And just got better after that.
We have hired a moving company. It’s more money than I’m totally comfortable with, but we have control over the cost by controlling the weight. So it’s purge time, baby!
I got the weirdest job offer today. The CEO of the company I work for approached me to tell me that he’s been looking for a sales rep in the Florida area, and he thinks I could do that. Can you imagine, leaving a job, moving 1200 miles away, but staying with the company, keeping my benefits, seniority, and pay? Um, I’m an inspector, a quality control technician. I don’t know how to do sales. I probably could; I know the company, and the industry, I’m fairly outgoing, but, but. He’s going to set me up with the sales rep for the area I’m leaving, maybe send both of us on a sales call, see if I’m able and willing. Can you imagine?
I sold the cheap ass guitar that I bought for BF that he never touched.
My car is full of stuff to donate to Goodwill, and there’s another carful of garbage bags.
Things are moving along nicely. Now, if I only didn’t have to sleep, I could get more done. But I’m useless and mean without sleep, so, it’s off to nap time I go.
I hope I have good hair tomorrow. Amazing things happen when you have good hair.
THERE’S NO BLACK ICE IN FLORIDA!
I got tired of trying to explain exactly where in Florida we’re moving to, so I printed out a small map of the state, and now I just point.
"Is it near (insert town name here)?
I hand them the map, and say “I dunno, is it?”
I am so excited to start this new adventure, but boy howdy, this is a lot of work. Which, I knew.
And my coworkers walk through, telling me that they were just talking with each other about how much they’ll miss me. Aww.
I don’t think it’s quite hit my boss yet. He has never been fully aware of all the things I do, and as I make lists and discuss them with him, I can see his heart sinking. But since no one is cross trained, and I haven’t gotten a review in two years, I don’t feel bad, no one little bit.
For possibly the first time in my working life, I can honestly say, when a problem comes up, “It’s not my problem.” I’m putting in my time, training whoever I can, getting my letters of recommendation, and beating feet away from winter, and towards a new adventure.
We will be moving into a newer, better maintained, slightly bigger free-standing house. The duplex we live in now has paint splatter in the weirdest places; across the carpet, on the bathroom faucets. The house was constructed in a hurry, and they chinzed on nailing the floor down properly, so every step creaks, and the floors shake if you walk across them quickly. Even our cat, at times, made the floor squeak.
Omygawd I’m tired. But miles to go before I sleep.
Two of us were waiting to get a carriage at the supermarket. A third woman was getting a carriage, cleaning out the flyers left over from someone else. She took the handful of trash and dumped them in the next carriage…for one of us waiting to then clean the trash out of the carriage we would use. Essentially, she threw trash at us.
I’m not that type of person. I would put the trash in a more appropriate place, rather than throwing trash in someone else’s space. Just saying.
I guffawed out loud. I’m sure she didn’t notice.
I told him to stand up to stop hiccuping and he mocked me but when he finally did stand up he stopped hiccuping.
The company I used to work for did a Yankee Swap for Christmas. That is, everyone brings in one gift, and you draw a number, and your number tells you when your turn is to open a gift. If you don’t like the gift, you can swap it with a gift that is already opened that you like better. But someone who opens a gift after you can take that gift because they like it better than the one they got. Pretty standard Yankee Swap stuff…but we had a twist.
The owner of the company made as many envelopes as there were employees. One envelope had $500, five envelopes had $100, and the rest had $50. When you chose a gift, you also pulled an envelope, which did not get opened. That envelope went with the gift, no matter how many times it changed hands. The envelopes were all opened at the end of the swap. Sometimes it was revealed that the $500 envelope was with the crappy gift, sometimes with the awesome gift. Sometimes the $500 envelope had been passed around and around, sometimes it had laid quietly for the whole show.
It was a pretty fun event.
We wear static dispersing coats at work, so there’s no point in anyone wearing costumes. I wore an orange shirt, black jeans, orange and black earrings, and made my hair big and tousled. After putting on the ugly blue work coat, I just looked like I’d fucked up my hair and decided I would walk around like that all day.
The front desk receptionist wore her line dancing outfit; lacy red cowboy hat, tight red spangly shirt, blue jeans, belt with a giant sparkly buckle, and cowboy boots. She’s petite, busty, and in her fifties. I had no words. She was clearly uncomfortable, as she kept saying ” Happy Halloween!” and then giggling nervously. She was the only one in “costume”. Unless you count my boss trying to pass himself off as a human being, but that’s every day.
Tomorrow there will be lots of candy in the cafeteria that people brought in so they won’t be tempted by it at home.
And that’s about the extent of Halloween round these parts.
This is written on the top of the local grocery store, which, of course, can only be seen by airplane or satellite. So odd. But my respect for the slacker teens who work there just went up a tick.
So, I’ve never made beef stew. With Internet in hand, I bought a bunch of ingredients. The grandmotherly type at the checkout was friendly, so I confided that this was my first attempt at beef stew.
"Oh!" she said. "The first time I made beef stew, it came out great, but the second time, it was awful. I didn’t make it for years after that, but now I make it all the time."
"Any secrets I should know?" I asked.
She shrugged. “No, not really. I really liked Dinty Moore beef stew, but wanted it with less salt.”
Friends, after reading the recipes on the Interwebs, and my mouth watering over the imagined subtle favors of wine and rosemary and garlic, I could not even imagine trying to replicate a canned beef stew.
I might have a mental block against Dinty Moore beef stew, however. Decades ago, me and my parents and dog went camping. Mom forgot to bring dog food. She fed him a can of Dinty Moore beef stew. He farted all night long in the tent with us. Horrifying.
Anyway, I will not be trying to copy a canned stew. Just so you know.