Always Be A Unicorn...Always

Today was like Pee Wee's Big Adventure in interviewing.  By now, it is no secret that I applied for an outside job.  Something came up, I threw my hat in the ring, and by the grace of the HR Gods, I was chosen as part of the top seven percent to interview.  I've been sick about it since last week when I got the call.  Working at the Glass Palace for as long as I have, I'd kind of given up hope.  Kinda like in the Never Ending Story when Atrayu's horse dies in the swamps of sadness.  You accept your lot in life and you go with it.  It's not all bad.  I work with some fun people and we survive.  Anyway, I was strongly encouraged to apply for this job.  It would be less commute, a raise and a new challenge.  Why not?  I had some friends help me get my resume together, I did the application and just like that, I put myself out there.

I haven't done this in a LONG TIME, so I figured, eh, they probably won't even call me.  I was wrong, they did.  Crap.  I started researching interview tips and tried to consider what they might ask me.  I was astounded at the amount of information out there.  All the advice on what is and is not acceptable.  Some of it even contradictory. I pretty much drove myself and my friends crazy about this.  I mean, I know people at work think highly of me and call me the boss and the queen, etc., but ultimately, outside the glass palace, I'm a nobody.  I have to prove myself.  This could go amazingly well, or I could choke.  What if I get too nervous and tongue-tied?  What if they ask me questions I'm not prepared for?  I tried to tell myself it wasn't a big deal.  I mean, I have a job, so if I don't get this one, it's not the end of the world, right?  But then I started to think about what change would feel like and how my life might be different and I really started to want it. 

Fast-forward to last night.  I read the job description again.  I start scanning the internet, again. I start considering my experiences, again.  I ran across one article that said questions that could be asked are, "if you were an emoticon, which one would it be?" and "if you were an animal, what animal would you be?"  What the hell?  Why do they need to know that?  I thought about it.  I would be a lioness.  Taking care of the pride, hunting, caring for the cubs, telling daddy lion to get off his lazy ass under the tree and go catch us a gimpy gazelle or something.  All the while, the lioness is strong and has good intentions.  Sounds legit.  Then I read what the unacceptable answers were. Guess what?  Lion is the #1 wrong thing to say because it shows you are aggressive.  Well Fuck.  Now what animal am I going to be?  Not a dog, cat, chipmunk, squirrel, raccoon or...beaver.  Can you imagine their faces if I said I was a beaver?  I don't know where their minds would go, but I wasn't willing to chance it.  I just didn't know.  I couldn't say honey badger, cuz she don't give a shit.  I couldn't say kangaroo, or bunny or field mouse.  I had no idea.  It was bothering me.  Weighing heavy on my mind.  I put an APB out on my Facebook messenger to some of my peeps in a wild rant. This is how it all went down:

"Here's the 411 on my sitch. I hate the outfit I bought yesterday. I look like a cow, the jacket doesn't fit right and I don't know what I'm going to wear. I had an epic sobbing meltdown tonight and when Will asked if I needed a Mike's Lemonade, I sobbed and hiccuped "no." And when he said, "what would help?" and I said through sobs, crocodile tears and whimpering, "ice cream...with chocolate syrup." And then I ate a half pint of ice cream. I read more interview questions and now I don't know what the right answer is to what animal I would be because I was thinking lioness and the article says lion is too aggressive, bunny is too soft and so now I don't know, maybe a chipmunk cuz they are fast and cute, or maybe a squirrel because they are friendly to strangers in the park and collect nuts for the winter. Or, maybe a raccoon because they are curious and resourceful. I don't know!!! and I don't know what emoticon I would be either. And, if my previous boss had something negative to say about me what would it be? I can't say that I use too much sarcasm, I can't put a positive spin on that. I reread the job description and I don't know what I am thinking.  I'm never going to apply for another job again, I'm going to die at the glass palace with everyone else. I have no hope. And don't tell me I will be fine because you don't know, no one knows, are you a psychic now? Are you? no, you're not. Now I have a headache...and if I were to guess I would say you do too."

And then, out of nowhere, I received a FB message from Pinterest Food Porn Girl.  She said that I should just say I was a unicorn.  I can't say I'm a unicorn in a job interview, can I?  Is that legit?  I mean, people keep posting all those pictures on my FB telling me if I can be a unicorn, I should always be one.  No, it's too risky.

