Feeling Introspective - Picture Journey

Had the day off yesterday.  Luckily, no real demands on my time.  I was just checking Facebook and doing the normal check-in with social media and I ended up on this surgery support group page that I am a member of.  It's always a challenge for me to see and hear other people's success stories about how they are six months out and down a ton of weight, or they are a year out and have already lost 120 pounds and the list goes on.  There are people, like me, that struggle and people are very supportive and encouraging to them, which is nice, but I still battle the inner voice.  Sometimes I participate in the group and add a comment here and there, but still follow the page with pain in my heart knowing that I could be doing a lot better if I had my head on straight.  It's a constant struggle.  One gal had posted a picture of herself in a sexy bra and underwear.  I was like, wow, that is one helluva great story, I wish I had something like that to share.  I did take a picture of myself in a sports bra and underwear the day of my surgery so that I would be able to someday compare and be amazed.  Trust me when I say,  I'm not ready to amaze anyone yet. 

I continued to read through that support page and one of the comments on there really affected me.  Someone asked if anyone that had the surgery had regrets.  One woman commented that she did not have any and that likely, the person asking the question would not get any negative feedback, because those that do have regrets have addiction issues and have faded away and were no longer "engaged" in the process.  I was instantly irritated by that remark.  Partially because I identify with it in the sense that I am not as engaged as I should be and I do still struggle with food choices, but I do not regret having the surgery.  I regret that I could not do it on my own without the surgery.  I regret letting myself get as heavy as I did.  I regret not doing something sooner.  But, for whatever reason, things happened in the time they happened and this is the journey I am meant to go on...I guess.  As The Rug Doctor says, "You are right where you are meant to be." And so, here I am still fighting and not giving up...just moving slowly.  I will do this, I just don't know how long it will take.

After reading some more and feeling a little bad about myself for not being further in the process, I decided I needed to really take a look at my journey.  So, I started looking at all my old pictures and really looking at my face and my body.  I found the picture I took of myself in my underwear the day before surgery.  My God.  I was so huge.  I could not even believe Shark Bait ever had sex with that body.  I just stared at that person.  That person knew she was fat, she just didn't see how fat she had become.  You just look in the mirror everyday and see this person.  I still see that person when I look in the mirror, but I have to say, after going through all these pictures, maybe I am starting to see someone different.  I spent all day putting these pictures into a PowerPoint presentation to document the journey.  I spent all day on it.  When Shark Bait got home from work, I made him take a picture of me in my bra and underwear and then some pics with me clothed.  I loaded the pictures on the computer and stared at them.  I have changed.  I will admit, I have changed.  The voice in my head still says, "you have not changed enough," but it is willing to concede that there is change.  And that, is what we call progress.

I am sharing some of the pictures with you below.  And, I will spare you the underwear pictures.  Even though they are not dirty or indecent, it might traumatize my co-workers that see me every day.  You can't un-see some things.  I will say, ironically, I am not ashamed of them.  I mean, I am totally grossed out and cannot believe I looked like that, but I am not ashamed to show them to you.  I am not that fat girl in those pictures on the outside, I am an athlete on the inside and I will find my way to the outside.  It will just take time.

The early years. In that picture in 1990, I thought I was so fat.  I would give anything to weigh that now.

This girl, this woman, so unhappy.

Pictures right after surgery on top, after all the complications cleared up and below, how I am today.

The progression has lead to me enjoying my horses again, which is the BIGGEST gift I could ask for.

In 2013, life started to get better, started to feel better about me and started to enjoy life a little.

2014 has been slow progress, but progress is still there.  Who knew this face could do short hair?

 

So, this is my journey so far.  Far from over, but something I need to be proud of.  I am proud of.  It's never enough, the voices in my head always tell me, but I'm trying to shut that bitch up.  And, if any of you are dying to see the underwear pictures, hey, I'll show em to you. LOL.

Thanks for being part of my journey.  Love to all!

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.

