24 April 2009

Every Woman Needs a Tiara!

Mood: Sleepy (It's nearly midnight...waaaaaayyyyy past my bedtime!)

What I'm watching: Reba (She totally cracks me up and Barbara Jean? Funniest husband stealer/best friend/neighbor. Ever.)

Today is Friday and the official end of Administrative Assistant's week. In honor of my newly minted title, my contributions to the efficient running of the office were celebrated in grand style. There was a surprise luncheon complete with cake and ice cream (YUM!) and I finally got my official Administrative Assistant Tiara! It's sparkly, pretty and makes me feel special...not in the "don't eat the paste" way that I usually feel!

I find myself holding my head high as I make my way to the copier, attempting to keep perfect posture as I wrestle a paper jam from the printer and giving the royal wave as I chase people down to give them their messages. It made me feel so much better at work that I thought I'd try it at home. Dishes? Totally more fun when you're wearing a crown. Cleaning the toilet? Much better when you catch site of yourself sporting a sparkly crystal crown in the bathroom mirror.

So, get yourself out and buy yourself a tiara, declare yourself queen of the office, the bathroom, the kitchen or the whole universe and give the neighbors a royal wave as you haul the trash out the curb. Sure, they may question your sanity but eccentricity is the exclusive right of the rich and the royal so embrace your quirky side and carry your tiara with pride!!

21 April 2009

Mi Vida Loca

Mood: Funky (It's been a very funky couple of days around here).

What I'm Watching: Sex and the City (I'm totally into channelling my inner Carrie).

It's been a few days since I've blogged. I'd like to say that I've been too busy but the truth is that I've discovered a new, totally addictive, game and I've been spending all my time trying to build communities and make millions of (obviously fake) dollars in the process.

Anyway...here's the week in review:

Adventures in Travel

Most of you who know Sparky and I know that we are the official poster children for traveler's annonymous. Our honeymoon cruise? Re-routed around two hurricanes (no wonder we got such a good deal...who knew September was right in the middle of hurricane season?). Our trip to Mackinaw City, MI? Who knew that we would end up travelling until 3:00 am because there were absolutely NO hotels with vacancies for literally hundreds of miles as we drove (and we won't even talk about the hotel room we finally ended up with at 3:30 am...suffice it to say that I felt squeamy about it for days afterward). Our trip to Gettysburg? Didn't even happen. Twice. First, Sparky's dad died. Then, Sparky was laid off.

You'd think that we would just avoid tempting fate and stay home where we're safe and cozy. The problem is that, despite our travel issues, we both LOVE to travel. So, when Sparky suggested that we have a weekend getaway last weekend, I was all about going to a place where people will clean and cook for me while I soak in a whirlpool tub while watching tv!

The fact that I had to send my dinner back several times? No big deal. I'm used to it. The fact that it took the cashier at Wal-Mart nearly 45 minutes to ring up a simple sale? We were simply amused and accepted it as par for the course in our travel. However, when the toilet in our hotel room stopped working at 2:30 am? NOT so funny. Especially since I usually need to make a couple of trips to the bathroom in the night.

Sparky (a plumbing pro from having to wrestle with the craptastic plumbing at our apartment) decided that he would go ask for a plunger at the front desk. After 40 minutes he returned without one (the hotel clerk couldn't find one), but with a key to the room across the hall. Now we weren't supposed to change rooms (since ours was a whirlpool room and the one across the hall was not) but we were meant to go across the hall to use the bathroom. That's right. Everytime we needed to use the bathroom during the night, we had to get dressed, grab the keys and head across the hall. I can't tell you how much fun that was.

Thankfully the next day they were able to move us to another room. Yay! The fact that it was on the second floor where there were no vending or ice machines was a minor inconvenience compared to having a toilet that actually functioned. No more going to the outhouse for us!!! Let the relaxation begin! Okay, so the in-room whirlpool tub didn't have the best drain seal and, as a result, would be constantly draining so I had to keep refilling it. Luckily that wasn't as big an issue as one would have supposed because as Sparky walked across the floor to get something, I could actually feel the bottom of the tub shaking. Deciding that I would be extremely pissed off if I ended up falling through the floor, naked sitting in the whirlpool, I didn't soak very long anyway.

