if I showed up without.
I would say I am completely disappointed by the fact that the doctor’s office did not call today with my test results. Not that I really need them, but still. I discovered this when my husband called from home at 5:04 this evening to tell me there was no message. I immediately hung up and called the doctor’s office. Got that stupid after-hours message. They may not be interested in opening on time, but they sure have NO problem closing on time!
Friday, March 21, 2008
FFUCDPJL Strikes Again
Well, it’s that time of year again. A time of renewal. A time to begin again. A time to evaluate decisions of the past. A time of renewed opportunities and of chances to make new choices. It’s also a time of anticipated visits, of children’s joy and a time to enjoy the many sweet confections that life has to offer. No, I am not referring to spring, though it is definitely upon us (YAY!!) Likewise, I am not referring to Easter, though I’m looking forward to that as well. (Though not so much to images such as this, called the "Ultimate Peep Show":
That's just too disturbing for me to even comment upon...) No, I am instead referring to that utterly anticipated, eagerly awaited, favorite time of year for many of us: Girl Scout Cookie Season. Yes, I consider it a season in itself, since it is a process of agonizing decisions and amazing restraint, followed by a period of unbearable waiting, then ending with the gaining of hundreds of a few pounds. I, of course, participated once again in this annual ritual, as I have done nearly every year since I was a Girl Scout myself. And once again I over did it. Though I won’t tell you how much I spent, or how many boxes I bought, I will say that once I told a co-worker how much I had spent this and last year, she commented that I am single-handedly keeping the Girl Scout cookies in production. Well, I don’t quite know about that…
I will tell you how very disappointed I was to discover that the powers that be in the Girl Scout world have changed the names of all of the cookies.
No longer are there such things as Tagalongs, Samoas, Thin Mints, Trefoils or Do-Si-Dos. Now there are only Peanut Butter Patties, Caramel Delights, Shortbread Cookies and other ingredient-sounding names. To tell you the truth, I didn’t pay much attention to what the names are now. I was so utterly and bitterly disappointed that they had changed such historical symbols that are so big a part of my past that I nearly didn’t buy any at all. Ok, so I’m lying. It didn’t even cross my mind not to buy any. But I’m mad, damn it! Why can’t they ever just leave things alone? (I won’t even address the issue of “who is they?”, or “why do they have so much control?”.)
Which brings me to my next topic. There was a saying on my calendar the other day that was so true, I had to write it down. It said “Law of Necessity: if it is good, they will stop making it.” How true is that?!? In fact, the more I started to think about it, the angrier I got. I have a whole list of things that are either no longer made, or else the stores have stopped stocking them. It’s something I find very irritating, since I’m the type of person who finds something they like and sticks to it. Is it just me? I mean, really, is there a Foundation for the Furtherance of the Universal Conspiracy to Discontinue Products that Janci Likes (aka FFUCDPJL)? Well, if the FFUCDPJL does exist out there, they’re sure doing a bang up job of it. Let me enlighten you to just how often this happens to me. Here is a list (and I’m sure it’s only partial) of things that I have had discontinued or changed on me:
Hair Gel
Specifically the brand is Loreal, but they changed all their products AND all their packaging, so I have 150 5 bottles of nearly full hair gel in my closet representing my failed attempts at finding the right one. (I’m positive that the amount of time it takes me to get through a bottle of hair gel has absolutely nothing to do with why it all changed on me.)
Hair Dryer – gee, you think once they’d made a hair dryer that lasted for 9 years, they’d keep making it. But I guess that means if you didn’t have to replace them as often, they wouldn’t get as much money. Unfortunately, when mine died 9 years after its purchase, I realized they’d long ago discontinued it, and I’ve had to deal with a less-than-stellar replacement.
Generic Claritin-D – Ok, so I really don’t know whether this is discontinued, or if it’s just not being carried by my favorite store to hate, Wal-Mart, anymore. I’m guessing though, it was (temporarily??) discontinued to compete with the release of OTC Zyrtec. So, just to show them, I’ve switched to PRESCIPTION Zyrtec.
Electric Youth Perfume
I know, I know, laugh it up, but this stuff was my signature scent for years!
Numerous Bath & Body Works products – every time I find a scent I like they discontinue it and I spend a fortune trying to stock up on what’s left and still available for sale on E-bay! Let me give a few sub-examples:
Bergamot & Coriander Aromatherapy Line
Red Currant & Thyme Tea
Lavender & Vanilla Aromatherapy Line
The ENTIRE Dolci Line
Red Current Lip Balm
Need I continue?
Several different types of feminine hygiene products – I’ll spare my male readers the details, but suffice it to say, I was BEYOND PMS grumpy when I found out these were discontinued or no longer carried ANYWHERE! I swear these companies are run by men. Single men. Who have never been within 200 yards of a woman.