Copier Blog - The Early Days

In my search to find my old resume on my computer, I ran across a document I saved that is a compilation of e-mails I sent out at work about our over-worked copier. That damn copier was breaking down all the time and people were constantly telling me about it, so I would send updates out to the call center and let them know what was going on.  They seemed to enjoy the emails, which only encouraged me to do more.  I think this is about the time everyone was encouraging me to start a blog, so they seem relevant.   I don't think I've shared them before, but after doing this blog for a while now, who knows, maybe I have already.  Anyway, here is a look back at how it all started.


Daily Blog about the copier...

3/12/09 Thursday, 3:47pm Larry arrived and brought new parts for the copier. Hurrah. Upon arriving and finding notes taped to the machine about other possible problems, Larry put on his thinking cap.  He thought to himself, "hey, I am going to look at this new toner bottle and compare it to the old toner bottle...oh, lookie here, there is an extra piece..." And then he hypothesized about how it got there and came up with a theory.  He shared it with me and here is what he said:
Blah blah blah, toner bottle, blah, blah, blah, rollers, blah blah blah, I narrowed it down to the fuzzy logic circuit (I'm not making this up, that is what he said), blah blah blah blah, and then I noticed this clicking sound...blah, blah, blah blah...."  I nodded like a little bobble-head doll and then said, "ok, sounds like you have it under control."

 Larry reported to my desk just minutes later that it was all fixed and should be good to go. He advised me to "enjoy the sunny afternoon" and as quickly as he appeared...he was gone.  I saw him from my window, walking out in the parking lot...just a little taller, a little more pride in his step, but with a slight limp, like, perhaps he had kicked a machine one time too many.  Anyway, good day for our copier...good day for Larry.

Friday, 3/13/09 8:00AM  Julianne innocently walks in to make copies for her training class today.  She feels confident in knowing Larry the copy guy was here.  The machine has a clean bill of health, after all.  With all the confidence she can muster, she asks for 40 correlated copies.  Just two pages, just one staple each.  Her heart fills with glee as she sees copies shooting out onto the tray...and then it happens. "beep-beep" The machine has a jam.  Julianne goes to work, opening doors, pulling out paper, after all, she has done this countless times before.  The error message goes away.  She pleads with the copier to just finish her copies.  This isn't her day...this Friday the 13th.  It just isn't going to happen.  She throws her arms up in dispair and leaves the room, with only a partial job done.  She makes a mental note to tell Cassondra what she thinks about Larry after her training class.  In Larry's defense...the machine does have toner.

8:30AM Cassondra (unaware of the morning's events) arrives on the scene to make copies only to find the machine in a disasterous state.  Paper was spread throughout the machine like a cancer, jams everywhere. Cassondra makes a mental note to find the assailant and give them a stern talking to. 

10:26AM Julianne confesses her crime.

11:38AM Larry calls to see how things are going.  Cassondra relays the message about the jamming and the instability of the machine...silence on the line...you could almost hear the wheels in his head turning and he replied, "but the toner problem is gone, right?"

There is a certain comfort in knowing that even in the toughest of economies and high unemployment that our copy machine has single-handedly given Larry  job security. 
      

It's Monday.  March 16th.  My copier was complaint free between the hours of 8:00AM and 2:35pm.  It's a new record. 

2:36PM - Julianne comes over to my desk.  She had the same look a cat has on it's face when it has already eaten a canary, but has every intention of pleading innocent....never mind the cat hair on the cage door.  It appears there is a new problem with the copier.  Julianne claims she has not mistreated the machine.  She claims she was simply trying to make copies and then there was a jam.  The alleged jam then led to a situation where a new error message surfaced...one we have never seen before.  The machine now claims there is a cover door open...when clearly, there is not.

2:38PM - Teresa and Rob witnessed the complaint.  Rob retreated into his office for safety purposes...laughing about a conspiracy between Larry the copy guy and Julianne.  Teresa, Julianne and myself inspected the machine...opened all doors...the error message would not clear. I was perplexed...but not defeated.  In a moment of genius, I pushed on the door that houses the toner....that's right...the evil toner.  Upon pushing on the door and holding pressure, the error message cleared.  With my shoulders slumping, feeling a little defeated, I left Julianne alone to hold tension on the toner cover door while she made 100 copies.