Finally we just decided to call it a night and turn in. I was looking forward to sleeping in the next morning since check out time wasn't until noon...unfortunately we were awakened at 7:00 am by the incessent ringing of the hotel fire alarm. Luckily it seemed to be a false alarm but once this was actually confirmed Sparky and I were wide awake and decided that it would be the better part of valor to admit defeat, pack up our things and effect a full scale retreat before the vacation fates had the chance to regroup their offensive forces.

Is it a real Heart Attack or is it Memorex??

In honor of my boss's birthday and administrative assistant's week (since I'm officially an admin. asst. now), a friend decided to take both of us out to lunch today. It was a nice meal with friends, fun, good conversation and laughter. Until I started having chest pains. Crushing, squeezing chest pains. As someone who suffers from panic attacks and anxiety, I first tried to ignore them thinking they were just anxiety symptoms but they didn't go away and eventually I started to start sweating and feeling nauseous. NOT GOOD. Yikes!!

It was finally decided that I needed to go visit the ER and be checked out. Luckily the friend (shout out to Harlin), was willing to drive me out there and wait with me while the medical professionals poked, prodded, tested and x-rayed me within an inch of my life. Luckily all my tests were fine. No heart attack. No stroke. No blood clots. Nothing at all. The best the doctor can say is "who knows". Could have been a spasm, could have been heartburn, could have been anxiety, could have been anything really. The nurse said it could have been a reaction to the Chinese food I'd been eating. He said that some people are sensitive to MSG (I always wondered why there was such hype about MSG) and that the effects of that sensitivity exactly mimic cardiac arrest. Hmmm...No more chinese food for me for a very, very long time.

13 April 2009

What's In a Name (or a title)?

Mood: Blah (yes, that is indeed a mood. It's Monday morning, it's raining cats and dogs and I have to be at work...blah pretty much covers it).

What I'm Listening To: "And She Was" (I'm, like, totally in an 80's mood thanks to the neverending stream of 80's nostalgia going on over at Jennsylvania).

At the end of last week my boss came to me with a very serious question indeed. He wanted to know if I was offended by the use of the title "Secretary". Hmmm...interesting question. Honestly? I hadn't ever given it much thought at all. Certainly my job description has expanded beyond anything that could remotely be called simply 'secretarial'; however, I've never been hung up on all the "PC" crap. Call me the secretary, the office bitch, the chief cook and bottle washer...whatever. The job is the job and if no one is willing to give me a throne (besides the porcelain variety) and crown me (with a very pretty tiara) the queen of the universe, then it really doesn't matter what you call me, does it?

See, that's where I would be wrong. My boss, not wanting to diminish my contributions to the efficient running of, well, everything around here, decided I needed a title change. So, from last Friday forward, I am officially an Administrative Assistant. Despite my pouting, the position comes with neither a tiara nor a throne but I did get to order my own super cool new Admin. Assistant name plate, change the website and publications to reflect my new status and, in a very somber ceremony, my boss used a plastic knife (that we'd used to cut fudge that some thoughtful angel had left on my desk) to officially 'knight' me as the Administrative Assistant.

I work in a very weird and wonderful world.

10 April 2009

Adventures in Cleaning (or why better vision is highly overrated)

Mood: Tired (hate mornings, must kill mornings! ) but Happy (It's Friday!!!)

What I'm Watching: Celebrity Crises and Mental Disorders (Suddenly I feel a LOT more normal in my own insanity!)

After much anticipation and waiting, I finally got my new glasses. Yay. They're super cute, I can finally see without strain or headaches, and the damn things have to go back!! Why? Because now I can see all the dust, dirt and grime in my home that I'd previously been blissfully unaware of because I couldn't see it. Now that I can see it, I feel compelled to do something about it.

I came home yesterday afternoon and noticed that, despite regular mopping, our bathroom floor was NASTY. So, I decided that I would get on my hands and knees and scrub the floor. It's a small bathroom so I didn't figure it would take me that long. As usual, I was wrong. So very wrong.

