J-O-B The Search Continues...

After being unemployed for four months, I am discovering that I have become quite an expert in being out of work.

I am really good at it.

My routine is pretty solid now. After seeing the children off to school, I have established a pattern that has evolved over time. I sit down at the computer, visit job boards and proceed to apply for everything from a local pipe fitter to CEO of multiple major corporations. Of course, most of these jobs I am undoubtedly not qualified for, nor ever will be, but desperate times seem to invoke interesting opinions of one’s skill set.

I then proceed to pull a Forrest Gump and sit on a rock outside the house and wait for those kids to get home. As one is leaving for college next year, that may be a time-limited endeavor in itself.

Today, I thought I would do something completely different and compile a listing of jobs that I REALLY would like to have and a list of jobs that I am REALLY happy that I do NOT have to do on a daily basis. I believe this will help me to narrow down the application process and will prolong the rock-sitting time.

Here is the listing of jobs that I would like to have…

Travel Channel Program Host - I want to be the host of a Travel Channel show called ‘Mac and Cheese All Over the World’ where I will basically be paid to tour other countries such as Greece, Spain, Italy, China, Australia, etc…and eat, on camera of course,  local concoctions of  Mac and Cheese. (I do fear the rural-area Chinese version…but it will be worth the risk)

Quality Control Manager - I will be the gateway tester for various products that I love, in no particular order, Cheese Danish, Chocolate Sea Salt Caramels, Red Wine, and Fuzzy Socks

Greeting Card Designer – apparently you can basically pen “open this card and pay up” for the price of a greeting card these days. My card would read, Feeling down today? Well, you could be me, who just paid $5.99 for this stupid card you will throw in the trash in less than 45 minutes

Government Fact Checker….I once had a friend that was paid to check the facts that the fact checker had already checked…I want that gig

Hat Keeper to the British Royal Family – Someone must do this job, and really, I just want to touch ‘em

Ok, here are the jobs that I am REALLY glad that I do NOT have…

Editor, ‘Naked and Afraid’ Survival Show – specifically the dude that has to blank out all the private parts. That is definitely an entry level job that deserves some extra form of compensation. Not for me!

Quality Control Manager – I would NOT want to be the gateway tester for other various products that I do not love, in no particular order, Green Olives, Baby Diapers, Black Licorice and ‘Songs From The ‘80s’ Record Compilations

Government Fact Checker – The first guy in the example above…way too time consuming and you would always have the second fact checker in your business everyday

Corgi Keeper to the British Royal Family – Oh the humiliation that I am certain that job must hold…cleaning up after the royal puppy piddles…don’t want to touch ‘em

I think I will continue on with my current tasks in light of most of these ‘opportunities’.

I have found that rock sitting and dreaming of my next adventures are very time consuming and require all of my energy.

Lost My Funny

I lost my funny.

I am not certain where I lost it, however I suspect that it is along the roadside of highway 127 South toward Lansing between Alma and Shepard, Michigan. I went back to see if I could find it, however I became distracted and wound up way over in Pinconning purchasing a humongous block of smoked cheddar.

Determined to have the funny back in my life I embarked on a journey to find new funny to replace the old funny.

The search began in the most obvious place that I could think of…Walmart, of course. Now we all know that there is all kinds of funny at the Walmart, so I assumed that I would have a cart full of hilarity resulting from my visit. After three hours, the cart brimmed over with plenty of concern, curiosity, wondering, moments of ‘oh my’ and an overwhelming amount of ‘what the heck?’ I also had a bag with frozen chicken nuggets, tube socks and a gas cap. My car does not require a gas cap, however, the rollback price was phenomenal and I had to have it. 

All of those treasures, but no funny.

Tired from the excursion I decided to try the easy route and drove to my doctor’s office to request a prescription for funny. As thrilled as the office staff were to see me without an appointment, I was informed that Dr. Evil Right-On-The-Money had decided to continue her stingy policy of not prescribing non-essential medications for random requests. My second effort to acquire some rose-colored glasses from my optometrist met the same end. I really need to expand my medical team and if my small northern Michigan town only possessed some decent back-alleys, I may have had better luck with this plan.

Returning home, I felt defeated yet still determined to find some funny. Of course I had to hit the Internet. Things that will guarantee a laugh out of me are two things; animals that can talk and babies that do things that babies can’t really do. This disturbs my husband deeply and I know he momentarily reviews his marriage proposal every time he see me crack up at either of these situations, but I was beginning to become desperate. Visiting You Tube I clicked on my old favorites, including this link from the trustworthy BBC talking animals….https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=87fiOXU1Q78

It was simply not working.

