Irrational Becoming Me

I just applied for a job in Reading, England. With an American phone company. But I thought, hey, maybe I'll end up in jolly old England again! And seeing as I'm quitting Ann it's the perfect time.

Oh, I'm quitting Ann. Ann has let things get out of control so I'm taking back the control and quitting. Quitting. I've done this before I think, yes, yes I have...July 4th I walked out.

Anyhow. I'm still recovering from my journey to escape Irene.

Walking, train, running, bus, train, train, taxi, car.

Doesn't sound so bad when you put it that way. There were a few arguments with people in charge of the transportation, ie the cabby. Why argue, sir, I'm paying you to drive me!

Anywho. Back to work tomorrow, have to figure out my life and such.

In the Clutch of the Crazies

Yeah, they're back. The crazies are getting me. And blue is blue but this has got to stop. I've toyed with the idea of seeing someone but the last thing I need is more drugs and further expense to add to the stress of working a bagillion (bajillion?) hours and not bringing home the bacon. Speaking of bacon, the crazies are making me fat, like, um, this fit yesterday, what can't I get it zipped, fat.

So the new thing is going to be how to not let the crazies get to me. Plan isn't a simple, somehow I have to become happy. And how does one become happy?

I think Martin Page and Francois Lelord seem to know how. But they're French so maybe it's a French thing, this happiness and contentment. Or maybe it's a man thing. But I'm leaning toward French. And maybe it's not a thing at all, because I'm reading these books and the characters find that after the search everywhere only to realize that what they had before was quite alright. So is what I have quite alright?

I guess I have to go through a great journey, across the globe, I must meet people who are happy and sleep with many, many happy men what want nothing other than a roll in the hay and nuzzling. Wait, that sounds French, or fictional. Too many books. But I do think the journey part of the idea holds water.

So the journey thing, you say I should go? Who pays? I'm still looking into the whole sugar daddy thing, the boss man tells me that all this fellow needs is $8 million in the bank and I can live on a slim four hundred thousand in interest every year. Which I think, maybe I could handle. Maybe, if I watched my electric bills and lived on rice and beans for two meals a day. I think I could do it.

Oh, right, but I can't because it was a thing that The Today Show exploited for ratings in the last week or so. This is a warning to The Today Show: Stop stepping on my toes, until I'm good enough to work for a living I need this. Thank you.

Then again, maybe my outed plan can still work, rich old men don't get up to watch The Today Show, they read the newspaper!

So anyhow, if anything a few weekends away, a few dates (take the freaking hint!), that could be the band-aid on the bullet wound for a bit. A real job would be super fantastic. A place to live. More French books?

Here's to the search for happiness!

A Place to Lay My Head

Ok, so here's the thing, logistically I've screwed myself, maybe. Over the weekend I went on a I-Need-A-Job-Panicked job hunt. I applied to everything and anything I am either interested in or qualified for. And someone bit. Before you WooHoo! too loudly, it's an unpaid internship (still good) in NYC (not so good).

I've considering all my options here:

1. Commute. It's impossible, next!
2. Couch surf. It's possible but it would take a kind, generous soul to give up their couch for any length of time, couches are important you know. So, please, kind, generous souled people I'll be tidy just for you!
3. Set up a hammock in a park. Seriously, all I'd need is two trees close enough together to sling my hammock and perhaps a tarp for coverage. It won't be too cold until say October? (Please note this scenario also works for porches and balconies)
4. Sigh and move on. This is a last resort option. I don't want to do this unless there is no other way. It's heartbreaking to even consider this. Don't break my heart people. Just don't do it.

If you think of something else, or know of a spot in a park, let me know.

Here's to taking advantage of every opportunity that comes my way!

Operation Ada Jane

Set some long term goals today. Proud of them. Proud of myself.

I think I'll start using full sentences from this point forward.

The whole thing kind of stems from my youngest sister's status as a rising high school senior, which isn't a big deal to my life plan except that when she graduates high school my mother will sell the house and move to wherever seems super relevant at the time. So unless I've found a real job, I'll be out of luck and out of time.

So with my dear mother's help we've devised Operation Ada Jane. It is a plan that it's name sake perfected at the age of 17. She worked it hook line and sinker. I shall too.

