In Lieu of Time Well Spent

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Satisfaction

Has it really been three months since my last post? It’s amazing how much has changed.

The information I receive on a daily basis is overwhelming, the language I am hearing is completely foreign to me, I am working 10 hours a day, and I am the happiest I have been since college. I waited for two months for that phone call and as many of you know the original news was not what I was expecting… but that made the victory so much sweeter. There are no words to describe to you how beautiful it was to walk into that office and say the words “I’m leaving.” The gaping, shocked expression merely added to the elation. I feel no remorse for leaving and I am relieved there was no one to hire prior to my departure. I could not have looked anyone in the eye and trained them knowing what I would be setting them up for.

I have been with Target for only three weeks and I already feel as though this decision was the best I have made in the last two years. Please do not misunderstand me; I realize it will not be easy, I realize I have not given it “much time,” but what Idoknow is that I am challenged daily and I am encouraged by all those around me to succeed. I have not been spoken down to once (and unlike my other position I am now surrounded by people far more qualified than myself) and I am receiving feedback andconstructivecriticism on a daily basis. When that is paired with every other positive feature this job has to offer I am truly determined to make this one my future.

Time will tell. 

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"But the wait time is 30 minutes…"

Today came in the form of stunning blue skies, cool spring breezes, and an appreciation for all things beautiful. I got off the bus & began my normal walk to work. I was in a light jacket and rocking out my working girl outfit (that is to say, dress pants & tennis shoes not fishnets and thigh-high boots) and not even the idea of walking into work could dampen my mood.

And then I actually walked into work.

My job is not that bad. It is a lot of talking to people who don’t want to understand, a lot of nodding and “uh huh-ing” when I am chastised, even more making phone calls for our policy holder who can’tpossiblyfind the time to wait on hold with Claims for 30 minutes. Here’s how that goes.

Charming Client: "I just called claims and they said it was going to be a 30 minute wait."
Me: “Oh I know! They’re very busy today… Did you have to wait that long?”
"Well I don’t know. I hung up. I don’t have time for that. What do I do with my car next?"
"I’m not sure, m’am that’s why I told you to call claims. They handle it all from here."
"I don’t have time to wait. Can’t you call them?"
"Oh I have to call the same line you do!"
"I know… Can you call them?"

Eff off. Seriously?  That being said,  those people are the ones paying most of my bills.

But at what point did I decide that having a job, especially a job that isn’t challenging me, was worth sacrificing my sanity and integrity? Ok I’m not a prostitute or anything so maybe the integrity bit is taking it a little far, but honestly. It isn’t that I don’t feel appreciated (my boss thanks me profusely at the end of each day) and it isn’t that I’m not grateful to have a job (especially one that doesn’t require a uniform). I just want to know when it gets better. At what point will I wake up one day and decide that having a job I love is more important that just havingajob?

I think the answer to that is when the bills start paying themselves. That or when I decide living on pennies is worth getting an internship that will then shower me with writing opportunities but no paychecks.

Either way, you’ll be the first to know.

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Cambodia

"Single male seeking a female with a "more to love" mentality. I enjoy napping, eating, grooming, talking, and napping. My lady must appreciate quiet time and the occasional jaunt outside paired with a love of warm concrete. I  sometimes find myself engrossed in my own thoughts but don’t be fooled; just because I’ve been staring at the same place on the wall for 25 minutes does not mean I am not listening to you. My humans own a fish tank, but do not this this means a buffet. I get along quite well with my aquatic friends despite every rule of nature that states I should want to consume them. I am not a picky eater but I am very vocal when it comes to my needs. I am just looking for the right gal to keep me company on those lonely days when my humans decide to be at work; as long as you are not this selfish we will get along great."

I think my cat has problems. I love him and he is like a child to me (though I’ve never exactly had one of those) but sometimes I really start to wonder. I’ve been watching him throughout the morning… He’s been staring at the same place on the wall for about 15 minutes now. Yesterday morning he woke Mat & me up by doing this guttural “mrow” that I’ve never heard before. Turns out he just wanted the blinds open… Then there was that time when he was licking himself so much that his hair was falling out. Then there was that time when he was abou t5 pounds over weight…

Ok. He’s still five pounds overweight.

Maybe we should start letting him go outside? I have very mixed feelings about this. While I am certain that he could take care of himself (he is bigger than most dogs in this complex, not to mention other cats) I am not so certain he has the prowess to flee when need be. When Cam panics he just hunkers down on the ground… That wouldn’t work out too well if a car was coming at him, know what i mean? Not to mention the fact that the one time he actually escaped outside and was gone for an hour Mat just about had a heart attack and I was a sobbing, weepy mess (see, yet another reason for me to not have a child: that kid would never be allowed out of the house).

I guess until Cam starts trying to hang himself from the porvh rafters I shouldn’t be overly concerned. Who knows? Maybe there are actually ghosts in our apartment and that’s what he’s fixated on for hours at a time.

Ghost Hunter Cam.

To Be Continued…

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the Lovesac

Living with someone is not a new experience for me. Living with the man I love, however, is entirely different. Everyone told me that the first month would be the “honeymoon” phase and it most certainly has been. Now here is where I must admit that it’s only been a week. However, give us long-distance folks some credit: no wall shaking fights, no go-to-sleep-angry nights, and nothing broken. Perhaps I am jinxing us, perhaps not. I’d like to think no. Because while our hours together are spent in bliss, there is always teh elephant in the room: The Lovesac.
(Actual size depicted, folks. And no that is not our living room or my cat.)

