It's very...sparkly!

So, I didn't get any Christmas presents from my dad this year, 'cause he was kind of busy. But, perhaps it's better this way. My dad may be really sick and was in danger of dying, but he’s still really crappy at picking out presents for me. Don’t believe me? Here. I’ll *show* you gifts from years past.



The object on the left? That’s a cat purse. Why? Because I have a cat. Duh. It’s beaded and spangly and ummm, unnecessary. The thing with the Jack-O’-Lantern on it is a shirt. He bought it because it was “festive” and I didn’t have to just wear it at Halloween, I could wear it anytime during the fall season. That’s what he said. He also spent $28 plus tax on it. Yep.

The lovely item below is a poinsettia pin. Again, it’s “festive”. It’s also the size of my hand. He said I could pin to my hat. ‘Cause evidently, it’s 1933 in his world. Also, in case you can’t tell, it’s made entirely of sequins. So, it’ll totally match the cat purse and the pumpkin shirt.



Next up? I asked for wine glasses or a toaster oven one year. Here’s what I got!



You probably can’t see it very well, but it’s a lovely gold turtle with a bejeweled enamel shell. It opens, too! You can put 3 paperclips, a thumbtack or a piece of chewed gum in there. Maybe a teeny earring. The shell is the size of a walnut. So, you know, picture that along with his words of, “I thought you could put it on your desk and it would be a colorful paperweight AND neat to hold things in.” I’m not even lying. I wish that I was. I don’t work in an office where wind comes whipping down the hallways, so the need for a paperweight isn’t overly urgent and as for storing things in it, how about my wishes and dreams for a toaster oven or wine glasses? Will it hold them or are they too big to fit in the tiny, sparkly shell?

One year he bought me a fur stole. Real fur. Real bitty feet hanging down. You’re supposed to wear it around your neck before you kill people and eat their faces, I think. WTF? This man has known me my whole life. He was there when he had to remove me from the movie theater, WAILING, while watching “Bambi”. He was there when I had to remove myself from the movie theater, SOBBING, while watching “Benji”. I wasn’t allowed to watch westerns with him when I was a kid because I would cry every time one of the horses got shot. Fake animal distress upset me that much. So, OBVIOUSLY a real dead animal draped around my neck is the perfect choice for a gift.

I honestly can’t figure out if he thinks I’m still a 9-year old girl or if he thinks I’m my 86-year old great aunt. Or a Gypsy...

Fear

My dad had a massive heart attack Friday night. He had the type they call the Widow Maker. Complete blockage of the left ventricle or something. I don’t know. Despite my near religious viewing of “House”, I’m not actually a doctor. Evidently, people usually die from this type of heart attack (or Miocardial Infarction if you’re feeling fancy) before they can receive medical attention. Luckily, this wasn’t the case with my dad. He probably had a heart attack last week as well. He was out in the cold, walking briskly and felt extreme pain and tension in his chest. He attributed it to the really cold weather, sat down for a few minutes and caught his breath. He blew it off as nothing. But, this one happened while he was sitting on the couch in his 74-degree apartment. He knew this one wasn’t nothing. He’ll be having a quadruple bypass in the morning.

My mom died when I was 6. I don’t usually advertise this, but if someone asks, I’ll tell them. My greatest fear has always been my dad dying, too. I know he’ll die someday. I’m probably more aware of that fact than most people are about their parents, because I grew up knowing that it was always not just a possibility, but an actuality. I almost certainly have an unnatural preoccupation with loved ones dying. When I don’t hear from someone, I automatically assume the worst. The more I love them, the greater that fear becomes. I’ve driven people mad with this. I’m sure it’s about to get worse. So, for all of you out there who are supposed to call me at appointed times, please do it so I won’t assume that you’re dead in a ditch, ok? Thanks.

I don’t have siblings. I didn’t grow up with my family, so I don’t know my cousins and aunts and uncles. My dad is all I have. He’s it. He’s my family. He’s my friend. He’s the one person in my life who has always been there. Always had my back. Always told me when I was being a fuckheaded ‘tard and always brings me Diet Coke with Splenda. He’s my go-to person. He came to California to drive my car and me to Ohio because I asked him to. Who does that? Yes, he gets on my nerves (and I’m fairly certain I get on his just as often). Yes, he’s technologically challenged. Yes, he’s sarcastic and kind of a dick sometimes. BUT, he’s also extremely thoughtful. Extremely funny. Extremely generous and would give anyone in need the shirt off his back. Literally. He’s LITERALLY given someone his coat. Twice. In the middle of winter.