Jeans – two separate styles of jeans from the same company (Levi) have been discontinued. I spent five or so years buying the first style as new as I could get them off of E-bay when they were discontinued, and I would wear them until they had holes worn through both knees and the pockets were tearing out. The second style was discontinued just a few months after I received my first pair and decided I liked them. Guess I need to be a little less picky about the jeans.
Einstein Bros.’s Chocolate Cherry Coffee – YUM – MY!! And they discontinued it…
Arizona Sweet Tea in cans
Yes, it’s still made, and it’s out there somewhere, but no longer at any of the stores I shop in, something which occurred mere months after I discovered its existence. Now all I can find it in is plastic bottles. Not the same.
Nature Valley Oats ‘n’ Honey Granola Bars
I’m sure they’re still out there somewhere too, but nowhere I can find.
Many, many character cake pans
Many, many cross stitch kits and patterns
Yes, the FFUCDPJL is definitely all-powerful.
That's just too disturbing for me to even comment upon...) No, I am instead referring to that utterly anticipated, eagerly awaited, favorite time of year for many of us: Girl Scout Cookie Season. Yes, I consider it a season in itself, since it is a process of agonizing decisions and amazing restraint, followed by a period of unbearable waiting, then ending with the gaining of I will tell you how very disappointed I was to discover that the powers that be in the Girl Scout world have changed the names of all of the cookies.
No longer are there such things as Tagalongs, Samoas, Thin Mints, Trefoils or Do-Si-Dos. Now there are only Peanut Butter Patties, Caramel Delights, Shortbread Cookies and other ingredient-sounding names. To tell you the truth, I didn’t pay much attention to what the names are now. I was so utterly and bitterly disappointed that they had changed such historical symbols that are so big a part of my past that I nearly didn’t buy any at all. Ok, so I’m lying. It didn’t even cross my mind not to buy any. But I’m mad, damn it! Why can’t they ever just leave things alone? (I won’t even address the issue of “who is they?”, or “why do they have so much control?”.)Which brings me to my next topic. There was a saying on my calendar the other day that was so true, I had to write it down. It said “Law of Necessity: if it is good, they will stop making it.” How true is that?!? In fact, the more I started to think about it, the angrier I got. I have a whole list of things that are either no longer made, or else the stores have stopped stocking them. It’s something I find very irritating, since I’m the type of person who finds something they like and sticks to it. Is it just me? I mean, really, is there a Foundation for the Furtherance of the Universal Conspiracy to Discontinue Products that Janci Likes (aka FFUCDPJL)? Well, if the FFUCDPJL does exist out there, they’re sure doing a bang up job of it. Let me enlighten you to just how often this happens to me. Here is a list (and I’m sure it’s only partial) of things that I have had discontinued or changed on me:
Hair Gel
Specifically the brand is Loreal, but they changed all their products AND all their packaging, so I have Hair Dryer – gee, you think once they’d made a hair dryer that lasted for 9 years, they’d keep making it. But I guess that means if you didn’t have to replace them as often, they wouldn’t get as much money. Unfortunately, when mine died 9 years after its purchase, I realized they’d long ago discontinued it, and I’ve had to deal with a less-than-stellar replacement.
Generic Claritin-D – Ok, so I really don’t know whether this is discontinued, or if it’s just not being carried by my favorite store to hate, Wal-Mart, anymore. I’m guessing though, it was (temporarily??) discontinued to compete with the release of OTC Zyrtec. So, just to show them, I’ve switched to PRESCIPTION Zyrtec.
Electric Youth Perfume
I know, I know, laugh it up, but this stuff was my signature scent for years!Numerous Bath & Body Works products – every time I find a scent I like they discontinue it and I spend a fortune trying to stock up on what’s left and still available for sale on E-bay! Let me give a few sub-examples:
Bergamot & Coriander Aromatherapy Line
Red Currant & Thyme Tea
Lavender & Vanilla Aromatherapy LineThe ENTIRE Dolci Line
Red Current Lip Balm
Need I continue?
Several different types of feminine hygiene products – I’ll spare my male readers the details, but suffice it to say, I was BEYOND PMS grumpy when I found out these were discontinued or no longer carried ANYWHERE! I swear these companies are run by men. Single men. Who have never been within 200 yards of a woman.
Jeans – two separate styles of jeans from the same company (Levi) have been discontinued. I spent five or so years buying the first style as new as I could get them off of E-bay when they were discontinued, and I would wear them until they had holes worn through both knees and the pockets were tearing out. The second style was discontinued just a few months after I received my first pair and decided I liked them. Guess I need to be a little less picky about the jeans.
