Today was my last day at the bank. It was an easy day, made much easier by the fact that I haven't hidden the fact that I was surfing the interwebs since Tuesday - the day I found out I'd be "displaced". (Seriously, that's the term they use at the bank. What am I, a refugee? Wait, displaced person.) Definitely took the edge off.
I was doing good, until I emailed all the folks I've worked with over the past 5 months to say goodbye and good luck. I got a call from my boss' boss, and he thanked me for my work and gave good wishes, including an offer to hire me once the stock goes back up. I sweetly thanked him, and told him that once I'm an attorney, I was available for him as well. Then I got an email from one of Work Husband's originators, saying that God has a plan for everything. For some reason, this one got to me. I'm not a terribly religious person. But something about that gave me pause. I think it might be because he was taking my "displacement" a lot more seriously than I, and that I should take it more seriously. Anyway, it got me emotional.
I hugged Work Husband in his car (he would drive me to my car after work) and he refused to say goodbye. He said, "This isn't goodbye, this is see you later." I reminded him that we have tentitive plans to get together next weekend, and said I'd call him next week.
I know I'll miss him more than anything. I feel like I made a friend there. We'll see. Life often gets in the way.
But to end this on a more cheerful note...
And I have complete permission to post this story: He let me pick from where I wanted lunch, and I had a taste for McDonald's. (He HATES McDonald's.) So we went, and as he was getting my soda, he was looking at me instead of the worker, and the lid of my drink hit the top of his car. The Diet Coke went all over him. I couldn't laugh; he looked too upset. I told him he could blame me. He promised to absolutely blame me. On the way back to work, he finally started laughing, and we laughed all the way back, and all afternoon.
Seemed fitting. Not sure how, though.
Friday, August 15, 2008
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Uh-Oh...
This, right now, is my latest obsession:
The Perfect Boy - The Cure
Best lyric: "If it was meant to be us, it was meant to be now".
Gorgeous, sad, and I will always love Robert Smith's voice.
PS - Sorry to do this twice in a row.
The Perfect Boy - The Cure
Best lyric: "If it was meant to be us, it was meant to be now".
Gorgeous, sad, and I will always love Robert Smith's voice.
PS - Sorry to do this twice in a row.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
When I Knew I Was Finally A Woman
There are rites of passage through which all must go. One of those is realizing that you're a real wo/man. This is my story...
My mother is quite possibly the most literate person east of the Mississippi. My folks have a 6-bedroom house (for the 2 of them; I better inherit that shit), of which at least 3 are pure libraries. You can't turn around without running into something else to read. I inherited this reading bug from her. (To her great sadness, I was the only one.) Seriously, as a kid, I would read cereal boxes over and over again at breakfast, just to get my fix.
As a result, she and I would play Scrabble. A lot. Because that's how we roll. Also, she generally hates board games, and also would not let me win at anything just 'cos I was little. She's not one to baby your sweet little ego. So, I learned to be an unbelievably sore loser, as how can any 15-year-old hope to compare with the queen of intellectual curiousity (as applied to literacy)?
But one day, my time finally came. I can't remember how old I was anymore. Most likely I was in my mid-to-late 20s, probably while I was working on degree number 3. (You collect whatever you collect, I collect college degrees.) On that fateful day, I finally beat my mother at Scrabble. And I didn't just beat her, I held her out the window by her ankles until she finally agreed that I was the master, and she was now only a redundant Teacher.
And that's how I became a woman.
My mother is quite possibly the most literate person east of the Mississippi. My folks have a 6-bedroom house (for the 2 of them; I better inherit that shit), of which at least 3 are pure libraries. You can't turn around without running into something else to read. I inherited this reading bug from her. (To her great sadness, I was the only one.) Seriously, as a kid, I would read cereal boxes over and over again at breakfast, just to get my fix.
As a result, she and I would play Scrabble. A lot. Because that's how we roll. Also, she generally hates board games, and also would not let me win at anything just 'cos I was little. She's not one to baby your sweet little ego. So, I learned to be an unbelievably sore loser, as how can any 15-year-old hope to compare with the queen of intellectual curiousity (as applied to literacy)?
