Thursday, March 31, 2011
Back to the Grind
And a grind it is. I need a serious vacay. SRW - weekend + ACPA + actual work = WORN SLAM OUT. I cannot promise to be any good to anyone on Saturday. Despite the pile of laundry, stinky dog, mud spot on the floor leftover from when the BF re-did my patio (thanks!)... I may not get to it. The only thing I will do is go to the grocery store because let's be for real, a girl's gotta eat and historically, relying on the BF to do the grocery shopping and cook usually leads to hunger. But he's excellent at changing light bulbs, fixing my closet door, saving me from the wasps that insist on building life threatening nests around my house, letting me do what I want and generally being an awesome boyfriend. ACPA was so worth it though. At least, from what I can recall, it was. I need to go through my (almost an entire legal pad worth of) notes to really remember all the things I tired to learn because right now, in the haze of over-stimulation, it's kind of a blur. One thing I do know - my black pumps to be re-heeled. The skywalks, sidewalks and weird tiles of Baltimore were not kind to them. Or really my feet in general. Poor feet. I'm really sorry I stuffed you back into pumps today. Flats tomorrow. I promise. Of course, as it did last year, ACPA brings a sense of Athens/UGA-sickness. A type of homesickness unique to those of us lucky enough to live in Athens, GA, go to school at UGA and fall in love with the city and school. It's awesome. And as someone who spent four years in a tourist town (Charleston, which, b t dubs is also amazing), the food is better in Athens. So, knowing that I will always have a home there, a home closer to my actual home (which is still what I call the place my parents live), makes me yearn for it. And then I feel guilty because I have a great life here, aside from the lack of delicious-to-the-point-of-distraction Mexican food (yes, even though I'm in Texas). Plus, I'm kind of committed here. And I say kind of because I could technically go at any time, should I wish/have another job but the BF can't. And I'm committed to him so hence the "kind of." It was still amazing to see people I have seen for a long while, some of them since graduation. And of course to learn all sorts of awesome things that, if I can read my handwriting, will help me improve myself, my job, position and office. But really I wish I could live in a combination of all the places I've lived and with all the people who have made me who I am. Of course then I'd for serious eat way too much and have to buy all new clothes.
Friday, March 25, 2011
I Would Never Make It on Wall Street
Or in any other setting that requires lots of hours worked consistently. Like, say, more than 45 a week for a few weeks in a row. I'm hoping this doesn't make me lazy, just... unaccustomed to a faster pace of life and uninterested in becoming accustomed to that sort of nonsense.
This week was SRW, a week long program or series of programs doing stuff. It's complicated to explain and not really germane to my point. It did require that I be at work at 6:30 A.M. on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday this week. And no, I did not get to leave early. In fact, I stayed a little late. Today is finally Friday and by the grace of God (and my awsome boss), I don't have to work as late as I anticpated. Although, she did say "you look tired!" when she came in this moring which I totally appreciated, let me tell you. So, to do the math (on a calculator), discounting today (TGIF), I've already worked 41 hours this week and will end the week with 50-52 hours clocked. And no, I don't get flex time or time off or over time or that. All I get is the satisfaction of a job well done. And to leave earlier than anticipated today (but still after normal business hours).
Does this sound whiny? Are you thinking "Mags. For real? Suck it up and deal."? Probably. And I would blame you. However, I do implore you to take this into account. I leave tomorrow afternoon for Conference (in Baltimore, where my sister spent the summr doing an internship with some government something). It's work. So, I'll be traveling for work Saturday (I'm not an awesome traveller), leading an orientation Sunday morning, spending Sunday afternoon in a business meeting, attending sessions at least 9-5 on Monday and Tuesday (with evening commitments as well), and traveling again on Wednesday. Oh, and back at work Thursday, with a night committment to teach class. And Friday, to complete my assessment stuff.
Do I mind doing all this? Not really. I love my job. I like being in a new place (although I dislike traveling). Would I be able to maintain this (what seems to me to be a) frenetic pace for much longer? No. Boss Lady is right. I AM tired. My eyes are slgihtly puffy (although excellent eye makeup application helped some). My throat hurts (probably from allergies but really, how much straw can a camel's back hold?). My e-mail has piled up. I need to go to the store. I want to buy a new purse (don't tell my dad!). And I miss my routine. To add insult to injury, the automatic door opener for the fire door near my office is acting up and making a heinous noise. Stop being lazy, people, and use your arms to open that door!
