Please tell me today was the last day of this stretch of horrors.

A schlemiel is defined as a 'habitual bungler; a dolt'.  A schlimazel is defined as 'an extremely unlucky person; a habitual failure'.  I've once heard it said "a schlemiel will spill a cup of hot coffee on someone, and the schlimazel is the person receiving the coffee in their lap."

I've continuously been a schlemiel or schlimazel the past seven days.

I'm really hoping that the bit of bad luck I've had was only for the last week or so.  Because I really can't continue the way I have been.  I say 'bad luck', but I admit that about half of it was boneheadedness on my part.  The other fifty percent genuinely felt like bad luck.

Boneheadedness.

Let's see, small examples in the last twenty four hours included:

- trying to build a simple wal-mart shelf from the dinky - image only - instructions that came with it.  I split the wood in several places, and once yelled at my mother "I can do it myself!  Either I'm building this shelf, or it's going up my ass!"
- getting the window jammed during the planning stage of installing my air conditioner.  Phrase of the moment "you fucking fuck." Mom almost pees pants.
- going out with my mother to buy stuff, because "you have a shelf, now you should put things on it," and we see a silver "@" that's about 4" high that I don't mind looking at.  My mother picks it up for purchase and I have a mini-freak out, right there in bouclair. "I don't know, I just don't think I need more STUFF, and it's not connected to any memory or anything for me, I'd just rather not get it, and I'm really tired, and just want to go *home."   Mom drops the issue, having seen my last tantrum when I was about three, and having flashbacks.   Later today, I contemplate driving out to bouclair to purchase said knick-knack, to commemorate that one time I almost pitched a fit in bouclair as a 31 year old grown ass woman.
- Friday was good.  I had a nice conversation with Ted, watched several hours of Storage Wars and went to bed.  Saturday morning was awful; I slept poorly, and felt bad pissing away so much time on Storage Wars.
- In terms of work, I can't go into a lot of detail, however, I could do absolutely nothing right this week.  I often either genuinely screwed up (just minor things, didn't cost anyone money), or other people insisted I screwed up when everything was fine (one email simply read "why are you sending me this?")
- also at work, my good friend and neighbour was moved to another building, and that makes me sad.
- oh! And, remember that team-building exercise I had brought home (mentioned in a previous post)?  Well, I came home after shopping today to find that it was sitting under an open window, GETTING RAINED ON.  I hate that thing so much, but I didn't want to ruin other peoples' contributions to it.
- took the car in to finally get my all-seasons put back on and find that the funny sound my car's been making is still happening**.  So, it has to go back into the shop sometime this week.  Fantastic.

On the bright side, I've got a great support system in place.  I love my family and friends.



*In my defense, we'd been out since 8:30, and had pawed through countless homesense/winners artwork, and dealt with that crap.  I enjoy looking at it for a bit, but I can't do it for three hours in a row.
**the funny sound felt to me like one of the tires wasn't balanced (my brother had patched it), so I hadn't mentioned it to the mechanic because I thought it was irrelevant.

(not to be read while eating, I suppose)

Just over a month ago, I stayed home sick for four days.  I had an awful fever the first two days, and couldn't even leave the apartment.  This was quite awful, as I had no food in the house.  My father, the lovely man that he is, came into town and went grocery shopping for me.  Among all the lovely groceries, he had also purchased a box of 50 popsicles, as I had mentioned to him that I had a sore throat.

The next morning, I didn't want to eat any of it.  Looking in the mirror, I saw that I had two massive pieces of what appeared to be cauliflower lodged in the back of my throat.  In my feverish stupor, it took me a while to realize they were my tonsils*.  No wonder I had trouble falling asleep the night before; I kept waking myself up with the snoring!

You can't move to another bed to get away from it when it's you.  Also, a bra in bed, really, lady?

I went to a walk-in clinic, where the doctor took one look at my throat ("clearly strep throat!") and gave me antibiotics and a corti-steroid to bring down the swelling quickly.  It was nice to feel like I was finally doing something about it.  Come Monday, I went back to work, although my throat was still sore.  I had ten days of the antibiotics.  On day 11, I was in pain again.  The fever had subsided, but my throat was still in excruciating pain, and when I looked, there was still pus on my tonsils.  Awesome.

Went to another walk-in clinic.  I would have gone to the same one, but I wanted to get in that night, and the first one was only open to 5.  New doctor looked at the prescription of antibiotics I was given and said "this is the dose you give a six year old**."  Swabbed my throat and sent me off, with a prescription for a second round of antibiotics.

"This'll take care of it!"  I thought.

I was done that round of antibiotics when I finally called my doctor's office for results of the swab ("not strep throat!") and to arrange an appointment with her.   "She's just gone on holiday," the receptionist informed me.

Of course she fucking has.  Nevertheless, they got me in with another doctor in the same office, who sent me home with another script (this one just a heavy duty anti-inflammatory to keep the pain at bay),  and is arranging for me to see an Ear, Nose, and Throat specialist.  So, hopefully, I'll be able to get rid of them.