But one day, my time finally came. I can't remember how old I was anymore. Most likely I was in my mid-to-late 20s, probably while I was working on degree number 3. (You collect whatever you collect, I collect college degrees.) On that fateful day, I finally beat my mother at Scrabble. And I didn't just beat her, I held her out the window by her ankles until she finally agreed that I was the master, and she was now only a redundant Teacher.
And that's how I became a woman.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
I Hate Tuesdays
OK, so here's the whole story:
Found out that I was going to lose my temp job at the bank. I kinda figured it was inevitable, considering that the bank is laying off people left and right, and who's easier to terminate than a temp? But it still stings, and since I've gotten so close to Work Husband, it bothers me more than I like to admit. He was sweet, though - when I told him we were getting a divorce, he told me that it was only a separation. Can you see why I'll miss him so?
Cut to later: I was in bed, it was about 10:45 or so. I figured I probably wouldn't be hearing from the boy, since we had talked every day over the weekend and we tend to take a break after such marathon phone calls. But, the phone rings, and I rush to answer it. He's telling me about his day and his future plans, and mentioned a dinner with some girl. I irrationally get jealous and just lay into him with such scorn and anger that it almost took me aback, too. He sounded so hurt and just said, "Talk tomorrow?" I told him that I wanted a break from him and just hung up the phone.
Today, under clearer light (and a sweet email he had sent that I didn't receive until I got to work), I realized that I don't want a break from him, and that I sounded so cruel. I sent him an email in apology. I haven't heard back. I don't know if I should call him tonight to try to explain. (I haven't told him I lost my job.) I don't want this to linger on. But I'm afraid to call. One, he might be really angry with me, and rightfully so, and two, I'm not sure I could take it if he doesn't answer his phone.
So, to recap: No job, possibly no boy.
I hate Tuesdays.
Found out that I was going to lose my temp job at the bank. I kinda figured it was inevitable, considering that the bank is laying off people left and right, and who's easier to terminate than a temp? But it still stings, and since I've gotten so close to Work Husband, it bothers me more than I like to admit. He was sweet, though - when I told him we were getting a divorce, he told me that it was only a separation. Can you see why I'll miss him so?
Cut to later: I was in bed, it was about 10:45 or so. I figured I probably wouldn't be hearing from the boy, since we had talked every day over the weekend and we tend to take a break after such marathon phone calls. But, the phone rings, and I rush to answer it. He's telling me about his day and his future plans, and mentioned a dinner with some girl. I irrationally get jealous and just lay into him with such scorn and anger that it almost took me aback, too. He sounded so hurt and just said, "Talk tomorrow?" I told him that I wanted a break from him and just hung up the phone.
Today, under clearer light (and a sweet email he had sent that I didn't receive until I got to work), I realized that I don't want a break from him, and that I sounded so cruel. I sent him an email in apology. I haven't heard back. I don't know if I should call him tonight to try to explain. (I haven't told him I lost my job.) I don't want this to linger on. But I'm afraid to call. One, he might be really angry with me, and rightfully so, and two, I'm not sure I could take it if he doesn't answer his phone.
So, to recap: No job, possibly no boy.
I hate Tuesdays.
Monday, August 11, 2008
Writer's Block
I've got the worst case of writer's block. I can't find anything interesting to discuss. This hurts me. Usually, I can find something interesting/random about my day to share (or overshare, yeah, I know). There have been very few of these moments as of late. I was such a rabid little blogger, and now I've got nothing.
So, here's the thoughts going on in my head. Maybe one will lead to something of some import, worth discussing. Unlikely.
- Got an email from R. At first, I couldn't figure out why he was writing. Then, I noticed that I had emailed him first. Nice memory, girl. Also, I wonder about his endearing terminology as it relates to me. If I were his wife, I'd probably stab him in the throat. But considering my weird relationship, who knows?
- J. was cranky at work this morning, then not in the afternoon. I hope it wasn't about me.
- Work husband has finally accepted that I write about him often. I think that now he loves knowing that when I do, I get way more hits on this site than any other topic I share. Which probably says more about his awesomeness than my lack thereof. He felt even better when I reported that I do not refer to him by name or discuss the details of his life. Any port in a storm, I figure.