So, the point of my exhaustion driven diatribe is: I'm not a workaholic. I do my stuff. I do the extra that's asked of me. But I'm not trying to knock myself out every day working 14 hours. I have things that I want to do for myself. Like cook, snuggle my dog, clean my house (not that I ever want to do this), see people outside of work, make sure the BF doesn't leave my because I'm never around, and sleep.
This week was SRW, a week long program or series of programs doing stuff. It's complicated to explain and not really germane to my point. It did require that I be at work at 6:30 A.M. on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday this week. And no, I did not get to leave early. In fact, I stayed a little late. Today is finally Friday and by the grace of God (and my awsome boss), I don't have to work as late as I anticpated. Although, she did say "you look tired!" when she came in this moring which I totally appreciated, let me tell you. So, to do the math (on a calculator), discounting today (TGIF), I've already worked 41 hours this week and will end the week with 50-52 hours clocked. And no, I don't get flex time or time off or over time or that. All I get is the satisfaction of a job well done. And to leave earlier than anticipated today (but still after normal business hours).
Does this sound whiny? Are you thinking "Mags. For real? Suck it up and deal."? Probably. And I would blame you. However, I do implore you to take this into account. I leave tomorrow afternoon for Conference (in Baltimore, where my sister spent the summr doing an internship with some government something). It's work. So, I'll be traveling for work Saturday (I'm not an awesome traveller), leading an orientation Sunday morning, spending Sunday afternoon in a business meeting, attending sessions at least 9-5 on Monday and Tuesday (with evening commitments as well), and traveling again on Wednesday. Oh, and back at work Thursday, with a night committment to teach class. And Friday, to complete my assessment stuff.
Do I mind doing all this? Not really. I love my job. I like being in a new place (although I dislike traveling). Would I be able to maintain this (what seems to me to be a) frenetic pace for much longer? No. Boss Lady is right. I AM tired. My eyes are slgihtly puffy (although excellent eye makeup application helped some). My throat hurts (probably from allergies but really, how much straw can a camel's back hold?). My e-mail has piled up. I need to go to the store. I want to buy a new purse (don't tell my dad!). And I miss my routine. To add insult to injury, the automatic door opener for the fire door near my office is acting up and making a heinous noise. Stop being lazy, people, and use your arms to open that door!
So, the point of my exhaustion driven diatribe is: I'm not a workaholic. I do my stuff. I do the extra that's asked of me. But I'm not trying to knock myself out every day working 14 hours. I have things that I want to do for myself. Like cook, snuggle my dog, clean my house (not that I ever want to do this), see people outside of work, make sure the BF doesn't leave my because I'm never around, and sleep.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
15 Minute Blog
I'm leaving work in 15 minutes to go pick up my car from the dealership (that I totally dislike but they are the closest by like 35 minutes). I'm bored. Today has been a task-y day at work, preparing for Student Research Week. Count these things, inventory this stuff, make these copies, etc. The light at the end of the tunnel, though, is that we get Friday off. Well, maybe. Officially, the University gets Friday off but we may have to come in for a few hours to complete SRW prep. Either way, it's better than nothing. Having no day or a short day after St. Paddy's rocks.
Last year on St. Paddy's, I met this guy through a semi-random connection (he was the roommate of a karaoke friend of my friend). While chatting over various Irish-type beverages, I inexplicably agreed to go sky diving. I did go and it was by far the most terrifying experience of my entire life. Scarier than when my boyfriend-at-the-time hid under the bed and grabbed my ankle as I was coming back to bed from the bathroom in the middle of the night and I gasped so violently that I couldn't physically get the air out of my lungs. Scarier than when my parents thought I had cancer as a teen and I had to have surgery. Scarier than choking on food while alone in my apartment. TERRIFYING.
Now, I love a roller coaster. Love the fair, carnival, amusement park, etc. But I DO NOT do the free fall rides anymore. Anything else, I'm all for it (as long as my stomach is sufficiently coated with fried foods). So why did I agree to go sky diving? I'll never know. The beginning part was really fun (minus the fact that I didn't know anyone and they weigh you in front of a group. Awkward!). We hung out, cooked burgers and brats, got to know each other, put on our harnesses... THEN we had to get on the plane. I was getting increasingly nervous as I waited (FOREVER) for my turn. And they asked me "Pockets empty? Bladder empty?" And even more so as the plane circled around and around and around trying to climb to 10,000 feet (yeah, that's right). And as the pilot reported that he was having trouble making it that high and that the other plane had caught on fire.