2:46PM - I left word for Larry.  Looks like we need another service call. 

That was the last entry I saved.  To let you all know, the copy machine eventually died.  We had to get a new one. Not long after the new one arrived, we also got a new copy repair guy.  I have not seen Larry the Copy Guy in years.  I do not know what happened to him, but I pray his toner didn't go bad.

Too Hot, Penis Bite, Dead Bird

 We have arrived at Thursday.  I figure, I've made it this far, I may as well finish out the week at the 'ol Glass Palace.  I arrived there this morning, a bit later than usual and sat in my truck, staring at the building, lurking behind the trees with a dark sky in the background.  I didn't want to go in.  I knew what the day would bring, "Cassondra, it's too hot at my desk, can you ask them to turn the heat down?"  "Cassondra, the light above my desk is too bright, can you have them come and turn one off?"  "Cassondra, you are never gonna believe what is in stall number one..."  These are the menial tasks that would be on top of all my usual tasks.  While it is flattering that people come to me, because they know I will take care of their needs, it also gets old.  I've been feeling a range of emotions lately and I wonder how much of the Glass Palace is contributing to my dark mood.  Am I just burnt out after 16 years of living the dream?  I mean, it's a pretty good gig, overall.  I'm not going to complain about the paycheck or the commute or my schedule.  I pretty much self-manage my job, so it has it's perks, but I really could go without the bathroom drama.

I finally decided to venture in.  As I walked in, one of my co-workers was telling me about a job she had heard about.  Well, this is a great way to start the day, thinking about working somewhere else.  Was the universe telling me something?  Is it time to get away from the Glass Palace?  Something to consider, I suppose.  I finally got to my desk and settled in when one of the peeps came up to my desk and advised me that she and her cube mates were way too hot and could I put a ticket in to get the heat turned down.  Check, #1 off the list - temperature control.  I put the ticket in to get her hot flashes under control and proceeded to go through my emails.  It was kind of difficult to concentrate, though, because Slim Jim was going on and on and ON about a bug bite he had.  I yelled over the wall, "Are you going to be complaining ALL day this loudly? I have some expired Neosporin if you want it..."  He said he was really in a bind because it was really painful.  Come to find out, the bug bite was on his, ahem...boy parts...more specifically, the major boy PART (if you're still not clear, I'm talking about his freaking penis).  As I heard this news I made this face, like I had just seen wall-art drawn with poop in stall number one.   Look, I don't know how you get bug bites on your privates, but hey, some things, I don't NEED to know.  How to handle this is not in my admin manual.

I clearly needed to get away from my desk and the nearby penis crisis, so I took a walk to deliver vending machine refunds.  I say Mama Chris and she advised me that she was totally not telling me that she saw a dead bird on the walk-way coming in.  She wanted me to know that she was also not asking me to do anything about this dead bird that I didn't really need to hear about.  She would report it on her own.  Wow.  Someone is taking matters into their own hands.  I stood there for just a moment, in awe.  It was like I was in a third dimension.  All I could think of was, that stupid bird probably flew right into the glass building and killed itself.  Just like I do everyday, except for me, the killing is happening slowly, over time.  I finished my rounds and returned to my desk.  The phone rings.  It's Building Dude.  He has received the dead bird email and wants to know where the bird is.  I didn't tell him about the freaking dead bird, I haven't seen the dead bird.  I advised him I didn't know.  "Okay, I'll go check it out."  I sent Mama Chris a message letting her know the bird tragedy was being addressed, but that he didn't know where it was.  She cut and pasted from the email she sent him, which described the exact location of the carcass.  She replied, "Does he need a map?"  Apparently so.  Perhaps I am unknowingly being trained to be the Building Dude's replacement.  Maybe all clearance for this type of thing now goes through me?  Clearly, I'm that important.