Einstein Bros.’s Chocolate Cherry Coffee – YUM – MY!! And they discontinued it…
Arizona Sweet Tea in cans
Yes, it’s still made, and it’s out there somewhere, but no longer at any of the stores I shop in, something which occurred mere months after I discovered its existence. Now all I can find it in is plastic bottles. Not the same.Nature Valley Oats ‘n’ Honey Granola Bars
I’m sure they’re still out there somewhere too, but nowhere I can find.Many, many character cake pans
Many, many cross stitch kits and patterns
Yes, the FFUCDPJL is definitely all-powerful.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Guppy Love
I’d like to introduce everyone to the newest addition to my office:
Not a very good picture, I know, and if you can’t tell, he is mostly purple in color. And then about half way down on his fins the color stops and they are white/clear. No, I had no intention of getting a beta. It just so happened that a couple of Saturdays ago we were in my favorite store to hate, Wal-Mart, (no I’m not capable of just calling it Wal-Mart from the get-go :-) ) and we had to get cat litter. Of course that puts us in the pet aisles, which Sweetpea immediately recognized as the place where the fish are. So, to avoid a serious fit of screaming in the middle of the store, we had to go look at the fish. Totally out of character for Wal-Mart, they had an amazing selection of betas, with some absolutely gorgeous coloring. Once I saw this one, I could not resist. Since purple is my favorite color, I just HAD to have him. And since we have a beta at home already, and I knew he and Mr. Fish would not get along, I decided he’d be perfect for my office.
I brought him in the following Monday. Once I got his bowl all set up and filled, and he was comfortable and fed in his new home, coworkers began noticing him and stopping by my office to check him out. One asked me what his name is. Name? What name? You mean I have to name him? Oh. It hadn’t even occurred to me that he needed a name. Since Mr. Fish was already taken, and I thought it needed to be something a little more creative than “that fish over there”, I was drawing a blank. I suggested to her that if the office wanted to contribute to the name, he could be an office mascot. She just laughed and left my office. Later, however, she came back in and said she thought his name should be Grape. Grape? Hmm. He may be purple but I just didn’t think that fit. I told her I’d think about it and let her know. Later it hit me. I emailed her my idea for the name, and upon her giggles from down the hall and “laughing” email response, “that fish over there” has now become: GILLbert Grape. Thank you, thank you. I’m here all week. Geez I crack myself up.
In further fish news, a friend of mine came to visit this past weekend from Idaho. We had a girls’ night out/slumber party at a local hotel. I’m sure many of you have heard of it, the Hotel Monaco. The Hotel Monaco is very pet friendly. In fact, it is so pet friendly that one of the amenities they offer is entitled “Guppy Love”. Upon request, and free of charge (very important), the hotel will provide you with a goldfish in a pretty clean bowl for you to “adopt” for the term of your stay in the hotel. This is a service provided so that you will not be lonely for your own fish, since they are the type of pet that doesn’t travel well.
I’ll try not to get into my thoughts on what kind of person gets lonely for a fish, as I have this image of Commandant Lassard from Police Academy in my head, carrying around his fish bowl with his little goldfish inside. But I digress…
When I sent my friend the link for the hotel’s website, I told her she HAD to check out the amenities section. It wasn’t long before I got a response saying we had a reservation, and that she couldn’t resist the Guppy Love, so we had a goldfish too. Since I didn’t really believe this whole thing to be more than some sort of sick marketing ploy, I was quite surprised when we arrived to find that there was, in fact, a goldfish ready for us in our room. He was quite a pretty little goldfish, too, but I did not think to snap a picture. My friend named him Sushi Bowl. Unfortunately we weren’t aware how appropriate that name would end up being.
We enjoyed Sushi Bowl’s company during our stay. He was a lively, interactive sort of fish, very curious about us and our goings on. We were therefore immensely dismayed and disappointed when we awoke the next morning to find that Sushi Bowl had gone belly-up. Our mention of this fact at the front desk brought swift, horrified apologies, but no compensation for our loss (after all, Sushi Bowl was a free amenity in the first place, and we were only foster owners, not adoptive parents). I warned my friend to watch her credit card bill to make sure they didn’t bill her for Sushi Bowl’s apparently untimely demise. Regrettably, I don’t believe our status as foster owners gives us the ability for sue for wrongful death, or even for loss of affection. Ah, well, rest in peace Sushi Bowl.
Not a very good picture, I know, and if you can’t tell, he is mostly purple in color. And then about half way down on his fins the color stops and they are white/clear. No, I had no intention of getting a beta. It just so happened that a couple of Saturdays ago we were in my favorite store to hate, Wal-Mart, (no I’m not capable of just calling it Wal-Mart from the get-go :-) ) and we had to get cat litter. Of course that puts us in the pet aisles, which Sweetpea immediately recognized as the place where the fish are. So, to avoid a serious fit of screaming in the middle of the store, we had to go look at the fish. Totally out of character for Wal-Mart, they had an amazing selection of betas, with some absolutely gorgeous coloring. Once I saw this one, I could not resist. Since purple is my favorite color, I just HAD to have him. And since we have a beta at home already, and I knew he and Mr. Fish would not get along, I decided he’d be perfect for my office.