Let me paint you a quick picture of this plane: Originally for 4 people, all the seats had been ripped out except the pilot's seat. There were seat belts bolted to the ceiling for you to hold on to. The pilot has to wear a parachute as well in case one of the jumpers hits the wing of the plane (and dies) and he has to jump out. The door was held shut with a hook and eye closer you'd see on a screen door. There was a "button" that said "In case of emergency, push here." I say "button" because it was a sticker and there was no one there to save me.
We finally make it high enough and the guy I'm about to be strapped to says "ready?!? in this excited voice that means I'm supposed to be having fun. In reality, I haven't taken a full breath in about 27 minutes and am about to pass out. I want to back out but I can't because then the other guy won't get to go either because there's not enough room for us to move around and I'm closest to the door. So I have to go before he can go. As if this weren't bad enough already, it gets worse. He straps me on front of him, unlatches the hook-and-eye on the doors and HE OPENS THE DOOR. THEN he has the NERVE to say "put your feet out the door." EXCUSE ME?! I don't think so mister. But then he just swings me around and my legs are hanging out the door. It's cold that high up and the we're moving so fast that I can't even put my feet on the step to steady myself. I try to give him a terrified look but as I'm strapped to his stomach, we can't make eye contact. He smooshes my head on his shoulder so I don't knock him unconscious with my head and says "here we go!" AND HE JUMPS. I'm too terrified to scream and the wind it moving so fast that I can't actually take a breath and the free fall is making my shirt flap against my neck in a painful way and the safety goggles (so ugly) I'm being forced to wear are smashing into my face in an even more painful way and WE ARE MOVING TOWARDS THE GROUND AT AN INCREDIBLE SPEED AND I HAVE NEVER BEEN SO TERRIFIED IN MY WHOLE LIFE. Then he shouts some of the most beautiful words I've ever heard in my whole life, "I'm going to pull the chute now!" YES!! PLEASE!!! WHY DIDN'T YOU DO THIS AS SOON AS WE STARTED PLUMMETING TOWARDS DOOM?!?!
Then he pulls it and although the harness yanks uncomfortably in the crotch area I will take that feeling over a free fall any day. Then it's actually kind of nice. Texas is really very pretty and we're over farm country. I get to "steer" a little (not that I can tell which way we're moving) and we do some swoops. Then he starts giving me directions about landing. Pull, push, bend, etc. We move towards the ground and it seems faster and faster and then we get hit by such a big gust of wind that even I can tell something is wrong and we go shooting away from the "landing site" and towards the barbed wire fence that keeps the cows (and their poop) off the runway. He starts yelling directions that WERE NOT covered in the original landing brief and I'm trying my best to comply but I really don't have the upper arm strength to man handle a parachute. We miss the fence by like 3 inches (ok, maybe more like 3 feet), land sideways and skid across the dirt/grass, narrowly avoiding both cows and the patties (of poop). He manages to get the chute under control so we stop being drug across the ground and I breathe a sigh of relief that I am still alive and uninjured because no one I'm with knows how to contact my father (who is my emergency contact) and he doesn't know how to contact anyone near me (except my office number but it was a Saturday and two days is too long to wait when your daughter went sky diving with some random and might be dead).
Some barefoot guy races over to us to make sure we're alive, does some fancy arm signals to show we're ok. A tiny Honda races up to the fence and a (barefoot) girl gets out (wearing a bikini). We spend the next 15 minutes trying to maneuver both the chute and ourselves through the fence and trek back to home base. Slash I got to ride in the car because I'm a paying customer and they almost killed me. We're checked out (sort of) when we get back but no one offers me a band aid for my scuffed up palms, elbows and knees. In fact, I begin to suspect there is not even a first aid kit in the place (and I am a big believer in first aid kits as I have one in my car, two at home, on in the office and a travel one). Fortunately, I'm exempt from clean up because it was all done during my interminable ride to the top of my fall and we load up and go to the Renaissance Fair.
That's right. The fun didn't stop with my near death experience. We then went to the Sherwood Forest (actually not a Renaissance Fair, it's a Robin Hood/Fairy thing) and the guy who invited me to go proceeded to get drunk on mead (honey wine), wore a kilt, I almost ran out of gas on the way back and I finally made it home late that night and didn't do anything for the next day.
And that is why I will NEVER go sky diving again.
Last year on St. Paddy's, I met this guy through a semi-random connection (he was the roommate of a karaoke friend of my friend). While chatting over various Irish-type beverages, I inexplicably agreed to go sky diving. I did go and it was by far the most terrifying experience of my entire life. Scarier than when my boyfriend-at-the-time hid under the bed and grabbed my ankle as I was coming back to bed from the bathroom in the middle of the night and I gasped so violently that I couldn't physically get the air out of my lungs. Scarier than when my parents thought I had cancer as a teen and I had to have surgery. Scarier than choking on food while alone in my apartment. TERRIFYING.
