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The place where I’m working now has my job posted and they are accepting applications, and I sometimes end up talking to people about what I do and trying to convince them that I’m not leaving because it’s horrible (well, I’m not leaving because it’s horrible… it’s not horrible) which is a little bit weird. But then, I’ve dealt with weirder things. Much, much weirder things. I mean, nobody has pulled boxes of pop tarts out of their pockets and offered them to me or ripped open their shirts to show me the color of their chest hair, for example. So it’s really no big deal.

Except there’s this woman. She originally came in on Monday or Tuesday and asked me about the job and I directed her to my boss, but my boss was busy and she seemed perfectly content to talk to me about it, to walk around my desk and look over my shoulder, to ask some rather nosy questions about why I’m leaving and what I’m doing next (why I’m leaving: long story, what I’m doing next: selling my soul for health insurance, probably). She left then came back with a completed application. Then she came back again today. Another applicant was talking to my boss to get a feel for what the job is, exactly (the actual interviews won’t happen until later), and while she waited, she decided it would be good to chat me up. Except I wasn’t in the mood for chatting because I was super busy and I just wanted to get stuff done. The more she talked, the more I started to feel like I was being interviewed. What did I do in school? Where did I study? What did I study? Was I in a sorority? (Oh, I should’ve been in a sorority, she said.) What did I want to do next? What did I hope to accomplish in life? Interests? Hobbies? Pursuits? Did I want to move to another town? And on and on.

I half-answered her questions, but she was making me exceedingly uncomfortable, so I kept trying to be polite while not really looking up from my work. I had a lot to do, for one thing, and for another thing… good lord.

I sort of mentioned that I like to write, because I do like to write, but I thought it was maybe something random enough that she wouldn’t press me on how I wanted to turn that into a career, because usually people are like “Writing?!? HAHAHAHA!” but oh, I was wrong. The next round of questions came: What do I like to write? How long have I been writing? Have I ever considered getting an advanced degree in creative writing? Have I ever looked at the Iowa Writers’ Workshop? Why not? Have I ever been published? And on. And on. And on.

Finally, the guy that was talking to my boss left, and she went into my boss’s office and I went to hide in the bathroom in case she thought of more questions for when she walked back by my desk. I thought maybe we were done, but this afternoon she came back and brought me several pages printed from the University of Iowa website. “Oh thanks,” I said. “Look at it,” she said.

On one hand, it’s nice of her to take an interest and offer suggestions, no matter how completely unsolicited her help may be, but on the other hand, um… yeah. Awkward!

So there’s that story. Neat, huh?

Anyway, because I am in the middle of a job search (and job searching generally makes me want to gouge out my eyes with a popsicle stick), I have a couple of serious questions for you:

– How did you end up doing what you do? Was it what you always thought you’d be doing or is it something you fell into?

– Loving your job so much that getting up every day to go to work is a pure pleasure vs. Working just to finance the rest of your life — which side do you fall on (or which side do you align with more closely)?

Just curious.

As I’m sure I’ve mentioned a time or two before, I’m doing this self-portrait-a-day project for a year. I’m halfway done (hurrah!), and excited about that, but the point is that because I’m doing this project, I take a lot of pictures of myself, most of which are promptly deleted forever, but unless I have some sort of stellar idea for the day’s photo, I usually take a few different ones and then decide later what my official daily photo will be. I’m sure you wanted to know that.

The reason I’m telling you this is because today I brought my camera to the office. My boss was gone all day and I had a Very Boring Project to work on, of which I completed about 1/3, and in between working on this Very Boring Project, I decided to take a few photos. My photo of the day ended up having nothing to do with being in my office, so I thought I’d put the photos I took today up here. Because I might as well. Let the fascination begin.

This is my desk. Those are my feet up on my desk. I wish I had been smart enough to click away from all the chattiness I was engaged in at the time, but that just didn’t happen. Um, wait. I didn’t mean that. IMing people is part of my job. Yeah.

