Get Me to the Church on Time

The wedding is coming along.

I put a deposit on my dress this weekend.

I'd kind of been putting it off and I was starting to think it was some sort of sign. Like maybe I was trying to forget that I'm getting married and my procrastination was a sign of something deeper.

But, I've realized that I just felt too fat to have the boutique owner wrap that fucking tape measure around my hips. I've been working out though and my "fat pants" have been starting to feel loose so I figured it was time.

It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be, but I'm nowhere near done with the working out and healthy eating.

I just don't have a lot to say about the wedding. I'm excited and I can't wait to be married to this amazing man, but planning a wedding is boring.

There are a lot of to-do lists and a lot of deposits being paid.

I hate to sound unromantic, but it just doesn't make for good writing.

I did have a moment where I could have kicked myself in the ass.

I was shopping for envelopes for our save-the-date cards and I had one of the cards in my purse to compare colors when I realize that the 50 cards Steve carefully cut for me were WRONG!!!! Our wedding is on December 8th, my grandmother's birthday, and the date of the cards was December 6.

Seriously, this is why you shouldn't edit your own work.

Well, Isn't that Special?

I used to work with a woman named . . . let's call her Ashley, because that was her name and she worked my last nerve.

Anyway, we worked together at a "design firm," don't even get me started on that place. Our boss could have given The Devil Wears Prada's Miranda Priestly's thinly veiled Anna Wintour look sweet.

A (the boss) owned the firm so to some extent I figured, "It's her company . . . " and would often just brush off her "damn it, do it again" attitude. But, it did wear on me and after a while I got to feeling like I just couldn't get anything right.

Now though, I realize that A always knew exactly how she wanted the copy to read, and I never really had any sort of creative license. The big problem was that of all of my talents, mindreader was not one of them.

But this entry is not about A, it's about Ashley.

Anyway, Ashley was fresh out of college and in her first professional job as a designer. Except, designing for a business isn't quite the same as designing a class project. Most students in a university setting have at least a few weeks to develop a concept and execute it. In A's office we were often given a projects that had to be conceptualized and created, if we were lucky, in three days.

Ashley's first stumbling block was that she wasn't used to the pace. It is a shock, but most people would just deal with it. Work longer hours or take projects home (which we were allowed to do) to get the job done. But not our newest employee, Ashley preferred to complain.

I know I sucked at my job, but there were a few times when I did a damn good job on a writing project. So, I'd turn it over to Ashley to flow in the copy and she'd re-type it. Rather than just copy and paste what I had emailed her, she'd go through the trouble of typing it in, typing it in and not spell checking her work. Which, HELLO, made me look really bad because once copy was flowed in it would go directly to our boss.

I finally asked Ashley about it and she said, "Oh yeah, sometimes I do, do that." So, I asked her if that is what she wanted to do then could she at least spell check it. She said that it was no problem and that she'd start doing so. Except the next few projects that come through are again riddled with spelling errors. So, I get my hnds on one of them and ask her, "Did you spell check this?"

She replied, "Yes, absolutely."

To which I replied, "I find that hard to believe. I mean, I know spell check won't catch the difference between wear and where, but it would definitely catch that you mis-typed "the."

I was infuriated. Not because she'd made the mistake, but because she'd lied about it. Just flat out lied without having to because I wasn't her boss. It's not like telling me the truth would have gotten her into trouble. So, why lie about it.

After that, things swiftly went down hill.

She was miss Supa Christian, married to a youth pastor even, so she was completely a against using obscene language but, lying . . . totally okay apparently. Anyway, she didn't use words like ass, damn, shit or fuck, but was completely fine with calling our boss a whore when she'd piss her off.

Seriously? Fuck is off limits but calling someone a whore is okay?

Listen, I minored in Women's and Gender Studies and my feminist tendencies are always near the surface so I really didn't do well sitting by listening to her call another woman a whore. Don't get me wrong, I'm not opposed to someone saying, I'm such a make-up (insert your own noun to descrive your vise- mine is shoe) whore."

I understand that, that calling yourself a "----- whore" is in jest, and maybe that doesn't make any sense to you, but to turn around and call another woman a whore because you don't like her management style (or whatever) is just not acceptable to me.

So, I asked her one day, "Could you please not use the word whore?"

To which SHE responded, "Are you kidding me?"

Me, "No, I think it's really offensive."

She smirked and said, "Okay, fine. I find it really offensive when you say fuck. Can you stop saying that?"

Me, "Okay."

You should have seen her face!

She was so pissed because I didn't get into an argument with her about how I felt the two were fundamentally different in their intent. Fuck, to me, just isn't as loaded as whore is.

Christians and two-year olds, as soon as you engage them in an argument you have already lost.

The sad thing is, I think I could have been friends with her if she hadn't been such a contradictory christian. I believe in God so it's not like I'm sitting around in my atheist basket headed for hell. I know with every fiber of my being that there was a higher power pusing me through some of the tougher times in my life, and every day I am grateful for the many blessings in my life.