Now, I love a roller coaster. Love the fair, carnival, amusement park, etc. But I DO NOT do the free fall rides anymore. Anything else, I'm all for it (as long as my stomach is sufficiently coated with fried foods). So why did I agree to go sky diving? I'll never know. The beginning part was really fun (minus the fact that I didn't know anyone and they weigh you in front of a group. Awkward!). We hung out, cooked burgers and brats, got to know each other, put on our harnesses... THEN we had to get on the plane. I was getting increasingly nervous as I waited (FOREVER) for my turn. And they asked me "Pockets empty? Bladder empty?" And even more so as the plane circled around and around and around trying to climb to 10,000 feet (yeah, that's right). And as the pilot reported that he was having trouble making it that high and that the other plane had caught on fire.
Let me paint you a quick picture of this plane: Originally for 4 people, all the seats had been ripped out except the pilot's seat. There were seat belts bolted to the ceiling for you to hold on to. The pilot has to wear a parachute as well in case one of the jumpers hits the wing of the plane (and dies) and he has to jump out. The door was held shut with a hook and eye closer you'd see on a screen door. There was a "button" that said "In case of emergency, push here." I say "button" because it was a sticker and there was no one there to save me.
We finally make it high enough and the guy I'm about to be strapped to says "ready?!? in this excited voice that means I'm supposed to be having fun. In reality, I haven't taken a full breath in about 27 minutes and am about to pass out. I want to back out but I can't because then the other guy won't get to go either because there's not enough room for us to move around and I'm closest to the door. So I have to go before he can go. As if this weren't bad enough already, it gets worse. He straps me on front of him, unlatches the hook-and-eye on the doors and HE OPENS THE DOOR. THEN he has the NERVE to say "put your feet out the door." EXCUSE ME?! I don't think so mister. But then he just swings me around and my legs are hanging out the door. It's cold that high up and the we're moving so fast that I can't even put my feet on the step to steady myself. I try to give him a terrified look but as I'm strapped to his stomach, we can't make eye contact. He smooshes my head on his shoulder so I don't knock him unconscious with my head and says "here we go!" AND HE JUMPS. I'm too terrified to scream and the wind it moving so fast that I can't actually take a breath and the free fall is making my shirt flap against my neck in a painful way and the safety goggles (so ugly) I'm being forced to wear are smashing into my face in an even more painful way and WE ARE MOVING TOWARDS THE GROUND AT AN INCREDIBLE SPEED AND I HAVE NEVER BEEN SO TERRIFIED IN MY WHOLE LIFE. Then he shouts some of the most beautiful words I've ever heard in my whole life, "I'm going to pull the chute now!" YES!! PLEASE!!! WHY DIDN'T YOU DO THIS AS SOON AS WE STARTED PLUMMETING TOWARDS DOOM?!?!
Then he pulls it and although the harness yanks uncomfortably in the crotch area I will take that feeling over a free fall any day. Then it's actually kind of nice. Texas is really very pretty and we're over farm country. I get to "steer" a little (not that I can tell which way we're moving) and we do some swoops. Then he starts giving me directions about landing. Pull, push, bend, etc. We move towards the ground and it seems faster and faster and then we get hit by such a big gust of wind that even I can tell something is wrong and we go shooting away from the "landing site" and towards the barbed wire fence that keeps the cows (and their poop) off the runway. He starts yelling directions that WERE NOT covered in the original landing brief and I'm trying my best to comply but I really don't have the upper arm strength to man handle a parachute. We miss the fence by like 3 inches (ok, maybe more like 3 feet), land sideways and skid across the dirt/grass, narrowly avoiding both cows and the patties (of poop). He manages to get the chute under control so we stop being drug across the ground and I breathe a sigh of relief that I am still alive and uninjured because no one I'm with knows how to contact my father (who is my emergency contact) and he doesn't know how to contact anyone near me (except my office number but it was a Saturday and two days is too long to wait when your daughter went sky diving with some random and might be dead).
Some barefoot guy races over to us to make sure we're alive, does some fancy arm signals to show we're ok. A tiny Honda races up to the fence and a (barefoot) girl gets out (wearing a bikini). We spend the next 15 minutes trying to maneuver both the chute and ourselves through the fence and trek back to home base. Slash I got to ride in the car because I'm a paying customer and they almost killed me. We're checked out (sort of) when we get back but no one offers me a band aid for my scuffed up palms, elbows and knees. In fact, I begin to suspect there is not even a first aid kit in the place (and I am a big believer in first aid kits as I have one in my car, two at home, on in the office and a travel one). Fortunately, I'm exempt from clean up because it was all done during my interminable ride to the top of my fall and we load up and go to the Renaissance Fair.
