For no reason that I can think of, a weird childhood memory popped up today. See, when I was in elementary school, I was always one those kids who became the teacher's pet. I helped other students, picked up the teacher's mail from the office, got to decorate the bulletin boards, helped grade papers, etc. But the absolute best part of all was getting to make the copies, and the magical device that I was taught to use: the mimeograph machine.
I can clearly remember the multi-layered original copy, and the drum/wheel thing that spun around. And who could forget the blue/purple ink that detailed everything in childhood, from math worksheets & language arts handouts, to coloring pages? Taking the pages up too soon would leave you with smudges on your fingers, but you didn't care because the paper was still slightly damp from the fluid, and you could get a good, long sniff.
What was the deal with that smell?!? I don't think I know a single person in my age group who doesn't remember avidly snorting mimeograph fluid-scent off of paper. I can say for damned sure that I don't get the same kind of reaction and pleasure from photocopies.
So, I have no idea why this is on my mind. If I wanted to analyze myself, I'd probably say that it has something to do with a yearning for the innocence and simplicity of childhood; but, I don't really wanna go that deep. I'd rather just think of it as an odd, but happy, memory that smacked me across the gob this morning.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Thursday, July 12, 2007
The straight skinny
I have a secret informant at work, and it sounds absolutely silly, but it's my groundskeeper. Might as well dork out and call him "Willie". When New Boss is in town, she always brings one of the maintenance guys from her home property with her, so he can help out around here and do things that Willie can't do.
The thing is, though, Visiting Handyman (VH) is always around New Boss, and knows way more than I do about the secrets and information going on at home office. And luckily for me, despite his beard and good ole boy charm, VH is a chatty Cathy who can't keep anything to himself. So while they're working together on projects, VH always tells Willie about stuff that even I don't know about. And I work for the fucking company, while Willie is a temp, for chrissake!
(Pushing aside resentment that a handyman gets more information that I do....) What no one seems to realize, though, is that Willie and I have developed quite a rapport over the last 7 months of his assignment here. Seeing as we're the only ones here most of the time-- and we're talking roughly 4 days a week, people-- we've HAD to learn to get along and depend on one another. So as soon as New Boss and VH leave, Willie pulls me aside and tells me everything he's been told. I love men who can gossip.
The news today ain't so great. Apparently, the buyers asked New Boss how much money I make, and in an attempt to help me out a bit, she inflated my salary a smidgen to give me some bargaining room. It completely backfired. The "word on the street" is that the buyers feel that my salary is too high (hah!) and so they won't be asking me to stay on. So, it looks like July 25th will be my last day as a gainfully employed person.
I know it's "not done" to talk about money, but I'm going to do it anyway. I make crap money, completely crap. I fall into the category of Americans who are 2 missed paychecks away from poverty. So it's completely astounding to me that the buyers think my salary-- even only slightly inflated-- is too much. And when you add in the fact that I know from my brief conversations with them that they would be greatly increasing my duties and responsibilities were I to be retained by them, I am again dumbfounded. I really wonder what kind of a pittance salary they had in mind for someone in my position.
Oh, and to add insult to injury, the buyers don't even have health insurance. What the fuck?!? That's the one redeeming quality of my current job: I don't make any money, but it's at least compensated for by the fact that the company fully pays for health and dental insurance for its employees. No infertility coverage, of course, as you know from previous rants, but I'll take crappy insurance over NO insurance any day.
So, no health insurance/benefits package, ridiculously low salary, greater responsibilities, and they expect to pay someone less that what I make now. The really sad thing about it is, they won't have a problem hiring someone, because it's just that crappy of a job market here. The Pollyanna in me thinks I should stay positive, and hope that they make me an offer, even if it's a crappy offer, because a job right now is worth two in the bush. The snarly realist in me is already wondering how much you can get in unemployment benefits, and how long my bank account will survive if it takes a while to find something decent.
I'm thinking of putting up a happy, jolly ticker to countdown my days until unemployment and poverty. Maybe something with rainbows and butterflies. What do you think?
The thing is, though, Visiting Handyman (VH) is always around New Boss, and knows way more than I do about the secrets and information going on at home office. And luckily for me, despite his beard and good ole boy charm, VH is a chatty Cathy who can't keep anything to himself. So while they're working together on projects, VH always tells Willie about stuff that even I don't know about. And I work for the fucking company, while Willie is a temp, for chrissake!
