I'm too busy to tell people how busy I am

Saying I’m having a slow period at work is an understatement. I am having a stopped period at work. Granted our project runs in six month cycles: collect data (ie., interview drug users, dealers, cops, treatment providers), transcribe data (my student does, not me), analyze data, write up report, edit reports, submit reports to the state, edit reports again, post for publication. Our cycles end in January and June. We are between the “submit report to the state” portion of our June cycle and just before the “transcribe data” for January. I.E. NOTHING TO DO RIGHT NOW. Until we get approval to move forward with the June reports and the tapes transcribed for the January reports were are at a numbing stalemate.

My job pays me probably more money than it should for the actual amount of work produced. It has a flexible schedule (9:30am-5pm), a generous lunch (1hr) and my own office (er, uh. cubical) to keep my stuff in. I really can’t complain (and with a 7% unemployment rate and friends and family losing their jobs, I feel guilty for complaining) and besides I have two other jobs and a hunky husband to keep me busy. However, my previous jobs had me up to my ears in stress and work. Tasks that made my brain spin with cost effective strategies and decisions that impacted the way people received services. I miss that. I actually miss forgetting to eat, back-to-back meetings and not opening a single browser all day. I miss feeling like I contributed to something on a daily basis and that my input was vital to the happenings of an organization. Research, epidemiological/anthropological research at that, just isn’t meant to produce immediate gratification. Damn you epidemiology (one time a bitchy girl from my high school asked my mom if I give epidurals all day long. Um. no. AND, you're officially dumb.) I think jobs reflect different times in our lives that can mostly be summed up by cliches: entry level; means to an end; paycheck to paycheck; pain in the a@@. This is my blue period. Not sad blue, just stalemate blue and in nineteen months we will be off on a new adventure. In the next six months or so we get to start planning and thinking about that move. It might be the biggest move of my life thus far. Where? I don’t know. I am excited, but it had better not be blue.

Did I mention I submitted an abstract on substance abuse in the elderly (those oldies love them some crack!) and I might be HERE for St. Patty’s Day? Giada liked it, so I'm sure I will too! (Seriously, could she possibly eat the food in a more sexy way?) Sorry internets, if accepted, I’ve already asked my mom to join me. She’s having a blue period too.

Sisterhood of the traveling pant suits

I've had some writers blog this week, actually that is not true. Monday and Tuesday were duds but I spent today working on my guest blog for The Collective. Jennie! [of Bax and Heidi] asked me to post in her honor, mostly because she's lazy and slammed at work right now. So, since I've spent all of my creative energy on this 'five worsts' masterpiece, [which you better damn well go read tomorrow] I am left with nothing else than to tell you about my actual life [but not so low as to divulge the contents of my purse].

I finished The Glass Castle today, but decided not to go to the book club meeting, even though I made sure to get the book read in time. One, because I don't want to drive two hours round trip and two because, well, I'm over it. Loved the book, a must read. Actually, I should pretend I'm going to a book club every week and peer pressure myself into reading a book [instead of randomly searching the internets for ways to deal with post-wedding let down]. Just kidding. I do other things too.

I am on to my next book, In Defense of Food by Michael Pollan. I hope it's good, and even if it sucks - it's pretty short so very little of my life will have been wasted and at the least I have practiced reading.

Reading I think is something people should always list when someone says, on the street or in a job interview or something, "what do you like to do?" or "what do you do in your free time?" or "what is your hobby?" or "what was the last book you read?" At least have SOMETHING, because if you answer Lord of the Flies from 7th grade, they will hit you. In my opinion, it's an answer that sounds firm, yet intriguing. You could always spout off about how you carve your own wooden pens or were asked to be a guest chef at a local cooking school but really, neither of those top the reading answer.