Unfortunately, I'm working with smarter targets, driven targets. Unfortunately, said targets have been on to my varying versions of Operation Ada Jane for years. Maybe that will make it harder, maybe easier. And I'd ask your opinion but Operation Ada Jane has to be a secret or it will never work. And it has too, Operation Ada Jane is a comfortable future, not dazzling but cozy and sweet, which at this point is more than enough for me. 

If Operation Ada Jane is a successful I'll be set.

Wish me luck!

Sleeping On It

After yesterday one would think that there would be some regret. But outside the fact that my only current job is with the company that the manager who cussed me works for full time, and that might be a hugely horrid thing, I'm at peace with my fiasco.

With hind sight being as it is so, I must confess that I wish I had been calmer. I wish I could have stayed creepy calm while forcing her into hysterics. I nearly did, but the cussing/lying threw me into a tizzy of my own. That is the one thing I would have changed.

What I find strange is that the store manager didn't call me today. Either she wasn't told or she's waiting for me to call her. I will, she's nice enough, but I will not work with the women who create and escalate the drama. I wish the store had cameras too. Wouldn't that be just grand!

But alas corporate spends time pinching pennies and misses out on the juicy stuff.

What a Day, What a Day!

This is what I did today.

Happy 4th!

Hooray freedom (on several levels)!

Nosy Nancy Never Wins

So the other day I filled out an internal application for a promotion and I was nervous about talking to my manager, getting it signed and what not so I left it in my drawer over night so that conversation could be a bright and early type deal.  I went home and basked in the opportunity, blogged about it, blogged about it, brooded over it dreamed a bit and woke up the next day for work.

When I got to work I pulled my application out of my drawer, one that I indeed share but expect that my stuff will go untouched. It didn't, not ten minutes after I sit down in the second station which is usually occupied by the teller I was filling in for and this nosy teller starts asking about my paperwork. So I tell her but I'm a bit vague, then she runs over and starts reading the passages that she particularly likes.

Let's be honest, I'm going to be arrogant for a second, I'm a pretty good writer. I'm versed in schmooze and have a varied, yet delightfully flamboyant, vocabulary. So yeah my application was kick ass. I was flying high and it was for HR use only.

I say this as a person who reads everything I can see, if you see something you shouldn't zip the lip, put a lid on it, take it home, write it in your pink diary with the lock, do not discuss it at work or with the person it pertains to.

I know, she was worried about my HR visit, I was too, but her worry had her freaking to the point where she figured she'd get sacked and while part of me would like the relief of not having to deal, I'm not going to the be tattler who gets my co-worker canned. Mostly because "it's a tough time economically" and even the old folks need jobs to keep a roof over their head.

So here's the deal lady: keep your nose out of my business and I'll keep the roof over your head.

Next Monday has Arrived

As a follow up to my fabulous fortune that came to me via cookie back in March:

Today is Monday.

Today I had an opportunity arise.

Looks like I'm applying for a promotion!

Here's to fortune cookies being kind of vaguely right in hide-sight!

Death to Spontaneity

I am, by nature, whimsical. I love to just go and do whenever the idea strikes.

The idea struck last week. I don't have the time or the money to go but I want to, I'm itching to go. But without companions this trip is not financially possible. My potential companions whimped. I can't blame them, it's an eight hour drive for a basically one day, two night stay. But this trip is would have been guaranteed good time.

I think thats where my whim comes in. This two jobs, non-stop thing is killing me. I'm becoming angry again and my hips hurt like I'm an old lady. I want a social life, but more than just drinking every couple of nights because lets be honest the alcohol doesn't do much for my figure. Neither does working all the time. I'm too tired to workout as much as I'd like too, especially with the hips hurting before the run.

So next time I catch a whim, I'm running with it. Time and money won't stand in my way.

Woe is Work

Today was flipping exciting.

I got a trainee... surprise!

Had a heart to heart with the HR department regarding some of the interoffice disputes.

Confirmed that I am scheduled for 40 hours this coming week.

Set up an interview for 4 PM Monday afternoon.

Yes, I am aware there is very much overlapping. But my fortune this week said something about effort at school or work next week. Maybe this one is right and I won't have to wait until "next Monday" like the last fortune said.

Anyone want to work for me during my "appointment" Monday?

Bossy: The New Standard in Work Ethics

I am bossy.

