Archive for June, 2011

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June 29, 2011

Mischief of One Kind and Another

by Katie

For someone who doesn’t technically have a job right now, I sure do feel busy.

It’s almost like looking for a job is a full-time job.

Except it’s not, at least for me, because I’m also up to my fake twitching eyeball in other projects.  For the blog alone, I owe you probably about 64 updates about what’s going on with our home changes, I’ve got some really fantastic recipes to share, and the consumption of the Spanish bottles of wine we brought home have inspired some really deep thoughts, like why was the Bachelorette so hung up on that Bentley guy (I mean his name is Bentley, for crying out loud), and I wonder how long I can get away with not removing the toenail polish I applied before leaving for Spain.

Apparently the answer is at least 5 weeks, because I only have about 40% coverage left per toe and I still haven’t fixed it.

So aside from all the blog posts gurgling around in my head, I have projects galore.  The office is still a work-in-progress, and hopefully I’ll have updates soon.  I’m applying for jobs.  I’m working on writing projects.  I’m one of the first few people getting to read my friend’s yet-unpublished novel.  And on top of all that, Alaina’s baby shower is in a mere week-and-a-half.

What’s that?  You didn’t know I was throwing a baby shower?

Let’s see… we all know I’m awkward around children, I’d probably make a terrible parent, and until recently I assumed a boppy was something teenagers took recreationally at raves.  So me throwing a baby shower makes perfect sense, right?

Lucky for me, Alaina doesn’t want just a baby shower.  She wants a baby party — complete with alcohol, drinking games, and… wait for it… boys.  See, just because she can’t drink, she doesn’t feel the need to punish everyone else.  Especially me.  And I’m also fortunate that a couple of her other dear friends are helping me out.

So this is pretty much what my world looks like right now:

(This last one actually has nothing to do with the baby shower.  It’s for a different project entirely, but I couldn’t resist.  You know I like to keep you guessing.)

I never thought I’d say this, but I’m pretty excited for this baby shower to happen.  Not to give anything away, but it’s probably going to involve a relay race with strollers and the chugging of White Russians from baby bottles.  The drink — not the people.

How twisted do you think I am?

Posted in Just Sayin, This 'n That | 13 Comments »

June 28, 2011

Why You Should Either Pay Me to Collate or Contract Bird Flu. Or Both.

by Katie

So.  This morning I had a revelation.

I know… you’re thinking, here we go.  She’s going to talk about one of those revelations again — it’ll be one of those posts where she makes some big declaration about how she’s finally going to get off her ass and start making changes and find her dream job and discover spiritual enlightenment, and blah, blah blah.

Seriously.  Can’t.  Wait.

Well, you’re in luck, because it IS one of those.  Kind of.  But not really.

Because I have to be realistic.  I’m realizing it’s kind of difficult to get off your ass and make your dream job happen if you don’t exactly know what it is or how to get started.  So, following that train of thought, I’ve been looking for an interim job — something to get me out of doing laundry every once-in-a-while and help me remember what it’s like to earn a paycheck.  Maybe an office clerk or a realtor’s assistant or something along those lines.

Because dammit, I would be good at that.

The problem is that at the moment, these jobs are few and far between.  And where they do exist, they’re highly competitive.  And for some reason, “Freelance Writer from Jan-July 2011″ and “Hot Sauce Maker Extraordinaire from Sep-Nov 2010″ don’t immediately present themselves as qualifying work experiences.

But that’s because they don’t know me.  If they’d just get to know me, they’d see how my life experience, combined of course with technical know-how, above-average literacy, and superb communication skills, would make me pretty much an awesome person to have as their right-hand-man.

Woman.

Whatever.

Unfortunately, the only jobs I’m finding listed along those lines turn out to be spammers — jackasses who solely exist in this world to prey upon people who are just looking for a decent break.

At least they give Karma something to do.

The good(?) news is that the 247 illegitimate employment responses I’ve received are making me reevaluate my entire find-something-to-keep-me-busy-and-pay-the-bills-so-I-can-structure-my-schedule-and-feel-less-guilty-about-not-working-and-just-find-time-to-write-on-the-side plan.

