Tuesday, August 12


Of the many visual perks available on Pinterest for the anal-retentive at heart, there is an overwhelming multitude of photos depicting organizational nirvana. Unsettlingly neat shelves.  Coordinated wicker baskets lined up, just so.  Color-coded paperclips and notes labelled in a penmanship resembling the Arial font.

But what I really really want to see is a set of photos tagged with #3moslater.

As in "hashtag-three-months-later."

As in "hashtag-show-me-what-it-REALLY-looks-like-NOW-comma-three-months-later-[insert-smug-face]."

Three months later, to me, is a goodly amount of time at which one can assess progress, especially in matters of improvement or marked change.  Three months later is usually about when we return to that Central American hideaway where that Canadian couple relocated to for the first 27 minutes of House Hunters International, only to discover they've made do with one less bedroom--SEE, people?  When you move abroad, all the people who promised they'd come and visit are back in their normal lives where they don't need a passport, visa, and shots in order to "drop in on friends."--or that they've ripped out that hideous rattan cabinet that once passed as "charming ethnic flair."

I wish #3moslater would catch on, but we know it won't.  Everyone wants you to see their awesome life when it's awesome; but you're not allowed back in when it's just plain old regular.

Apropos slightly, it is exactly three months to the day since I began at New Job.

And frankly, I ain't afraid to pull my drawers open and show you how things are just as they were just at the Big Reveal, a.k.a. Day One. Newlywed luster has somewhat lost its sheen, but it is still pretty lovely.

Do you like your new job?

I get asked that a lot.  My immediate impulse is me forming the words, "I love it here!" But we all know what happens to the girl that uses the L word too quickly in a new relationship.  And the truth is I don't love it here.  I do like it, though.  A lot, in fact.  Even on a consistent basis, I can say I do like it here, a lot.  That in and of itself is saying something.

And the thing is, I don't really believe anyone should love their job.  People say it all the time, but it shouldn't be such a simple, umbrella statement.

It's okay to love an activity you do as part of your job.  Or love how you feel when you think about a work accomplishment.  Or love the friendships that you make while at said job.

But loving your job?

My ears perk up now, when I hear someone refer to their job that way.  I think, "Uh-oh...  anybody wanna get it on the death pool for this relationship?"  Coz it sounds like they're in a relationship with their job, and let's face it, you can get into a long, lasting relationship with a job.  Heck, you can even prepare for your future with your job.  But you sure as heck aren't going to get snuggled up to on a cold dark night by your job, and certainly when you get sick, your job is the last place you'll get some TLC and chicken soup.

But I digress.

#3moslater and things are going swimmingly.  And that's literally what I said to a colleague at New Job just yesterday.  It might've been my opportunity for a conversationally candid statement, but I was hovering between New Girl Tact and practicing what it's like being in a "casual relationship" with New Job.

I know how I am.  I easily could've rebounded in a new Serious (Job) Relationship, but when you are at a workplace long enough to require a "mourning period" after the split, maybe keeping things casual going forward should be the obvious M.O.  

#3moslater and let me show you what's in my still-organized closets:  still keeping things tidy and minimal.  And in this way, I'm referring to the keeping-it-casual thing that most people already do:  only doing what they're supposed to be doing and thus, not inadvertently setting themselves up to have to later overextend themselves.  A mouthful, right?  But apparently a mouthful that was already so ingrained in my mindset that I never had to bother saying it aloud.  On more than one occasion here at New Job, I've had that split second to decide not to jump in and offer up a suggestion that would require additional action from me.

It is strangely delightful -albeit foreign- to hold back.  I have learned how my mouth feels when my lips are tightly pursed so I don't start saying, "Well, how about if I did this?"  I am amused that even though I feel like a selfish jerk at the moment, these people here at New Job don't know any different, and I've averted disappointing anyone with my lack of assistance.  My potential involvement was never on the menu, and I am slowly learning to be okay with that.  The amusement is just me feeling like, "Oooh, look at me!  Getting away with it!  Getting away with being less-than-extra-helpful!!" but I'm sure that will fade.

As Old Boss always used to remind me, "it's not like we're saving lives here or anything."  Duh, good point, right?

#3moslater and I've discovered the local charm:  Best part about going any place new?  New people.  New people with new stories and quirks and history that I find endlessly entertaining.  Dare I say, I've even encountered several people I'd recruit for any number of my hypothetical "teams."

People I'd travel with?  Definitely one, maybe two or three.