I brought him in the following Monday. Once I got his bowl all set up and filled, and he was comfortable and fed in his new home, coworkers began noticing him and stopping by my office to check him out. One asked me what his name is. Name? What name? You mean I have to name him? Oh. It hadn’t even occurred to me that he needed a name. Since Mr. Fish was already taken, and I thought it needed to be something a little more creative than “that fish over there”, I was drawing a blank. I suggested to her that if the office wanted to contribute to the name, he could be an office mascot. She just laughed and left my office. Later, however, she came back in and said she thought his name should be Grape. Grape? Hmm. He may be purple but I just didn’t think that fit. I told her I’d think about it and let her know. Later it hit me. I emailed her my idea for the name, and upon her giggles from down the hall and “laughing” email response, “that fish over there” has now become: GILLbert Grape. Thank you, thank you. I’m here all week. Geez I crack myself up.
In further fish news, a friend of mine came to visit this past weekend from Idaho. We had a girls’ night out/slumber party at a local hotel. I’m sure many of you have heard of it, the Hotel Monaco. The Hotel Monaco is very pet friendly. In fact, it is so pet friendly that one of the amenities they offer is entitled “Guppy Love”. Upon request, and free of charge (very important), the hotel will provide you with a goldfish in a pretty clean bowl for you to “adopt” for the term of your stay in the hotel. This is a service provided so that you will not be lonely for your own fish, since they are the type of pet that doesn’t travel well.
I’ll try not to get into my thoughts on what kind of person gets lonely for a fish, as I have this image of Commandant Lassard from Police Academy in my head, carrying around his fish bowl with his little goldfish inside. But I digress…
When I sent my friend the link for the hotel’s website, I told her she HAD to check out the amenities section. It wasn’t long before I got a response saying we had a reservation, and that she couldn’t resist the Guppy Love, so we had a goldfish too. Since I didn’t really believe this whole thing to be more than some sort of sick marketing ploy, I was quite surprised when we arrived to find that there was, in fact, a goldfish ready for us in our room. He was quite a pretty little goldfish, too, but I did not think to snap a picture. My friend named him Sushi Bowl. Unfortunately we weren’t aware how appropriate that name would end up being.
We enjoyed Sushi Bowl’s company during our stay. He was a lively, interactive sort of fish, very curious about us and our goings on. We were therefore immensely dismayed and disappointed when we awoke the next morning to find that Sushi Bowl had gone belly-up. Our mention of this fact at the front desk brought swift, horrified apologies, but no compensation for our loss (after all, Sushi Bowl was a free amenity in the first place, and we were only foster owners, not adoptive parents). I warned my friend to watch her credit card bill to make sure they didn’t bill her for Sushi Bowl’s apparently untimely demise. Regrettably, I don’t believe our status as foster owners gives us the ability for sue for wrongful death, or even for loss of affection. Ah, well, rest in peace Sushi Bowl.
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
The World Out There
Recently a friend of mine nearly made the rash decision to quit his job. But not only quit, just walk out. No notice, nothing. I won’t go into the details of the troubles that had plagued him at work that day, (and apparently every day), but things were bad enough that he was ready to throw up his hands and throw in the towel. Thankfully, since he has a wife and children to support, he did not let his emotions get the best of him and is still employed. In his honor, though, I’d like to post the journal entry I found outlining my experience with my very first job interview, encountered when I had first decided to search for other employment back in May of 2006. I would just like to remind him of what it’s like out there (at least, what it was like then, though I don’t think the job market in the area of law has changed much around here.) Enjoy! (And, for those I work with, please remember that this was written nearly two years ago!)
**When I graduated from law school I figured I had it made. A J.D. can always get you a job, whether it’s as an attorney or not. I was proud of my education, a huge accomplishment for someone who graduated from college without a clue as to what I was going to do with the rest of my life. I believed, as my parents had always taught me, that education was the most important thing for securing a future. Now I wonder how much of a waste of time – and money – my education really was.
Today I had an interview for the first time in nearly ten – count ‘em, 10 – years. Though I’m not sure I would call it an interview at all. Since there are no attorney positions available anywhere in the valley, it was for a paralegal position in a medical malpractice firm representing medical professionals, a type of law I have no experience in and know even less about. Forgetting for just a moment that I would be taking a step down professionally, the position offers a minimum of $15k a year more than what I’m making now, plus benefits – insurance, vacation, PTO, even retirement. Needless to say I was nervous. After all, I submitted my resume on Tuesday and received a phone call on Wednesday asking for an interview to take place on Thursday. The call itself was extremely encouraging, coming directly from the partner of the firm who needs the new paralegal. During the call he asked me little about myself, (I assumed because he would address that in the interview) and instead focused on giving me a history of the firm and a small amount of information on the position itself. He made the statement more than once that he felt my education made up for my lack of experience in the med-mal field. Many times it sounded as if he was making an attempt at recruiting me. Overall, the ending of the call gave me the feeling that I had landed a new job in just three days of searching.