About then, my friend, Stilletto Barbie sent me an instant message.  We shared a few back and forth messages and then she asked how my new anti-depressant meds were going.  Asked if I felt spacey.  I wrote back and told her that I think I am having some problems as last night I was throwing a temper tantrum in the barn because I couldn't connect the two hoses I had so I could water my flowers.  I mean, I was very angry and didn't understand how I had two ends that looked identical and how was I supposed to screw them together? Shark Bait came out and asked me what my problem was.  I explained how the hoses could not be hooked together.  He looked at me oddly and said, "yes they can," and proceeded to connect them, right in front of me.  What the hell is a matter with me? I know how to screw hoses together?!  Anyway, all Stilletto Barbie saw on her message screen was that I had lost the ability to screw.  In her mind, I was having sexual side-effects of monumental proportion.  Luckily, she found the rest of the message buried somewhere below.  Good Lord, this is how my day is going.

Another exciting part of my day is that I get to start sending emails out every hour, on the hour, showing who in the center has not yet sold a certain product we offer.  I know that no one has time to read these emails, nor do they want to, so I decide to spice them up in my own way.  You know, little rhymes, little pictures, etc.  People started emailing me back razzing me about having to send the emails.  Cross Fit Crazy came out and said, "You're doing an amazing job on those emails!"  I looked at him, "Any monkey can do it..."  He looked wounded, "but they don't read the ones I send."  I responded, "yeah, because yours are boring."  I'm no expert, but I'm pretty sure my mid-year review is not going to be stellar.

As I sat there contemplating my next catchy little phrase for the next hour, I get a message, "Um, I hate to bother you, but I jammed the copier and I don't know how to unjam it..."  Okay, I got this.  I go in there and it's jammed good.  Like, one piece of paper is crunched and krinkled so hard, I damn near had to disassemble the machine.  But, I am a trained professional, I got this.  Upon saving the machine from this tragic event, it asks if I want to continue copying.  Let's see what is on there...oh, look, it is a guide on how to knit ruffle pants and then also a hamburger ordering sheet.  I don't exactly know what goes on inside this building sometimes, but I'm pretty sure this is a first for ruffle pants being created in-house.

I walked over to Mama Chris, "Ruffle pants?  Really?"  She took her paper back sheepishly and said, "Here, have a Kit Kat!"  She had Kit-Kat bites.  I could use a break.  I could use to break me off a piece of that Kit. Kat. Bar.  And, so, I did.  Once again, I returned to my desk to see what other disaster was about to unfold.  I reached down and wiped my glasses on my shirt and then put them back on.  What the hell?  They had smudges all over them...what?  I look down at my shirt and I had a little glob of chocolate from that Kit Kat bite. One little spot, but that is the spot that I chose to "clean" my glasses with.  Seriously.  Sigh.  Crime just doesn't pay.

My day was finally coming to a close and I sat there wondering if this is really all there is to a "Day in the Life of Cassondra."  The more I think about change, it scares me, but it also makes me wonder what else is out there.  Sixteen years is a long time at a company.  I asked one of the other people I work with that has also been here a long time, "Do you think you will die here, or would you jump at the first job that came along?"  He looked at me and said, "I'd jump in a heartbeat."  I know I always joked with Ambular and Valerina and we all agreed, we would stay here until this pony broke it's leg and then we would get a new pony.  Well, maybe this pony is one of those sickly ponies with a limp, but an iron lung and a fierce will to live.  I don't want to ride a sick pony.  But, is the pony sick, or am I sick?  I have much to ponder.  I think it's time to take the pony's temperature and see if it should be put out of it's misery.

Anyway, tomorrow is finally Friday and Cross Fit Crazy is out of the office all day.  Maybe I can get some work done if wildlife avoids our building, people come scantily clothed wearing a good deoderant with no hopes of comfort and people keep craft time at home.  And you people don't think I can be optimistic.  HA!  If those last couple sentences weren't optimistic, I don't know what is.  All I know is, it just about took everything out of me.  I'm exhausted.  Nighty-nite.