People I'd start a detective agency with?  Already got two in mind to put on my payroll.

People I'd invite to round out a dinner party (i.e. "Dinner-Party-Guest Worthy")  Yes, a couple.

Desert Island folks?  Eh, not sure yet, but I think in time I might be able to cite one or two names from the employee roster here at New Job.

So, #3moslater, and all is well.  Can't ask for more than the simple satisfaction in that.

Keep an eye out for #6moslater.  Give it some time, I'm sure it'll be trending.

Friday, June 13

The Revival

Back for now, possibly!

Have a new job, and thus a new life (to some degree), and remembering (perhaps incorrectly) how much I enjoyed blogging.  And here I am.

Long story short:
First had a blog.
Then had the blog for work.
Then didn't need to blog for work.
And now I have a new job.
I am now in a completely Sliding-Doors/180-degree/Bizarro-World version of my old career.  And it's not just the diametrically opposed differences in my responsibilities and the industry, but also the culture and the people.  But I'm starting to think it's not so much that things are really different here, it's that I'm finally realizing that there is nothing "normal" about the entertainment industry; I'm just experiencing "the regular world" for the first time and it is taking me a bit of getting used to.

Oh my childish wonder, when I am informed of the mundane:
"No, you don't have to do that, we have a department that handles that."

Or even better:
"Memorial Day?  Of course you don't have to come in!  We're closed, silly!"

Oh my God.  Yeah, HOLIDAYS.  Holidays belong to me now!  Not that I minded so much before; after all, it was understood that holidays and weekends are just names for regular days in the week, such is the nature of "the biz".

But now, if we're approaching the end of the week before a long weekend, I no longer have to panic about mapping out how the next few days will go, in order to get an entire long-weekend's worth of work done by 5PM on Friday (a.k.a. 8PM on Friday).   Instead, I get to look forward to an easy Friday that will probably end early, since everyone else will also be taking off earlier than usual.

And -- GET THIS -- apparently, most people in the world also do this.

Pret-ty effing amazing.

And now, I get to be one of them.

One of The Normals.

I love them.  They're so ... polite.

Tuesday, July 24

Road Bad

I travel this one rural road every day to work.  

And last month, I hit a terrible pothole.  Brutal.  Like, I felt the jolt of it radiate from my butt to the top of my head (as it hit the roof my car interior.  And I am short.)

The same pothole has been there for nearly a month.  Worsened by the fact that it doesn't even look like a pothole, or anything worthy of bracing yourself while soccer-momming the nearest passenger.
If you'd like to ruin your vehicle's suspension, here's where you can go to do it:  http://goo.gl/maps/NYRY
Beautiful, historic Canal Road, in Griggstown, NJ (07/24/12)

If I don't need a new suspension soon, then I will probably need a whole new car altogether.  And a new skull.  Or something to fill in the skull-shaped dent in the roof of my car.

But something happened.  If you have any doubts that your fellow man is not looking out for you, good citizen, well think again.

Monday, July 23

Another Fail Cause By Social Media

You know the arrow "hidden" in the Fed Ex logo?

Notice how the moment you finally "see" it, you never not see it?

It's sort of annoying actually.

(And if you don't know what I mean, this is me now rocking your visual world:   If you look at the white space between the E and the X in the logo, it forms the shape of an arrow.  Coincidental?  Intentional? Clever subtle brand marketing?  Meh,  I don't know.  It's a shape, and it's there.  Much like the way the white-spaces under the beautiful golden arches of McDonald's big M are phallus-shaped.  Oh, sorry, did you not already know that?)

Anyhoo, I liken this to the anthropological discovery I've made, thanks to Facebook, and specifically My Newsfeed.

And that is:  Some People Just Really Do Sorta Suck.

"ANY Super Power, you say?"

The ability to apply CTRL + Z in real life. 

 1)   That is my answer when the question (in question) comes up either in an all-important online poll -- the ones that enable your friends to know The Real You more fully.... OR in a 2am lazy scramble for a brilliant conversation topic. Yes, the type of brilliant conversations at 2am that can only happen between two people who probably shouldn't be driving home.

<<  The Question in question being: "If you could have, like, any super power at all, what would it be?" >>

2) When you ask me that question, don't tell me that CTRL+Z-ing in real life doesn't count because it potentially wrecks with that ever-fragile "time-space continuum".  Because I will hit you with my flux capacitor made of my open palm and say, "You're a fricking idiot."