(Pushing aside resentment that a handyman gets more information that I do....) What no one seems to realize, though, is that Willie and I have developed quite a rapport over the last 7 months of his assignment here. Seeing as we're the only ones here most of the time-- and we're talking roughly 4 days a week, people-- we've HAD to learn to get along and depend on one another. So as soon as New Boss and VH leave, Willie pulls me aside and tells me everything he's been told. I love men who can gossip.
The news today ain't so great. Apparently, the buyers asked New Boss how much money I make, and in an attempt to help me out a bit, she inflated my salary a smidgen to give me some bargaining room. It completely backfired. The "word on the street" is that the buyers feel that my salary is too high (hah!) and so they won't be asking me to stay on. So, it looks like July 25th will be my last day as a gainfully employed person.
I know it's "not done" to talk about money, but I'm going to do it anyway. I make crap money, completely crap. I fall into the category of Americans who are 2 missed paychecks away from poverty. So it's completely astounding to me that the buyers think my salary-- even only slightly inflated-- is too much. And when you add in the fact that I know from my brief conversations with them that they would be greatly increasing my duties and responsibilities were I to be retained by them, I am again dumbfounded. I really wonder what kind of a pittance salary they had in mind for someone in my position.
Oh, and to add insult to injury, the buyers don't even have health insurance. What the fuck?!? That's the one redeeming quality of my current job: I don't make any money, but it's at least compensated for by the fact that the company fully pays for health and dental insurance for its employees. No infertility coverage, of course, as you know from previous rants, but I'll take crappy insurance over NO insurance any day.
So, no health insurance/benefits package, ridiculously low salary, greater responsibilities, and they expect to pay someone less that what I make now. The really sad thing about it is, they won't have a problem hiring someone, because it's just that crappy of a job market here. The Pollyanna in me thinks I should stay positive, and hope that they make me an offer, even if it's a crappy offer, because a job right now is worth two in the bush. The snarly realist in me is already wondering how much you can get in unemployment benefits, and how long my bank account will survive if it takes a while to find something decent.
I'm thinking of putting up a happy, jolly ticker to countdown my days until unemployment and poverty. Maybe something with rainbows and butterflies. What do you think?
Monday, July 09, 2007
Confusion
I have absolutely no idea when the axe will fall. First, I was told that my own personal D-Day was July 11th. Now, I'm being told that 7/11 is when the loan money goes hard (don't you just LOVE business-speak?!? I have to admit I snickered a bit), but that the closing won't be for another two weeks after that. In summary: I either have a job for 2 more days, or for two more weeks.
Bleh.
In vagina related news, I am on cd 11, and I'm starting to feel the ol' ovaries twinging and gearing up to ovulate in about a week. No u/s and trigger this time around; this is a semi-"break" cycle. Yep, I'm just tossing some baby-batter in my hooter, and waiting 15 days to see if I make a bloody mess in new white panties.
And who says romance is dead?
Bleh.
In vagina related news, I am on cd 11, and I'm starting to feel the ol' ovaries twinging and gearing up to ovulate in about a week. No u/s and trigger this time around; this is a semi-"break" cycle. Yep, I'm just tossing some baby-batter in my hooter, and waiting 15 days to see if I make a bloody mess in new white panties.
And who says romance is dead?
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Two weeks and counting
I wish that my title had something to do with being pregnant, but unfortunately it doesn't. No, it means that I have roughly two weeks before I may be unemployed. New Boss let it slip yesterday that the closing date for the sale of my property is July 11th, which is two weeks away. Two more weeks before I may have to go on the dole while searching for a job in the crappy market here.
Today is 16dpo and still no period, but my temp took a nose-dive and I have PMS. The evil bloody bitch is coming, and I have the teariness to prove it. Then again, that could just be impending poverty that has me all emotional.
My day started off with a screw-punctured tire, a trip to the garage, and being an hour late for work. Not to mention a not-so-hefty, but unexpected, bill. Is it Friday yet?
Today is 16dpo and still no period, but my temp took a nose-dive and I have PMS. The evil bloody bitch is coming, and I have the teariness to prove it. Then again, that could just be impending poverty that has me all emotional.
