Work Matters

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You May Be Disappointed at First, But Then You Can Give Me Advice

Let’s get this right out in the open:

There will be no space travel anytime soon, Internet.

Okay, so perhaps you are all, “So?” Or, “Oh yeah, you made a big deal about That Whole Thing for quite a while. I had totally forgotten.”

Or, “Who are you again?”

But in my HEAD, I feel like you are staring at me – you know, in that surreptitious way, looking away quickly when I turn around, pretending you are staring into space and Thinking Deeply or waving at someone over my shoulder or engrossed in the details of the ceiling directly above my head – and wondering What Is Up.

So, whether you are wondering or not: there is nothing up.

On purpose.  For an undetermined time period.

Because…

Well, because I got a new job.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

It’s very exciting because it’s AWESOME. Seriously awesome. I’ll be writing, still, but for a non-profit. And it’s an organization that does work I feel passionate about and proud of. Everyone I’ve met is smart and dedicated and passionate, and I can see myself really making a difference, which is great. I feel positively giddy about the whole thing.

But I am, also, a little nervous.

You see, I haven’t started the job yet. (And of course, now that I’ve published this, I am a teeny bit worried that it will evaporate or I will find that it was All a Dream.) Anyway, I am not scheduled to start for a few days. So I am spending my free time thinking about how different it will be.

The biggest difference between this job and what I do now?

It is an Office Job.

Which means, I am sure you’ll understand, that I’ll be leaving my house each morning, and driving to an office, where I will stay – in the office – with other people – multiple other people – for hours at a time, day after day.

One of the big reasons I first considered this job – apart from the fact that it just seemed like too good an opportunity to miss – was that I need to be around people more often.

I love the work I’ve been doing for the past seven years. But… Seven years is a long time to be cooped up in a house by one’s self.

Being able to do my work from anywhere in the world has been a fabulous gift. Most importantly, it’s allowed me to maintain steady income despite the impermanence of my husband’s training.

But now that we’re staying in this lovely city, it’s time for me to put down roots. Not just by buying a house… Not just by trying to make friends… But by becoming an active, contributing member of our community. And taking an Office Job is a good way to do that.

(I know you didn’t ask me to justify why I am switching jobs. I guess I just feel a little sad to be leaving this part of my life behind. Excited, of course, but a little sad.)

So – to circle back (I seem to do a lot circling back, don’t I? I suppose that means I do too much circling away. Perhaps I need to hire some sort of tangent sheepdog to keep me in line.) – one of the reasons I’m so excited about this new venture is that I’ll get to interact with real, live people every day.

But… I’m also a teensy bit scared.

Not of the job or the people. But of no longer working from home.

Because I’ve never really HAD an Office Job before, Internet.

Sure, I worked in a doctor’s office a couple of summers. But it was my DAD’S office, so I’m sure that’s a different experience than most people have.

Then I worked for three months in a ministry, which wasn’t technically an Office Job because a) it was in the basement of a church and b) there was no real sitting and officeing – just mostly working one-on-one with the clients we served or the volunteers who gave their time. (I don’t know – maybe that DOES count as an Office Job? I am realizing that perhaps my understanding of what constitutes an Office Job comes from unreliable sources, like The Office.)

Then I worked for another summer in the marketing department of a big company. So I guess THAT was an Office Job.

But the thing is, that last one there? The most recent Office Job experience? That was in 2003.

So I am WAY out of practice.

This is where you come in, Internet!

I need you to tell me what to expect from Working in an Office. The Dos and Don’ts, if you will.

You see…

When I’ve visited clients, I’ve had to do SOME work in an office.

And it always seems so awkward to me.

Simple things… Like, do I send an instant message or an email to the Marketing Manager? If I were at home, I WOULD do that… but now she’s only three feet from me, so it seems weird and unnecessary.

But then again… the alternative is to either get up from my desk and go over to hers (is that okay?) or to speak to her out loud, where the whole office can hear.

Neither of those things seems better. They seem kind of… interruptive.

And what if two people are talking near me?

When that’s happened at a client’s office, I just tune it out. But frequently, I’ll then find out that someone was trying to bring me into the conversation, and now he’s mocking me because I am so focused that my ears don’t work.

But if I try to be constantly aware of what’s going on, well… that’s exhausting and sort of hampers my productivity.

