As Jessica pointed out, my work load seems to be either flood or famine. From doing as much freelancing as I could request and awesome part-time hours, I fell to very few hours with no work on the side. Then I worked 50-70 hours a week at a warehouse… then I was unemployed.
After weeks of fuitless job hunting, today I had an interview at Huddle House. I start on Monday. I came home from the interview to find a message from Randall House asking if I could do more than the usual work for them.
Put your rain boots on–it’s time for the flood!
Lately I wonder what job I might actually want. Almost every place I enter to ask if they’re hiring, I say to myself, “Man, I think I could actually enjoy working here.” Some of them are understandable: the bookstore, or the coffeehouse at the library. Today, I thought the same thing while filling out my contact information for Huddle House. I may need to see a psychiatrist–I’m officially deluded.
But I will explain the reasons for my delusion anyway.
Especially if I work part-time, I enjoy a job that’s active. Also, I’ve pretty much learned to love cleaning, which is part and parcel of any food service job. I almost enjoy dealing with high-energy, high-stress situations, as long as it’s not a constant. Even at Randall House, I thrived on complaining about… er… dealing with… tight deadlines and quick turnarounds. And after being unemployed for a couple months, I think I’d even enjoy dealing with people. As much as I love the hermit housewife lifestyle, a change of scenery and pace might be nice.
So instead of that nice Secretary position that passed me by, or even a hotel desk attendant that would at least get to sit down in front of a computer occasionally, I’m praying for a waitressing job at Huddle House.
I had a pretty wonderful day yesterday, consisting almost entirely of video games and TV. Poor Steve, on the other hand, got beaten to pieces.
It was bad enough that he stepped off the bus into a fire-ant nest. By the time he got home, he looked like he had half a baseball growing under the skin of his foot. He sucked it up without too much of a grimace. Then, in an effort to obliterate the fruit flies taking over our house, he started sucking them up with the hose on the vacuum cleaner. (Which, by the way, is both effective and extremely satisfying.) Unaware that the roller on the bottom still moved when the hose was being used, he was less than careful and set it on his foot, painfully bruising his toe.
The kicker, though, came when it was time to put the rats back in their cage. Yes, we have pet rats. No, they’ve never given us any trouble, except by being fast sneaky little buggers who will fly out of our hands rather than going back in their cage. Last night, for some unknown reason, the smaller, more affectionate and more timid rat bit Steve. Hard. With no provocation. It bled profusely, and this morning the thumb was swollen.
But tomorrow, we’ll be in Six Flags Over Georgia, and soon even he will be able to laugh at this. I hope.
Today, Steve and I celebrated our first anniversary. It’s hard to believe it’s been a whole year already! It’s brought many changes for both of us. We’ve made new friends, tried new things, had our car repossessed, welcomed our newest niece, and grieved the loss of a pet. Hiked our first 10-mile trail. Up a mountain. And we’ve learned a lot about each other.
We celebrated the way any special occasion should be celebrated: beating ourselves up at the gym and then absolute, overwhelming gluttony. We spent our whole $50 gift at Ruby Tuesday. For the record, their ribs are awesome. Then, so stuffed we could barely moved, we come home to find new neighbors moving in to the apartment above ours, so of course we helped.
It was a lesson to me in how much Steve has helped better me: two years ago, I wouldn’t have even considered helping people move in that brutal heat, let alone upstairs after a workout and a 20-pound meal.
Here’s to many more happy years, with a husband who continues to strengthen and challenge me to be a better person just by being who he is.
I’m the first to admit that sometimes, the entertainment I love most is not, by any objective standard, good. Especially with movies. For example, one of my favorite movies of all time is Labyrinth, the 80s-tastic fantasy musical featuring Jim Henson puppets and David Bowie in progressively tighter pants.
Sometimes, I also like music that I know isn’t actually good, and at the top of that list right now is the song “Misery Business” by Paramore. I like this song. I like her voice and the way the words run together. Love the music. But it really makes no sense at all.
Basically, the song is about a girl who lost her boyfriend to another girl. Then, “I waited eight long months / She finally set him free.” So she takes him back.
Then she declares, “I never meant to brag / But I’ve got him where I want him now. / Whoa, it was never my intention to brag / Just to steal it all away from you now.” Which is dumb, because she just confessed she didn’t “steal” her ex-boyfriend from this girl–he was set free!
But it gets better! The next verse begins, “Second chances, they don’t ever matter, people never change. / Once a whore you’re nothing more; I’m sorry, that’ll never change.” The singer is directing this line to the girl who stole her boyfriend away in the first place, but it’s obviously much more applicable to the guy himself. This song makes absolutely no sense whatsoever!
Why, oh why, do I like this completely nonsensical song? At least Labyrinth was fun…
I’ve been travelling a LOT recently. The past four weekends, I believe. And I’ve made half of those trips with Steve. They’re much more amusing when I’m with him. My favorite drive has to be coming back from our most recent trip to see my brother and his family.
Steve was driving. We’d been quiet for a while, but something caught his eye and he turned to me. Oh so seriously he asked, “At what age do you think you should tell a highway it’s adopted? It won’t be long before it starts thinking, ‘I don’t look a thing like the Rotary Club…'”
Then we stopped at Subway and he got jalapenos on his sandwich. After eating the last couple bites, which apparently was stuffed with an especially potent jalapeno, he breathed out. “Can you feel the heat? Do you know how hot it is?” In the distance, a fire truck’s siren began wailing. “They know!” he said.
I just got back from visiting my roommate and her family in the land of the sky. We celebrated my birthday early. They took me to Flat Rock Grille for my favorite decadent dessert: the Hershey brownie. It’s the chocolate lover’s dream–warm fudgey brownie with an entire Hershey bar placed precisely on top so it just begins to melt and turn soft but you can still make out the individual squares and even the Hershey’s logo on each one, served with a scoop of vanilla ice cream on the side. That, my friends, is how you celebrate a birthday.
When I got back home to my wonderful husband, he pulled out a surprise from the kitchen cabinet: the remainder of a box of donuts! Normally you’d think they would lose their appeal after a dessert like the Hershey’s brownie, but you must understand I’ve been dreaming about donuts on and off for the past several nights. I ate those this morning. I feel sick, but it’s worth it.