Now truly discouraged, I decided to abandon my effort and thought of dealing with a life without the funny and decided to set the table for dinner on the outside patio. While opening the large umbrella that really requires two people, I proceeded to encase myself completely in the umbrella like caterpillar sans the butterfly ending.

I was stuck.

Thoroughly unable to move, my initial fears were that my family would never miss me stuck up in there and it would be days or weeks before my discovery. I then realized the boys would be totally lost without me within hours as no one but me seems to know where I keep the toilet paper as the rolls are never replaced and I receive numerous cell phone calls from young men trapped in the bathroom in need of replacements.

That is when I found it…my funny came over me like a wave as I was trapped in the umbrella thinking about toilet paper. That was all it took, a little bathroom humor and I was back on track. Go figure, I had the funny with me all along.

I learned a good lesson about keeping my funny where I can find it. It was no one’s fault but my own that I lost it in the first place. I will cherish it more now, and keep it close.

At least now I know where to look if I misplace it again… it will be right there in the loo.


Next time: Senior Moments!

My Next Door Nemesis

Recently I have found myself unemployed.

 Hoping that this is a temporary situation, I eagerly wrote down all of the wonderful chores and tasks that are needed to be completed around the house in the short time I am home all day. Some of these projects have been on my mind for years….things such as catching up on all the family photo books, painting my bedroom that is spotted with air soft bullet holes from the last war my sons had in the room, and killing whatever that is growing in the far corner of the basement that I am too scared to attack.

I figured that I would direct all of my attention to these long-neglected duties and be thoroughly fulfilled in the midst of my job hiatus.

Wrong. So very wrong.

What I realized is that I had been lying to myself all of these years. I never really wanted to deal with any of those things. Undertaking those things is really too hard, too overwhelming, or just plain too creepy. Time is not the issue. It is simply all too disgusting or detailed. So I find myself occupied with alternate, very important tasks.

What am I actually doing while looking for a new occupation? Well, I am writing this blog and watching superhero movies with my youngest son. Yes, I am spending way too much time with Spider-man, X-men, Avengers, and (my personal favorite ladies), Thor. Now watching grown men in Spandex saving the world may sound like a waste of time to you, (and some of you are simply jealous), however, my son and I are truly having some bonding moments. Time is spent discussing important questions of the world that arise while engrossed in your day to day, good vs. evil battles.

Today’s question was, ‘Mom, what is a nemesis?’

My answer, “A nemesis is your very favorite worst enemy.”

My son thought for a moment, “Oh like Kristy Elman from my class? Man I love to hate that girl.”

Knowing that Kristy Elman (name changed to protect the not innocent) was the first girl to kick my son in his man-parts, I had to agree with him. 

Then he asked me, “Mom, who is your nemesis?”

I had to think on that one for a while. The truth is that at my age a woman can have many nemesis. So I guess I have to say that I have many nemeni (word made up for my own purposes).

I will present to you my list in order from evil to exceptionally evil.

The first nemesis would have to be my doctor. She insists on standing by the story that the mysterious bulging around my middle and rear end, that spontaneously appeared just after I turned forty, are due to the fact that I refuse to exercise. I, on the other hand, am certain it is some unknown elusive disease that she is refusing to treat, thus she is my first nemesis, and I will call her ‘Doctor Evil Right-On-The-Money!’

My second nemesis is the mammogram technician at the hospital. (Ladies, you know who I am talking about here, a true sadist). She gives that foul knob on the machine one more turn when we all know it is not necessary…although I am certain her work will save my life someday, I will call her ‘The Twister!’

My third nemesis would have to simply be baked goods. No explanation needed here. Just baked goods. I will call this nemesis simply, ‘Cheese Danish.’

My fourth and last nemini is the most evil of them all. She is thoroughly malevolent. She is in my life every day. It is my neighbor, the super model who just happens to run on her exercise routine, (the same routine that I am vetoing) past my house every morning. Her presence evokes a level of guilt that invades my psyche for the remains of the day. She is also, most likely, why my sons and husband decide to take coffee and cereal outside every morning, rain or shine. I would hate her if she weren’t so pretty….I will call her my prime mortal enemy, the worst, most horrid, but love to hate…. ‘The Blonde Bombshell!’

Insert screams of terror.

But not to worry, for I am the good guy and the superhero and will conquer them all….for I am... ‘Mid-Life Mom’

Insert nap.

Wingless Gnats and Summer Camp

My twelve-year old son just returned from summer camp and I am really jealous of his time away.