I’m not ready for him to be gone. I’m just not. I’m not equipped to be all alone. I like being alone, but not that alone. The fear is overwhelming at times and the thought of him not being there is more than I can take right now. I just can’t. I can’t conceive of what that type of aloneness must be like. I’m afraid. Down to my toes, deep in my soul, afraid. The dread is heavy. I try to joke and play online and bullshit my way though this, but I am terrified. And sad. And feeling very, very alone.

Wow! Just wow.

So, this was a cover letter I received with a resume today. Other than removing her name, it's exactly as I received it. Even the italics are the same. I...I just...really? Really, there isn't someone she showed this to before sending it out? Someone who would say, "hmm, you know, maybe that's not what a cover letter is all about"? Or "Hey, I know, why don't you leave out most of this and just give a summary of your qualifications and your education and what your salary requirements are?" Really? Read it and tell me if I'm being a bitch. Seriously.

The wonderful life of [name redacted] all started in August 9, 1982 when I was born a beautiful baby girl. I was trouble from the start. I first got kicked out of school in the 3rd grade. then my grades started dropping but I passed elementary and moved on to middle school where I had a problem keeping my hand to myself and they would always send me to peer mediation to talk out my problems out, well that didn’t work for a while so they through me in detention and when that didn’t work I started to getting suspended, so my mom decided to put me in child guidance to see what was really wrong with me. I mean don’t get me wrong I had my mother, father, and my younger sister in my house hold my parents weren’t on drugs maybe they had a few drinks every now and then but there was nothing to serious and they both had jobs. So, what was the problem? Well, we never got to it they laid my dad off and his insurance got cancelled. So, I passed all my classes and went on to high school where I got kicked out of one school went to another school for all bad kids, went back to public school were I mostly was suspended, passed went to another school and dropped out in the 11th grade because I was pregnant.

Had my baby and a year later started taking classes at the Adult Vocational Services were I got my GED and was also taking a course in Information Processing. I walked across the stage with my GED in 2004.

The Information Processing class that I took prior to coming to Brown Mackie was more of a secretarial work type of study some of the windows work is the same but, in my Information Processing class we had to learn a lot of accounting, and I don’t have to do accounting in this class just medical math.

I heard about Brown Mackie through a friend that goes hear now she is studying how to become a medical assistant. She is about to graduate this summer and she was telling me how great this school was so I had to try it

Now that I am enrolled in Brown Mackie College I never thought that I would be in college the one that always got suspended, the one that never really cared for going to school, has been going to school and doing better since I’ve been going to college.

My major at Brown Mackie College is an Admitting Officer. I selected to become an Admitting Officer is because I like the medical field and I like making sure that everything is in order and patients are in and out of their appointments on time. I like just sitting at a computer doing your work; you get to meet all the people that come in to the office. You have a chance to advance in your work place where you can move ahead and make more money, and get great benefits through your job.

The one thing I plan to do when I receive my degree is to work in a private doctors office or in a hospital in an another city, so I buy me a house, truck and have sum money for my baby to go to college so that she can have a good life as well.

To close my story up I started being bad and causing trouble for everybody I was a bully and didn’t have to many friends but I always had my family they were there with me through thick and thin even if they really didn’t want to be mixed up in the drama at times they were. I was just to young to see that and just thought that everybody owed me something when the truth is I owe them something. My life and everything that it has to offer, because I don’t know how I would have made it trying to take care of a child at the age of 16 if it wasn’t for them.


Still today my grandmother stays on me about school and still makes sure that I cum to school and tells me to stick wit and don’t give up because you have to go through a struggle in order to make it to the top of your dreams. I want to be on top of my dreams.

Incompetence, Thy Name is Dianne

One of our Directors (not the one I have a crush on) is quite possibly retarded. When I first started at my company, I was her Administrative Assistant. She used to forward all of her documents to me to print because a) she couldn’t figure out how to see the whole thing on the computer screen and b) she couldn’t figure out how to format it to print properly if it wasn’t already set to print on one page. I would come in every morning and have 10 – 15 emails from her saying, “please print”. One time she called me to come fix her printer. I walked in, looked at it from across the room, went over to it and pressed a button. It made a noise. She gasped and said, "how’d you DO that?” I replied, "I turned it on.”