See, not too long ago, I whined about lack of signs showing me I was on the right path.  And, in effect, perhaps I was ignoring signs telling me I was on the wrong path.  But here’s the thing — It’s pretty impossible to ignore the fact that every single sign I receive about getting a crappy office job is telling me NOT to do it.  (Let’s just pretend the terrible economy and almost nonexistent job market has nothing to do with it, mmmkay?)

The sad fact is that when I’m honest with myself, one of those jobs would put me exactly back in the position I was in when I first flipped my lid, quit my job, and moved to Costa Rica.  And that really can’t be a healthy cycle to start over.

So.

Where does that leave me?

Well, I’m going to continue my quest for interim employment and keep my fingers crossed for something remotely stimulating, challenging, and worthwhile (perhaps an assistant to someone busy and interesting and trusting of my creative personality and the ways I can assist him/her in maintaining the status of being the type of person I’d like to become).

Because, hey — laundry is laundry and a paycheck is a paycheck.

But.  I can’t lose focus on my goal, which is writing.  Or travel.  Or both.

And for me, travel is like breathing – a bare necessity of life.

I kind of forgot where I was going with this, so I will end with two propositions:

1)  If you need an assistant — even a virtual one who can type, make phone calls, organize schedules, file, collate, fax and email, I’m your girl.  Oh, and I can also make really awesome flyers.  Because if you’re cool, you probably need someone who can make flyers.

2)  If you want to pay someone to travel to exotic places, take pictures and write back to you about all the exciting things I’m eating, drinking and doing because you’re curious about the world but terrified you might get stuck on a plane next to the most banal, talkative person in existence who also happens to have the bird flu and never washes his hands or covers his mouth when he sneezes, I am definitely your girl.

Because while I don’t particularly want to contract bird flu, I have a feeling that kind of job would be worth it.

So, so worth it.

Related Post: How to Land a Job as a Classy Hooker or Someone Who Gets to Look at Eddie Vedder’s Butt

Posted in Living and Learning, Resolutions | 6 Comments »

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June 27, 2011

Answers to your BURNING Questions (Pun Intended)

by Katie

Sometimes I like to pretend that I’m more popular than I actually am.

You know, like if someone asks whether I can grab a drink next Saturday, I might tell her, “I think I’m available that night, but it seems like I remember there’s a possibility that I might have had something going on so I’ll check and get back to you.”

The problem is that people know me and know I’m not actually that popular, and inside I’m probably jumping at the chance to go out.  But I have to play it cool, you know, so I don’t scare away potential friends.

It’s kind of like when you’re playing the dating game and you don’t want to show your potential love interest you’re too interested, because displaying intense desire translates to desperate, which translates to if nobody else wants to date you, then why would I?, which translates to unattractive and undesirable candidate for courtship.

Which is complete BS if you ask me, because just because I’m eager to hang out with you doesn’t mean no one else wants to be friends with me.  There’s like… a whole waiting list of people who want to be friends with me.

And the cycle continues.

So.

Since I’ve gotten a couple of questions about things I’ve mentioned on the blog out of curiosity or my lackadaisical approach to follow-up, I’m going to pretend that I’ve received a whole slew of questions about issues I’ve failed to address, because I’m pretty sure you want to ask me these things, but you haven’t because you’re too scared to make contact or you don’t actually exist.

Here we go:

Why did I put the tick in vodka?  I honestly don’t know.  But something (a faded memory from something I read?  Instinct?  Complete irrationality caused by paralyzing fear?) told me it was the right thing to do.  I thought if I put it directly in the toilet, there was a possibility it could crawl out and take revenge.  But if I got it drunk first, it would obviously be too uncoordinated to swim.

Makes perfect sense.