Fast forward to this morning.  I'm strangely calm.  I put my outfit on, take it off, try some different options and there it is, my interview outfit.  I'm feeling good (if we discount the presence of the FCD which is a little binding in the belly area) and I'm calm.  No hair or make up crisis.  Sure, I feel like I'm going to throw up, but other than that, calm as a cucumber.  I start to look at some more interview stuff and then I realize, at some point, I have to do this.  I can only do what I can do.  It might be a disaster, but I will make it the best darn disaster I can make it!  Wait, maybe that is the wrong approach.  Anyway, I drove calmly, almost in an out of body state, driving 62 mph on the freeway, hands at 10 & 2 like I'm driving a school bus.  I'm in a "special place."  I think I'm having an out of body experience.  People, if you have not interviewed in a long time, just do it.  Go find some place to interview and do it.  Don't let this happen to you. Interview impotence.  It's real.  I don't think there is a pill for it, either, unless you count Xanax or something of that variety. 

I'll cut to the chase, I handled the interview okay.  I had moments of shining and moments where I could have given stronger answers with more detail.  It was very structured and specific.  Not a lot of room to talk about my personality, I don't think.  At the very end, I asked some questions, which lead to some good discussion.  We all seemed to be getting along just dandy, so as we were closing and saying  goodbye, I said, "I want to thank you for not asking me the animal question."  They laughed and responded that they didn't think anyone asked that anymore.  I said, "I don't know, but in my research, I see it is still being touted as legit."  They then said, "So, what animal would you be?"  You and I both know where this is going.  I mean, I especially do, since I was there, but still.  I said, "Well, I don't really know what the correct answer is for that question, but if I had to pick, I would say I was a unicorn.  It's hard to find someone that works as hard as I do, I'm special and sometimes...(wait for it) I'm magical."  Yep. Done. Answered the what animal are you question. I brought it back. 

I don't know how this whole thing is going to pan out.  The competition is tough. But, I'll say this, I bet they remember me.  And, if I do get hired, maybe, just maybe, they'll call me the unicorn girl.  Hey, everybody's gotta have a dream.  That guy said so in Pretty Woman.  And, I believe it.

Stay tuned!

Damn You, Mike's Hard Lemonade

Here's the thing.  I don't drink alcohol.  Well, I don't drink alcohol as a general rule.  Occasionally, I am coerced into taking a swig of this or that, but ultimately, I don't enjoy the taste of alcohol and there are many kinds that I have a bad reaction to, like I turn red and my skin feels like it is on fire and itchy.  Friends have tried to turn me into a drinker, with limited success.  Honestly, I can make an ass out of myself completely sober, so I don't really require alcohol to have a good time.  I have found that a limited amount of home-brewed Apple Pie can taste okay and takes about half a cup to get me seriously giggly. I'm such a lightweight drinker that it seriously takes me just a few swigs and I am feeling the effects.  Aside from periodically drinking Apple Pie, I typically don't indulge.  Last night, however, I found something that I can apparently tolerate and it "relaxes" me.  That would be, Mike's Hard Lemonade, the Black Cherry variety. Here is my account of last night's episode.

I was sitting here last night, kind of in a funk because our vacation week is not really what we would like it to be.  When you don't plan and save money, etc., it can really suck the fun out of it.  But, it is what it is. Cannot change where we are.  Doesn't mean it doesn't piss me off.  So, in researching a day trip and getting frustrated, I decided I needed a Mike's Hard Lemonade.  It usually takes me three days to drink one of these things, however, the Black Cherry variety was quite tasty. When you have weight loss surgery, you can't really, and shouldn't really, drink alcohol.  Your body takes very little in before it affects you. And, I'm already a light-weight, even before that, so it didn't take long and I found myself very relaxed. My arms were kind of tingly, I felt light-headed, my stomach started to make weird noises, I couldn't type as well as I sat there Face-booking and things started to get funny...really funny.  I was only half to 3/4 of the way through the bottle, but I was feeling it.  I know, I know, it's like 5% alcohol.  You people don't understand, it may as well be kryptonite to Superman.

In reviewing my texts this morning, apparently I sent a picture of me and my drink to Pony Crazy and Valerina.  At one point I believe it was posted to FB, but I think I had a moment of clear thought that made me remove it.  It isn't a bad picture, but I was clearly feeling like sharing. Once that door is opened, sometimes I can't get it shut.