For some reason, I thought it was necessary to wear sunglasses. Maybe it was really bright in there. Whatever. To make up for any unintentional coolness (cool is just not me), my hair is sticking out crazily. So there’s that.

Yep, I have a file on my desk marked “Dead People.” It’s totally necessary.

Other than the cool files on my desk, such as “Dead People” I have a lot of other files in filing cabinets all over the place. I mainly don’t do much with them, other than to put them away after I’ve taken one out, but my aforementioned Very Boring Project? It involved having to put a piece of paper into each file. By noon I wanted to die. And then someone could’ve filed me under “Dead People” and all would’ve been well with the world. At least I didn’t get any papercuts.

Sometimes I like to go hide in the supply closet. It’s quiet in there.

These are in the supply closet. There’s also a fake Christmas tree. I don’t decorate, so they stay there all the time, next to the envelopes.

And there it is. I told you it would be fascinating.

I need to go eat some Pringles now.

Okay, not really. I mean, yes it does. In general. But today doesn’t really blow so much as it has been pretty stupid. I just felt like making a reference to something only my wifey will understand. Except now I kind of want to explain it, which sort of ruins it. Suffice it to say, back that ash up.

ANYWAY.

In case you are living in a part of the world that is not being bludgeoned to death by winter, I will tell you that it is horrible. And cold. So cold that when I walk outside I say “Oh fuck!” completely involuntarily. That’s how cold it is. Cold. And this morning, I went outside to start my car because the windshield was frozen over, and also because I thought it would be wise to heat up my car so I wouldn’t die of hypothermia on my way to work, and after fighting with the door (which was, of course — OF COURSE — frozen shut), I got things running and I went inside to finish getting ready. So anyway, the car ran for about 15 minutes before I got in it for my 5-minute commute to work. When I reached the work parking lot, I did what I always do — I opened the door and got out of the car. Except when I tried to shut the door, it wouldn’t close. I checked to see if the seatbelt was in the way and noted that it was not, so I tried shutting the door again. Failed again. Said, “Hmmm, that’s weird,” and got back into the car to see if I could figure out the problem. And indeed, I DID figure it out. Please observe Exhibit A:

Looks innocent enough, doesn’t it? Well, it’s not. Because see how the handle is kind of… out? It’s not supposed to be like that. No, it’s definitely supposed to be in. And because it was out instead of in, it was telling my car door to stay open when it was not supposed to be open and I was irritated. By this point, I was late for work, so I called my boss and said “Hi. I’m here but I can’t get my door to close because I think it’s kind of frozen or something and I don’t want to leave it.” She suggested letting the car run for awhile and told me to call if I had more trouble. So I started the car again, and sat there, holding the door closed. After about a minute, I got really tired of holding the door closed, so I devised a plan involving the seatbelt:

Yes, I wound the seatbelt around the window-roller-downer-and-upper thing, and my knee. But I got tired of that too, so I just buckled the seatbelt. And sat there. Freezing. Like this:

I tried shutting the door again, to no avail, so I called my boss again and said “I don’t know what to do!” She asked if I was still at home and I said “No! I’m in the parking lot! IN THE PARKING LOT!” And she said “Oh. Let me see what I can do.” Moments later, a kind fellow from the next office over arrived and fixed my door so I could go inside and do some really exciting work. Yay! I didn’t take pictures of that because I was too fascinated with the door fixing.

So, I got inside and after taking my coat off and turning my computer on, I went out into the hallway to document something really important. Seriously, it’s important. Look:

Back me up. That’s disgusting. Who thinks of these things? (And yes, I have heard of ketchup-flavored potato chips before, and all I have to say to that is “Shut up.”)

Right. So after the important documentation was done, I went back to my office, when my boss called me into her office to help her with a project. Want to see the end result? Of course you do:

That’s right. I work in Crazy Redneck Land. But to be fair, cold air pours into her office through the window, and something needed to be done. And never underestimate the power of two women armed with garbage bags and duct tape, my friends.