So what’s the ideal way to deal with people when you’re all smushed together in the same space?

And lunch.

Here at home, I make whatever I want for lunch. Wedge salads. Stir fry. Tacos. Nachos. Whatever sounds good, or whatever I can heat up from last night’s dinner.

When I go visit clients, I either go out to lunch with a few of the staff members… or I pop out to a nearby restaurant and bring something back.

But I live too far from the office to come home every day. And eating out obviously isn’t doable every day.

Also, I don’t want to be That Girl who brings something stinky and grosses out the whole office.

Also also, I am picky, so it’s hard for me to make lunch on a good day, when I have my whole refrigerator at my fingertips.

So… what does one bring for lunch when one works in An Office?

(I have spent a LOT of time thinking about this, Internet.) (I am being 100% serious.)

And while we’re on food… I am pretty accustomed to being able to go to the fridge and grab something at any time. Twenty times a day if I choose!

But I’m guessing employers/coworkers frown on that in an office setting?

Can I bring some almonds and an apple and a granola bar to snack on throughout the day? Or is constant munching going to lead to a Weird New Girl label?

And what about the bathroom?

I drink a lot of water, Internet. Is there, like, a bathroom trip limit I need to be aware of?

What if there are other people in there? I don’t think I can do inter-stall conversation. I really don’t think I have it in me.

What else?

Is there REALLY a water cooler, and do people ACTUALLY discuss things around it?

Basically, I’ve figured out that I should probably wear some real clothes instead of yoga pants and a tank top. But other than that, I really don’t know what to expect.

So if you have ANY TIPS about Successfully Working in an Office, I would love to hear them!

 

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Monday Randomosity: Half-Hearted Wildlife Update Edition

And we’re jumping right in today, Internet! Monday, bullets-style!

– Since my tentative declaration Wednesday that I had seen no silverfish since Monday’s extermination, I have seen TEN SILVERFISH.  They seem to concentrate themselves heavily in the master bath area, so you can imagine the intensive inspection process my towels go through before each shower.

The consequence of seeing so many – TEN, in four days! As opposed to one or two a week! – coupled with the exterminator’s Words of Doom hanging over my head means that I am a nervous wreck. Every time my foot itches, my heart rate jumps into the danger range and I scrape violently against the nearest surface. I feel Ghost Tickles as I imagine dying silverfish crawling up the insides of my pant legs. And every speck on my floor makes me leap onto the nearest chair or husband. And my floor has a speck every few feet, Internet. (We’re talking speck of dirt here, not the kind of speck you’d find on an appetizer plate.) (LOL – lame attempt at trendy-cured-meat humor!) Perhaps I need to invest in a robot broom.

– Before you become embroiled in this bullet, allow me to warn you: This is an “update” that you likely a) won’t care about and b) won’t remember the original “date” in order for this feel like and “up” or anything but a boring. Yes, I just used boring as a noun right there. I don’t know if the nounage is working so well, but I’m too tired for real English. ANYWAY, back to the non-update… To catch you up to speed (a slow stroll in this case), I once noticed a cat saunter through our yard and I asked y’all if a cat’s appearance in our yard meant it was our cat.

So! The cat came back! So I tried to go out in the yard to pet it, or something – I really can’t remember my EXACT motivation. I guess I just see a cat and I have to go over to it, much the way tweenagers react in the vicinity of Justin Bieber. – and it ran away.

If you are thinking, “Wow, that was TRULY the most boring non-update I’ve ever read,” just wait! It gets slightly less boring! Or not! Just please withhold your judgement! The cat came back the (very) next day – two sightings! In two days! – and I tapped on the glass door and it flopped down at the far end of the yard and looked at me. So I took it some milk in a Tupperware.

It ran away.

The next evening, I saw the cat walk right past the sliding door out to the yard. RIGHT PAST! As in mere inches from my living room! So I put some turkey out on the step to sort of, well, LURE is not the right word… let’s say ENCOURAGE it to come closer so I could pet it.

The very night that I put the bait gift turkey on the step, I looked outside and there was a BABY BUNNY just chilling right outside my living room!

Here – look at the baby:

And I suddenly realized that the cat was not interested in ME. He was interested in having a nice fresh bunny mignon for dinner.

