The day I discovered online shopping.
I love my job. I love my job because I had a real knock-down-drag-out with The Boss yesterday and still have a job. An invigorating fifteen minutes of yelling at each other ended in laughter and (him) telling jokes. Dirty jokes. I love my job. I still wish I had actually won the argument though.
Here’s a quick reference for any future posts about the people I work with:
- The Boss: President of the company. Has been in direct marketing for over 40 years and seen just about everything. Blatantly (and refreshingly) the most politically incorrect man I’ve ever met. Has opinions and advice on just about anything, can talk a blue streak and is mysteriously sharper than he presents himself. Analyzes personalities of those around him (almost) impeccably. Pronounces “business” as “bidnuz.” Has a lot of unconventional methods based on experience, which drives everyone crazy, especially since he usually turns out to be right.
- Boss-Man: The Boss’ subordinate. Partner in the company, his official title is something like “VP Marketing.” Primary supervisor, comes in to work approximately 3 hours out of the day to write checks and pay bills. Also heads up on-location meetings. Other than that, we’re not really sure what he does except that he’s the only Partner that is in the office on a regular basis. Has a lot of traditional business sense, which conflicts at time with The Boss’ methods. Is also 6’2″, 280 lbs, and enjoys approaching within three inches so you are tempted to take a step backward to avoid being squashed.
- Partner-Boss: More company partner than boss. The motivational/inspirational leader of the three. Rarely in the office, knows everybody in the whole world. Personal acquaintance of GW Bush. Stays with the President of Nigeria when he visits. Gets SUVs and Superbowl Tickets for free just for being a nice guy (to the right people). Former nightclub owner that shut his businesses down to go into the ministry and open a BBQ restaurant at which he holds weekly meetings of encouragement and accountability for his fellow brotherhood and anyone else that cares to attend. Has an unusual and almost unintelligible accent that mainly consists of dropping every consonant. Has never met a stranger.
- Jamie: My one and only co-worker. We keep each other sane.
To those who know me, it comes as no surprise that I am pro-life. I was the result of an unplanned pregnancy (which is the PC way to say that my biological mom got knocked up as a teenager). In addition, I had a fairly noticeable physical birth defect that required immediate (and very costly) attention.
That’s two major strikes against me in the matter of deciding whether to go through with a pregnancy, yet my biological mother did so and put me up for adoption at birth. Consequently, I was raised in a stable, loving home by two remarkable people I know as Mom & Dad.
I once asked my parents if they had negotiated a better price for me because I was a “sold as-is” baby. They didn’t appreciate that question. I just think they should have gotten me on sale because they had to pay for repairs.
But I digress.
Anyway, it’s no great mystery that I am a pro-life supporter. Therefore, you can imagine my shock and dismay when we drove past this hand-painted sign in front of a church in Oklahoma:
“Abortion stops a beating”
At the time, I was unfamiliar with the (apparently) common adage and did not know that I was supposed to interpret the itsy-bitsy-almost-invisible drawing of a heart squeezed into the corner of the sign as the last word in the sentence.
So I’m thinking Crimminy, is this the new pro-choice movement? Dead babies are better than abused kids? Somebody shoot me now.
If you’re reading this and belong to a church in Oklahoma that has such a sign in front next to the highway, please – for the love of God and the emotional condition of the highway travelers – change your sign.
I was told by a member of a select group that I was the only one in that group who had not gained weight since high school.
TAKE THAT, BATHROOM SCALE OF DOOM.
Actually, I have gained weight, but we’re working on that. It was comforting to hear that apparently it’s not as noticeable to everyone else as it is to me. It was especially comforting this morning when FOR NO REASON AT ALL I woke up a pound heavier than yesterday. Doh.
Here’s a word to the wise for all passers-through.
DO NOT USE MY BLOG TO ADVERTISE YOUR OWN SITE. IT MAKES ME GRUMPY AND I WILL DELETE YOUR POST.