Another time, after I had moved to a different building and a position in HR, she called me to repair her printer. (Btw, we have an IT department. Not sure why she always calls me.) I asked her if it was on. She said, “YES, I’m not STUPID!” So, I walked over to her building, went to her giant office that she doesn’t deserve, and looked at her printer. It was out of paper. Nope, you’re not stupid…

She paged me out of a meeting once because she was trying to send an email to the Regional Vice President, but every time she typed, nothing would show up on the screen. I tried to talk her through it on the phone, but was getting nowhere. I went to her giant office that she doesn’t deserve and highlighted the text in her email. I looked at it for a second and then glanced up – her font was set to pale yellow. *ahem* Nope, not stupid...

Last week, she was babbling about something in my office, which is not giant and I totally deserve, and she asked me if I was still living in my same apartment. I said that I was (it’s an attic apartment in an old brownstone. It’s super cute and I call it my little dollhouse) and that I have a really loud neighbor. She said maybe I should stomp around and be loud back. I said, “yeah, maybe. I’m so quiet, you wouldn’t even know anyone lives there. I act as though I’m living in the attic with Anne Frank”. She replied, “WHO?” I said, “umm, you know? Anne Frank? She and her family lived in an attic, while they were hiding from Nazis?” She looked at me and said, and I swear to God I’m not making this up, “Helen Keller’s friend was on the run from Nazis????”

She makes $122,000 a year. Plus bonus. I fucking hate her.

Melancholy Moment

This isn't my normal kind of post, not that I really have a regular type of post. Shit, I haven't even updated this thing in 2 months, but it's screaming in my head to come out. I'll probably delete it later, but I thought I'd get it out for now. The holidays suck for me normally, but this year, they seem to suck a tidge more. I'm really hoping this malaise doesn't last until January.


I don’t know why I still love him. He’s a shit person. He never really loved me and he subtly (and sometimes, not so subtly), never let me forget it. He made me feel bad about myself without ever saying a word. He was killing time with me and I knew it. I wanted it to be different, but it wasn’t and it never would be. And yet, I still love him. I still miss him. I still want him back. What the fuck is wrong with me that I would want that? What is wrong with me that I miss someone I never had? 4 years together, but I never really had him.

He didn’t abuse me. He wasn't mean. He didn't yell. He didn’t mistreat me. He just kept me at arms length. He just didn't love me.

I still dream about him. In fact, more now than I did when we were together and more now than I did when he first left. The dreams are usually the same. I can smell him; his shampoo and deodorant and soap, the slight hint of cigarette smoke. Usually, he apologizes to me. Usually, I forgive him. I always touch his hair. Doesn’t matter if it even fits in the dream, I always manage to touch his hair. One time, he wrapped his arms around me and buried his face in the back of my neck, fingers laced with mine and he said he was sorry. He told me he missed me. He said all the things I wanted to hear for so long. I woke up crying and I could still smell him. And feel his breath on my neck. And I missed him. GOD, I missed him.

Most days I’m fine. It’s been 8 months; I should hope I’d mostly be fine by now! But some days, especially this time of year, are harder than others. I miss cooking for us. I miss buying frilly lingerie to entice him. I miss him fixing my car or taking out the trash or just changing a light bulb for me and then teasing me about being so short. I miss him burning CDs for me and I miss buying him his favorite movies and eating 4 different kinds of ice cream, because we couldn't pick just one, while we watched them together. I miss his sarcastic and hilarious texts. I miss feeling his hand on my hip.

There’s so much I don’t miss. SOOO much. But sometimes, like tonight, I just miss his presence.

Aw Nuts!

So, the new Director of Finance (on whom I *may* have a teeny, tiny, gigantic, little, inappropriate crush) called me Friday. I had my mouth full when I answered the phone (classy, I KNOW). He said, “what’re you doing”, I replied, “eating peanuts”…welllll, that’s sort of what I said. Take out the “t”…yeah, so …

We were both silent for a second and then he said, “ok, call me when you’re done”.

Nicely played, sir!

Every single day I’m amazed that I still have my job…

Ma Ingalls Would Have Whupped My Ass…

“Old Yeller” was on TCM and I watched it. Why? Because I am very stupid and because I apparently enjoy crying like a little bitch. WTF is wrong with me? I can’t watch “Meerkat Manor” because too many of those little creatures die – offscreen! I can’t watch the commercials for the ASPCA with the Sarah McLachlan song, because I will be upset for hours. So, what do I do? Yeah, I watch the King of Animal-Pull-Your-Heart-Out-Through-Your-Tear Ducts movies. I am the dumb.