 To all of you who are thinking “What in the…”iIt is exactly as bad as it sounds and looks. The Lovesac is for the man (or woman?) who refuses to let go of the idea of a childhood room in which all of their hopes and dreams from childhood may come to pass. The Lovesac currently residing in our living room has a lovely light brown corduroy cover which, according to Mat, makes the thing more aesthetically pleasing. I love my boyfriend but he is incredibly wrong in this assumption. It takes up almost an entire wall in the living room and contrary to my initial belief it will not be mvoed to the guest bedroom. Mat is determined to have the thing kept exactly where it is. His justifications are somewhat valid: room enough for two and incredibly comfortable. (It is incredibly comfortable… In the guest bedroom. Behind a closed door) My justification is this: a loveseat and/or accent chairs can be incredibly comfortable and provide seating for two as well. And not ne heinous.

The Dilemma: how on earth do I make him move the thing?
The Solution: I don’t.

I am lucky enough to date a man who puts up with me on a daily basis, a man who does things for me on a daily basis without any need for praise, and a man whom I happen to love very much.

Lovesace & all.

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"real" job

What constitutes a real job, anyways? I’ve worked in four restaurants over the course of seven (holy crap!) years. I would have to say that running around for hours on end, standing on your feet all day, and dealing with the not-so-pleasant clientele of, say, Atlantic Station definitely qualifies as “real” work. In fact, doing all of this without a guaranteed salary, with no health benefits, and bosses who tend to not give a damn would certainly make this job more difficult than any “real” job I’m capable of applying for.

Now that I’m a college graduate the question that always follows my over-excited announcement of “I’m moving to Washington!” is “Well, what will you do there?!” Pop. Bubble of Bliss explodes, self-esteem implodes, and I’m forced to launch into my very-rehearsed and very-worn-out explanation that I’ll be applying for “real” jobs (which I’ve fondly renamed “salary” jobs) for about a month and half and if I don’t get any offers well then it’s back to what I know best: Bars and Restaurants. This is typically followed with some foot-shuffling, some “oooohh” or “hhhhmmmm” comment that scratches at my nerves like a squirrel and my favorite “Well don’t sell yourself short.”

The latter of these comments usually comes from someone who has never worked in a restaurant, never walked away from a 6 hour shift with $200 cash in their hand, and someone who seems to think that sitting around unemployed for months on end beats the alternative of “selling myself short.” Well, to all of you preachers-of-degrees, you I-won’t-stoop-to-that-level-ers, the I’m-waiting-for-the-perfect-job-to-land-in-my-lap-ers, here’s the reality of the thing: I admire your tenacity, your naivete, and the ignorance that allows you to have these notions. As for me, I’m going to take my reality and apply for those “real” jobs for as long as my savings see fit, and then it’s off to the “real hard work” jobs of the service industry.

Stick with what you know.

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aviators

This morning I woke to find that Darth Vader had landed his deathstar on my eyelid. We are not talking about a stye, people. We are talking about a full-on styeroid that has taken control not only of my face, oh no, but my entire self-confidence (or what is now a lack thereof). I have quite literally not looked one person in the eye and I find myself becoming the jackass who walks through buildings wearing her sunglasses and creating the illusion that I am looking through every person I see. If only.

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Time Bomb

When a family chooses a home in the southeast region of the United States, it’s safe to say that snow storms aren’t at the top of the list of things to worry about. Neither is “being stranded with your family for 72 hours.” However, with global warming looming an ice storm found its way to Georgia and proceeded to trap not only my family and me, but also my best friend Kat. Not only this, but we were also snowed in with a dog who tends to express her feelings by urinating every time you speak to her, and a cat with one helluva head cold.

After about a day, it’s safe to say that tensions were running high. Kat is apparently not used to being around a family incapable of taking turns speaking, and as such her anxiety levels were through the roof. I highly doubt that the car ride she and I (unwisely) chose to embark on helped anything. Note to the Reader: Four wheel drive does NOTHING over ice. Especially when over-correcting is involved. I’ll say no more on the subject.

As the days grew colder and longer, Kat and I became more and more lazy. It wasn’t until Tuesday, after over 24 hours of confinement, that we decided to do something fun. Can I say that sledding is just as fun now as it was when I was 8 years old? The fun grew when the piss-ant pup decided to join us. Nothing can make me laugh like a snow-crazed dog. If you’ve witnessed this phenomenon, then you can attest to the comedy involved.

After 72 hours, and the same news story repeated on every Atlanta station Kat, my mother, my brother, his girlfriend, and I decided it was high time to get the eff out of that house. And so began our journey back to the Big City. With only a couple of mishaps, Kat and I followed my mother successfully to our neck of the woods. Kat only had a few minor panic attacks, and I caved and let her smoke a cigarette in the car. Hey, there was ice everywhere and she had just endured 3 days with my family. I figured she earned it.

It’s nice to be back in my apartment, albeit for the last week I will ever spend here. My family may be loud, crazy, intrusive, interrupting, overbearing, and over-the-top, but I would not trade them for anything. And with the promise of a ski trip with some amazing girls in two days, and my entire first week of school canceled, something tells me that I will be just fine.

Some things never change.