My day started off with a screw-punctured tire, a trip to the garage, and being an hour late for work. Not to mention a not-so-hefty, but unexpected, bill. Is it Friday yet?
Friday, June 22, 2007
Work, internet plagiarism, and being 10dpo
The last three days have been pure hell at work. There have been meetings on top of meetings, between New Boss and the potential buyers, that lasted for hours on end. As a low-rung type employee, my presence at such meetings was not required… but I know everything that happened, anyway, because they sat in my area for all their sit-down meetings.
The reception area is rather nicely appointed, with lots of nice leather(ette) chairs, a comfy love seat, hordes of nice plants, and so on. This also happens to be my work area. When they all came in, instead of going into New Boss’ office, or into our mini-meeting room, or even to our formal conference room, they all just plopped down to work in what I consider to be my “office”. So for hours, and for several days, I had 5-6 people talking all around me, in my space, and interrupting my flow.
If there is one thing that people should know about me, it is that I have serious space issues. Whether it’s a personal space thing, like people getting too close to me when I don’t know them well, or a work space thing, like people using my phone or computer, it makes my blood pressure rise. If I weren’t a nice caramel-colored gal, I’d imagine that I’d resemble Yosemite Sam when his face turns completely red and smoke pours out of his ears. As you can imagine, this week has had my nerves twanging worse than a country steel string guitar.
But it’s Friday now, my cold is gone, and I can finally relax. Even though I feel PMS coming on, I’m not even upset. I’m just looking forward to the weekend, to seeing my best friends and goddaughter, going to a birthday party or two (too many damned June birthdays!!!), and having a beer. I’m still worried about what’s coming as far as my job is concerned, but all I can do at this point is update my resume and cross my fingers.
On a completely unrelated note, I joined a free online BB the other day because one of my buddies is on there. While I was looking through the different boards (the typical: TTC boards, pregnant boards, parenting boards, etc.), I of course spent the most time on the TTC boards. I went to check out an informational topic about femara/letrozole, which is what I’m taking. Imagine my surprise when I see that one of the main sticky informational posts is MINE. It is, word for word, even the formatting (spacing, bolded bits, etc.), what I posted on another BB after hours of scouring medical abstracts and summarizing them for other ladies wanting to know about femara. Someone on BB#1 had copied my post, then copied it over on BB#2 in its entirety. Except for the little fact of saying that she didn’t compile the information!
I know, I know; it’s incredibly petty of me. It’s not like I was one of the doctors who did the research or wrote the papers. But still, it just kinda lit my fuse (especially after the week I’ve had) to see my hours of searching through abstracts, reading through abstracts, decoding the medical jargon, copying all the identifying information (even including publishing dates, for crying out loud), then writing my own summaries of the information, on another BB exactly as I’d posted it elsewhere, and without even a nod to me. Or hell, even if not to me personally, a mention that the poster on BB#2 got the information from somewhere else. I know I have bigger things to worry about, but I have to admit that this is bugging the hell out of me.
The reception area is rather nicely appointed, with lots of nice leather(ette) chairs, a comfy love seat, hordes of nice plants, and so on. This also happens to be my work area. When they all came in, instead of going into New Boss’ office, or into our mini-meeting room, or even to our formal conference room, they all just plopped down to work in what I consider to be my “office”. So for hours, and for several days, I had 5-6 people talking all around me, in my space, and interrupting my flow.
If there is one thing that people should know about me, it is that I have serious space issues. Whether it’s a personal space thing, like people getting too close to me when I don’t know them well, or a work space thing, like people using my phone or computer, it makes my blood pressure rise. If I weren’t a nice caramel-colored gal, I’d imagine that I’d resemble Yosemite Sam when his face turns completely red and smoke pours out of his ears. As you can imagine, this week has had my nerves twanging worse than a country steel string guitar.
But it’s Friday now, my cold is gone, and I can finally relax. Even though I feel PMS coming on, I’m not even upset. I’m just looking forward to the weekend, to seeing my best friends and goddaughter, going to a birthday party or two (too many damned June birthdays!!!), and having a beer. I’m still worried about what’s coming as far as my job is concerned, but all I can do at this point is update my resume and cross my fingers.