I have also been reading up on the election, because it very much interests me and I think Obama's grass-roots-sleeves-rolled-up-chocolateness is amazing. I have been watching the DNR and love listening to NPR commentary on my way into work. Then when I get here, [instead of doing work] I have the pleasure of reading the editorial banter about who wore what and "oh no he din't." I can also have interesting conversations with my politically-obsessed boss. Like yesterday when I found out that one single person cannot donate more than $2,300 to a campaign [this makes my $30 actually look like a contribution!] And then today, I found out McCain is visiting WSU on Friday where he may announce his running mate. [I am hoping for Lieberman, that way in the unlikely event that he beats Obama and we don't all move to Canada, someone can off him, leaving a somewhat-democratic JEW in the white house. Yes, thank you.] My boss also turned me on to a columnist whose tongue is as sharp as her eyebrow pencil. He said she reminds him of me. I asked if she was tenacious, and he said that her hair was red... and then added that she was incredibly quick-witted. This was the first time I actually liked one of his perceptions of me. Ladies and gentleman, Maureen Dowd.

Oh and P.S Grandpa McCain and his friends are going to make traffic a bitch on Friday morning so watch out!

Is it the weather or the PMS

I am PMSing so hard this week. I want to tell people they are stupid. I told my boss today he shouldn’t use the phrase ‘I find it prudent’ in a sentence to the general public. He was like ‘why’ and I blurted out “I think that word is ridiculous, and most people won’t know what you are talking about. If you want them to get the point, use a normal word.” He just stared at me and then said, “Thank you for your feedback, I always appreciate it.” As if I had provided him with a nice dose of entertainment. Whatever, he asked me to proof read the letter. He calls me brash and tenacious. The later he uses in sentences that are meant to be compliments, I think. Neither of which are really complimentary, however true they may be.

DH and I had a lovely dinner last night at Brio. We ate outside on the patio in the evening. It was so nice. I even had coffee. I am making myself crazy over the weather. I hate that I work in a dark cubical all day. Not to mention, it so cold in my office I have to wear long sleeves and use my [illegal] space heater. I edited a report outside on the grass the other day and today I ate my lunch outside under a tree and then read a book. Bugs got on me and I didn't even care.

Every day I see how nice it is and I say to myself “I want to do something outside.” By the time I get home at night it's dark and the day has past me by. I also have this forced urge to do something fun. I can’t even pinpoint what that fun would be. It’s like I want fun to just fall in my lap and until it does I am just annoyed. The annoyed with fun part is what makes me think it’s just my impending menstruation not a true pursuit of happiness. Yesterday, I had to go to teacher orientation for Hebrew school. I looked outside and thought to myself, “I refuse to go to temple today. I will go to the pool.” Then I pictured myself tanning in the sun for hours, got dressed and went to temple.

Today I tried to brainstorm some fun. This is the list I came up with:
Go to Kings Island or Cedar Point [too bad they’re expensive and I barf after 4 coasters]
Go hiking at Old Man’s Cave [fun, but far]
Go to the pool
Have drinks outside on a patio
Horseback riding [no horses]
Ride bikes on a bike path [we don’t own bikes]
Walk the dog [no dog either, however I did tell my cat I might walk her yesterday]
Frolic outside [this sounds fun in theory, but in actuality…it's just weird]
Go on vacation [since we just got back and have no money, this won’t work]
Skip work [although this sounds fun, I don’t have much vacation left and getting fired would suck]
Punch someone in the face, outside. [don’t ask why I would want to do this]

This is the nicest August weather I can remember and I’m just really happy we ate dinner outside last night. I hope the fun comes rolling in soon. Wish me luck.

how long WOULD a fart stay in a spacesuit?

So I’ve mentioned that my office is the official Land of Misfit Toys but as of late they also seem to have an enourmous amount of gas. On Friday, my secretary was talking to me in my cubical [yes people cubical = small closed in area where I do my work] and she just let one rip. I don’t even think the expression on her face changed. I almost said “what was that?” but then I was scared at what her answer might be. Then, this morning, the guy in the cubical next to me farts his ass off right after I got here at 9:37am. Who gasses it before 10am? And WHY dear internets, do these people think it’s acceptable to fart around me? Apparently my office mates forgot Rule #1 of office farting: ASK YOURSELF IF YOU HAVE A PRIVATE OFFICE.

I decided to do a little gas research this morning and I must admit I laughed out loud at my desk at the amount of sites dedicated to Gym Farting Etiquette.

FACT: In the middle ages, loudly breaking wind was an act of appreciation to the housewife. Wow. FI must REALLY appreciate me...