Other than that, I had a lot of work to do. I’ve been incredibly busy at work lately, which is sad, because it cuts down on the time I have to read other people’s blogs and I love it because working is so fun! For the past several days, I have had over a foot of paperwork to plow through. Seriously. The stack? More than 12 inches high. But I got through it all today, which is good, since I have a bazillion other things to do tomorrow. I decided to document the awesomeness of my desk for you (after I’d already gotten through about 9 inches of fascinating work that needed to be done), because apparently I needed to document things today. So just pretend you’re interested.

Oy.

And then! The water stopped working! And who doesn’t love not having running water? Exactly.

The end.

Last night, I posted this photograph to Flickr:

It is (very appropriately) titled: “Standing on the Edge of the Bathtub, Leaning on an Umbrella” and the caption underneath the photo says “…and it’s still not the strangest thing that’s happened in my bathroom.”

(See how nice I am? Now you don’t even have to click on it, because I brought all the information to you!)

Anyway, someone asked what the strangest thing was, which inspired me to comment the following:

As for the strangest thing that has happened in my bathroom, it is a long story. I was working as a reporter, and I had 6:30 a.m. deadlines. I would often stay awake all night writing my stories to file them on time. If there were problems or I needed to follow up on something, one of my editors would call me before 9 a.m. and tell me what I needed to get, and if I didn’t hear from them by then, I figured I was in the clear. (The day’s paper had to go to press at 9:30.) That’s all background. So anyway, the story:

I had stayed out until about 4 a.m. because a friend was in town visiting, but I finally went home and wrote a story about school budget cuts. I filed my story by 6:30 then went to bed for a little while, then got back up at 8. I waited for an editor to call, but I hadn’t heard anything by 9, so I thought I was safe and figured I could go ahead and take a shower. But something told me to have a phone handy. So I grabbed a cordless phone and set it on the sink. A few minutes elapsed and I had a head full of shampoo when the phone rang. I turned the water off and answered it. My boss wanted me to confirm some numbers for my story, so I had to call the school’s finance director. “No problem,” I told her, then hung up. So I was standing there in the shower, shampoo in my hair, thinking about how I had about 5 minutes to get some information and call my editor back. So I climbed out of the shower and called the school. As the phone was ringing, I realized I had nothing to take notes with. I searched frantically, finally finding some eyeliner. I learned that the finance director was out of the office, but I was helpfully transferred to the school’s superintendent. I interviewed her, took notes on my hand and arm with eyeliner, called my editor back, read my arm-notes to her, then got back in the shower and rinsed the shampoo out of my hair.

After I wrote all that, I’m not sure it’s the strangest thing or not, but in any case, that, my friends, is journalism.

It’s a good story, no? And totally true. Most people get hung up on the eyeliner part and miss the fact that I was completely naked while conducting the interview. (That is why phone interviews are the best, by the way. Not that I did a lot of interviewing while naked; in fact, that was the only time. Usually I did all my interviewing while I was still in my pajamas.)

Anyway, I guess I have a question. And that question is as follows:

Is interviewing the school superintendent while naked, and taking notes on one’s hand in eyeliner strange? I think I need a ruling from the judges on this.

Before I get to the point, I just want to say that I really hope that I am not writing all of my posts this month during the early moments of the day. I miss sleeping.

I am not going to write about my employer or what it is exactly that I do, because talking about my job on the internets is against my personal policy (so don’t ask), but I had a couple of moments that need to be documented for posterity. So, in the most general terms possible, it goes a little something like this:

I was out with my partner in crime (or work, as the case may be), tooling around in the company car, because we had to do some inspections. That sounds really shady, doesn’t it? Well, it’s not. It looks shady, too, actually, because it involves driving really slowly and taking pictures of things and making notes. And wearing sunglasses. And drinking coffee. But it’s totally not shady, I swear.

Brilliant Moment #1:

Partner: He’s standing there on his deck.
Me: Oh my God, he has a gun.

Brilliant Moment #2:

Me: That guy is definitely following us.
Partner: Is it a cop?
Me: No, it’s some joker in a Chrysler New Yorker.