“I hate housework. You make the beds, you wash the dishes and six months later you have to start all over again.”-Joan Rivers
I might be having company tonight, so I cleaned the house. Hear that everybody? I CLEANED THE HOUSE. I vacuumed, emptied the dishwasher, filled the dishwasher, dusted the mantle and tables (even the little ones in the bedroom), cleared the countertops (no small feat in our house), cleaned the countertops, watched the dog track dirty paws all over the freshly vacuumed carpet, and mopped the kitchen floor…well, at least the part you walk on.
It’s really not the cleaning part of housework I hate so much. It’s not really the fact that it takes forever to accomplish such temporary results. It’s not even the fact that dirty bathrooms are icky and I can’t stand to clean them (I solve that by putting Jens in charge of bathroom cleaning).
It’s the fact that when I’m finished, YOU CAN’T TELL I EVER DID ANYTHING.
We live in an ugly house. There’s no getting around that. The walls are dark (except for the squares of swooshing pastel textured paper) and the carpet is dirty (and it’s that burber stuff so you can’t tell where you’ve vacuumed), and there simply isn’t enough light in the house to escape notions of living in a cave. So when I’m done cleaning and I wipe my hands and look around…I can’t tell the difference between when I started and when I’ve finished.
So why, you might ask, do I ever bother cleaning in the first place? The answer is quite simple, and it’s the same reason I never cheated on tests and have dreams about assignments that aren’t completed on time.
Guilt. I don’t have enough to make me keep a clean house, but do have just enough to occasionally embark on a cleaning fit. (And yes, I am holding an experiment to see how many times I can use the word “clean” in a single post. Clean clean clean. So there.) I think it goes back to my theory about finding the meaning of life in balance. Some, yes, but not too much.
I dated a guy once who thought I would make a good Mormon wife. HA. He would have been sorely disappointed. I don’t even make a good Baptist wife half the time. I live in constant bafflement at how I managed to secure such a wonderfully patient and laid-back husband. Who is willing to wait until I’m ready to have kids (we’re pretending that he has a choice here).
So I have a (mostly) clean house now. There are still piles of laundry spewing out of the bathtub, which we use as a back-up laundry hamper because the drain doesn’t work…and because it’s one of the few places the dog doesn’t sneak in to steal dirty socks…and yes, because we’re dreadfully lazy people who hate to do laundry. Especially me.
So if you live in Dallas and get an invitation to come over for dinner, it’s because the house is clean and we feel obligated to take advantage of it. Accept that invitation, because you won’t get another one for 6 months.
PS: Please don’t tell me I’m shallow because I’m annoyed that we own the ugliest house in the neighborhood. You would be very wrong. I’m annoyed that we rent the ugliest house in the neighborhood. Geesh.
Thank you so much for all your prayers. Ryan is doing much much better. He has regained all movement and feeling back in his arms and legs. Right now the doctors are still speculating and trying to figure out what caused his potassium levels to drop from the normal range of 3.5-4.5, to way under the deadly range with levels of 1.1-1.6.
The doctors and specialists have ruled out Gillan Bare Disease (I thought it was called Garretts Disease…sorry about that) by the main factor that Ryan lost movement from large muscles to small, and with that particular disease, it starts in the fingers and toes and then moves to the larger muscles. Praise God Gillan Bare Disease has been ruled out.
Ryan was moved today from ICU to the floor and will hopefully be out of the hospital tomorrow, Friday at the latest. Right now dietitians are working with this 6’2″ 180lb kid to eat foods other than pizza and $ .99 burgers, which will definitely be a challenge but Ryan understands the severity of his condition and is definitely taking the right steps. Though the doctors know that his diet is only a small factor to what has caused this, at this point they are not sure how to diagnose his rare condition. They will be putting him on potassium pills, since the potassium is what he responded to so well, and will be monitoring him very closely with doctors visits and blood work.
Thanks again everyone for all your prayers. We all felt your prayers, and were filled with strength peace and joy! Thank you! God is so good!”