- I would seriously pay (in an installment contract; I'm quite broke at the moment) someone to come clean this rathole. I used to be so tidy! Just ask my college roommate, the one I locked out of our apartment because she had the audacity to walk through grass and not on the sidewalk, thereby getting the dreaded Alabama Red Mud on her boots, which took me at least an hour to clean off our carpet. Said rudeness (my locking her out, not her walking) was made much worse by the fact that she was accompanied by her boyfriend at the time. And no, I never apologized to her for that.
- I'm kinda lonely right now.
- My hair looked FANTASTIC today, and I can't figure out why, but even work husband read me the glories of my tresses. He definitely gets bonus points for that.
So, here's the thoughts going on in my head. Maybe one will lead to something of some import, worth discussing. Unlikely.
- Got an email from R. At first, I couldn't figure out why he was writing. Then, I noticed that I had emailed him first. Nice memory, girl. Also, I wonder about his endearing terminology as it relates to me. If I were his wife, I'd probably stab him in the throat. But considering my weird relationship, who knows?
- J. was cranky at work this morning, then not in the afternoon. I hope it wasn't about me.
- Work husband has finally accepted that I write about him often. I think that now he loves knowing that when I do, I get way more hits on this site than any other topic I share. Which probably says more about his awesomeness than my lack thereof. He felt even better when I reported that I do not refer to him by name or discuss the details of his life. Any port in a storm, I figure.
- I would seriously pay (in an installment contract; I'm quite broke at the moment) someone to come clean this rathole. I used to be so tidy! Just ask my college roommate, the one I locked out of our apartment because she had the audacity to walk through grass and not on the sidewalk, thereby getting the dreaded Alabama Red Mud on her boots, which took me at least an hour to clean off our carpet. Said rudeness (my locking her out, not her walking) was made much worse by the fact that she was accompanied by her boyfriend at the time. And no, I never apologized to her for that.
- I'm kinda lonely right now.
- My hair looked FANTASTIC today, and I can't figure out why, but even work husband read me the glories of my tresses. He definitely gets bonus points for that.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
More Things You May Not Know About Me
1. I can write in mirror writing. It's not pretty, but it's legible.
2. I can move my index fingers in opposite circles at the same time. It's harder than it looks, trust me.
3. I keep all of my old love letters. It's nice to know that someone, at some time, was in love with me.
4. I torture myself. It's like I think I deserve it. For example, I diet low-carb. And I love me some bread.
5. I archive every message, in every form, from the boy. If he knew that, he'd think I am a freak, so let's keep that between us, k?
6. I know all the lyrics to almost every even mildly popular from the 1980s.
7. I have incredible ab muscles, which can't be seen. See #4.
8. I honestly think I'm incredibly funny and interesting.
9. I have the patience and the attention span of a 2-year-old.
10. I was not born to follow orders, but to lead.
PS! 11. I unironically watch CBS' The Morning Show on Sundays, and I am not yet collecting Social Security.
PPS! 12. I play guitar left-handed, and bass guitar right-handed.
PPPS: 13. I hoard bathroom supplies, like deoderant and shower gel.
2. I can move my index fingers in opposite circles at the same time. It's harder than it looks, trust me.
3. I keep all of my old love letters. It's nice to know that someone, at some time, was in love with me.
4. I torture myself. It's like I think I deserve it. For example, I diet low-carb. And I love me some bread.
5. I archive every message, in every form, from the boy. If he knew that, he'd think I am a freak, so let's keep that between us, k?
6. I know all the lyrics to almost every even mildly popular from the 1980s.
7. I have incredible ab muscles, which can't be seen. See #4.
8. I honestly think I'm incredibly funny and interesting.
9. I have the patience and the attention span of a 2-year-old.
10. I was not born to follow orders, but to lead.
PS! 11. I unironically watch CBS' The Morning Show on Sundays, and I am not yet collecting Social Security.
PPS! 12. I play guitar left-handed, and bass guitar right-handed.
PPPS: 13. I hoard bathroom supplies, like deoderant and shower gel.
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