I became aware, while watching, that I never would have made it had I been unlucky enough to be born on the Frontier in the mid-1800’s. I mean really, I moan around the office if I have a hangnail. I stay in bed all day if I have a headache. Good Lord, I eat Vicodin like they’re M&M’s if I have cramps. There’s no freakin’ way I could survive as one of those prairie wives. They farmed and cooked and cleaned and milked cows and raised annoying children and slaughtered their own meat. I have a cleaning lady for my one-bedroom apartment and I can’t even touch raw poultry without gagging. They stitched wounds with horsetail hairs and no anesthesia, people! I get dizzy and weak if I look at a bleeding papercut. It seems like they birthed a baby and then got up an hour later and made supper for their husbands. Crimeny! Sometimes I come home from my temperature-controlled, desk job and I’m too tired to cook anything other than microwave popcorn.

I’ll admit it, I’m a wuss. I’m a huge, giant, wussy baby. However, I don’t know too many women in my circle of acquaintances, co-workers or friends who would be able to survive in that kind of environment. I realize that we’ve grown up with modern amenities and we would have adapted (some of us better than others) had we been born and raised during that time-period. I understand that it’s all relative and that 150 years from now, people will look back at our generation and think, “Thank Godopus that I didn’t grow up then! I read on the Googlenets that they had to prepare food instead of just swallowing a pill and they had to WALK to get around rather than just tell their hovercraft to move to the left.” I’m sure our ways will seem rough to them. Although honestly, I can’t imagine how lazy future generations would have to be to think loading a dishwasher is taxing or that pressing “start” (*ahem*) on a crockpot is a lot of work. So, yeah, as much as I sometimes whine that life is tough, it’s good to be able to look at things in perspective and realize just how good I have it.

So, to sum up –

1) Prairie life was hard, ya’ll.
2)“Old Yeller” is an emotional nightmare for me.
3) I TOTALLY wished that Arliss (the maddening 6 year old in the movie) had been bitten by Old Yeller and then Travis would have had to shoot his irritating ass.

Admit it, you would have traded Arliss’ life for Yeller’s, too…

Move Over Rachael "Yummo" Ray...

Last night, I cooked a roast, while I slept. That's right, people, I am that good at multi-tasking.

Except, I'm not.

Here's the thing - I prepared this succulent pork roast with sweet sauerkraut (yes, I realize that sounds like an oxymoron), garlic cloves tucked deep into the meat, some lovely slices of apples and onions mixed in and a delightful glaze of brown sugar and butter on top...

And forgot to press "start" on the crockpot. Fuck.

So, now I have 3.7 pounds of pork, which has sat in a room temperature kitchen overnight (what temperature is room temperature exactly? I'm totally serious. I realize I could look this up on the Google, but I don't feel like it. I'm bitter and unmotivated right now.) and I think it probably needs to be thrown out. You can't cook something that's sat out all night, can you? Especially pork...isn't that how people, you know, DIE?

I don't know what to do. It wasn't a cheap roast and I already had it in my head that that's what I'll be having this week (with mashed potatoes and either orange simmered carrots or spicy pecan, nutmeg and cinnamon infused root vegetables. I totally sound like an awesome cook; I know, right? Yeah, evidently NOT!)

If I cook the meat, won't that kill any bacteria that sneaked in over the course of the unrefrigerated brainfart night? What did they do in olden days before they had refrigerators?


Sonofabitch.

P.T. Barnum Was Right!

I bought those Crest Whitestrips a couple of months ago because I felt that my pearly off-whites could use a make-over. They (those people at Crest) say that your teeth will be noticeably whiter after 7 days and will last for 12 months. The first part is totally right - they were definitely whiter after 4 days and I was mighty proud of them, but the second part is a flat out LIE! It's been like 2 months and already my teeth look like they did before. I don't smoke (18 month anniversary last Saturday thankyouverymuch!), don't drink tea or red wine; yes I drink coffee and Diet Coke, but not an inordinate amount. Fine, I drink an inordinate amount of Diet Coke, but that's only because I like it a lot and have little to no self control. BUT, I also brush my teeth twice a day (*with* a whitening toothpaste), sometimes 3 times if I have a meeting or interview after lunch. I feel that my teeth should have stayed whiter for longer. Am I being unreasonable (or ridiculously naive) to expect a product to do what it says it will do - the whole thing - not just a portion of what it says it will do?

So, now I feel duped, but also I'm pretty sure I've developed an addiction ('cause yes, I need MORE things to be addicted to because shoes, lip balm, my dvr, Mr. Clean Magic Eraser - cause damn, that's a product that does what it says! - men who are bad for me, and Diet Coke w/ Splenda aren't enough) to white teeth!