The low-level depression that goes along with being sick for this long*** is quite awful.  Also, because this involves my throat and voice so much, I haven't been able to sing all this time, and it's looking like my singing will be on hiatus until further notice.  Actually, my voice is so affected by this that it's exhausting to talk.  My voice sounds like it's coming from about three inches farther back in my throat.  It's so muffled by the swelling, I'm having a hard time making sound shapes in the back of my throat that all the pronunciation of my words is left up to the front of my mouth.  And it sounds awful.

I'm still in pain now.  I just want these things out of me.

*Now, I'd always had big tonsils, which was something I was strangely proud of.  I don't know why I would be proud of it, but I was, all the way through childhood.  And university. And... up until about a month ago, actually.  I don't have a lot of claims to fame.
**To my knowledge, I've never been mistaken for a six year old.  Maybe once, when I was 5.
***for stupid reasons, really. I'm not placing myself among the ranks of the seriously ill.

Sorry for the bummer post.  How about some Yardbirds or Country Joe & the Fish?

I may have started becoming something I didn't really intend to.

I was sitting in my apartment on lunch, wearing my office ID tag, eating fast food, watching popular sitcom, and checking my phone when I realized I'd become something I always hated: a total bore.  As recently as last month, I've often said that I don't understand people who just consumed everything that came their way.     There should always be at least one facet of your life where you don't give in to what's put in front of your, and you try to reach for something a little more substantial.  

I used to be very picky about the art I consumed.  I swear that's not really as pretentious as it sounds, but I would reach out for a specific book, movie, or TV show because I wanted to, not because it was there.  Not to be a contrarian, but bestsellers lists and top 40 lists used to really turn me off.  Now, I just feel like I couldn't be bothered.   I'm almost certain it's laziness and not because there's nothing new out there anymore.  I would still tell you Wenders' Wings of Desire and Kiarostami's Taste of Cherry are among my favourites, but I didn't bring a VCR with me since I moved out, so I have no idea how long it's been since I've seen them.   Oh, I should also mention Vinterberg's The Celebration.  I honestly love this movie:

The same goes for music, but not as severely.  I listen to the stuff I really love, but I haven't really listened to much that is new to me.  

I think I need to walk away from the computer more often (or simply use it smarter - more blogging, less 9gag and pewdiepie).  And I think I need to shut the phone off more often.  It's hard, though.  That's how I keep in touch with Ted.  My delightful Ted.  

I need more balance in my life.

Well, today is my birthday

And I went to work.  In the past, I had always booked the day of my birthday off, but I took a day off a few weeks ago. Then I got very sick about two weeks ago, so with the amount of work that had piled up, I wasn't really in a position to be relaxed on a day off.  In my previous life, I was in retail, so taking the day off for your birthday was mandatory for survival.  Otherwise, you'd have a shitastic birthday.  Ugh.  Retail.  Every so often, I think about bringing in a little cash around Christmas by working some shifts at some local place, and then I remember how bad it could be. 

Let me be clear, it's not always bad.  But I would take a bad day in my office over a bad day in retail anytime.  If I flip out in my office now, I don't have to deal with anyone I don't know.  They're all - moderately - friendly faces.  They're not people I've never met who will tell my boss I looked at them funny, or I didn't tell them to have a nice day.  Anyway, I much prefer the stress I'm feeling now to my retail stress.  Impotent office rage. Delicious.  

Besides, my plans for work today resembled something like this:

(I think it's from Black Books, which is worth a watch)

What really ended up happening is I got a lot done today.  This was good, because - truthfully - I didn't have time for that.  Plus, a couple of friends at work took me out to lunch, which was nice.  Shortly after they politely listened to me talk about my new Jeeves and Wooster boxset, the topic turned to running, which I have little or nothing to contribute.  

I tried running once.

My lunch was tasty, though, and I'm not really supposed to be talking right now, so it was good.  My one friend ran 10k in about 52 or 53 minutes so that's cool.  She started out fast and just kept her pace.  I may have walked that far in 52 or 53 minutes, if I was told there was pie at the end.   

At any rate, the truth is that it's been a good year for me since my last birthday.  I moved out of the scary part of town, into a new apartment that I love (I'm sitting in my study!  Guys, I have a study!), dated some super cool people (Phd Engineer, Aircraft Mechanic...plus that ice cream douche. Nevermind, he's not super cool), really discovered the awesomeness and sexiness in one of my friends (Ted), got a small raise (yearly increase, but - hey! I wasn't fired). Oh, and about an hour ago, I got to have this conversation:

Me:  I'm looking for a nice white wine. 

Her: Okay, what will you be enjoying this wine with?

Me: A book.

Her: ...

Her: ...Chick-lit, or murder mystery?

Me:  HA!  What have you got your hand on?  Ring it up.

When I was really sick a couple of weeks ago, my dad brought me some groceries.  Alongside those groceries, he brought some of his sundried tomato chicken pasta sauce.  I kept it in the freezer until finally having it for supper tonight, alongside that wine (the book will be read alongside shortly).

