So, I got a new job.
A few weeks ago, I wasn’t so insouciant- it was more like “I GOT A JOB! AND IT’S FULL-TIME FROM MY HOME OFFICE!!!” The work is enjoyable. I mean, I tell people that I work on excel worksheets all day, and they give me a look that implies, should I offer you a loaded gun to move things along a little more quickly which compels me to explain that, “no, really, I really like doing this stuff because I have some weird anal side to me that loves tedious data entry work.” And I do truly enjoy it, because, to me, it’s like playing an endless game of Cake Mania and getting paid for it….
but see, that’s the thing….getting paid for it. Because, even though I’ve been working for these people for about a month, and they seem like very nice, normal people, I’ve only received one paycheck for about half a week’s pay.
So now I’m forced into this unfortunate position of essentially having to beg for money like Oliver holding out his bowl for more porridge. I’m grateful for this job and all, but, in America at least, I was under the assumption that receiving a paycheck was an employee’s right. And I’m not just bagging on this particular employer…because, for some reason, I’ve been placed in this awkward position with several other jobs as well.
Which leaves me no choice but to ask – is it ME???!!
Seriously, I would love to hear from others on this one on whether this is a common occurrence or not.
If not, then maybe I should reconsider searching for employment on Craig’s List. Just sayin’
WHERE ARE MY @)%& @! TWEEZERS?!!?!
I don’t get mad often, unless it’s that time of the month, you know, when the PECO bill is due. And I don’t really sound like a truck driver all of the time; though, let’s be honest, I think truck drivers get a bad rap for this – I know a few, and their mouths are sparkling clean (maybe they chew Orbit while they’re driving?) But, I do tend to erupt during certain unfortunate incidents, such as: losing the most prized constituent of my vanity maintenance kit (I am extremely attached to my tweezers. See “Why Old and Fuzzy” for FAQ), watching the Phillies “dream team” lose the first part of the playoffs (are you $*#%! kidding me!?), or plunging the toilet and mopping inches of cesspool water from the first-floor bathroom and basement floor after my son finally releases a sequoia log that he’s stockpiled inside his intestines for about a week.
I blame my father for my occasional, infrequent, (really not too often. quit judging me. who are you, Donna Reed?) potty mouth. Watch “A Christmas Story,” especially during the untangling-the-Christmas-lights scene – That’s My Dad. Funny thing is he hates that movie. Apparently, he also wasn’t allowed to have a Red Ryder BB gun because he was told, “you’ll shoot your eye out.” Shame on Jean Shepherd for writing my father’s unauthorized biography.
Although my brother and I frequently overheard our dad’s imprecations, we, of course, knew we would get in big trouble if those same words ever came out of our own mouths. They never did, until some weird, inexplicable switch went off in my head when I became an adult. I don’t know if the minute I turned eighteen some little devil popped on to my shoulder and whispered, “hey, you’re an adult now. curse away.” Can’t remember the exact moment I let those first expletives fly. All I know is that I’m doing it now. And I’m falling into the same family tradition that prohibits my children from repeating anything they overhear. I’ve decided, however, to only use this as a temporary parenting technique. Yep, I’ve decided to up the bar a bit by monitoring my potty mouth and making myself a, gasp, positive role model.
I have a wonderfully perfect friend whom I admire a great deal and try, but frequently fail, to imitate. She and her super cool husband have four beautiful, talented girls with great big hearts and strong Christian values. The youngest two girls are twins with cerebral palsy. The oldest is in her first year of college. My friend keeps herself incredibly busy with parenting and keeping an immaculate house and teaching music therapy and running a Joni and Friends support group for Moms of Special Needs. And she says, “for pity’s sake,” when something goes awry. What the
hell…..heck! Who says that?
“Tessa! Your house is on fire and all of your designer silk floral arrangements and custom Italian tiles are melting!!”
“What? Oh for pity’s sake!”
I don’t think I can do it, you know, limit myself like that. I just don’t see me using phrases like “Heavens to Betsy,” or “Oh My Stars.” And I’m not Catholic, so I can’t use the standard, “Holy Mary, Mother of God, Sweet Mother of Mercy.”
I have an idea though. My stepdaughter was a regular viewer of Tourettes Guy (click link at your own risk) on Youtube (for the record, she watched this at her Mom’s house). Danny, the Tourettes Guy Who Didn’t Really Have Tourettes But, Apparently, Had Many Other Issues, is dead now. However, he did leave behind a legacy. For some reason, in between tirades of blaspheme that would turn even my dad’s face crimson with embarassment, Danny would randomly shout out “Bob Saget!” I can’t stand the guy, Bob Saget, that is….tv dad in one of the worst sitcoms ever made other than Small Wonder….obviously disgruntled “I don’t want to be here, even though it pays far more than I’m worth,” host of America’s Funniest Videos. Soooo, Bob Saget has become the chosen one. The chosen catch phrase.
“Mom! The coffee pot’s clogged again and leaking unbrewed swill all over the countertop and shorting out the toaster that’s causing the circuit breaker to pop, thereby cutting off the electricity in Section A, which includes the plug that powers your laptop with the dead battery you never replaced and causing you to lose your 3,000 word document that you never saved that’s due tomorrow!”