On a completely unrelated note, I joined a free online BB the other day because one of my buddies is on there. While I was looking through the different boards (the typical: TTC boards, pregnant boards, parenting boards, etc.), I of course spent the most time on the TTC boards. I went to check out an informational topic about femara/letrozole, which is what I’m taking. Imagine my surprise when I see that one of the main sticky informational posts is MINE. It is, word for word, even the formatting (spacing, bolded bits, etc.), what I posted on another BB after hours of scouring medical abstracts and summarizing them for other ladies wanting to know about femara. Someone on BB#1 had copied my post, then copied it over on BB#2 in its entirety. Except for the little fact of saying that she didn’t compile the information!
I know, I know; it’s incredibly petty of me. It’s not like I was one of the doctors who did the research or wrote the papers. But still, it just kinda lit my fuse (especially after the week I’ve had) to see my hours of searching through abstracts, reading through abstracts, decoding the medical jargon, copying all the identifying information (even including publishing dates, for crying out loud), then writing my own summaries of the information, on another BB exactly as I’d posted it elsewhere, and without even a nod to me. Or hell, even if not to me personally, a mention that the poster on BB#2 got the information from somewhere else. I know I have bigger things to worry about, but I have to admit that this is bugging the hell out of me.
Monday, June 18, 2007
Lila's news
My friend Lila, the one I wrote about previously, had her first ultrasound last Wednesday. She was dated at 8 weeks, and was able to see the heartbeat. I am so freakin' thrilled that I've completely lost my mastery of the English language, and just want to babble. I am so happy for her and her husband, and that there will be another child in our group for me to spoil, give lots of sugar to, and to buy noisy toys for. Happy, happy! Joy, joy! Wow, what a difference a few hours and a quick chat can make in your mood.
So, just for Lila, I've added a pregnancy ticker on my blog. Since she's not exactly the type to mess around with that kind of stuff--but she reads my blog!-- we can both keep an eye on the progress of little Ziggy. Much love, Lila-girl, and I'm looking forward to this next step in our long journey as friends.
So, just for Lila, I've added a pregnancy ticker on my blog. Since she's not exactly the type to mess around with that kind of stuff--but she reads my blog!-- we can both keep an eye on the progress of little Ziggy. Much love, Lila-girl, and I'm looking forward to this next step in our long journey as friends.
I'm going to be a hobo
Three days after my last post, I went to a lovely Saturday afternoon birthday party for a 2-year old, one of the gazillion children in my social group nowadays. I had fun playing with all the little heathens as they ran and whooped and hit one another. Best part of all? I made it through the entire event without a single moment of 'poor pitiful me' syndrome! I was expecting it to happen but it didn't, so Go Me!
Two days later, I started feeling my glands--the lymph nodes under your ears-- swell up and get sore, and my sinuses started getting all clogged up. Yes, yours truly had picked up some nasty bug from one of the kids at the party. To top it off, the next morning, Tuesday, was insem day, by which time I was still in the "I'm coming down with something, but I'm not quite actually sick yet" phase.
The insemination went off without a hitch, but by the time night fell, I was sick. Summer colds suck. I repeat, summer colds suck!!! And I'm still sick now, a week later, because I won't just give in and let it run its course. Nope, I have to be superwoman, and try to bully on through at work like nothing is wrong with me. And all that does is give me prolonged colds that last for 2 weeks, instead of just a few days. I do it all the time. I really need to work on my control issues.
So of course, I spent an hour on G**gle trying to find out if there's any chance of conceiving whilst in the throes of illness. But a day later, I got news that's thrown TTC out of my mind, believe it or not.
====
Backstory:
I work in commercial property management, which, since I'm not the actual property manager, makes me a glorified admin. assistant with a fancier title. Actually, I have no idea of what my actual job title is; it depends on who you ask. If you ask my former manager, I was an administrative assistant. If you ask my currrent "interim manager", I'm the office manager (and she's the property manager). If you look at my paperwork from home office, I'm the assistant property manager. Ehh, it's all semantics.
Anyway, the property where I work has been on the market for a little while, but everyone had serious doubts about anyone being interested in buying it. It's not a terrible property, but the neighborhood has gotten run down over the years, making it not as attractive of a choice as it was 10 years ago. Personally, I was hoping it WOULDN'T sell, because that would mean that I had about a 95% chance of becoming unemployed; most owners have their own management companies/services, and I would get booted out of the door.