This morning, though, the more I contemplated the day ahead, the more I began to worry. What if he offered me the job? I’ve put out ten other resumes, including one for a $103k per year Court Commissioner position. If I accept this position right away, will I be selling myself short for possibly better offers? If I don’t accept, will there be any other offers at all? Money is also a huge concern. With my husband going to Nursing School, will $15k be enough to cover his cut in, or loss of, pay? If not, how do I negotiate? What is too high? $60k? $75k? When will they say “sorry, you’re asking too much and we’re not even going to try to negotiate down”? On the other hand, what is too low? What if I ask for $50k and they’re willing to pay $60k? Then I’ve just lost my chance at a higher wage? By the time I arrived at my office, my mind was spinning and suddenly I didn’t really want to go to the interview at all. And I certainly was in no mood to deal with all the b.s. my clients were dishing out already in my over-night absence from work.
Ah how naïve I was. As it turns out, seems I had no reason to worry in the first place. Looking back on it now, I am trying to figure out exactly what I did with an hour of my day, sitting in a large glass-enclosed conference room at a large wooden conference table, politely sipping ice water and feeling my back start to ache as I try to hold my beauty-pageant-posture, as I listen to this partner tell me I am NOT their “ideal candidate”. By the time I left that room, I hated that phrase so much I fairly gag now, even just writing it down for you to read. What happened to “education replaces experience”? What happened to my “resume standing out”? Why did he even bother to have me show up? Suddenly I’m sitting in a room with this stranger telling me “you’re good but not good enough, and I don’t want to train you to make you better for someone else”. I think it’s the first time in my life I’ve been told I’m both over and under-qualified all in the same breath. I honestly did not know whether to be flattered or offended as it seemed both emotions applied.
Ok, so it’s been a long time since I interviewed. Ok, so even my last few interviews weren’t even real interviews, just friendly conversations ending in “when can you start?” Ok, so it’s no secret that I really don’t even know what an interview normally consists of. Even so, I doubt it’s supposed to be 50% the interviewer giving a job description and the firm’s history, 40% the interviewer saying why I’m not the “ideal candidate”, 5% the interviewer asking me about myself and 5% the interviewer telling me what not to do for “future interviews”. When, at the closing of the ‘interview’, Mr. Partner said he was still going to try to look for Ms. Perfect Paralegal for three more weeks, and if she didn’t respond to his mating call he would be calling me for a second interview, (i.e. don’t call us, we’ll call you), I nearly told him not to bother, as I’m sure my lack of experience would be a huge disappointment to him, and I’d hate for him to waste one single precious second in training me. But instead I bit my tongue, remembering one of my mother’s favorite phrases “don’t burn bridges”, and pretended like the whole fiasco had gone exactly as I had planned. On my way back to work I stopped and bought myself a 31-flavors Mocha Cappuccino Blast. Once back at my office, I changed into jeans and prepared three more resumes to send for jobs I am over….er, under…..qualified for.**
As a follow-up note, I searched for a new job for nearly another year before giving up, and then miraculously having my present job land in my lap. And that was pure luck. It’s not so great out there, so, when considering quitting, remember what you’re facing if you do! I do have two other journal entries written during that year concerning the job hunt. I regret that I cannot post them, as @#$%! would appear so often you would not be able to make much sense out of the rest of the text. Needless to say, it was a harrowing experience for me, and I am extremely glad that it appears to be over….until my boss gets unhappy with me…. ;-)
**When I graduated from law school I figured I had it made. A J.D. can always get you a job, whether it’s as an attorney or not. I was proud of my education, a huge accomplishment for someone who graduated from college without a clue as to what I was going to do with the rest of my life. I believed, as my parents had always taught me, that education was the most important thing for securing a future. Now I wonder how much of a waste of time – and money – my education really was.
Today I had an interview for the first time in nearly ten – count ‘em, 10 – years. Though I’m not sure I would call it an interview at all. Since there are no attorney positions available anywhere in the valley, it was for a paralegal position in a medical malpractice firm representing medical professionals, a type of law I have no experience in and know even less about. Forgetting for just a moment that I would be taking a step down professionally, the position offers a minimum of $15k a year more than what I’m making now, plus benefits – insurance, vacation, PTO, even retirement. Needless to say I was nervous. After all, I submitted my resume on Tuesday and received a phone call on Wednesday asking for an interview to take place on Thursday. The call itself was extremely encouraging, coming directly from the partner of the firm who needs the new paralegal. During the call he asked me little about myself, (I assumed because he would address that in the interview) and instead focused on giving me a history of the firm and a small amount of information on the position itself. He made the statement more than once that he felt my education made up for my lack of experience in the med-mal field. Many times it sounded as if he was making an attempt at recruiting me. Overall, the ending of the call gave me the feeling that I had landed a new job in just three days of searching.