Now, why am I even taking the time to trash this girl if I haven't seen her in years?

I just found her blog.

I was checking out the blog of a colleague and . . . surprise, surprise her blog is linked to his.

What I don't believe in is playing the good youth pastor's wife on Sunday and then turn around on your blog and trash overweight people in bathing suits, nice old people in the Wal-Mart parking lot that compliment your baby or the teenage girl you saw inappropriately dressed at the pool (at least SHE was thin).

It's bitchy.

It's judgemental.

Maybe even downright . . . unchristian.

The Waiting Game

They made me an offer I couldn't refuse.

And then, of course, I countered it and they still wanted me.

I don't know if I've said this before, but this job is with a bank so they want to be absolutely sure I'm not going to go all Set It Off on their asses and are currently conducting a background check on me. I also had to go to one of their approved labs and take a drug test. Now I'm just waiting to hear back before I can quit my job.

I've never taken a drug test before, but I knew I was going to have to pee in a cup. In preparation, I drank my normal 64oz of water that day (32 oz by noon and another 32 oz by 5pm). My dad always comments that I must be in the bathroom all the time from all that water, but my bladder has adjusted so I just don't go that often: maybe twice in a four hour period.

Anyway, I finished my second 32 oz and topped it off with a caffeinated soft drink. My plan was to have the caffeine work as a diuretic to help me get that water moving. It totally did the job, but test anxiety is test anxiety.

I showed up without any cash or my checkbook and worried that I might have to pay. Fortunately, my friends VISA and Mastercard had their pictures posted in the office.

I walked in and there was a gentleman in their before me, but we were both called in at about the same time. I followed my lab tech into a refurbished walk-in closet with a sink and she instructed me to wash my hands. I did as I was told and then she handed me my cup and said, "The bathroom is right next door. Fill it to the line and when you're finished don't flush."

Me, "I'm sorry, did you say DON'T flush?"

Her, "Right, DON'T flush."

Me, completely thrown because not flushing just seems so wrong, "Okay . . . "

Then, just as I'm walking out of the room (sauntering really) she says, "You're being timed . . . "

That is when I became fully aware of the tick, tick, tick that must have been going the entire time I was in the room. Now, it was all I could hear: as if I was on some sort of urinary Beat the Clock.

I wasn't worried though, I was ready for this.

Except maybe a little too ready.

From the second I pulled my pants down it was like Niagra Falls. So I hurried up and stuck the cup down there with one hand. I waited a few seconds, cut it off and checked the cup to see if I'd filled it to the line. I was only halfway there and the clock was still ticking.

Finally, finally I hit the damn line, finished up, wiped . . . fuck, the toilet paper!

I'm standing there with an uncovered cup in my hand, my underpants around my ankles and a wad of soiled toilet paper in my hand. My eyes darted around the room and there were signs everywhere. Signs that I should have read when I walked in, but I was so eager to beat the clock that I just got down to business.

Finally, over the toilet I spot a sign that says, "Do not throw toilet paper into trashcan." Which, leads me to believe I CAN throw it in the toilet - which I do. I tell myself, actually have to tell myself, "DON'T flush the toilet." And, still with the unopened cup in my hand I single-handedly put my underpants and pants back on, fastened them and hustleed out to hand the tech my pee cup.

To which she replies, "Wash your hands."

Busted.

I always wash my hands after I pee, but people I was facing a deadline here!

I guess throwing the paper into the toilet was okay since I did not get called back in and it turns out I did not have to pay.

On my way out though, the gentleman that had walked in with me was also walking out and I heard his lab tech tell him, "Just wait a couple of minutes and maybe it will happen for you."

I felt bad for him you know, but . . .

I totally beat his pansy ass.

No News is Good News

So, yeah, I don't know anything.

I WAS called in for a second interview, but unfortunately I am still in limbo. I felt that the interviews went well and we will see.

I had a job interview in New Orleans two years ago. It was for a position similar to the one I hold now, but it wouldn't have meant any travel. I would have been running an education department and not have had to drive all over LA.

Clearly, I didn't get it as I am still in AL.

I truly believe everything happens for a reason though because if I had gotten that job Steve and I wouldn't own our own home (home prices are high, high, high in NO) and God knows where I would have been living if I had moved home. I might have lived in a place that got flooded.

And, I love my house!!!

I will have to post pictures on here one of these days, but it really is a sweet two-bedroom, one-bath with french doors leading into the dining room from the living room and an 18' long, 9'deep covered front porch. I've spent hours on our front porch swing with Steve.

We've also decided to have the wedding at home, and our 1920s sweetie is perfect for a home wedding. It will be really small . . . just family and close friends. Having the wedding in AL is also allowing us to keep it on a small budget AND afford an oyster bar. Steve and I adore raw oysters so we are really excited that we'll be able to fit that in our budget. In fact, I joke with him that I knew he loved me because without fail he always offered me the last oyster when we'd order a dozen.

Anyway, not much going on her other than the waiting game.