====
And now back to our tale...
The day after insem., my New Boss came up, all excited, to tell me that there's a serious offer on the table. Yes, someone is interested in buying the property. Now, I can see why she was excited: for her personally, it would mean that she wouldn't be saddled with this property anymore as its "interim manager", and she could focus on her own property more. And from a company standpoint, they could unload a property that's been in trouble for a while. But I couldn't for the life of me see why she thought I would be excited about it. WHY would I be happy to be facing unemployment?!?
After she gushed for a while, she finally told me something that made me feel a little better. The prospective buyers are a local company, and (supposedly) want to retain the current staff (which is basically me and a maintenance man). But until I get a formal offer of employment from the buyers, I can't rely on that. I have to consider that I might not have a job sometime in the next 45 days.
This offer looks serious enough that my employers have offered me the standard "stay on" bonus, and in writing. This is a mini-contract that basically says that if I stay on with the company through the conclusion of the sale, I get x-amount of money as a bonus. More than anything, this is what convinced me that they really think this sale is going to go through. My Uber-boss isn't the type to go through the trouble of, well, ANYTHING unless he absolutely has to.
So, to sum up: I'm sick, 6dpo, and might be unemployed soon. All I can think of is a great song by the Descendents: "Everything Sucks Today".
Two days later, I started feeling my glands--the lymph nodes under your ears-- swell up and get sore, and my sinuses started getting all clogged up. Yes, yours truly had picked up some nasty bug from one of the kids at the party. To top it off, the next morning, Tuesday, was insem day, by which time I was still in the "I'm coming down with something, but I'm not quite actually sick yet" phase.
The insemination went off without a hitch, but by the time night fell, I was sick. Summer colds suck. I repeat, summer colds suck!!! And I'm still sick now, a week later, because I won't just give in and let it run its course. Nope, I have to be superwoman, and try to bully on through at work like nothing is wrong with me. And all that does is give me prolonged colds that last for 2 weeks, instead of just a few days. I do it all the time. I really need to work on my control issues.
So of course, I spent an hour on G**gle trying to find out if there's any chance of conceiving whilst in the throes of illness. But a day later, I got news that's thrown TTC out of my mind, believe it or not.
====
Backstory:
I work in commercial property management, which, since I'm not the actual property manager, makes me a glorified admin. assistant with a fancier title. Actually, I have no idea of what my actual job title is; it depends on who you ask. If you ask my former manager, I was an administrative assistant. If you ask my currrent "interim manager", I'm the office manager (and she's the property manager). If you look at my paperwork from home office, I'm the assistant property manager. Ehh, it's all semantics.
Anyway, the property where I work has been on the market for a little while, but everyone had serious doubts about anyone being interested in buying it. It's not a terrible property, but the neighborhood has gotten run down over the years, making it not as attractive of a choice as it was 10 years ago. Personally, I was hoping it WOULDN'T sell, because that would mean that I had about a 95% chance of becoming unemployed; most owners have their own management companies/services, and I would get booted out of the door.
====
And now back to our tale...
The day after insem., my New Boss came up, all excited, to tell me that there's a serious offer on the table. Yes, someone is interested in buying the property. Now, I can see why she was excited: for her personally, it would mean that she wouldn't be saddled with this property anymore as its "interim manager", and she could focus on her own property more. And from a company standpoint, they could unload a property that's been in trouble for a while. But I couldn't for the life of me see why she thought I would be excited about it. WHY would I be happy to be facing unemployment?!?
After she gushed for a while, she finally told me something that made me feel a little better. The prospective buyers are a local company, and (supposedly) want to retain the current staff (which is basically me and a maintenance man). But until I get a formal offer of employment from the buyers, I can't rely on that. I have to consider that I might not have a job sometime in the next 45 days.
This offer looks serious enough that my employers have offered me the standard "stay on" bonus, and in writing. This is a mini-contract that basically says that if I stay on with the company through the conclusion of the sale, I get x-amount of money as a bonus. More than anything, this is what convinced me that they really think this sale is going to go through. My Uber-boss isn't the type to go through the trouble of, well, ANYTHING unless he absolutely has to.
So, to sum up: I'm sick, 6dpo, and might be unemployed soon. All I can think of is a great song by the Descendents: "Everything Sucks Today".
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