That's right. The fun didn't stop with my near death experience. We then went to the Sherwood Forest (actually not a Renaissance Fair, it's a Robin Hood/Fairy thing) and the guy who invited me to go proceeded to get drunk on mead (honey wine), wore a kilt, I almost ran out of gas on the way back and I finally made it home late that night and didn't do anything for the next day.
And that is why I will NEVER go sky diving again.
Friday, March 11, 2011
Lent
Not the kind in your belly button or between your toes. The kind that comes before Easter. This year for Lent I have given up two things. The first is sweet. My cookie/cupcake/candy/cake/ice cream habit was out of control. It is time to take a step back and look at my enormous sugar consumption. That being said, I couldn't totally give up the sugar in my life but have limited it to a Jello at lunch and a fruit popsicle (with real fruit) after dinner. Of course, I'm also planning to celebrate the end of Lent by making Krispie Kreme Donut Bread Pudding but we'll see how it goes.
The other thing I'm giving up? My theknot.com account. Does that sound as creepy to you as it does to me? Probably. Again, my habits were out of control. Not without provocation, however. The BF and I have been talking marriage for a while. And not just marriage, but details. He's picked his groomsmen. He knows he doesn't want to get married in College Station (annoying, as that would be very easy to plan). He also wants to have maroon in the colors. Now, that really tripped me up as I've been planning a mint green wedding in the spring time for... well, years. However, I can work with that. I just told him I could change my color to a jewel green. Then that sparked conversation about attendants' gifts, favors, wedding location, etc. So I start thinking, "he's going to ask pretty soon. I should be ready because he thinks it takes 4 months to plan a wedding and I know better." So, I started browsing theknot.com because if you know me at all, you know I NEED to be prepared.
THEN. The other day, we were chatting about it and he commented that it would be two years. Pardon? Two years? I was totally unaware of this lengthy timeline. I'm not pushing. I just really thought this was more imminent. But by then, I'd developed theknot.com habit. I'd even decided my bridesmaids could pick their own dresses. And even after learning that a proposal would not be happening soon, I.could.not.stop. It was ridiculous. So, along with sweets, theknot.com is going out the window for Lent. With one caveat: I can check other couple's sites because I do like to know what's going on at the weddings I'm attending. But I will not log on to mine. I've asked the computer to forget my password. I've also asked him to stop talking about it and semi-explained the situation. I think he understands.
Also, I feel like a creepy stalker girlfriend who is putting deposits down on locations before the man ever pops the question. Note: I HAVE NOT actually done this but I feel guilty in a way that makes me think I have. Or something.
The other thing I'm giving up? My theknot.com account. Does that sound as creepy to you as it does to me? Probably. Again, my habits were out of control. Not without provocation, however. The BF and I have been talking marriage for a while. And not just marriage, but details. He's picked his groomsmen. He knows he doesn't want to get married in College Station (annoying, as that would be very easy to plan). He also wants to have maroon in the colors. Now, that really tripped me up as I've been planning a mint green wedding in the spring time for... well, years. However, I can work with that. I just told him I could change my color to a jewel green. Then that sparked conversation about attendants' gifts, favors, wedding location, etc. So I start thinking, "he's going to ask pretty soon. I should be ready because he thinks it takes 4 months to plan a wedding and I know better." So, I started browsing theknot.com because if you know me at all, you know I NEED to be prepared.
THEN. The other day, we were chatting about it and he commented that it would be two years. Pardon? Two years? I was totally unaware of this lengthy timeline. I'm not pushing. I just really thought this was more imminent. But by then, I'd developed theknot.com habit. I'd even decided my bridesmaids could pick their own dresses. And even after learning that a proposal would not be happening soon, I.could.not.stop. It was ridiculous. So, along with sweets, theknot.com is going out the window for Lent. With one caveat: I can check other couple's sites because I do like to know what's going on at the weddings I'm attending. But I will not log on to mine. I've asked the computer to forget my password. I've also asked him to stop talking about it and semi-explained the situation. I think he understands.
Also, I feel like a creepy stalker girlfriend who is putting deposits down on locations before the man ever pops the question. Note: I HAVE NOT actually done this but I feel guilty in a way that makes me think I have. Or something.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)