This morning, though, the more I contemplated the day ahead, the more I began to worry. What if he offered me the job? I’ve put out ten other resumes, including one for a $103k per year Court Commissioner position. If I accept this position right away, will I be selling myself short for possibly better offers? If I don’t accept, will there be any other offers at all? Money is also a huge concern. With my husband going to Nursing School, will $15k be enough to cover his cut in, or loss of, pay? If not, how do I negotiate? What is too high? $60k? $75k? When will they say “sorry, you’re asking too much and we’re not even going to try to negotiate down”? On the other hand, what is too low? What if I ask for $50k and they’re willing to pay $60k? Then I’ve just lost my chance at a higher wage? By the time I arrived at my office, my mind was spinning and suddenly I didn’t really want to go to the interview at all. And I certainly was in no mood to deal with all the b.s. my clients were dishing out already in my over-night absence from work.
Ah how naïve I was. As it turns out, seems I had no reason to worry in the first place. Looking back on it now, I am trying to figure out exactly what I did with an hour of my day, sitting in a large glass-enclosed conference room at a large wooden conference table, politely sipping ice water and feeling my back start to ache as I try to hold my beauty-pageant-posture, as I listen to this partner tell me I am NOT their “ideal candidate”. By the time I left that room, I hated that phrase so much I fairly gag now, even just writing it down for you to read. What happened to “education replaces experience”? What happened to my “resume standing out”? Why did he even bother to have me show up? Suddenly I’m sitting in a room with this stranger telling me “you’re good but not good enough, and I don’t want to train you to make you better for someone else”. I think it’s the first time in my life I’ve been told I’m both over and under-qualified all in the same breath. I honestly did not know whether to be flattered or offended as it seemed both emotions applied.
Ok, so it’s been a long time since I interviewed. Ok, so even my last few interviews weren’t even real interviews, just friendly conversations ending in “when can you start?” Ok, so it’s no secret that I really don’t even know what an interview normally consists of. Even so, I doubt it’s supposed to be 50% the interviewer giving a job description and the firm’s history, 40% the interviewer saying why I’m not the “ideal candidate”, 5% the interviewer asking me about myself and 5% the interviewer telling me what not to do for “future interviews”. When, at the closing of the ‘interview’, Mr. Partner said he was still going to try to look for Ms. Perfect Paralegal for three more weeks, and if she didn’t respond to his mating call he would be calling me for a second interview, (i.e. don’t call us, we’ll call you), I nearly told him not to bother, as I’m sure my lack of experience would be a huge disappointment to him, and I’d hate for him to waste one single precious second in training me. But instead I bit my tongue, remembering one of my mother’s favorite phrases “don’t burn bridges”, and pretended like the whole fiasco had gone exactly as I had planned. On my way back to work I stopped and bought myself a 31-flavors Mocha Cappuccino Blast. Once back at my office, I changed into jeans and prepared three more resumes to send for jobs I am over….er, under…..qualified for.**
As a follow-up note, I searched for a new job for nearly another year before giving up, and then miraculously having my present job land in my lap. And that was pure luck. It’s not so great out there, so, when considering quitting, remember what you’re facing if you do! I do have two other journal entries written during that year concerning the job hunt. I regret that I cannot post them, as @#$%! would appear so often you would not be able to make much sense out of the rest of the text. Needless to say, it was a harrowing experience for me, and I am extremely glad that it appears to be over….until my boss gets unhappy with me…. ;-)
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
Lifestyles of the Poor and Anonymous
Recently I came across some old handwritten journal entries of mine from a few years ago, written during the time when I was still practicing as debtor’s counsel. A couple of the stories I found are pretty interesting, (I think, anyway), and I thought they needed to be shared. So, in the next couple of posts, I will include them. (I really love when my blog posts write themselves!)
The first one will be much appreciated by anyone who meets with clients, or other members of the general public, in a one-on-one setting on a regular basis. For those of you who know about all the junk I keep in my desk drawers, this will at least explain the Lysol sanitizer, Clorox sanitizing wipes, room deodorizer, air freshener and anti-bacterial gel and wipes. So, from May, 2006, here you are:
I thought I’d seen and heard it all, until I spent an hour sitting in my office with a client who, during the entire appointment, proceeded to perform a series of self-grooming activities, all the while carrying on the conversation with his wife and myself as if he was sitting with his hands folded primly in his lap. He began with the cleaning of his ears with a car key, after which he repeatedly wiped the key across his pant leg to clean it off. All I could do was think of Jeff Foxworthy’s definition of a redneck, and be thankful he hadn’t chosen to pick up any of the documents on my desk and use them as a tissue to wipe off the key.
Once he put the car keys away, he began to pick his nose. Literally pick his nose. Not just the “I feel something sticking out” courtesy wipe, or even the “I have an itch inside and am trying to do everything to scratch it besides jamming a finger up there” rub. No, this man was buried to his knuckles. And afterwards, he chose to flick the contents to who-knows-where across my office. Several times I had to fight the nearly uncontrollable urge to duck, and even to crawl under my desk to avoid being hit.