I no longer want to encourage the cat to stay in the yard, even though I DO. Because obviously I cannot have the untimely demise of a BABY BUNNY on my hands. But I want a kitty to pet and to hold! It’s like Sophie’s Choice over here.

– They just sort of APPEAR places. And since they’re mostly dead (“He’s just mostly dead.”) I have no idea how they GOT to where I find them. Do they know how to apparate? Oh, by the way, I’m back on the silverfish.

I haven’t seen any of them MOVING, is what I’m saying. Even if I (cruelly) poke at them with the edge of a toilet paper wad before I smush them and toss ’em in the toilet. So they must be trying with their last breaths to escape the poison (gah. Now I am feeling SORRY for these buttercuppers!) and end up dying out in the vast unconquerable open space of the bathroom floor. But… I can’t see any HOLES from which they could have arrived.

Okay, here’s where I stop you Internet. If you have any knowledge of where insects DO come from, I don’t actually want to know. I SWEAR.

– You have seen this, right? The Ricky G. one kills me.  He looks like David Bowie’s non-sexy teenage twin.

– One of the best parts of moving to this house is the excuse to explore a new neighborhood. And our neighborhood has a lot to offer, especially in the way of locally-owned businesses. Well, and there’s a Dairy Queen within walking distance of our place.

One of the local businesses is a little Italian bakery. INTERNET. The tiramisu they sell is phenomenal. It comes in squares that fit into a cupcake wrapper and the mascarpone cheese part of it is so light and creamy and perfect and the lady fingers are so perfectly moist with coffee liqueur and there are chocolate shavings on top.

As if that isn’t wondrous enough, the bakery also sells homemade pizza dough for $1.50 a bag. Now, I’ve been buying the Betty Crocker kind in the bag. You know – just add water. It’s about the same price and it makes perfectly adequate pizza. But this Italian bakery dough? It’s REAL pizza dough! I can get at least two pizzas out of it, and it’s SO GOOD.

Clearly, with this bakery in my life, I am going to be needing some more generous pants.

– Speaking of pants, I went to J. Crew the other day to look for something for that horrible mid-range of clothing. You know. The stuff that’s dressed up enough for a casual workplace but not so dressy that you look stuffy. The stuff that’s casual enough to wear shopping for more mid-range clothing but not so casual that you’d feel uncomfortable doing brunch at an upscale restaurant. I have NOTHING in that category, and so always feel either over- or under-dressed and wholly inappropriate.  Especially in the shirt area.

Hence J. Crew. Just past the tables full of underwear-length shorts and Betty Draper dresses was a stack of pants. The Minnie pant, a sign declared. The pant that makes EVERYONE look fantastic, it boasted.

Ha! I thought. No way in hell this teeny pair of pants will look good on me. Skinny pants are for skinny girls.

I bought two pairs.

–  My husband’s last rotation had him doing overnight stints in the intensive care unit. Leaving me alone and, well, bored out of my skull. And that kind of boredom can turn the corner quickly into melancholy. So the best part of my weekend was reading your When I Fell in Love/When I Knew I’d Marry That Guy stories. I even got EMAILS that were long and detailed and WONDERFUL and oh! such fun. Thank you for sharing. If you haven’t done so, please do! Or at least go read the other stories. So lovely!

 
– In addition to the cat and the bunnies, we have a possum.  Do possums eat bunnies? Hot ham sandwich I hope not. I can’t deal with hosting a Hunger Games in my backyard.

 

Well, there’s no arguing that THIS is a very lackluster post, Internet. I mean, it only has EIGHT bullets. (It’s driving me crazy, too, I promise.) I am deeply sorry for disappointing you. But I must don my middle-range clothing and go forth on a business trip.

Please, tell me something random about yourself. Especially if it involves the magic Perfect for All Occasions wardrobe or possums.

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I Did Not Need a Flask (Not That I OWN a Flask If I Had Needed One)

Hello Internet!

Thank you SO MUCH for jumping in and helping me before the baby shower. I took ALL of your baby shower advice and the shower was smooth and (dare I say?) even fun. I credit the fun to you, for giving me the confidence that I was Doing It Right. Well, and a little credit should go to a) my book club, who all showed up, so I didn’t have to stand in a corner and b) to the mom-to-be’s sister, who planned the shower and made sure it was speedy and painless.