Now, after reading this, you may think that my displeasure with Crest should be the least of my problems and I may want to reconsider my company's Employee Assistance Program's 5 free psych visits, but I still think that I'm entitled to feel disappointed and maybe even a bit pissed off because oh, and did I mention that those effin' whitestrips are NOT cheap??

The point here, boys and girls, is that it's Saturday afternoon, I'm bored, and I've been examining my teeth for far longer than is actually healthy or even interesting and I felt the overwhelming urge to comment on it. If you have any thoughts, positive or negative, please feel free to share them. I'm going to try to find a book to read or something a tidge more constructive to do. Maybe I'll just take a nap...

I Scream, You Scream...

*Sometimes*, I love my job! I know I mostly just bitch about stuff, but yesterday was a good day.

As a surprise and for no particular reason other than we had extra money in the budget, I arranged for The Ice Cream Man to come to our office. It was really fun watching groups of 50 to 75 un-enthused adults shuffle out of the building, looking tired, slightly annoyed, wondering why the crap they are being dragged outside and then seeing their faces break into smiles as they heard the familiar “Pop Goes the Weasel” song. Grown men and women perking up considerably as they try to decide which ice cream treat they’re going to choose. First they were shy and reserved, politely queuing and then eventually they were giggling and animated, pointing at the pictures on the side of the truck and bobbing their heads to see over the people in front of them. Earnestly weighing their decisions about what to pick. Smiling as they tore open their Bombpop or Screwball (NOW with TWO gumballs!) or Drumstick or my old favorite, the Strawberry Shortcake Colonel Crunch. A couple people asked why we were doing this and it was kind of cool to be able to say, “no reason, just thought it would be a nice break” and them nodding, smiling and saying a simple “thanks”.

I realize this isn’t particularly well written or even very amusing, but it was refreshing to be able to say that I had a good day. They’re fewer and further between than I would like, so I’m choosing to focus on them as they come.

That is all. Enjoy your weekend!

What Can Brown Do For YOU?

The UPS guy comes to my office at least twice a week (sometimes more if I’m on an Amazon.com kick). He’s my age, nice looking, tan, well-built *amazing* blue eyes. Personality? Yeah, not so much. Kind of dull. Hard to talk to, but when you do get him talking he can be kind of funny. I’ve been mildly flirting with him every time he comes in for at least 2 years, more out of boredom than any real interest. Recently, like the last 8 months or so, he’s started flirting back. He’ll stop and chat for a while if I’m up at the front desk covering for one of our receptionist’s 536 breaks a day. If I’m in my office and the door’s open, he’ll pop his head in to say hi. (My office is right off of the lobby.) Lately, he’s started leaving notes on my computer if he stops by and I’m not there.

Ok, so a couple of weeks ago I was up at the front desk (which, by the way, will probably be the topic of another blog very soon. I’m getting really sick of stopping what I’m doing so the fucking receptionist can disappear for 10 or 15 minutes whenever she feels like it. And I think we already know how I feel about the receptionist. See: Dear Receptionist for clarification. Sorry for the tangent!) and Mr. UPS came in to deliver some packages. We were chitchatting and I asked him what he did over the weekend. He told me he went to his brother’s on Saturday and then he was trying to remember what he did on Friday. Finally he said, “oh yeah, I went on a date”. Smartass that I am, I replied, “wow, must have been a good one if you can’t remember it 2 whole days later!” He said, “it was ok, we went to Kent.” And I asked, "why, is she 20"? (Kent is a college town. It’s where Kent State is and really, unless you live in Kent or have a kid who attends the university, there is no reason why someone in their mid to late 30’s should be hanging out in Kent. Just my opinion…) He laughed and said “no, it’s just more laid back than downtown. It has a more relaxed vibe.” I suggested that if he was looking for a cool, laidback, atmosphere that was slightly more upscale and age appropriate, he might want to check out Tremont in Cleveland. He said I should take him there. I chuckled and said he should take me there. He then asked for my number.

Wait, what??? I was NOT expecting that! Umm, ok.

Fast forward one week – he hadn’t called. Frankly, I’m totally ok with that. Now he’s delivering yet another of my Amazon boxes. He asked me what it was and I opened it and showed him. Neverwhere by Neil Gaiman (really good, so far. I recommend it!) and “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind”. He looks at the cover and says, “Never heard of it. Must be a chick movie.”

::blinks:: Wha?? Huh??

A) Who’s never heard of “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind” and
B) How in the world is it a ‘chick movie’?