I totally did not succeed in making my job sound un-shady, hm? It’s more interesting this way, I promise.

Anyway, I should probably try to get some sleep now because I have to drive to Ann Arbor in the morning for this grad school thing and it would probably be in my best interests if I appeared normal and lucid and not like some caffeine-addled maniac. And when I get done with that, I will reply to those emails that have been piling up and I will also check in on your blogs and stuff. Cross my heart.

Just say yes, okay?

It turns out that I have been really busy lately. I know, sometimes I say I’ve been busy when I mean that I’ve been sitting around in my pajamas eating Pringles and thinking about how I should maybe do something… or something. But this time I mean it. For reals, y’all. I had a jewelry show on Saturday (which was a smashing success) and I have about four jobs now. Maybe three. No, four. It’s kind of cool because I show up places and people pay me. I mean, I also have to work. I still haven’t figured out how to get paid for being generally awesome and entertaining, but I’m sure I’ll work that out eventually. It’s okay work, though. I mean, I haven’t as yet felt like stabbing myself in the eyes with a fork, so I’m going to take that as a good sign. Today I got to drive around very slowly in a car with a clipboard and a pen and a camera while wearing sunglasses, which means that I looked like a Very Shady Character. I was told by someone (whose house I was briefly parked across from while I took notes with my pen on the paper clipped to the clipboard) that I looked like I was in the CIA. I laughed and said “Well, I’m not. Though if I were in the CIA, that’s exactly what I’d tell you.”

Just for the record, I’m not in the CIA. I’m pretty sure clumsy oafs don’t get to be spies. Though I do look good in those spy sunglasses, which I think are also known as aviators.

Other than that, I am also doing some volunteer work, which I am going to be late for if I don’t stop writing. And I’m going on vacation this weekend. Just a short trip which will involve Lake Michigan and probably also wine. I’m so excited. Also today while driving home from someplace, I was flipping through radio stations and I learned something disturbing about myself: I know all the words to that Quiet Riot song “Cum on Feel the Noize.” I am a little sad about this because seriously I don’t know how it happened, and furthermore, I don’t know if I like knowing words to songs with such titles, but there it is. I have some things planned for later this week, when I have time to write — I will have time, sort of, maybe tomorrow — such as my thoughts on that godawful romance novel I promised I’d write about, and also I know I need to learn things from Cosmo because it’s been awhile and I feel the gaps in my knowledge of how to be a vixen, or whatever it is exactly that Cosmo teaches me.

Anyway, things are good right now and I’m pretty happy. Now if only I could not have cramps and I could get my bra strap to stay up on the right (I keep fixing it but it still insists on sliding down my arm; I don’t know what its problem is), things would be kind of perfect.

I really am going to be late. Catch you later, kittens!

I was going to set this up with this long explanation, but I decided that it’s best to jump right into it. So:

Backstory: last week, this guy came into my office and was talking to a 50s-ish co-worker of mine. Without ever having addressed me in any way, he pointed his finger at me and asked my co-worker, “Is this one of your daughters?” My co-worker said that no, I was not one of his daughters, and he goes, “Oh, I was gonna say, I didn’t think you had kids that old.” So we know he’s a real charmer. (And yes, he did say it in both bold and italics, but not quite at the level of capital letters.)

Cut to today, where I was catching my breath after two horrifically busy hours wherein I spent some time contemplating whether or not it would be possible to kill myself with a paperclip, and I decided I would chill for a minute by finally eating the cup of yogurt I’d brought with me to work this morning. Captain Charming came in and spent some time chatting with my co-worker then stopped in front of my desk. It went like this:

Captain Charming: Aaaaahhhhh, yogurt, huh?
Me: Yeah.
CC: You know what I bet you’d like?
Me: Hm?
CC: (reaches into pocket)
Me: (Thinking: Oh. My. Dear. Sweet. Jesus.)
CC: (retrieves a box of Pop Tarts) HOW ABOUT ONE OF THESE?!?!? Huh? Huh?
Me: (Thinking: Who the fuck carries Pop Tarts in their coat pockets?) Oh, no thanks.
CC: Oh, come on.
Me: No, really.
CC: Oh, it’s because they’re FATTENING, huh?
Me: (Thinking: No, it’s because I am not eating food that you have been carrying around IN YOUR POCKET. Also, I hate you.) No, I don’t really like those.
CC: Okay, well, I tried.
Me: Yeah.