Since he had now completely cleaned out his ears and nose, I figured he was finished. How wrong I was. He began biting the cuticles and dry skin around his fingernails, and spitting out whatever he bit off onto my office floor with that all too familiar “phlbt” sound that means he’s gaining distance with each spit. He wasn’t even quiet about it. I literally heard “phlbt” in between sentences about how a Chapter 13 would affect their children. (Of course, the idea that this man had children at all created images too awful for even my worst heebie-geebie nightmares. But that’s a whole other issue.)
Finally the appointment was winding down and I figured my glimpse into this man’s personal hygiene habits, and apparent lifestyle, was over. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to wrap it up before the car keys made their reappearance and assisted the man in cleaning the dirt (and probably other things I choose not to imagine) from beneath his fingernails. Understandably, I spent the majority of the appointment speaking directly to his wife in an attempt to keep from losing my lunch all over my formerly clean desk. Thankfully, we did get the appointment completed prior to his taking off his shoes and picking out any toe jams, or using the multi-purpose car keys to clean out from under his toenails, or doing who knows what else to clean the various crevices of his body he had not already attended to.
As you would assume, after the couple left the office, my secretary helped me clean and sterilize, as much as possible, every inch of my office that could be reached without employing the use of a ladder and a power washer.
Hmm. And nobody finds the fact that I got out of that practice while I had the chance the least bit surprising. I wonder why.
The first one will be much appreciated by anyone who meets with clients, or other members of the general public, in a one-on-one setting on a regular basis. For those of you who know about all the junk I keep in my desk drawers, this will at least explain the Lysol sanitizer, Clorox sanitizing wipes, room deodorizer, air freshener and anti-bacterial gel and wipes. So, from May, 2006, here you are:
I thought I’d seen and heard it all, until I spent an hour sitting in my office with a client who, during the entire appointment, proceeded to perform a series of self-grooming activities, all the while carrying on the conversation with his wife and myself as if he was sitting with his hands folded primly in his lap. He began with the cleaning of his ears with a car key, after which he repeatedly wiped the key across his pant leg to clean it off. All I could do was think of Jeff Foxworthy’s definition of a redneck, and be thankful he hadn’t chosen to pick up any of the documents on my desk and use them as a tissue to wipe off the key.
Once he put the car keys away, he began to pick his nose. Literally pick his nose. Not just the “I feel something sticking out” courtesy wipe, or even the “I have an itch inside and am trying to do everything to scratch it besides jamming a finger up there” rub. No, this man was buried to his knuckles. And afterwards, he chose to flick the contents to who-knows-where across my office. Several times I had to fight the nearly uncontrollable urge to duck, and even to crawl under my desk to avoid being hit.
Since he had now completely cleaned out his ears and nose, I figured he was finished. How wrong I was. He began biting the cuticles and dry skin around his fingernails, and spitting out whatever he bit off onto my office floor with that all too familiar “phlbt” sound that means he’s gaining distance with each spit. He wasn’t even quiet about it. I literally heard “phlbt” in between sentences about how a Chapter 13 would affect their children. (Of course, the idea that this man had children at all created images too awful for even my worst heebie-geebie nightmares. But that’s a whole other issue.)
Finally the appointment was winding down and I figured my glimpse into this man’s personal hygiene habits, and apparent lifestyle, was over. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to wrap it up before the car keys made their reappearance and assisted the man in cleaning the dirt (and probably other things I choose not to imagine) from beneath his fingernails. Understandably, I spent the majority of the appointment speaking directly to his wife in an attempt to keep from losing my lunch all over my formerly clean desk. Thankfully, we did get the appointment completed prior to his taking off his shoes and picking out any toe jams, or using the multi-purpose car keys to clean out from under his toenails, or doing who knows what else to clean the various crevices of his body he had not already attended to.
As you would assume, after the couple left the office, my secretary helped me clean and sterilize, as much as possible, every inch of my office that could be reached without employing the use of a ladder and a power washer.
Hmm. And nobody finds the fact that I got out of that practice while I had the chance the least bit surprising. I wonder why.
Monday, March 3, 2008
The King of South America
As a quick post today, I’d like to share with you a story a friend of mine told me a couple of years ago. I will not say how the friend found out about this incident, as I am attempting to keep everyone’s identities confidential. Those of you involved in the legal profession will especially appreciate the absurdity of this whole situation, though I think it will be similarly obvious to those of you not involved in the practice of law.
This story came from a family law attorney. Let’s call her Jane. (*All names have been changed to protect the innocent or otherwise unassuming.*) One of the first cases Jane ever encountered was a divorce here in Utah. Jane represented the husband in the divorce. Let’s call him John.
By way of a little background here, Utah is not a community property state. What this means is, while all states have different laws pertaining to divorce, in Utah, if you have been married a short amount of time, you take out of the divorce what you came into the marriage with.