FACT: The average man releases enough flatus in a day to blow up a small balloon. [just don’t pop it!]

FART THESAURUS: breaking wind, passing wind, southerly wind, morning thunder, cutting the cheese, stepping on a toad, cutting loose, air bubble, gassers, stinkers, air biscuits, low-flying ducks, barking spiders, rotten eggs, wet ones, poots, pooter, pip, bleep, blip, SBD, tootsie, fluff, sqeeker, shit-vapor, and the proverbial combo-meal of the bunch... shart.

STORY: When we were in grad school FI and I went with a group of friends to a Columbus Clippers game. The only reason to EVER go to one of these nauseatingly boring games was “dime a dog” night. They allow you to start out with five each. I can never eat five, although I totally heart baseball dogs, my limit is three. FI has no limit on 10 cent hot dogs or any other food that costs less than a quarter. As he enjoyed his five, my two, and any other random dog that someone surrendered, his belly began to grumble. Apparently he felt it would behoove him to let some of these steamers rip. Keep in mind, this was a muggy, 90-degree August night at the ballpark and the only evident breeze was the one generated between the bat and the ball. Our group of friends were seated 2, 3 even 5 rows behind us. Suddenly someone says, “OMG can you smell that?! It smells like something died up someone ass!” Of course my darling FI is the first to be called upon with pointed fingers and accusation in situations such as this. He quickly replied “No, I didn’t fart!” As people begin to pass out two rows behind us he leans over and says, “Seriously babe, I think I might have let some out like ten minutes ago but not *just* now.” Well apparenlty it takes 600 seconds for a silent stinker to form into a putrid cloud [write that down] because it eventually had strangers in section 112 rows A-X yelling and covering their faces. That damn thing lingered for about three innings and assaulted at least three dozen unsuspecting baseball fans. It eventually got out that FI was the one who dealt it, which lead to us never going to dime-a-dog night with friends again. Thank god we still have friends, we just don't eat massive amounts of hot dogs with them... True. Story.

POETRY: (From the history of farting)
There was an old fellow named Art
Who awoke with a terrible start,
For down by his rump
Was a terrible lump
Of what should have just been a fart.

From my late grandmother
[who BTW NEVER held a tooter in]
It’s better to let it out and bear the shame, than to hold it in and bear the pain.

My behaviour was at times inappropriate

Have you ever seen someone do something and think to yourself “Is this socially acceptable now?” Seriously who am I to judge what is or isn’t “hip” to do in front of others. I mean you have the people who come back from the bathroom while still tucking in their shirt and zipping their pants and you have my boss who belches every time he visits the copy machine. But yesterday I was struck by something and I felt somewhat majorly uncomfortable. You know like that uncomfortable-ness where you want to stare at the atrocity yet you feel sick inside and want to forget you saw it? Kind of like when you are visiting your friend and he has a big black lab and every time the lab sits down, happily wagging its tail that little pink popple peeps out at you. You know the one that coined the crayola crayon color “dog dick red”.

Anyway, I am talking to my secretary about mundane shit and she reaches in her desk and pulls out a paper clip. Okay, you say, secretaries use paperclips all of the time – it’s actually just as synonymous as doctor is to stethoscope [I think that is an actual question on the GRE]. So she takes the paperclip and proceeds to jam it into her right ear. She seriously is using this bent metal object to get wax out of her ears!! Each time, she digs around in her ear, pulls it out, looks at it and then wipes it clean with her index finger and thumb. SHE THEN PUTS IT BACK IN!!! Take note that all of this is done seamlessly while speaking with me!! Apparently my face did not reflect what my brain was thinking, I have somewhat managed to perfect this technique over the years.

Q-Tips are actually being categorized as a weapon as of late. I have read health precautions warning people not to use Q-Tips for fear of eardrum perforation or something and some poor Canadian bastard was actually killed by one earlier this month. What-in-the-hell made her think a soft cotton tipped stick and galvanized steel wire could ever serve the same purpose? Now in her defense, she is like 60 and her work attire usually resembles a costume out of the Blue Collar Comedy Tour but I don’t hate her because she’s a republican… I hate her because she dug out ear wax in front of me and didn’t go wash her hands.