Or so I've been told. I tend to believe that I am direct. Honest and very direct.

Both of my jobs are female dominated and that leads to many a gossip. The problems is that it all, and I mean all,  gets back to the subject. So yeah, I tell people that the manager calls me wasted. She needs to know she's a lush. So I keep hearing that I'm bossy, which is better than bitter and hateful (which they used to call me) but I've trained a lot of the girls I work with at the one job so bossy means they're not good listeners (winky face).

The other day one of those girls I trained told me that I'm the only person she likes directing her when she gets flustered. Apparently my directness is better than being pestered with questions about how she's feeling when her register crashes in the middle of a huge transaction. She's feeling angry. She needs the registers fixed.

So I'm bossy. I get things done and I come across as a bit hostile some days but I also get plenty of compliments, from customers. So do I nice up or continue to boss my equals around?

I can't wait until the day they make bossy me the boss.

A Little Work Place Tension

Word on the street is the new teller at the bank I work at can feel the tension when she's working with either myself or the assistant manager. And, though I don't know if it would be better or not, she's not talking about sexual tension. She's talking about me spewing hate and him being intolerant.

On the spewing hate thing, I love the people I work with, we get along very well. Some of us have some added stress and it makes us grumpy (myself included, especially this week). So the grump thing is usually stewing in silence until it is interrupted. It isn't directed at anyone but most people notice it and either let it be or ask whats up, but this lady, she needs to take a chill. She screwed up 95% of what she had done and was cursing out loud at her computer, I ignored her mostly, cussing is one of those things that I find ok in conversation but rather offensive to be shouted for it's own sake. But after a while she's screwing up again so I help her, and when I'm done I'm rearranging her station so it's a bit easier for her to use, knowing full well she's coveting my station (sinner!).

 She just blurts out, "I feel like you're mad at me from last week." And after I've reassured her that I'm just dealing with some stress she keeps blabbing about how I'm mad at her. So yeah, in the end I'm mad at her, she's a smart cookie!

After the third teller shows up I leave to go to the bathroom or something and the new teller goes on about how tense the place is.

Bless the new teller's heart. By this point she's in a bad mood and refuses to be nice. While having a bit of lunch chat with the assistant manager she insists on talking over me (for the record plenty of adults who think I'm too young to know anything or have a valid opinion or curiosity enough to ask questions just talk over me) making herself feel bigger.

So I start the day spewing hate in her mind and end the day actually spewing hate. She's like a psychic!

In all honesty I think the problem lies with the age difference, I am the youngest person in our branch, the assistant manager is only a few years older than I am and the rest of the crowd are a bit closer in the 40s to 60s range. This particular teller sits at the top of that range and I think feels that the youngsters in the branch shouldn't be telling her what to do.


Also I insisted on buying concert tickets yesterday and told them I wouldn't be working for the ten-ish minutes it would take to do that. We had one costumer during that time and I refused to take it. Such a stick in the mud, at this point in my life I cannot live without live music and it is an expense so I have to be choosy. Had the tickets been less likely to sell out in minutes I would have helped, had there been more than one person that needed help I would have helped, but do not call me lazy when I am grasping for the few straws that keep me in my right head space, that could end in an ugly way.

Ticket Take Over

So my new game is to try and buy concert tickets before the shows I want to go to sell out. The sad thing is that I have to do this from my work computer and because I'm working I usually missed it by like 30 seconds and my life is over. Tomorrow I am determined to get this freaking tickets, I couldn't get Iron and Wine, I couldn't get Adele and I'm not telling you who I'm going to try to get tickets for or when the sale goes on but lets just say I missed the effing presale because my work computer got confused.

My heart is sad about this.

Tomorrow I'll beat the game.

PS My boss looks like the lead singer when you can't him at a distance in profile while kneeling and yelping like a dog when his hair is braided and his shoes are untied. (The first part is true but just in case you know my boss and the lead singer I'm talking about).

I want those effing tickets!

Phone Interview

Oh, hey my phone's ringing and it's a random number. Usually this isn't a gut-wrenching, nerve-shredding event unless you were expecting that call seven minutes ago and you are faking a personal appointment, sitting in a parking lot one away from the one your boss can see from her window and wishing that you weren't thinking of jokes that you can't tell people or wearing pantyhose in the car in the sun.