Luckily, Pony Crazy had to go to bed, so that was the end of that.  Valerina, however, suggested that I needed to go to bed and that maybe Shark Bait and I should play Cowboys and Indians.  The conversation that followed shall be omitted from this blog, however, since Shark Bait didn't know the rules of the aforementioned game and I was barely able to navigate to the bathroom, it seemed that playing an adventurous round of the final frontier was probably not a good idea. And I didn't know if rope was involved or if I had to go get spurs.  It was all very confusing.  I think we might be more like the librarian and the guy with an over-due book. More our speed, I think, anyway, I did finally make it to the bathroom.  This is where things escalated. As I sat there trying to stop laughing about Cowboys and Indians, so that I could pee, I realized that my underwear were stuck to my shoe.  I could not get them unstuck from my shoe and I proceeded to laugh so hard that I was unable to function in any way. You know how when you laugh so hard that no sound comes out?  That is where I was.  My underwear were fucking hilarious and NO ONE understood.  I truly was having a personal party.  Shark Bait, who was amused, but trying to ignore me, was not helping at all.  I finally begged him to come help me free myself from the underwear attacking my shoe.  Reluctantly, he came in there and freed me.  I contemplated sleeping right there, but Shark Bait said that my legs would go numb. None the less, he left me there, still laughing and now I started to sing.  I can't remember what I was singing, but whatever it was, it inspired me to get off the toilet.

Shark Bait kept telling me to go to bed.  Well, I had to take my make-up off first.  I'm in the bathroom, still talking to Shark Bait, still singing something and I put my head down close to the sink so I can rub the cleanser in and rinse my face.  I'm just singing and scrubbing and apparently I got a little carried away because as I was enthusiastically scrubbing, I accidentally shoved my pinky up my right nostril.  And I don't mean that I just barely poked the perimeter of my nose, I shoved that finger up there hard.  Which made me laugh hysterically and cry in pain at the same time.  Shark Bait was unaffected by my reckless cleansing ritual.  I laughed and laughed about it last night, but dang, my nose still hurts this morning.  I'm not so sure I didn't damage something.  I seriously should not drink.  I can't even wash my face without incident.  I've said it before and I'll say it again.  I should wear a helmet at all times.  I'm a dork.

Before going upstairs, I apparently went over and locked the door and declared, "doors locked - nailed it!" It's little accomplishments like these that make a drunk person feel good. I did finally make it upstairs, no thanks to Shark Bait.  I could have been killed on the stairs.  I flopped myself down on the bed and noticed some bugs on the ceiling, which I immediately alerted Shark Bait about.  He came and killed them, then helped me get undressed and get into  bed.  I sent one final drunk text and then it was lights out.  I had weird dreams all night long about someone trying to kill me and how I kept running and finding "safe rooms" to hide in, but the guy kept finding me, so I finally shot him, burned his body and put the ashes in a dairy farm settling pond.  I don't know what that is about, but let's just say I shouldn't get drunk and go shooting.  I think it is a bad idea.

I don't know if I will drink anymore special lemonade today, but I'm determined to get through that 6 pack by the end of my vacation.  I'm making that commitment. I just hope I don't sustain any other injuries.  Shark Bait better stay alert.

So that's it, that's what I remember. Now you can all feel better about yourselves knowing you never jammed a finger up your nose while drinking.  Walk a little taller today knowing that.  You are welcome.

Sugar Sabotage & Geriatric Gym Time

Today was another day of new starts.  I have been trying to cut sugar back out of my life. I was semi-successful yesterday and was not only going to give it a go again today, but was also planning on getting to the gym.  I have not been for a few weeks as I allow my body to simmer down and stop hurting.  Hips have been under control and my shoulders have been back to normal.  Normal meaning that they still cause me pain here and there, but I can deal with it.

I walked into the Glass Palace in a comfy summer-ish dress, completely allowing me to focus on comfort, not an FCD cutting me in half, and inner Zen. I went and got my water and returned to sit down at my desk to get some shit done.  Cross Fit Crazy comes walking up and puts his hand out.  It has a "fun size" Twix and a mini Snickers.  I stared at it.  He looked at me and said, "Oh, or are you not doing that?  Should I not offer?"  I continued to stare at his hand.  It was just a baby Twix.  I took it and he says, "what? you don't want the Snickers?" I said, "I thought you were offering me the pick of the two and the other was for you?"  "No," he says, "I brought these for you...these are mine."  He holds out his other hand full of candy, which was essentially a fist full of sugar.  Sigh.  It's only 8:30am and I have already violated my new start.  Cross Fit is cutting soda out of his life, so he has substituted it with candy, apparently.  This is not working in my favor.

