Free time! So far it’s amazing.

 I work one job that doesn’t start until 9 a.m. and then at 6 p.m. I go home. That’s it!

On Monday I had an interview for a part-time kindergarten position which, in reality, I could not live on the salary. I was also competing with about 500 other applicants for the job. Yikes. 500 people all want a $20,000 a year teaching job?!

I remain strangely optimistic and energetic. This is quiet strange for my personality. I’m just going to go with it.I was also look out of curiosity at my old profession job openings; there were much, much less of them. So, on the positive side, there are many more jobs in the teaching field versus the writing field. I think it all comes down to how secure you feel about yourself and how badly you want the job. I want to teach, not just in the best school district, in the best school with the best kids: I want to teach ANYWHERE a licensed elementary teacher is needed. I think that opens up the playing field a bit.I will try and relax and enjoy the summer. Time to read the forty books I haven’t finished and get caught up on all the many things that had to get pushed in a corner.

Hopefully some fun stories will be shared but right now, decompression is in place.

On a side note, I was forced to carry “no” boy to the office. That should stop him from saying no to me for a few more days. His teachers at his main school have already had it with him. He is facing a week suspension in 2nd grade for fighting and cursing. This sentence comes from the “best public elementary school” in the Denver metro area. Suddenly, I don’t feel so alone in my frustration with “no” boy. But secretly I wish I could find an alternative. Sadly, this is what society truly offers those who like to say “no” to important rules like no stealing, kicking, hitting, swearing, and cheating. I’m not sure what I think about this.  Punitive punishment never changes the rebels.

I am by no means a Scrooge, but years ago I decided to be a Christmas time minimalist.

I decorate; I celebrate, but I turn on “Christmas” only on the days it needs to be turned on. By “Christmas” I am not referring to the Christian themes of loving, giving, caring and sharing that we should always be focused on, I’m talking about the Christmas of the Hallmark channel.

That’s the Christmas where everything is perfect, even if you are The Waltons living in the Great Depression. That means if you are an average person living in the Great Recession you better darn well have a perfect Christmas season or something is seriously wrong with you. (By the way, I think they were allowed to call it a Depression back then because Depression did not mean “Get yourself on some pills” like it does now.)

Frankly, I feel this whole month of society-induced expectation for perfection makes everything that is slightly, less-than-perfect magnified. That is why we have the Christmas Blues.

It’s like having a massive, allergic reaction at Disney world. The mind cannot compute. Impossible!

Thank goodness for the recession. At least we all get a shot in the arm of reality this season to remind us that, no matter how close to Martha Stewart’s home ours appears, it will not create world peace.

I’m not trying to begrudge those of you who enjoy the Pre-Christmas high. Personally, I like to use the entire month as a reason to validate consuming copious amounts of alcohol. Just remember all, that some of us feel like bursting into tears all Christmas season because some normal life event has been put under the microscope by the mean, ant bully of society’s expectations.

It isn’t me this year. That is because I have scaled back my expectations of Christmas years ago. I think it started when I tried to get a friend to go to Christmas Eve mass at a snooty Catholic church. She and her friend showed up 80 sheets to the wind and smelling like “My Brother’s Bar.” I still drug them to half the mass, but the dirty looks from the fellow church goers were enough to make me want to hide under a pew even as I type this. Lesson one; you don’t need to go to Christmas service with others.

In conclusion, I’d like to conclude my favorite non-Christmas song that has helped me heal in times of emotional depression and recession. I like to meditate on the words and focus on freeing myself from the baggage that comes, not just with the season but with life.  It’s called “Love is Letting Go of Fear” by Olivia Newton-John.

So lately, I’ve been having these inner monologues that end in some sort of reflective question.

This morning it was, “Blah, why am I so out of touch?”

Strangely, my inner monologue answered itself with a song.

This song was “You’ve got to fight for your right (to party)” by the Beastie Boys.

Later today, I was thinking, “Blah, why do I keep getting sick? I feel like poo.”Again my inner monolog answered itself with a song; Paul Simon’s “Run that body down.”

http://www.pandora.com/music/song/paul+simon/run+that+body+down

That coupled with a weird, mixed-up, vomitous stress dream about, oh, every failure I’ve ever had, made my day quite a bummer.

Tonight I am going to a jewelry party and I’m going to buy myself a shiny new object.

Jewelry parties are kind of a love-hate thing. I go because I feel like I should, get suckered into making a impulse purchase then I have to WAIT weeks to enjoy it. So, they take all the satisfaction out of the impulse purchase by not letting you go home with the object you’ve spent double the price on.