Hmmm. Interesting. I’m starting to get a hinky feeling…

Around 5:15 my cell rings and it’s a number I don’t recognize. Typically, I won’t answer my phone while I’m at work unless it’s my dad or someone returning my call, but since I was getting ready to leave I answered it. It was Mr. UPS. We bantered back and forth for a few minutes while I locked up and walked to my car. As I’m driving toward home he asked me where I was. I said I was just getting to the Interbelt (side note, The Interbelt is a stretch of highway that for some reason, no one uses. It’s also the name of a local gay bar.) He kind of sneers, “You go to the Interbelt”?

Red Flag. Danger, Will Robinson.

I replied, that yes, if I want to go dancing there’s no better place to go. He asked, “really? I thought you liked men”? Hmmm. I’m sensing something I don’t like here. I answered that gay guys are in fact men, contrary to the opinion of some people in Ohio. He kind of stammered and said, “you know what I mean”. Whatever dude. You don’t have to be “down with the gays”, that’s cool, but don’t be a dick about it. I chatted for another couple of minutes and then said I had to go. A couple of days later he sends me a text: “What R U doing”. Dear God.

Lainey Fun Fact #2 – I’m not a fan of texting, but I’ll do it. I can’t fucking stand ‘text speak’ though! Really, does it take that much longer to add a couple of extra letters and some punctuation? Really, you’re ok with looking borderline illiterate to someone you barely know? Really?

Ok, so I wrote back, “Just trying to get out of here and start my weekend.” He replied, “me 2”. I didn’t reply. A few minutes later he sent another text, “Big plans for the weekend?” Hmmm, spelling whole words AND using punctuation? Maybe he’s getting it… I wrote back, “Surprisingly, yes! You?” and then he screwed the pooch: “nt sure. MaB. Wen u tkg me 2 cleveland” Seriously?

I’m done. I’m sure he’s a lovely man and would make a fantastic date for someone. Just not for me. I have visions of him stenciling “Git R Done” on his F150, cranking Toby Keith while gleefully yelling “Faggots” as he drives past the Interbelt (the bar, not the stretch of highway). I fear the only reading he does is the Sports Illustrated he keeps on the back of his toilet and I have little doubt that his favorite show is “According to Jim”. Am I stereotyping and being snooty? Yeah, I totally am. I could be wrong - I don’t think so and I don’t really care. I’m fairly convinced that he’s just not my cuppa tea. However, this does present a bit of an issue. How do I politely untangle myself from this without offending him? I’m going to have to see him occasionally and I don’t want it to be more awkward than necessary. Any suggestions?

Dear Receptionist:

Seriously, shut the fuck up and quit fucking trying to tell me how to do my fucking JOB!!

Ok, I feel better now that I got that out of my system. As you may have gathered, I'm having a bit of an issue with our receptionist and her tendency to overstep her job boundaries and push her pudgy, little face into my job boundaries. Now, I will willingly admit that I have very little knowledge of FMLA or EEOC or PLoA or any number of other HR acronyms, but I am very good at recruiting! How good? We have approximately 360 employees and are currently at 98% staffed. That's unheard of! The national average for our company is 92%...yes, I totally rock at recruiting, thank you. Now, I'm not saying that all of my hiring choices have been winners. My first one was a lazy, slacker asshat (who is inexplicably still there... I don't understand why his manager is not constantly calling for his immediate and humiliating dismissal, but I digress) and there have even been a couple who haven't shown up, but the majority of my hires turn out to be pretty good and a few of them have already been promoted and they've only been there for like 9 months.

So anyway, back to the issue at hand, our receptionist is really sticking her nose up my ass and it needs to stop before I clench my ass and break that nose off. I reject applicants for a reason. I don't just look at an application or resume and decide, "We have enough employees whose names start with the letter "D", so I will just put Denise's resume here in the 'Thanks, But No Thanks' pile". I reject applications for legitimate reasons like gaps in work history; being fired (or euphemistically listing mutual agreement to resign my position. Here's a free tip from a recruiter, we know what that means! We're not complete idiots.); misspellings of EPIC proportion (true story: if you worked at Sparkle Market, but your resume and application both say Sparkel Market, I cannot in good conscience hire you. You must, at a minimum, be able to correctly spell the name of your employer. Additionally if your resume says you own your own business called Victoia's Candle Shop and your name is Victoria, I feel that you should, at a minimum, be able to correctly spell your OWN DAMN NAME!) I can overlook a typo, I'm not *that* anal, but c'mon! If you can't proof your resume enough to get the important details right (like, I don't know - your NAME? ), how are you going to do when you're working with a patient's health record and precision kinda' counts?