Undeterred with my "fresh start" road bump, I continued on.  As I worked diligently on my project, I get an email from Ass Kicker.  He wants to know how I'm doing and when I'm coming back.  Ironic that he would choose today to reach out to me.  I think Ass Kicker and I are connected.  We have a bond. I finished up what I was doing just in time to make it to the gym at my normal time.  I went down and Ass Kicker was there, but otherwise engaged with someone else, so I started with the elliptical machine.  My legs hated my guts.  All that strength I had built up was still there, I think, but it was sleeping.  Key word here is "was."  My legs, now awake continued to burn a little, but I ignored it and pressed on.  I finished and went into the aerobics room and grabbed a kettle bell to do some strength training.  Did a little circuit and repeated it. Ass Kicker comes in and I inform him that I have not been hurting at all since I stopped working out.  He said, "well, that tells me a story right there.  I think we were too ambitious.  If I were you, I would focus on cardio and mobility exercises."  What??  I'm not a baby, I'm an athlete!  I'm not going to do sissy work-outs.  This is bullshit.  Do you see the sweat on this face?  This messed up hair?  Are you punking me?  You created an athlete!  You can't change that.  I don't want to be a geriatric touching my finger to my nose and marching in place.  I looked at him and said, "Well, while I see your point, I already did the elliptical, kettle bell, those strappy things, wall pulls, those stretchy cord things over there and some ab work."  He says, "oh,....well, I guess let's see how you feel tomorrow."  He's not the boss of me.  I'm an athlete.  A fat one, but an athlete.  I need to get my abs back...you know, the baby ones I was creating.

I finished up, cleaned up and headed back up to my desk.  As I started down that long hallway, there it was, that pain in my ass/hip.  I hadn't felt it in weeks, and there it was, my close friend, pain.  Mother-Good-Bob-Damn-Trucker.  Why in the fuck did I go to all those doctors a month or so ago?  None of them helped me, none of them know what is going on or causing it.  Angry, I walked back to my desk and considered my options.  I could give up and just try and lose weight without exercising, you know, starve myself, lick lettuce and sniff carrots, I could try the doctors again, or I can freaking Pony Up and work through the pain.  Clearly, like every other freaking thing in my life, this, too is going to be hard.  Fuck-it Pony to the rescue.  This is bullshit, we are working out.  We will learn to live in pain.  Decision made.

I sat at my desk eating lunch and Valerina came to see me.  I was venting about the gym drama when all the sudden, I felt a presence.  I turn around and Cross Fit is behind me with his lunch all laid out on the desk and he is making his lunch, you know, taking the pasta out of one container, putting it onto a plate, getting some other sauce stuff from another container, some shrimp... I turned around and said, "What are you doing? This is not the freaking kitchen!  This is my desk."  Completely undeterred, he says, "I know, but I just want to be near you.  I just feel like I need to be."  I look at Valerina, she looks at me, we exchange looks.  She is ready to bust a gut laughing and leaves. I called out, "Don't go!" Cross Fit just laughs, finishes up and finally retreats to his office.  I send Valerie an instant message, "why are people strangely drawn to me?  It's creepy."  She doesn't know either.  I guess this is what happens when I tell my boss I'm looking into another job.  It's almost like he is a cat rubbing on my leg to mark his territory.  Amusing, yet disturbing. I hope I don't get any hair stuck to my dress.  I guess crazy begets crazy.

The rest of the day was pretty uneventful.  The usual administrative hilarity ensued. I had to clean up after other people that were naughty and then I had to send an email that was a reprimand, I got to research our new summer-themed decorations, at which time it was pointed out to me that summer is almost over.  I got to basically hold down the fort in the usual ways.  I had a conversation in the hallway about why the women of the palace can't stop peeing all over the seats.  You know, a typical day.  The good news is, it's been over a week and no reports of shit, puke or blood.  It's like a vacation from bio-hazard and don't think I haven't been enjoying it.

I arrived home tonight and Shark Bait is waiting for me.  He's hot and tired, but he is being all affectionate and keeps telling me he loves me.  Now paranoid from earlier events in the day, I say, "what's going on? why are you being so affectionate?"  I'm saying this as he is kissing me on the top of my head while I am trying to eat the dinner I just made.  Am I putting out pheromones? I mean, I did marry the guy and I'm glad he loves me, but something is up...I wonder if he bought a gun?  I'll have to check into that later.

Well, I have to wrap this up, my dog needs attention now...and the horses are hungry...dishes need to be done...you know, Shark Bait, you know what is really a great type of affection...?  Doing the dishes to show your love...Shark Bait?

Hoo-Ha Bling? What?

It was a very exciting day today at the Glass Palace.  It was "shorts day."  That's right.  We went rogue against the dress code and told the masses they could wear shorts.  I sent out the disclaimer about what people could and could not wear.  I, personally, opted to not partake.  These legs...they were just not made for shorts.  It was such a vast departure from my normal attire, I just couldn't bring myself to leave the house like that.