And scene.

So, there you go. Proof that I work in Crazy Town.

Today at work, there was this girl in my office who comes in from time to time and always makes with the crazy talk. Like the time she was afraid that she wasn’t breathing correctly and asked me to show her how to breathe like actors do because they get more air and she is NOT GETTING ENOUGH AIR. Okay. Anyway, today she was talking to someone else about how much she luuuuurrrrrrrves Michael Jackson and then said the greatest thing I think I have ever heard anyone say in my entire life. She said, and I quote, “I have a David Hasselhoff tape, and he sounds like Michael… you know, the early stuff.” And then I choked on a Cheez-It (not a euphemism).

After that, anything I have to say is completely superfluous. So, go sign up for The Swap.

Not that there’s anything wrong with where I work, because there isn’t, really, but I’ve been thinking a lot lately about doing something else. My job is fine and I like the people I work with, which is a blessing, because there’s really nothing that’s worse than hating everyone in your office, but I had a minor panic attack the other night about how I’m pretty sure I don’t want to be answering the phone for other people and proofreading correspondence when I’m 50, so I might be well served by putting some real effort into figuring out what I would actually like to be doing when I’m 50. I mean, I know I have awhile before I turn 50, and I also know that I’ll probably change my mind about 30 million times about what I want to be doing with my life before I get to 50, but still. I think it’s nice to have an idea of something that could possibly be satisfactory. Maybe.

Now, other than my life dream of doing nothing, just like my hero Peter Gibbons, I’m not really sure of anything. I guess because doing nothing is such a good idea. Doing nothing! Man! What a good idea! But I feel like I should come up with something, because doing nothing is probably unattainable. Not that I shouldn’t dream the impossible dream, and all, because I totally should. I saw Man of La Mancha, so I know what’s up.

There’s always grad school, which has been my fallback idea for a long time now, because being a student is the only thing so far that I’ve been really good at, but then every time I start thinking seriously about it, I always get hung up on the question of whether or not there is really anything in the world I actually want to study that much, and I usually end up thinking that no, there isn’t. This may just be an excuse because I’m lazy and don’t feel like taking the GRE, and it probably is, but still.

So. What to do? I don’t know. What do I like to do? Well, I like creative-type things, because I am a creative-type person. I also like eating Pringles, making people guess whether or not I’m joking, and listening to Britney Spears. And I like fabulous shoes. Really fabulous shoes made out Italian leather. What am I good at? Oh, lots of things. I’m good at knowing when I (and others) end sentences with prepositions, for example, which is funny, because, well… heh. I can spot bad apostrophe usage from a mile away. I’m also good at sarcasm and ignoring my e-mail. It’s true. I have mad skillz.

Bah.

Anyway, I guess what I’m really looking for is something that will pay me to be snarky and impatient with bad grammar. Bonus points for anything that allows me to attach irrational significance to “Oops… I Did it Again” and the cowbell sketch. With lots of paid travel to fabulous locations and no workdays starting before noon.

Any ideas on where I can find that job? Because I sure haven’t seen it on Monster.com.

It’s not a good sign when you ask your coworker to please stab you to death with the pen he’s holding and it’s not even 10 a.m.  It’s probably not a good sign if you’re asking your coworker to do that at any time in the day, but it has to be especially bad if it happens before you’ve even been at work for a whole hour.  I know this because that’s what my day was like today.  I sure would love to tell you all about it, and someday, maybe I will.  For the time being, I’d like to share something that’s brought me immense comfort in this dark hour.  What is it? The Greatest Movie Scene Of All Time, that’s what.  Ah, going gangster on office machinery.  A girl can but dream.