Ok, again I drifted - sorry! I guess my biggest issue with Mrs. Receptionist is her disapproving looks and irritated tone when an applicant calls to check the status of their application and she insists on rifling through my office to find the application and then asks me what I want to do with it. I don't want to do anything with it. If I felt this person was good, I would have called them and scheduled an interview. When I tell her that (for the 463rd time, by the way) she proceeds to read aloud their qualifications. When I point out the aforementioned gaps in employment or the fact that they've left 2 jobs in 8 months due to "health problems", she shakes her head and says, "Well, I think you should at least talk to them. They might have a really good reason that you don't know about." You're right RECEPTIONIST, they might have an excellent reason, but I DON'T CARE!!! I have a stack of qualified candidates over here who show up for work and don't have "health problems", or are at least smart enough to not put it on their applications. *sigh*

I don't really have an ending for this and it's much longer than I originally intended. I think I just needed to get it out because it was seriously starting to get to me. I try to be pleasant (at work at least) and non-confrontational, but I just don't know what to do about her anymore. Any suggestions?

Come play with us, Danny...

This story made me pee a little when I heard it today, I’m not even gonna’ lie! I laughed so hard at this poor girl’s pain.

We hired a new recruiter last month. Her name is Jackie. She. Is. Awesome! LOOOOVVVE her already. Anyway, Jackie has a twin sister. This doesn’t come up often, but every now and then it’s relevant. Like in this story. So, Jackie hired a girl and was a little apprehensive about it because this young lady’s twin sister already works for us. Jackie is telling my boss and me that the reason she has a hinky feeling is because they’re “the kind of twins who do everything together. Their resumes are almost identical. Their voices sound the same. They dress similarly and style their hair the same way. You know, the kind of twins like from The Shining”. We all nodded in agreement and voiced our irritation with parents who treat twins like one entity, blah, blah, blah. I asked her if her mother had ever dressed her and her twin alike. She looked down and said, “not after The Incident”.

“Oh, DO tell, Jackie!”

“When we were 4, my parents took us to Disneyworld. One afternoon, Mom took me on some rides and Dad took my sister and we were all going to meet up together at the hotel at the end of the day. My mom and I got back to the hotel lobby and I saw my sister on the other side of the room. I was so excited to see her because we usually weren’t apart for so long and I had so many things to tell her that I went BOUNDING across the lobby to hug her.

And then I smacked full force into the mirror.”

Hahahahahaha!!! *snort* Oh my! The mental image of this poor child sprinting across the room to hug her beloved twin, slamming into her own freaking reflection and it being witnessed by a lobby full of people. Oooohhhh, good times, good times.

But I'm Not Bitter...

I have a new idea for a reality show. After the success of “Joe Millionaire”, “The Bachelor”, “Farmer Wants a Wife” and “What’s This on My Shoe?” I have a can’t-miss show. We’ll put a smart, self-sufficient, funny woman (let’s just say me, for the sake of argument) in a room with 50 guys. 49 of them will be successful, emotionally generous, financially secure, kind, witty, loving men. One will be a douche.

I will find the douche.

No matter what. Doesn’t matter how much money is on the line. Doesn’t matter how many “Phone a Friends” I get. Doesn’t matter if I’m actually even trying or not. Hell, you could even blindfold me. I will find the douche. It’s like a gift I have. (It works with expensive shoes too, by the way. I can walk into any shoe store and *instantly* find the most expensive pair of shoes without even trying.)

We’ll call it “Who Wants to Feel Like Shit ALLLL the Time, but Will Continue to Give and Give and Give Some More Until 4 Years Have Passed and You’re a Shell of the Person You Once Were and Yet You Somehow Manage to Convince Yourself That It’s Your Fault!”

Someone call FOX, I smell a hit!

Countdown 'til I Get Fired...

OHMYGOD I love Google Reader! I don't think I can adequately describe my love for something that gives me yet another avenue to fuck off at work! Until now, I haven't been able to read my favorite blogs during the day, because Websense deemed anything with the word blog or blogspot as "Non-Productive". (Shut-up, Websense - you're not the boss of me! You know what's "Non-Productive"? Me spending more time trying to find ways to get around you.)

Now I have this fantastic little work-around (I swear if anyone tells Websense I will find that person and staple their lips shut) which allows me to see vitally important posts during the day instead of having to wait all the way until sometime around 6:15 pm.