How’s the office decorating project going?  Umm… I was decorating the office?  Oh, yeah.  Well, I did buy that desk from Overstock, and it’s awesome.  But that’s about as far as we got until I got home from the bar (the one where I work — not where I drink) at 3 a.m. on Sunday morning to discover this sitting in the garage:

It’s probably been too long for you to remember, but I was originally going to create an L-shaped desk with the one from Overstock as the short end, and then use an old door sitting on top of some filing cabinets for the long end.  However, Justin insisted on building the long part of the L to match the desk we purchased, and I was all “Yeah, okay that’s great — I can’t wait to have a desk that you made with your bare hands (har-har) in like a year since that’s how long it will probably take you to make it,” and then Sunday at 3 a.m. I had to pretty much stick my entire foot in my mouth and then my calf up to my frickin’ knee because I’ll be damned if that desk isn’t just the most perfect, coolest desk I have ever seen.

Now we just have to paint it, and Operation Office Decor will be back in full swing.

What?  You’re still working in a bar?  Haven’t you gotten a real job yet?  Oh you just had to go there, didn’t you?  As a matter of fact, Saturday night/Sunday morning, right before I had to stick my entire foot in my mouth because it turns out my husband is actually pretty awesome at building desks, I worked my last shift at the bar.

It was bittersweet.  Bitter because I worked with some pretty awesome people I really don’t want to lose track of, yet sweet because I’m pretty sure that’s the last time I’ll ever have to wait tables again.

Oh, and also bitter because I still haven’t found another job.  Even just one for a part-time office assistant.  The pickins are slim out there, people.  And I can’t count how many times the evil Craigslist has broken my heart by making me think someone was emailing me with an actual response but it was really just spam.

I mean, don’t get me wrong — I’m enjoying the fact that I can spend the entire day not wearing pants because I’m not required to physically interact with the outside world.  But sometimes?  Sometimes I want an excuse to wear pants.

Speaking of not wearing pants, you already revealed that you umm… revealed the “girls” at the beaches in Spain, but that wasn’t the real question — the question was, did you remember the SPF 100 for your nips?  (It wasn’t phrased exactly like this, but laxsupermom really did ask this question.  And I kind of love her for it.)

Oh, yes.  I had expressed concern, prior to our trip to Spain, about the very real possibility of experiencing nipple burnage on the nude beaches.  Well, I’m very happy to inform you that I did remember to wear sunscreen.  Almost every time.  Some general pinkness did occur in the overall vicinity one time due to carelessness, but overall, my first nude beach experience was a thrilling success.

Thank you for taking an interest in my precautionary measures for avoiding skin cancer and public boob itching unbecoming a young woman.

Your concern means the world to me.

You can all now go back to your regularly scheduled programs.

Posted in Bon Voyage, Just Sayin, Living and Learning, This 'n That | 9 Comments »

June 24, 2011

I’m Pretty Sure My Dog Tried to Drown Me and Other Reasons I Probably Should Never Be a Parent

by Katie

While my sister was here for an impromptu visit last week, we quite frequently took our 4 — count ‘em, four – combined mutts down to the lake near our house for some much-needed energy expenditure.  On their part, not ours.  Kelly and I were too busy downing Cazadores tequila and Squirts to expend any energy on much else.

(Oh, and I didn’t take any pictures while my sister was here because I’m a bad blogger.  Bad.)

Now, my dogs love the water.  They jump right in, splash around, dunk their heads beneath the surface to cool off, lap some up, etc.  But Kelly’s dogs?  Kelly’s dogs loooove the water.  The chocolate lab swims around in circles while the little dopey (but I still love him) rescue mutt swims along the shoreline like a damn little beaver, and I’m pretty sure he’s taunting my dogs about the fact that they don’t go past the spot where they can reach the lake bottom.

Finally, I’d decided I’d witnessed enough mediocrity from my children dogs.  I waded in to just below the hemline of my shorts (didn’t want any of that pesky capillary action to take hold if the bottom of my shorts got wet), and used my sweetest, most enticing voice to call Capone, who looked more intrigued than Mara about the idea of possibly leaving the safety of the shoreline.

This is Capone.