As I am sure you are dying to know, the book I ordered for the shower (to take, as instructed, in lieu of a card) was The Runaway Bunny, by Margaret Wise Brown of Goodnight Moon fame. I have such fond memories of this book from when I was a kid. It’s about a bunny who tells his mother that he wants to run away from home and become various things (a tree, a cloud, a fish – I can’t remember exactly, but things that aren’t really realistic for a bunny.) (A bunny who can talk and has an imagination. So, huh, I guess realism isn’t really a goal here.). The mother assures him throughout that no matter where he goes or what he does, she’ll be there to watch over and care for him. It’s a little stalkerish – but very sweet. The illustrations are fun, too, at least when you’re a kid and not quite as adept at spotting the bunny dressed in fish garb.

Anyway, I wrote a nice inscription in the book… Well, I thought it was nice. It was about how I hoped the mom-to-be and her little bunny enjoyed reading the book as much as my mom and I did when I was a kid. That sounds really corny, typing it out here, but what can I say? I AM A CORNY PERSON.

Side note: I ordered the book from Barnes & Noble – along with The Gift of Fear – over a week ago. We have a Barnes & Noble membership, which means we get free two-day shipping. And yet, I have NOT received my books yet. Worse, when I canceled my order of The Runaway Bunny – since I needed it for a specific date – I got an email saying I couldn’t cancel the book because it was too late. And yet, NO BOOK. STILL. What the eff, Barnes & Noble?

I did reserve a copy of the book at my local Barnes & Noble (listen, I support local booksellers as much as anyone, but there aren’t any within an easy driving distance, and B&N is on my way to the grocery store so LAY OFF) (hmmm… guilt, much?) and picked it up there. I decided at the last minute to get the board book rather than the paperback. I know you care very deeply about all these details.

Per your overwhelming opinion, I did NOT get another present. I DID print out a photo of the present and put it in a card and attached it with (Christmas) ribbon to the book.  This worked out well, because the minute I walked in the door, the mom-to-be hugged me and thanked me for the present I’d sent, which she’d already received. (Confidential to Barnes & Noble: You have a lot to learn from Restoration Hardware Babies when it comes to ACCURATE and QUICK shipping.)

The mom-to-be, by the way, is one of those tall slim women whose shape doesn’t change at ALL when she’s pregnant. It simply looks like she has a basketball (or whatever ball is the size of a pregnant belly – I certainly don’t know; I’m not a ball size expert) (hmmm… that sounded unexpectedly dirty) beneath her non-maternity shirt.

The shower was really nice. We only had to play one game – which was Guess the Wrapped Up Baby Items – while the mom-to-be speedily opened gifts. (I scored 7 out of 10, Internet, and I only cheated on one question.) (Seriously though: who knew that babies need both HAIRBRUSHES and NAIL FILES?)

Oh! I wore the grey dress with belt and boots, and it seemed to fit right in with what others were wearing. There was wine – I had a glass with lunch – and cider and coffee and lots of food.

We did have to write on little cards a piece of advice for the mom-to-be, which was a little nerve-wracking. I have no advice. So what I ended up writing was that she was going to be a great mother, no matter what.  I think it came out sounding both a little depressing – like, you are going to feel like motherhood sucks – and a little aggressive – “you better remember you’ll be a good mom OR ELSE” – but what do you expect? I know nothing about babies/motherhood/advice.

Turns out in the end that everyone else made the cards out to both parents. Which sort of makes sense, if you think about it. But I have only met the father once, and only briefly, so he really didn’t enter my mind.

Internet, I miss you, and I wish I could devote more time to posting and reading YOUR blog. But work is busy busy busy and I have a work-related Christmas party this Friday, so I’m preoccupied with working and trying to make the agonizing decision to either wear an old dress or buy a new one. Of course, I’m leaning toward buying a new one since new dresses are fun. But old dresses are cheaper and take less time.

I will also admit – with deep shame and embarrassment – that I have yet to buy a SINGLE Christmas present. So I need to get on that.

In the meantime, I wish you a lovely Wednesday and I hope you’ll say hello and tell me whether you would wear a) the same dress you wore to this very Christmas party last year, hoping that no one will  notice or b) a dress that may or may not give you armpit fat.

If you choose b, please tell me the best way to disguise armpit fat. “Arriving at the party sufficiently late that all the other party goers will be to drunk to notice” is unfortunately not an option.