John told Jane that the reason he was employing her is because he had walked in on his wife, (we’ll call her Mary), and her future divorce attorney, (we’ll call him Tom), in bed together in John and Mary’s house. John and Mary had been married three weeks. Jane contacted Tom and indicated that it would probably be in everyone’s best interest to just walk away from the marriage with what they came into it with. Tom actually had the nerve to write back to Jane, on behalf of his “client” Mary, and demand the following from John:
1. $2,000.00 per month for LIFE in alimony (as far as I know, whose life was not defined)
2. One half of John’s retirement
3. John to buy Mary a house which would be paid for in full by John
As if this wasn’t enough of an insult, Tom then promised that in return, Mary would do the following:
1. Let John keep his kids from a previous marriage (as if she would have any chance of getting custody of HIS kids)
2. Make John the king of any South American country except for Guatemala. (I’m really not kidding, this was a promise made.)
Being such a ridiculous proposal, Jane did not believe any attorney would put such a thing in writing. She was dismayed to find that Tom was absolutely, 100% serious with the proposal. How did it all end, you wonder? Well, Tom proved to be crazy enough that the entire proceeding lasted 18 months. The good news is that John was able to get an annulment instead of a divorce, so custody of his kids was never a question (not that it really was to begin with, but still…) Oh, and Jane was required to testify at Tom’s disbarment hearing.
And, as a final bit to the story, those of you who are LDS or aware of what is involved with the LDS religion will appreciate this. Apparently Tom and Mary were reading Tom’s patriarchal blessing while they were being intimate in bed. (I’m not LDS, so I’m not really 100% sure what that is, except I believe the patriarchal blessing is believed by church members to be a direct revelation from God. I found a quote from former Church President Ezra Taft Benson: “A patriarchal blessing is the inspired and prophetic statement of your life’s mission together with blessings, cautions, and admonitions as the patriarch may be prompted to give.” Nope, still don’t have a clue what that means, but it’s obviously very, very bad to read it while in bed with someone else’s wife. For those of you who are interested here’s information from Wikipedia.) John found the patriarchal blessing and sent it to Tom’s bishop with a letter of explanation as to how John came in possession of it. Needless to say, I’m sure none involved have been the same since.
This story came from a family law attorney. Let’s call her Jane. (*All names have been changed to protect the innocent or otherwise unassuming.*) One of the first cases Jane ever encountered was a divorce here in Utah. Jane represented the husband in the divorce. Let’s call him John.
By way of a little background here, Utah is not a community property state. What this means is, while all states have different laws pertaining to divorce, in Utah, if you have been married a short amount of time, you take out of the divorce what you came into the marriage with.
John told Jane that the reason he was employing her is because he had walked in on his wife, (we’ll call her Mary), and her future divorce attorney, (we’ll call him Tom), in bed together in John and Mary’s house. John and Mary had been married three weeks. Jane contacted Tom and indicated that it would probably be in everyone’s best interest to just walk away from the marriage with what they came into it with. Tom actually had the nerve to write back to Jane, on behalf of his “client” Mary, and demand the following from John:
1. $2,000.00 per month for LIFE in alimony (as far as I know, whose life was not defined)
2. One half of John’s retirement
3. John to buy Mary a house which would be paid for in full by John
As if this wasn’t enough of an insult, Tom then promised that in return, Mary would do the following:
1. Let John keep his kids from a previous marriage (as if she would have any chance of getting custody of HIS kids)
2. Make John the king of any South American country except for Guatemala. (I’m really not kidding, this was a promise made.)
Being such a ridiculous proposal, Jane did not believe any attorney would put such a thing in writing. She was dismayed to find that Tom was absolutely, 100% serious with the proposal. How did it all end, you wonder? Well, Tom proved to be crazy enough that the entire proceeding lasted 18 months. The good news is that John was able to get an annulment instead of a divorce, so custody of his kids was never a question (not that it really was to begin with, but still…) Oh, and Jane was required to testify at Tom’s disbarment hearing.
And, as a final bit to the story, those of you who are LDS or aware of what is involved with the LDS religion will appreciate this. Apparently Tom and Mary were reading Tom’s patriarchal blessing while they were being intimate in bed. (I’m not LDS, so I’m not really 100% sure what that is, except I believe the patriarchal blessing is believed by church members to be a direct revelation from God. I found a quote from former Church President Ezra Taft Benson: “A patriarchal blessing is the inspired and prophetic statement of your life’s mission together with blessings, cautions, and admonitions as the patriarch may be prompted to give.” Nope, still don’t have a clue what that means, but it’s obviously very, very bad to read it while in bed with someone else’s wife. For those of you who are interested here’s information from Wikipedia.) John found the patriarchal blessing and sent it to Tom’s bishop with a letter of explanation as to how John came in possession of it. Needless to say, I’m sure none involved have been the same since.
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