He came as far as his legs would reach the bottom and let out a small whimper.  So I extended my arms, smiled in encouragement, and said, “Swim, buddy!  You can do it!  Come to mama!”

And then he jumped.

Not a slight push off of the drop-off edge so he could paddle his way to me, but a flat-out LEAP from the water and straight into my waiting embrace.  The problem is that my embrace wasn’t expecting to have over 50 pounds of muscular, soaking wet canine come barreling into it, and I was knocked flat backwards into the water as said canine continued to panic and use my body as a gripping post to claw his way to the surface.

I only bled a little.

Kelly laughed a lot.

After that I decided that maybe it wasn’t worth it to try to teach Capone to swim.  Clearly, he wasn’t grasping the concept.  What I didn’t realize is that Capone isn’t a take-this-in-baby-steps type of dog.  If he’s going to do something, then he’s damn-well going to do it.

Fast-forward to yesterday’s walk.  I try to take each dog on a 2-mile loop every morning.  I don’t dare try to walk them both at once, and I let each of them off the leash for a bit at the lake so they can cool down.  When I let Capone off his leash yesterday, he chased a couple of ducks into the water.  Of course, he only pursued them as far as his legs would reach.  They taunted him just a few feet beyond the drop-off, quack-laughing and probably saying, “Whew!  Good thing that dog can’t swim!”

I watched him.

He watched the ducks.

Then he did something strange.  He looked at me and let out a frustrated whine.  And I’m not sure now, but I think I might’ve said something like, “Yeah… too bad you’re too much of a pussy to go after ‘em.”

And that’s when he jumped.  Except this time, there was no one there to catch him.  Instinct immediately kicked in, and he paddled his little heart out after those ducks.  He wanted those ducks.  Surprised, the ducks kept swimming and flitting just feet outside his reach.  Further and further from the shore.

My pride was quickly replaced by panic as I realized my dog, who’d never swum before, was now about 50 yards off the shoreline.  I kicked off my shoes and socks and frantically waved and yelled from the water’s edge, yet I still didn’t go in after him.  Finally — finally – the ducks flew off, and suddenly Capone realized he was in the middle of the lake.  So he turned around and swam back.

The end.

I guess my point in telling you all this is to explain why I’d be an entirely inadequate mother.  Aside from the reasons I wrote about here.  I love my dogs.  And you can bet I would’ve gone in after Capone if I’d sensed he was in trouble.  But 50 yards is kind of a long way.  Not to mention calling him a pussy.  What kind of caretaker does that?

I’m also not very good at other mom stuff — especially the gross stuff.  Especially the gross stuff that involves bugs.

Like today, Mara had a tick.

This is Mara.

The tick was on her ear.  Now.  I don’t know anyone who particularly likes ticks, but they rank pretty high on my list of the most repulsive things I’ve ever seen in this world.  And I’ve seen quite a few things.

Unfortunately, I knew this probably couldn’t wait until Justin gets home from work.  So I gathered the necessary supplies and called my sweet, trusting pup over to me, tweezers in hand.

I’m pretty sure I heard it let out a faint bug scream as its body burst between my tweezers when I yanked it from my poor mutt’s ear and dropped it into a vat — okay it was a cup — of frigid vodka I’d poured from the bottle in the freezer.  (Okay, I poured it from one of 3 bottles in the freezer, but that’s not the point.)  The point is, I’m not 100% positive I got the entire head out, but I’m willing to let closer inspection wait until Justin gets home because right now I’m still trying to shake the feeling that I have ticks crawling up and down my back and maybe I should check in the mirror one more time and I’m not sure if I can ever drink out of that cup again and why the hell do they have to look like such scary little aliens???

Also, I’m not sure I should waste any more money on flea and tick medication, because if I still have to go through trauma like this, what is the point?

So.  Considering the fact that I’m lucky my dogs are even still alive at this point, I think actual motherhood might be out of the question.  Unless they start making kennels I can just put my baby in when I leave the house…

Wait, that’s not cool.  Not cool at all.

Posted in Little Monsters, This 'n That | 15 Comments »

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