Biggest Loser

I recently found myself in an uncomfortable second floor office at the local Linen's 'N' Things. I really hope that if I ever find myself there again, its because I have been shoplifting.

As I heard the words: "Here we do it all. We don't have a janitorial staff-- per se... so associates may work on registers, but they may plunge toilets," my attention shifted from the fact that my toenails were still neon orange colored from Halloween, to the fact that I had voluntarily applied for this a job in which I could have the distinct honor of turd wrestling....

Well, I did waste the time out of my day to go to the interview... I felt I may as well swallow the disdain and the cynicism deep into the shallow end of my intestinal track where maybe, before the day is done, one of the associates can plunge it out of a toilet.
As I answered the mundane text book questions they ask you at all jobs that require little to no brain power, yet the patience of a pack mule, I had to force myself to tear my eyes from the wall or floor or ceiling to focus them on the face of my soon-to-be mentor. A mental image of him walking from the bathroom with a newspaper tucked under his arm and me headed in after him in my red LNT apron, wielding a plunger danced in my head.

"Now Jennifer, sell yourself to me. Tell me in your own words why I should hire you."

Brain says:
"Well, sir. You should hire me because I'm just stupid enough to apply for a job where I may get to plunge toilets for minimum wage. I would much prefer to unclog crap from toilets here at Linen's 'N' Things than at Rudy's Barbecue where I would be making three dollars more an hour. But hey, where's the the class in shoveling pork? Aside from my low sense of self-worth, I am skilled at avoiding your customers on the floor by blending in with my surroundings. As a short person, I can duck behind items and weave my way in and out of aisles without being noticed so that I never have to talk to a single person during my whole shift! I am a fast and accurate cashier, though, I would hate to be unavailable should a mountain of feces need tackling in the men's room. I can spell my own name and tie my own shoes and don't let that expensive Bachelor's degree fool you-- I can fold towels in three different styles for showcasing excellence. Finally, though I am clearly going to dread coming to work for you, I will make up little games in my head to pass the time and my 20 hours a week will just fly by. I am also prepared for you to completely abuse my part time status by working me on the worst possible days such as weekends and holidays."

Mouth says:
"Well, sir, I am a fast learner and experienced with your customer base as well as your merchandise. I have been trained to run a register as a cashier as well as a Front End Supervisor who handles the training of the other front end staff, the book work, and the cash deposits. I have worked in receiving and damages as well as on the floor and I am certain that I would adapt quickly to your policies. I have open availability including weekends and holidays, I am well-mannered and punctual, and apparently I'll work for seven dollars an hour.

Oops that last sentence was supposed to go into column A.

So. Get this. They take my name and social security number and tell me that barring any unforeseen criminal background incidents, they would like to start me on Friday.

As I walked to my car, I tried not to bust out into a hip hop dance at the idea of comparing vegetable peelers for old ladies, explaining what the expiration date on the coupons mean, and of course-- plunging shit. But before we can truly celebrate this momentous detour backwards in my life, I get a phone call saying that they would like me to come in for a second interview?

What?

Let me paraphrase this for you.
Seven dollar an hour job... poopy toilets.... Bachelor's degree.

They need to interview me... again? Really? Am I not going to fit in with the 14 year old pregnant girl, the manager whose belly hangs out of her button down shirt and the male cheerleader fluffing the bed linens? Do you have serious doubts as to my ability to up sell blender attachments?
As much as this is a painful moment in my life, I don't feel like I'm too good to work a job like this... I don't feel like it's beneath me... I do feel like I am plenty qualified, Bachelor's degree or not. I'm not taking this job because I can't get a job in my field, I just turned one down... (yes, I turned down a job making several multiples above the $7/hr mark so that I could prove myself to some guy who goes home and watches reruns of the Jeff Foxworthy show.) In fact, I don't even need this job. I have a loving husband who has begged me NOT to work during this time. But I'm in the middle of a certification program that requires all my focus and I just wanted to be doing a little bit, just a small fraction of earning power to bring to the table until it is done. I wasn't excited about it... who would be... but this is ridiculous. I do have enough self-esteem to tell them exactly where to put the plunger.

So, to recap: I am currently the biggest loser. I will plunge for less than a ten spot.

Here's to all of your success and gainful employment.

The Soup Has Eyes

For me, the dilemma with taking classes has always been that I have to readjust eating schedules. If I'm not confined to one space for several hours at a time, it doesn't really matter... and I know that it seems like I give this way too much thought, but hear me out.

Occasionally, I can get extremely light headed and weak without warning if I have gone for more than four hours without food and my blood sugar gets too low. I'm sure this would send up red flags to any other person, but to me, it really just means that I need to be able to drink a Coke at a moment's notice.

When you're in class for the better part of a day, its not that easy. So I always try to make sure that I eat something before I get there. Never being one to get up early or leave myself any extra seconds, the options for today were to run by McDonald's or Whataburger (I just can't bring myself to go there...) or try to find something near the school that will slap something slightly more healthful on a plate for me.

Today's culinary adventure took me to a little Japanese restaurant and sushi bar. I went there knowing that if there was nothing on the menu that I recognized could be safely eaten before a four hour class, I could always fall back on a nice plate of California rolls and Sashimi. Feeling adventurous, I decided to give the Cham Pong soup a try.

The description was that of a spicy noodle soup. Mmmm.