I started scrubbing (immediately realizing that my knees are NOT as young as they used to be) and while I was scrubbing the floor I realized that the base of the toilet was also pretty grimy so I scrubbed that as well. While scrubbing the base of the toilet, I realized that the baseboards and lower cabinet doors were also pretty icky, so I started scrubbing those as well.

By the time I was done I'd managed to scrub every inch of the bathroom (including 15 minutes spent trying to scrub away what was ultimately a part of the pattern in the tile on the bathroom floor...I'd never been able to see it before so I thought it was dirt), I was exhausted, frustrated and headed to the kitchen because I was ready for a cold drink.

Reaching into the cupboard for a glass, I noticed that my kitchen cabinet doors could use a good scrubbing as well. *Sigh* Obviously the glasses need to go.

04 April 2009

Who Would Want to Break Into Our Apartment??

Mood: Exhausted (Spent the afternoon at my nephew's birthday party. 3 hours spent chasing 5 kids under the age of 6 is enough to wear anyone out!)

What I'm Watching: Hell's Kitchen ( I *heart* Chef Ramsey!!)

Despite living less than a block from a maximum security prison I've always felt relatively safe in our apartment. Sure, we lock the door (I honestly don't know why we bother because even I can use a credit card to pop the lock in less than 30 seconds) and windows (we live on the ground floor and the windows are made of glass...I realize how futile locking the windows is but still...), but I've never been the nervous "I heard a noise, go check it out" kind of a person so when I was awakened by the sound of someone rattling our doorknob at around 4:00 am the other morning (obviously an exception to the "alarm and phone" wake up rule), my heart jumped into my throat and I jumped up out of bed (after nudging a snoring Sparky who didn't even stir as I went to face down the horrors of home intrusion).

I get to the door, heart beating loudly in my ears, and peek out the peephole to view a completely empty hallway. I stood there, leaning against the door, trying to slow my breathing and using my weight (for once giving thanks that I'm not a skinny little thing) to prevent the bad guy from crashing in and turning me into the victim of a Manson family style killing. After five minutes of panic I managed to convince myself that I was not going to be the lead story on the morning news, took myself back to bed (where Sparky was still snoring away...some big protector he is) where I laid there, unable to sleep, listening for the possible return of Squeaky Fromme (or someone similar) and thinking of several random things related to my brush with death (dramatic much?):

1.) I do not sleep clothed in a state in which I would wish to: A.) confront an intruder or B.) be found by the police department after said intruder has turned me into a spaghetti strainer. Really, my 'lamby jammies' (a short nightie with lambs on it) is about 15 years old and worn nearly see-through after millions of washings. It's comfortable and I love it but perhaps it's time to retire it and start sleeping fully dressed 'just in case' (although the vision of my fat hiney in a semi-see through nightie might just be enough to scare off even the most hardened criminal).

2.) I have nothing on my side of the bed that can even remotely be considered as a viable weapon. There are no baseball bats, no golf clubs, not even so much as a sharp #2 lead pencil. I've got nothing with which to defend myself but my neverending stack of books (and not even a hardcover among them). So if someone actually breaks in the most I can hope to do is put them to sleep by reading them a boring book (note to self: buy boring books).

3.) Obviously Sparky is completely on board with the whole 'equal rights' thing as he blissfully slept through our brush with danger and allowed me to face down the potential bad guys on my own (call me crazy but I still think that there are some things the man should do: kill the bugs, take out the trash, and face down crazy intruders...I'd totally back him up by calling 911 as I'm crawling out the bedroom window).

4.) My apartment is very rarely in a state in which I'd wish it to be found by local law enforcement, family or friends should Sparky and I meet an untimely demise at the hands of a misguided cult member experiencing a complete psychotic breakdown. For example, Sparky and I know that there are perfectly rational explanations for oddities like: our clothes iron being on the kitchen floor, the hairdryer sitting on top of the fridge, the pile of rocks under the end table in our livingroom, and the unopened 2009 Chuck Norris calendar on the spare chair under our kitchen table but in the absence of our explanations (perfectly logical, mind you), we'll look like a pair of raving nut jobs. Not exactly the impression with which I'd like to leave people.

Luckily it was a false alarm and no doubt just a drunken neighbor confused about which apartment he lived in but, just in case, I think I'm going to have to move that Chuck Norris calendar!