How can you not have consumer let down after that? Seriously, these dime sized earrings are not going to fulfill me two weeks from now when I’ve had the said two weeks to think about how I spent $40 bucks on them.

It better have some seriously special packaging, a la Tiffany’s.

Six years ago I was married to my wonderful husband. In some ways it seems like it’s been a longer time, but in other ways it feels like it was just a few years ago.We met in November of 2000. So, we’ve known each other for almost eight years.  

A co-worker and friend of mine thought we’d be a perfect match. I was 26 and just escaped my second live-in relationship. He was only 23. I was skeptical. Mostly, those thoughts were based on myself at 23 (head up ass) and based the 30-year olds I had been dating (head, also, up said asses.) How could a man, THREE YEARS YOUNGER THAN ME, be mature enough to be at the same stage in life? Yes, I was so worldly at 26, living in

A best friend, English major, and head of the largest girl posse I know, has invited me to join a book club. I signed up right away because to be English major you have read to boatload of books. Also, her suggestions are always wonderful.

In a party-line style email, the name of our book club was born via her sister who wrote sarcastically:

“So, I’m only in if we say things like, ‘I truly appreciated the metaphors
that the author used to represent love. Namely, the empty red urn.’ and
‘I loved the ending when the sisters found each other again and they
lived together until death. It made my vagina glow.’”

The comment was followed with quips like, “I’ll be there with my glowing vagina” and this one:

“Way to go!  You gave us our official name:  ‘The Glowing Vagina Book Club - Denver Chapter’ Hee hee”

Our first book is Atonement by Ian McEwan.

Commence the glowing.

If you’ve met me for the first time, you may think I’m stupid. I’ve been told several times by people who I consider friends that when they first met me they thought I was a flake. But then when they got to know me, they realized that, no, I’m not a flake, I am just thinking about multiple things at one time, all the time.

My husband suspects that this could be ADD.I already know I have anxiety, but I’m not certain I have Adult Attention Deficit Disorder. When it’s something I’m interested in, like writing, reading, or sewing I’m very focused.

I think when the subject matter, like what is discussed by my estimating team, is boring as watching paint dry, I don’t focus. For example, when someone says to me “I need you to compile a list of bidders for the IGMP estimate where the MEP and the structural drawings will be different but the specifications and instructions to bidders will be the same…yadda, yadda.”  I start thinking about how I’m going to do these things while they are continuing with their jargon. So therefore, it looks as if I’m not paying attention.  In reality, I’m paying attention and translating for myself, what the Hades they are talking about.

That goes for anything that doesn’t interest me. My mind tries to make it interesting and relevant, instead of just accepting the information at its dry, face-value.

I was even like that as a kid. I hated math, but I was drawn to the number 5 because I though it looked like a sideways man with a hat and a belly. Also, math with fives is easy; they stick together and follow a clear pattern.

It would be nice to have less chatter upstairs, and be able to be calm and collected in quiet, thoughtful repose.

Maybe I should do more yoga or meditation. Anyone else out there suffer from ADD as an adult?

Last week at my Sunday school class we started a new format that involves more God and less of a daycare like environment.

For the most part it went really well. I brought chocolate chip cookies as a snack and told the kids we would pray before our snack.

“I don’t want to pray,” whined a little five year old.

“You pray or you don’t get a cookie.”

He prayed.

I have just aquired a huge girly crush on writer Diablo Cody. She’s the writer of the movie Juno, a witty blog and she’s lived in Minneapolis, MN and did not try and kill herself.

She just became a stripper. Which she wrote a book about it called “Candy Girl”, which is also a wonderful read.

I like her because she seems like a million other posers (ie, young Hollywood types) on the surface but she’s willing to admit that she was a sheltered, bored, nerdy, suburban kid. Plus, she’s wicked smart. I love her…aaaaah….

I don’t understand why women are so obsessed with shoes, particularly when 80% of them don’t fit and cause damage to your feet or cramping pain.

When they do fit, are comfortable, and sort of cute you run into a snag like I did today. My shoes make an air whooshing sound everytime I walk that is similar to the noise made by oxygen tanks for those with lung issues.  They are also thongs, so they make the standard slapping noise when I walk. So everytime I go somewhere my feet go “slap, whoosh, slap, whoosh.” It’s annoying me, I can’t imagine who else it’s bugging.

On top of that, today is a day that involves handing out plans to subcontractors so I must walk from my cubical to the front of the office about 50 times today, all the while, slapping and whooshing.

On plus side, the toe part of the shoe has not caused any pain or friction to my foot. It is a comfy shoe. Too bad about the stupid noise factor.

Me, Zachary and Mark in the world of the Simpsons.

Make your own Simpson character here!