Dear All Two of You Who Read This,

Hi.
I've moved to www.ellemental.net

The Benefits of Being My Friend

Today I'm wearing a pair of jeans that are one size too small specifically for the purpose of walking up to my friend, pulling up my shirt, pointing to my crotch and singing (ala Aqualung):

"Cameltoe my friend...Won't this nightmare ever end?"

Why yes. Yes I do.

Do you ever get the feeling that the story's too damn real and in the present tense,
and that everybody's on the stage and it seems like you're the only person sitting in the audience?

~ Jethro Tull, Skating Away on the Thin Ice of a New Day

Fine. I'll write my own damn song.

Mommas don't let your babies grow up to be 36 year old women who date musicians.
They won't get enough sleep
and their bar tabs won't be cheap
and blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah and something that rhymes with "musicians".

Realization

There are no songs out there written about women like me.

Notes from the Kitchen

 
For years I've been the Paper Products Gal at any covered dish occasion. Everyone knows that I'll come through with great paper plates and some nice plastic silverware, but no one ever asks me to actually cook anything.

Mostly likely that's because I love to tell people that I can't cook.

The truth is actually not that I can't cook, it's just that I don't. I'm single, I live alone, and I really don't like leftovers. Give me a Lean Cuisine and a little salad and I'm good to go.

Lately, though, I've been cooking more. I make chili or lentil soup and share it with my grandmother and the VIM. I've discovered that I can make some mean baked apples. I mean, geeze, I'm not a complete loser in the kitchen. I just choose to look like one sometimes. But those times are getting fewer and further between. Maybe I'm growing up. Maybe I'm getting bored with Beanies and Weenies. Who knows why these things happen?

So for the last covered dish meal I was invited to I offered to *gasp* bring a covered dish. The hostess did well in hiding her fear and surprise and said, "Great." (I think she added another "Juuuuuust great" under her breath, but I was already walking away, formulating my plan.)

I needed a crowd pleaser. Unfortunately the only thing I was certain would be pleasing was baked apples, and I wasn't keen on the idea of peeling apples for 100 people. So the VIM offered a suggestion: Hot Sausage.
"It's easy" he says.
"There will be a lot of beer drinkin' guys there, right?" he asks.
"They'll love you" he says.
"It's easy," he says again.
"Here's what you do: you getcher sausage at the butcher shop and cut it up into short little sandwich sized pieces. Throw it in a pot and boil it. Throw it in a crockpot with sauce, peppers and onions for a few hours, put out some rolls beside the crockpot, and voila. People love hot sausage sandwiches."

I'll take his word for it.

So I gathered all the ingredients together and began the quick and easy task of making Hot Sausage Sandwiches.

Step 1: Cut the sausage into little sandwich sized pieces.
Have you ever tried to cut fresh sausage (and let's not even get into what "fresh" could possibly mean in this case, ok)? I string out the 2 pounds of sausage on my counter and start hacking at it with a knife. The skin (blarg) is tough. It doesn't want to be pierced. Sausage starts squeezing out the other end. I try a straight edged knife. I try a serrated knife. I try scissors. I end up with glops of ground pig on my counter and noticeably thinner sandwich sized pieces of sausage.

Step 2: Throw it in a pot and boil it.
Apparently I wasn't listening and missed the real second step, which was to poke holes in the skin before boiling the stupid sandwich sized pieces of sausage. But whatever. This was a truly easy step. I was beginning to feel at ease. I was beginning to feel like a cook until the water started boiling. Suddenly the whole shebang changed from some nice little sandwich sized pieces of sausage floating placidly in some water to a turbulent, roiling, tormented ocean storm of pig fat. At least that's what I think it was. Scroll back up and look at the picture. Click on it to enlarge so you get a Real Good Look at it. I had no idea that fat could puff up and foam like that. I also had no idea how bad foamy pig fat would smell when it boiled over the side of the pot onto the electric burner. and did you know that the sausage itself will puff up? At least the ends of it. I guess if I had poked holes in the skin it would have had ample room to expand. Since I missed that step, the sausage expanded exploded out instead. I should have fished one of the exploded-end sandwich sized pieced of sausage out of the boiling foamy pig fat and taken a picture of it, but at that point I was heading to my happy place.

Step 3: Throw it in a crockpot and let it cook.
This was about the only thing that went right. The sauce hid the disfigured sandwich sized pieces of sausage, and the peppers and onions soon covered up the smell of burning foamy pig fat.

The end result was amazingly a success. People actually ate that stuff. I mean, they ate all of it. Blargh.

I did it. I brought a covered dish. Now can I go back to the paperplates and plastic silverware???

• Today I get to tell an employee that the sponsorship visa we were applying for in his behalf has been canned. The quota was reached before we were done. Although it isn't really anyone's fault (we didn't know that he needed a sponsorship visa until days before the quota for next year was already reached...we needed MONTHS advance notice), I will have to tell him that there's nothing we can do at this point. This new job sucks hairy ass.
  
• I'm trying to get back on the fitness track. Lifted weights yesterday. Not being able to lift my arms above my head sucks hairy ass.
  
• Our department at work has scheduled a "Team Building" session. You know...where you do stuff like blindfold a coworker then lead them through some kind of obstacle course. I can't even begin to tell you of the evil glee I experience while daydreaming about the session.
  
• Before the team building session, we are having a department meeting where each of us has to teach something to our coworkers. My session is going to be titled "Why It Isn't Polite To Turn Up Your Desk Phone As Loud As It Can Go Just So You Can Hear The Ring If You Happen To Be Out Of Your Office." Either that or an instructional video on how to refill the paper in the copier, since obviously NOONE knows how to do it.
  
• PMS - it sucks hairy ass.
  

Notes from Work

Even though I'm off, my boss isn't. He never fails to do projects that require something from me when I'm not there.

This afternoon I got an email that read "Where the hell is your new job description?"

I called in and explained that I hadn't filed my job description in my personnel file yet because I was using it as a base to rough out a plan for my new Computer File Reorg project. The hard copy of the job description was, in fact, underneath the desk calendar on my computer desk. I told him if it wasn't there that he could call me back and I'd direct him to where it was on the network.

I gave my boss a few minutes to locate it, then emailed him a "did you find it?"

His reply:

Yea. Figures that the person in charge of file reorganization puts her's under her calendar. Elizabeth's and Sue's were in their files(what a strange concept that is).
I can't wait to see some of your other suggestions regarding improving our filing systems. Will punch details be kept under the fake tree in the lobby? Will Joan Smith's Employee file be under the Styrofoam cups in the supply room?

Smart Ass.

Notes from Home

Thank goodness I took today off. The job fair kicked. my. ass. Or more precisely, the drive kicked my ass. Or more precisely, the drive in the torrential rain and wind kicked my ass. The migraine that I developed driving home didn't help either. But whatever. I'm off. Oh yes indeedy, I'm off. It's 10:16am and I'm sitting here in my pajamas with a cup of coffee by my side with absolutely no plans. Well, maybe lunch with the VIM (in public!...he's living on the edge these days).

I have a feeling there will be very little nesting going on. Precious little cleaning and no rearranging. The crockpot will remain empty. I just don't have it in me today. I feel a day of curling up in bed with a book coming on.