He went to a camp that had a week-long specialty in paintball. Yes, I said paintball. That cherished American summer feel good sport that gives you bruising welts all over your body and can potentially send you to the infirmary with slight brain damage after any given match. My son headed to the infirmary with a bloody skin tear on his neck, and yes, we received the call from the camp nurse informing us of my son’s injury.  Every parent loves a call from camp. We were told the only sadness from my son was that he missed out on shooting some folks as he was a sniper on a bluff before he was hit by friendly fire. Oh those good ‘ol camp days. Yes, that is the one whose only birthday wish was a brand new machete, preferably one illegal in most countries and could slice the wings off a gnat.  President or prison on that one I always say, he’s the flyer.

These days you can head to almost any type of camp. You can attend for paintball, horsemanship, extreme sports, (oh I can only hope for that one next year, maybe we can receive a call of a broken arm or two), crafts, music, dance, any type of sport, and of course church camp. I love the church camp, and was able to attend one last year.  Being saved by Jesus, followed by an all you can eat walking taco bar and s’mores is the absolute summer ticket, I highly recommend.

I really want to go to camp with simply myself; one designed especially for my own particular place in life. Perhaps it could be a camp for adults experiencing a variety of mid-life crisis. Men aged forty to fifty could check in their medication and head to experience a host of possibilities at their camp. A corvette camp where men with overbearing wives could have a week away to shop for the car they will never be allowed to own. Viagra commercials would not be allowed on the premises. Specialty camps would include, shootin’ stuff, blowin’ up stuff, and my favorite, stuffin’ stuff, a week long taxidermy adventure.  Evening meals could be prostate-health inducing pomegranate shakes and Porterhouse steaks served by twenty-something girls that work part-time at the Hooters.  

Women my age (won’t own the age, but I am in the same range as the men) could spend a week away messing up houses that someone else will clean and learning makeup techniques that wipe away the wrinkles of forty plus years of  long forgotten waistlines  and toilet scrubbing. Specialty camps for women could be, movies that my husband and kids won’t watch, Indy car driving to show off our mad school parking lot skills, and my personal choice, crafting with minor anti-depressants. Our meals would be something that would be easy on the digestive track (got the IBS ya know) and looks pretty, served by pool boys named Pablo. There would be many of them and all would be named Pablo.

Alas, I think I will have to be content with my camp at home this summer. It is fun here, I  still have the toilets and my poor husband does not yet have his sports car, but we will have good times, BBQs and a big backyard sans gnats.

My Doctor Is A Meany

 

I ran into my doctor again this past weekend as I was out and about. 

The truth is I often run into my doctor while I am out and about. Perhaps it may be that she is stalking me. I find it awfully suspicious that I run into her every time I am doing something unhealthy. For example, over the holidays I saw her in the grocery store as I was purchasing items for a small gathering….yes, it may have been a large amount of cocktail mixers in the cart, but it was going to be a large party…at least three or four of us getting together to celebrate some yule tides…whatever those may be.  Then about three weeks ago, right after I was assured that my blood pressure was too high in her office, she suspiciously walked into a local eatery as I was stuffing my face with a double-crust Italian special pizza. Then again, it happened last night. As I was working on releasing my stress (which I may add increases blood pressure) having a healthy wheat beer at the ski hill…who happens to show up? My doctor, that is who shows up, being annoying and partaking the healthy task of actually having skis with her at the ski hill. My skis? They are at home, still in the basement.

Other than the fact that she is stalking me, there is something else particularly annoying about this physician. She is very stingy about mediation delivery. Now, of course, if it is the normal, ethical, medically necessary-type of medication, she is all over that (Boring!) That is not the stash that I am seeking. (And no, it is not the illegal super- Vicodin I am referring to either you sicko-reader)  I am convinced that she has a stash of medicine; pills if you will, that would really enhance my life. I am talking about pills that would solve some serious, real-life concerns that are the heart of all of my issues. (This is, faithful-reader-that-already-knows-this-about-me, a very long listing of issues).

 So I am publicly demanding my pills!  In order to speed along this process, I have made a listing of all of the medication that I would like to pick up at the Walgreens this afternoon:

Fund-a-cide: A pill that would render all those asking me to volunteer for anything capable of seeing what they are really getting. I would take the pill and others would immediately NOT want to ask me to help with any type of concession stand, pizza sale, car wash, or baking event as they would know that I will be late, forget to turn in my money, or will spill coffee on poor folks standing at the concession stand window.