I did this all for a phone interview... I mean I was meeting with my dealer/gyno/priest (options not one person...or is it?). And what do I get for said sweat fest? Not drugs, a pap, or salvation, of course, but rather a bit of potential hope and an upset stomach.

This false hope thing is exhausting. I spent the last year hanging out with it (not to be confused with Hope who I have also spent the last year hanging out with but she is a proper noun) and its worn me down. So, they say, I'll call you or she'll call you. And I expect a call, silly me. So I check my email on my coworker's smarter phone, maybe she meant email when said call, it could happen. Nah, nada. So tomorrow I'll go to my job instead of a real live interview, all because I don't get inDesign (I'd assume).

I mean come on, I said things like adolescent and tutor and maybe confessed to transferring colleges. I didn't even visibly sweat. What else could have I have to done to impress these folks?

You're like a Pro!

Pro as in professional not pro as in prostitute but then again prostitute may be more flattering than suit fit pro. Now you may not understand the upset this causes but it makes me seem like a lifer. I don't want to be a lifer I find it so offensive and sad that that is the best that people can see in me, or worse that it's the best that I can do. I don't want to go to that dark place again but its looking like the next best thing to a happy place.

I may have four, count them four, pants fit certifications and for that I should hang myself. I know a little melodramatic, but kind of true. And I've taken it upon myself to train the new people at work since no one else has. I mean these girls can fold clothes and create holds for the fitting rooms but thats about it and with the DM looming no one is going to train them.

Wait! Why would I do that, I only make $8.10 an hour (that's right Ann Taylor, I just published you're hourly wage. Suck the big one.). I do this so that I'm not bored. What does that say about my work ethic? Why can't I get hired?

From now on I'm going to wear glasses to my interviews. Maybe tighter skirts or something. I thought looking cute was enough, professional cute. But here I am working two jobs, some days 12 hours (two days this week) and not making enough to pay my bills on time.

Tell me again that the economy is taking a turn for the better. Then take a look at my finances. Tell me that I've got everything to look forward to, I'm young and I'm unattached then spend a week-no a month- in my shoes and keep smiling.

So here's to Ann Taylor sucking the life out of me and killing me for being a good employee. Thank you for your financial support and care Ann. If you were a real person I'd consider arson or murder. But instead I challenge the top dogs, the cooperate honchos to live with the decisions they make me live with. Give up the savings and the cooperate perks, live with the wage and smile through your teeth as a third of the people you are forced to help treat you like dirt because they married men with bachelor's degrees who make an excess of $100,000 a year. If only I had obtained some type of degree, then I could go somewhere with my life.

Oh, wait I have one.

Sleep Deprived and Accident Prone

I shouldn't whine about working, as I continuously chant my mantra "Happy to have a job." But the news says things are turning around and all I'm seeing is more of the same thing. Also, working all the time has made me a bit short and craven of routine (I just wanted Monday to be like Monday, is that so hard to do?). My seven day a week schedule has me so messed up by 8:30 PM I'm staring waiting for the clock to strike an appropriate sleep hour.

Even with seven or so hours of sleep a night I've become accident prone. We have the previously discussed ankle/screw injury, yesterday a mysterious crescent shaped laceration appeared on my palm (today it is purple and really sore), and then this morning in the shower I discovered a long bloody gash down the back of my right arm. It had scabbed so it wasn't terribly fresh, but with the exception of the short time it took me to get into my pjs yesterday I had been in long sleeves for 24 plus hours.

I fear my car is next or I'll lose an eye. I've turned into a weepy mess any time I'm alone but I'm agitated when people are around. Every night I sit on the couch and turn on the tele thinking it's Thursday. No lie, Monday I even asked my younger sister why the normal Thursday programming wasn't on.

I now know why there are people who drink heavily everyday. I can't, my jeans are a large enough size as is, but the idea of continuing on like this is disheartening, the future is bleak. Basically I fear I've dug myself into a hole of resignation and will live there working two part-time jobs, living with my mother and lamenting both of these things for the rest of my life.

Some days this fear is motivation, some it is just the opposite but I need a change, if only to keep my mystery injuries at bay.

So I Forgot.

You remember my little latex rant?