What vitally important things, you ask? Well, for example, ... ... fine, I can't think of anything that would require my immediate attention, but it could happen. And when it does, I will know about it right away!

I still can't read comments on the blogs, but I have a feeling I'll figure out a way to do that, too. After all, if it means more time not doing my job, I'm all about research!

Hey Akron Public Schools, keep up the good work!

So, yesterday my ears bled.

"She did not take no time with no one. She did not teach no one nothing".

The speaker was talking about her Language Arts teacher. *Sigh* This was said without the slightest hint of irony.

Who am I? Who am I? I'm a walrus...

Ok, so why am I doing this? I’ve always enjoyed writing. It’s one of the few things that comes easily to me and that I actually think I’m good at. (Ending the preceding sentence with a preposition notwithstanding.) I’ve heard from several people throughout my life that I write well and that I should pursue it as a career. Yeah, that never really interested me. Lainey Fun Fact #1 – if I have to do something, I don’t want to do it. Ever. Doesn’t matter what it is. If I have to eat 2 Krispy Kreme doughnuts, I don’t want to do it. If I have to make out with a super cute, successful, kind, funny guy– kinda' don’t really want to ( I probably WILL though, I’m not stupid) – also, I think that’s called molestation or coercion or something if I have to do it. Anyway, tangent…sorry, happens a lot though so you may want to get used to it. If I had to write to pay my bills, I would be miserable and living in my car.

So, why am I doing this? I’m not entirely sure, but I think I need a distraction. I think I always need a distraction. I think I need something to replace my last distraction. I think I need something that’s secret and mine. Something I don’t need to defend or explain. Something that I get some degree of satisfaction from, but it doesn’t monopolize my life.

Here’s the hard part though. How much do I share and how much do I keep hidden? If it’s anonymous and no one I know will read it, I should, theoretically, be able to be completely honest and not have to censor myself at all, right? However, if this becomes in any way interactive and I “get to know” readers or other bloggers, then it’s not anonymous anymore even if no one knows my real name or knows me in real life. Such a conundrum. Why must I make even the simplest things difficult? See above: distraction.

So here goes – in “real life”, I’m an open book. I have no filter between my brain and my mouth. If I think it, I say it. This is surprisingly acceptable in my job, which is so weird since I’m in Human Resources. Oddly enough, I can keep stuff about work totally and completely quiet and confidential. I have no interest in (& am prohibited from) talking about other people’s salaries or corrective actions or other work-related drama. But, in my personal life I will tell you anything you want to know and probably many, many, many things you don’t want to know. I tend to overshare. I’m going to try to balance that here. I’d like to be able to be completely honest, but I don’t want to give away details of my personal life that, should we meet on the street someday, you’ll shrink away from me and hope you don’t catch something. That was a joke. Or was it?* Balancing act…


* It was, in fact, a joke. God, I already suck at this intrigue thing…

So, it's entirely possible that I'm a genius...

Now, in the interest of full disclosure, I'll admit that I am not a member of MENSA, nor am I a Rhodes Scholar and frankly, I don't even know my IQ score, but I'm pretty sure it's around 700...I'm just sayin'...anyway, turns out, I'm a freakin' genius!

My biggest fear always used to be that I was retarded but no one ever told me. Now, I believe that it's the opposite - I'm a genius and no one ever bothered to inform me of this fact. You may be asking why it is that I'm so sure of my phenomenal intelligence (and by the way, don't feel bad - I like you all despite the fact that some of you probably shouldn't leave your homes without wearing a helmet; you know who you are.) and the reason is: I set up my own wireless internet connection BY MYSELF!!! That's right - no help from a guy, no Roadrunner or Linksys helpdesks, I did it myself (even with my father asking a non-stop stream of questions, that I swear I'm not making up, like why my "www can't just plug into the phone, is it because the phone is cordless? If it's wireless, why are all of those wires plugged in to the blue and black boxes with the lights on them? If I change the channel on the tv, will that affect my web? If I had a cigarette adapter, could I plug it into my car and drive around while internetting"? Seriously...maybe that's why I fear that I'm actually challenged??)

Ok, ok, so I may be broadcasting all of my personal information to anyone in a 4 block radius, I don't really know. And the internet connection may go away the moment I shut down my computer. That's not the point! I'll figure out the security aspects later. For now, it's all about THIS success. The success of using my GINORmous brain to do something I didn't think I could do. In the words of another genius, I "misunderestimated" myself and I'm not gonna' lie, it feels pretty good to be wrong this time!