Kid-a-cide: Same pill as above, however formulated for any class trips, youth group events, and large gatherings of children under the age of 18. After the great pool-trauma of ’08, (See blog Field Trip Duty) this is medically necessary and should be covered by insurance.

Pro-work: Really speaks for itself, specifically taken on Monday mornings or Fridays at around 1:15 p.m. equal to twenty or thirty Red Bulls with some positive-attitude coating on it. This mediation may also be handy for lengthy performance reviews.

Tri-boy-moxin: A pill that would render me the cool mom that I truly am, deep down inside, to my three sons. Special side effects of this pill would include the inability to hum along to ‘80s pop tunes written by Boy George, Cyndi Lauper, and Hall&Oats. I would also be physically unable to kiss boys or try to hold their hands in public.

Wella-butt-in: Again speaks for itself, but really eases the gluteus maximus into last year's jeans. Comes in pill and grease form.

Mucus-jazz: This special concoction I can share with the entire family. Anyone who is sick, particularly sporting the stomach flu, will have all body fluids and mucus change color from the lovely browns, greens, and yellows, to soft lavender purple with silver glitter sparkles.  I will save you from further thought or reflection here…

I have other ideas, but I am trying to avoid being greedy, needy, and self-centered. (Although a pill for that as well would be nice!)

I will be showing up at Walgreens, however, I am certain it will be to pick-up my cholesterol medication and not what I really want….my doctor said it may help the heart or something boring like that….she is such a Meany!

Me vs. Stupid Me - An Epic Battle

Why is it when we decide to do something stupid, we say to ourselves, “This is really stupid” and then move forward and do the deed anyway?

 Last week, although I knew it was a really bad idea, in a moment of pure frustration, laziness, and a false sense of invincibility, I decided to cut my own bangs….took the scissors to my face and started chopping away. Convincing myself that at forty-six, I must have some basic skills in this arena and should be able to accomplish the removal of a few hairs dangling annoyingly in my line of vision; the plan sounded full-proof, simply cut and move aside. The second just before I began the chopping, a tiny little voice erupted in my mind; it was ticked and yelled, “What the heck? Are you four? Why are you cutting your own bangs? You know you are going to look like Alfalfa when you are throughwith this! You will be so embarrassed! Stop this madness!!! (Those of you who do not know who Alfalfa is….well, picture of said bangs attached)

Yet, alas, a bigger, meaner voice told the little voice of reason to cram it, and I proceeded to cut my own bangs. I looked like Alfalfa for a week before I could get into my hairdresser, who of course, was cheesed off and told me if I did it again she would come to my home and take away all the sharp objects.

This event led me to ponder about why we do the stupid things we do. Who is that other voice in my head that says, “Sure, I think you should sled down a ski hill on a McDonald’s tray, a fantastic plan! Or, hey, if you take only one diaper to the mall, that baby will not have more than one poopy blow out!” Upon further reflection, it is a voice that I am certain is attempting to kill me, or at best, publicly shame me at every opportunity. She is evil! Yesterday, she convinced me that if I eat twenty-seven of the bite-sized tiny candy bars left over from Halloween, it actually only equals a single, normal-sized candy bar. Why just this morning, the dark lady tried to change my order from a healthy wheat bagel to a giant frosting-covered cinnamon roll. Now that I think about it, the evil voice has been with me, speaking ideas to me, during my entire life.

At six years old, she told me I could turn my bike handle 180 degrees and the rear of the bike would magically flip around. I have a permanent bump on my nose from that exemplary decision.

At ten years old, the voice encouraged me to push Lisa Felmon on the playground, assuring that although she was ten times larger than my scrawny butt, she would not be able to run that fast….not so much.

At fifteen, she told me that just because the boy I liked was dating seven other girls at the same time, he really liked me best. Again, not so much.

At nineteen, she told me moving to California would result in a lucrative career in Ocean Exploration. Well, I am NOT writing this story about my newest discovery of a deep-sea organism that I am naming after myself, so there you go.

At twenty-five, she tried to get me to schedule my wedding during hunting season. (This voice still tries to schedule various family functions during October and November, it will not relent!)

At thirty, a perm would make my thin, fine, hair explode into such wonder I would look just like Madonna. I have never, nor shall ever, resemble Madonna.

Sadly, this voice has not given up, although I am older. It seems to be that the life-long, epic battle of me vs. stupid me, shall continue on….who will subsist? I am not willing to place big money on me at this time. I just went back to munching on my teeny, tiny M&M’s…..Did you know that if you eat 375 tiny M&M’s, they equal only one normal-sized bag of M&M’s?

               

Showering with Greg and Jerry

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