So imagine my surprise when they placed before me a GIANT bowl (preceded by a variety of appetizers that I tried but had no clue what they were) of tentacles. It was loaded with all kinds of seafood that I have never in my life had the opportunity to try. I'm not sure if I feel bad about that either.

So, I poked around, realizing that I had infact ordered a spicy deep sea treasure trove of food for the brave. With a flick of the chopstick a crayfish popped forward and looked directly at me as if he was ready to challenge me to a game of Texas Hold 'Em. Are you supposed to eat food that still has eyes?
There were tentacles with little suckers on them and even clams.

Long story short... I'm starting to see what all those vegetarians are all about.

Thank you for calling Best Buy.

Usually all bark and no bite, today I made the big step from thinker of evil thoughts to doer of evil deeds. Mike and I were walking around Best Buy looking at all the TVs. Not that we were going to buy one, but now that he works at Sony and gets a pretty steep discount, we thought we'd take a look and see what was out there. There aren't many nights that Mike is free to go out and do anything, so we were pretty excited to be going anywhere.

As we browsed through all the different sizes and screens and options in the world of television on steroids, there was a phone ringing. It must have rang literally fifty times before Mike turned to me and snapped: "What the hell? Is that your phone? Where is it coming from... why won't someone answer it? Why won't it STOP!!!"

You see, Mike is usually the calm and cool headed one in the relationship. So after ring 20 when visions of beating down the ringing phone with an axe starting running through my head, I just figured it was because I have a bit of a temper and I didn't say anything about it. Seeing that this relentless ringing was driving Mike to his breaking point as well, I felt a lot better, somehow.

By this time we had made our way to the back wall and were just about to wander over to the camera aisle when I passed the little work desk that is clearly for employees only.

Behold the ringing phone.

I glanced quickly left and right and without hesitation picked the phone up and replaced it back onto the receiver.

Ahhhh, no more ringing.

Mike of course, saw what I was doing and escaped the scene of the crime. I figure I did the world a favor. And at least I didn't bash it with an axe.

Midas Turns 3

In two days my baby boy will be three years old. I can't believe it. It seems like just yesterday he was a fat, little, puffball whose back end would raise up into the air when he ate out of his little food bowl. It had to have been just yesterday that I would take him to class with me and he would amuse everyone with his carpet humping antics before retreating to his pile of crunchy leaves for a game of tag with himself.





So this Saturday he will turn the big O-3. In people years that makes him old enough to drink! After close to three years of living with us, he probably deserves one. He has been resident to five different homes since becoming a member of our family and what a trooper he's been about it because they were not all so dog friendly.

First, in the Tuscany Apartments of Sarasota, he began his time with us on the third floor of a three bedroom apartment. His vet, worried about his back knees being weak, suggested that we give him lots of excercise. So, he swam several nights a week in our bathtub, followed by a maniacle jaunt through the apartment, soaking everything in sight. He loved to race around the square courtyard and have us chase him until he realized he had outgrown our running abilities and had to be confined to a leash. So much for chasing the turkey vultures. At least in this apartment Midas could always fall back on his favorite hobby. Discovering peanuts. We're still not sure where they came from or how he found them, but he would randomly bring us peanuts when we lived here...



Our next apartment was a one bedroom in Lake Mary. Midas had his own grassy area here where he didn't have to worry about cars or strangers. He could go outside and play or poop or dig holes. Whatever his little heart wanted. We had great walks here. There were lots of great paths to take and he never.... NEVER got tired. By now he wasn't a fat, puffball anymore. He was a muscular, little athlete and he lived for Saturday and Sunday mornings when we would take him to the "dog park." It was a good life here in Lake Mary. This is also where he was living when his little diva sister, Maya, stolled into his life. But he loved her from the start-- letting her out of her safe and secure puppy cage while we were at work, I often came home to them both smiling at me from the top of the stairs. He was always the goody two shoes of the pair, telling Maya that she was going to get in trouble for ripping open that trash bag. He refrained from Maya's trash buffet but stored a chicken wing away in his toy basket for use later. I'll never forget sitting on the couch when Midas came and dropped a chicken wing into my lap.







The next domicile was a three bedroom delight in Maitland, shared with Aunt Lissy. Since this AC challenged hell hole was located on the third floor, going outside was a bit of a hassle, especially given the lack of green grass. So putting our heads together, we brilliantly came up with a wooden plot of balcony grass for the purpose of turning twice and shitting. The dynamic duo of Midas and Maya was formed. They are officially the best of buddies. Maya has learned all sorts of bad habbits from Midas such as barking when someone enters or leaves a room and swatting a little paw at you should you dare eat in front of her.





Same complex, new apartment. On our own again, we had a two bedroom with a view. A view of the parking lot. For the 9 months we lived here, Midas and Maya barked at every single passerby in a 2 mile radius thanks to the sliding glass door that faced a sidewalk and many parked cars. Before we left, Midas met a black pug named Ebony. He is considering getting another sister who looks just like her. The great thing about this place was the circular area of grass behind the pool. It was great for a good run and sometimes when no one was looking he would go for a little swim. But don't tell anyone-- we wouldn't want to upset the trolls that ride around in the golf-carts.









So here we are in Texas now. As I write this, he is sharing a bed and a nap with his beautiful sister Maya-- who snores like a mack truck. Halloween is over and his costume was great. They are now dreaming of their favorite holiday, Turkey day, which lingers right around the corner. In two more days he will turn three... and yet he is still my little puppy.