All in all a nice birthday.  I'm 31 this year, by the way.  And I feel 31.  No more, no less.  

What the hell is wrong with us?

I got to number three before realizing it's a beautiful day outside, and I can go visit my family.

http://www.starpulse.com/news/index.php/2013/03/26/13_of_our_favorite_celebrity_fiveheads?page=1

Seriously, guys, seriously.

Also, if I discover this person was paid for this, I'm going to take up cutting myself as a hobby.

The post I had planned to write yesterday

Yesterday, I wrote a small entry about a bit of asinine crap in my office.  There was something much bigger I had wanted to write about, but couldn't yet. Don't get me wrong, this office bullshit is an issue very near and dear to my heart, but this post is quite important to me.

I hate romantic comedies.  When I watch a romantic comedy, I throw popcorn at the screen, call the protagonist a slut, and generally get angry because it's usually some silly broad who doesn't see and appreciate whatever she has in front of her.  You know, the 'friendzone'. I imagine it would entertaining to watch, but I tend to partake in romantic comedies alone, because I turn into a teary mess during them.

Sometime ago, after yet another failed relationship (not his fault or mine, oddly enough, just crummy circumstances), I finished our final conversation, and was staring at my phone.  There was only one person in the world I wanted to talk to: Ted*.

"It's 10:30 pm on a Friday and you're lonely, Amy.  Go to bed." said the smart voice in my head.  So I did.

The next morning, Ted messaged me, and we ended up chatting all day.  I met him about 2 years ago, through a popular social network site.  We became friends who were clearly interested in being more.  Eventually, we started chatting about actually meeting in person.  Before we had set the plans in stone, I freaked out, cancelled everything, and stopped talking to him.  I'm not proud of this point in the story, it's just what happened.

Over time, we became friends again, flirting occasionally, never making plans to meet. He'd date some ladies, I'd date some fellas, we would talk about it.  Talk about what was working in our relationships, what wasn't.  Share news of victories at work and any big events in our lives. We'd maybe go a couple of weeks without talking, then have a 3 hour long texting session.  Good friends.

So, for the last few weeks, he and I were back in touch and simultaneously single for the first time in quite awhile.  I booked Friday, April 5, off of work, and used the time to drive to Ted's house.  Ted's house.  Where Ted lives.  Up north, a 7 hour drive away.

I'm absolutely smitten with this man.  We had just met, and it was like we hadn't missed moment.  There were some nerves meeting, of course, but they went away so quickly.  The feelings we have for each other are quite strong. We both laughed a lot, and it was an amazing weekend.  He'll be coming down here for a visit soon.



*Clearly not his name, sorry guys.  He'll most likely be mentioned fairly frequently in the blog, and I'm going to need a clever or smart way to refer to him without giving away names.  I haven't found the right reference term for him yet.  It's still early.  Suggestions are welcome.

Gratitude in the Office

I tend not to write about my work here. Truthfully, I try to avoid discussing my work anywhere in my online world, particularly because I imagine my posts could become emotionally fueled (as they always do) and write something so awful I end up screwing my bill payment/feeding schedule.   However, I wanted to address this.

There's a strange division of culture within my workplace.  Most of the office staff can be divided into two groups based on the nature of their work: 

Group A arrives at work at 8am, boots up their computer and pecks away at the numerous requests that arrive throughout the day.  They usually pack their lunch, sometimes working through it.  At 4:01, their computer is shut-down, and they head home for the day.  There are a number of good, skilled workers in this group, and most of them have a lot of experience in what they do and a college diploma under their belt.

Group B are jet-setters.  They may roll into the office at 10am, but this could be for any number of reasons (for example, a 7am meeting to work around our clients' schedules).  The boss gives them the latitude they need to get their work done, simply trusting them to keep track of their own time.  In many ways, they're the elite.  They generally have more education than Group A, and they earn more money.  I need to make it clear at this point that I think most of the people in Group B work very hard and don't have an easy job (I do believe there are some that screw around a lot, though).  At the heart of them, the people in Group B are social creatures, which causes Group A a bit of aggravation at times.  Group B often pops out for lunches with 4 or more of them, and they can be loud and boisterous about it.

Now, I tend to think of myself as stuck in between these two groups.  I work most closely with Group B, so I do see how hard they work, but I understand Group A's frustration with the ruckus and goings on.

Enter the Paper Chain of Gratitude Resentment.

Several months back - I believe around Thanksgiving - a member of Group B started a little project in our office.  This particular individual works volunteering with teens when she's outside of the office and brought a little of that spunk into the workplace.  She's distributed a baggy of markers and paper strips and we are constructing a chain of gratitude that moves from person to person around the office.  I've seen more than one member of Group A get angry at having this dumped unceremoniously on their desk ("as if I have time for this shit").  At any rate, this paper chain has made its way to me.  I took it, brought it home, and set it on my desk.

This was a few weeks ago.  It's still there.  I hate it.  This kind of shit just smacks of insincerity.