Yeah the whole reason I wrote it was in part due to a bandaid emergency at work. I had sprung a leak in my latex-free paster (which is much closer to the reality of my bandage than the typical bandaid) and needed a new one to keep my pantyhose from becoming soiled by goop. I went to put the fresh one one, I'm talking bathroom one leg out of my pantyhose (work required folks, so not a personal choice here) ripping the packing open only too wonder if the lovely thing was latex-fee. It wasn't, to be sure. And on top of it there was the handy dandy warning against reaction.

Though no one saw me, I was thoroughly embarrassed by the whole episode (which is why I'm writing it in a conspicuous place like the internet) but survived.

So tell me big world, why is latex still infesting everything when it is a common enough allergy that it has it's own warning label?

Yeah, that's what I thought, makes no sense. Neither does having to remind the dentist that not changing gloves could kill me.

Do You Want to Make Some Extra Dough?

So I know cash flow is short, "especially in this economy," so hows about you join me in making some extra. It's not hard, all you need to do is sell-sell-sell and it'll only take about a half hour a day. Even working mothers can do it without losing any sleep or precious family time.

I don't know if I look like a sucker or what but people keep trying to rope me in. Mary Kay, that vitamin thing and now the creepy "business" that no one will name. Guess what, I'm not happy with my jobs but you know whats more than that, my jobs don't make me pay them to work for them, so as unhappy as I am I'm not in debt trying to make money. Thank you jobs.

I have yet to figure all of this out. I have trouble telling these people no as they start their blabbing but goodness me I'm not your sucker. And when I grow up I'll grow a pair and keep these business propositions (which I'm sure are lucrative to the suckers who suck) to a mere "Oh hell no thank you."

My Mail Is Getting Rather Adult

When you are a kid you always want more mail. This is probably a reaction to the type of mail you receive as a child, invitations, cards and presents, an occasional magazine, perhaps. Then when you get ready to go to college you receive all kinds of colorful brochures, you get letters saying that you're generally awesome and they want you. You receive a few rejections for the same schools who said you were pretty nifty but you also receive an acceptance to keep you from sinking too low.

But recently my mail has turned very adult, no self-esteem boosting letters from colleges (though I did just get an offer letter which was a bit cool), no birthday cards, no birthday party invites (f u facebook for taking over mailed invites!). But I am getting more mail then I have ever gotten before. I get the occasional bank statement, credit card offers (not even good ones) and every once in a while I'll get a credit card offer from my bank.

Not to long ago though my adult mail became a tad more fascinating. I received two cans of formula from Similac. Then last week with my alumni donor pledge card (I won't be giving sorry JMU) I received a thick envelope from some university. I opened it being super curious about its content. It was a survey, they wanted to know about how I fed my babies, all kinds of breast feeding and formula questions. I tossed it, sad, not because I don't have any babies so the survey wasn't relevant, and confused because I don't have any babies (why do they think I am feeding babies?)

Maybe my mail is sent by my grandmother who I believe I have disappointed by not having babies yet at my old age. But more than likely the world has confused me with the other Megan Wiseman out there. The manager at my gym did (kind of, rather he recognized the name and not the face because I didn't go to high school with him because he is something like eight years my senior).

Oh. The joys of mail, come back to us!

A New Job.

I got a new job. I think that calls for a Whoop, Whoop.

Ok, so I'm not super enthused and I know that makes me a bit of a Debbie Downer, and also everyone wants to stab me for complaining.

I applied to this here job knowing I was settling, and that makes me a bit sick and you are rolling your eyes. I interviewed for this job and it went well and the like, I was a bit down about not getting a call back in the next week but I got it the week after that I did. And it was semi-good news. I got the job, and so did someone else, so instead of full time I will be working part time. The up side is the money and steady hours. The down side: I still have to work a second job.

I will again be working (more than likely) seven days a week between the two jobs. I will be less broke, but still broke. I will still have to search for more relevant jobs. I will still not be able to afford to take classes, or else it will take a miracle.

I don't want to sound too down about it. But people look at this. I am only half a step ahead of where I was last year. And last year was pretty dark for me, super unsuccessful.

So here's to still dreaming that one day I'll be able to get out of my mom's house. Here's to dreaming that I'll have weekends. And here's to dreaming in general.

Because I guess at this point I can't give up.