Upon arriving at work, I was messaged by Stiletto Barbie.  She sent me a link to a blog that was talking about how hot it was and how the blogger was having a hard time wearing underwear as a result. She didn't like thong's, but she came across something called a "C-string" that might solve the underwear issue.

C-String "underwear"

Now, I don't really want to steal anyone's blog material, but I cannot stay quiet about this.  I must put my two cents in.  I don't know what fresh hell this is, but why in the frick would you even bother?  What is this thing doing for you? It's bling for your vagina, from what I can tell. I can't count the number of times I've thought, wouldn't my vajayjay look so cute with a lace hat?  Oh, and you get the bonus of a string poked up your butt.  I think I finally know why some girls walk around with that disgusted look on their face all the time.  They probably have lace that has worked it's way inside their hoo-ha and a string up their butt.  I mean, I just don't understand.  When you go to the bathroom, do you take it off and put it on your head like a headband for safe keeping while you pee?  How do you know if your "underwear" has shifted?  How do you know when it is time to give that string a tug and re-adjust?  I have more questions than answers and I have to say, I'm just not willing to find out.

Not long after I was baffled by crotch fashion, I get another instant message from another friend.  This time, it's not a blog, this time it is a full-on picture of a girl wearing the C-string.  WHOA.  I closed my screen quickly.  I didn't need that cropping up if "big brother" ever checks my PC.  Why is everyone showing me crotch wear?  Do I have noticeable panty lines?  Do they want me to be on the edge of fashion?  The only thing I'd be on the edge of is an infection or taking hostages because something is up my ass.

Speaking of stuff up my ass, not to over-share (do I really need to say that anymore?), but I did have a small bug bite of some sort on the inner, lower cheek of where cheek meets my leg, where my underwear line was.  It was itching like nothing I have ever experienced.  I'm standing there talking to to Ambular and Valerina and I keep shifting weight from side to side, because as I do, my jeans rub across it, thusly, scratching it. Maybe if I had been wearing the C-string, I wouldn't be having these problems.  Finally, I couldn't take it anymore, off to the sanctuary of the bathroom I went.  I ripped those pants down, assumed kind of a "this plane is going down, grab your ankles" position and was able to get my hand to where the irritation was.  I scratched with abandon.  It was almost surreal.  I'd never had this kind of pleasure in stall number two.  I walked out of there and felt like I might need a cigarette. I mean, how in the hell did I get a bite there anyway?  My mind considered a spider did it.  I immediately got that out of my mind.  I didn't want to think about a spider checking out the vast valley of my ass or my cheeks while I was sleeping or at any other time.  Maybe it was a mosquito bite from laying on top of the covers on that very hot night last night?  Anyway, I hoped my few moments of heavenly scratching in stall number two would take care of the problem and I would not find myself rubbing all over any desk edge I came to.

The rest of the day was kind of a blur, honestly. I sent out a bunch of emails, handed out ice cream to everyone in the center, did some admin stuff, tortured the new supervisor a little.  It's cute when they are new, young and impressionable and a little bit scared of me.  It's been a while since I got fresh blood.  This could be fun for a while.  I like to look at him, hold the admin death glare for just a moment and then speak slowly about what he needs to do.  I like to think he pees himself just a little each time.  It comforts me in these tough times.

I went to leave the Palace tonight and Cross Fit comes out of the office.  He says, "I feel like I want to hug you, like I  need to hug you.  Seriously."  I looked at him and blinked...slow blinked, if you will.  I said, "why?"  He explained that he couldn't explain it, he just really needed to hug me.  I must have been putting off the vibe again.  Dammit.  I wish I could control the vibe.  I could tell he wasn't going to go until he got his hug.  I said, "Bring it in."  When it was over, I said, "no more than one a week, okay?  I can't have people seeing me being huggy."  I'm sorry, it's a risk I'm not willing to take.  Pretty soon everyone will want one.  No.  I will not allow it.

I managed to get home tonight, but of course, not without incident.  A stupid duck decided to cross three lanes of the freeway.  After slamming on the brakes, I missed him narrowly.  He seemed unaffected by the miracle he had just been a part of, like he was playing chicken...like his duck friends had dared him.  Like they said, "I'll double dog dare you."  And he did.  He showed them.  Duck punks, who's the bitch now?  Makes me think I should double dog dare people to hug me and then give them my admin death glare...and then give them a C-string and tell them if they can wear it for 8 hours, I'll hug them then.  But only after they had really, really, really washed their hands.  On that note, I think that is enough about vaginas, hugging and ducks.

That's a wrap.