April 30, 2006 | Job? Huh?

I’ve been trying to pretend it wasn’t a big deal, that I’m unbothered, and I didn’t need to talk about it. I have this misguided belief, sometimes, that the RIGHT thing should by definition be the EASY thing; discontent becomes a sign of weakness, in my system, if the choice was correct.

But then, you know, there’s the whole thing where I don’t even like porridge but you are damn well going to have to listen to me complain about it if the temperature is off. It’s part of my charm.

So. Um. It’s time to tell you the thing about the thing, I think.
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April 29, 2006 | My name is Grumplestiltskin

1) Pressure me into joining, schedule far too many meetings, saddle me with responsibilities better suited to someone else.

2) Ask me to proofread the copy, then while I’m out of town, decide amongst yourselves that my “recommended changes” are unnecessary.

3) Argue with me about my “recommendations.” News flash: I do this for a living, and YES, punctuation really DOES go inside the quotation marks–every time. It’s not a “recommendation” so much as “correct English usage which will prevent us from looking like morons.” (Did you catch the period inside the quotation marks, there?)

4) Wonder why I want to resign.

April 28, 2006 | Friends

I’ve gone off and met my friends inside the shiny box, before, and the experience never fails to fill me with a certain wide-eyed glee. To those people who insist you cannot form a real bond with people you haven’t met in real life, I say: Are you going to deny there’s a bond when within 15 minutes of meeting I am complimenting the other person’s tits in all earnest sincerity? Are you really that jaded and soulless? Fine for you, but I’m guessing you’re just not the sort of person whose rack I would WANT to exclaim over, anyway. (And it wouldn’t kill you to go for a professional bra fitting. Just sayin’, Droopy McSquashed.)
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April 27, 2006 | Friends

More not-blogging from me, as I finish unloading my car and get right back in it again to go hobnob with a semi-local internet celebrity. I plan to do more hobbing than nobbing, but you just never know.

I’ll be home quite late, so please take care of your dishes and lock up on your way out.

April 26, 2006 | Offspring: ecstasy and agony

We are home, and I am exhausted. Rather than regale you with stories of our adventures on the road, I shall heed the siren song of my pillow. It missed me terribly, you know.

But, um, to anyone who was at the Guilderland rest stop around noon today: If you heard a piercing scream and wondered if someone was being dismembered, I offer you my deepest and most sincere apologies and hope that normal hearing returns to you as soon as possible (and that all of the shattering glass didn’t interfere with your enjoyment of that Auntie Anne’s pretzel).

Who wants to bet that the creator of automatic-flush toilets didn’t have small children?

April 25, 2006 | Haven't been hit by lightning yet!

Well, the visit has flown by, and tomorrow morning I will repack the car–which will now be overflowing with approximately half a toy store’s worth of loot for the kids and one of every item from the girl’s department at Target (that’s what happens when Grandma offers to take Chickadee shopping for “a dress,” much to Chickadee’s delight)–and head back home.

I could tell you that this was always the plan, and that would be true. But let’s be clear: It’s supposed to SNOW here tomorrow. I love my parents and everything, but COME ON. It’s nearly May. That sort of weather is just against my religion. I need to get back to New England where we already have mosquitoes as big as golf balls by now.
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Offspring: ecstasy and agony

Me: Oh, we could go have sushi tonight!
Grandpa: Good idea! We’ll do that.
Chickadee: Sushi! YAY!
Monkey: *flinging himself spread-eagled to the floor* THE WORLD IS COMING TO AN END!

(It must have been his dish of green tea ice cream that staved off the apocalypse.)

April 23, 2006 | Retail Therapy

Once upon a time, all Americans were formally granted certain inalienable rights by the Declaration of Independence. Among those were life, liberty, and people sending you free stuff to try if you happen to have a website. I cannot even find the words to express my gratitude to our forefathers for toiling on our behalf to make these things so. But that’s probably because I’m too busy with the free stuff.

I don’t know if you’ve heard, but the nice folks over at BocaJava have launched a new line of premium coffees specifically for bloggers. I take my mooching reviewing responsibilities very seriously, so I know they’re going to be thrilled that I was one of the recipients of a coffee reviewer kit.
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April 22, 2006 | It's not a regret, it's an "experience"

It rained a little, today. Only for about… 6 hours of our drive.

The kids were fantastic. We only listened to two books’ worth of audio, and the rest of the time they played Gameboys, read, colored, snacked, and asked me how much further. Monkey commented no less than 10 times, “I don’t really like the DRIVING part of the trip, I just like SEEING Grandma and Grandpa.” I would nod and he would add, for emphasis, “At the END.” Right. What are you trying to say, son?

At last we pulled up and as I gathered some of our things together, I told the kids to go ring the bell.
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April 21, 2006 | What do I do all day?

Today was a whirlwind of tying up loose ends for work stuff, running last-minute errands, and laundry. Sweet merciful heaven, the laundry. It turns out that you can only sustain the cycle of “run out of clothes, do laundry, take clean clothes out of the baskets on the floor, realize the hampers are full again, do more laundry, wonder why there aren’t any baskets, combine previous laundry into one basket and put new laundry in the other baskets, take clothes out of baskets, etc.” for so long and then, eventually you find yourself staring down the barrel of a trip.

A trip means that everything has to be clean, both so that I can figure out the optimal clothing to bring and so that I can put the laundry away (in drawers! and closets! like a BIG GIRL!) before we leave. Because if I don’t, when we get back, the sight of all that laundry sitting around will rip a hole in my very soul. Or something.
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