Accomplishments

This past Monday I posted about all the accomplishments I accomplished on half a tank of gas over the previous weekend.

Today, I post about all the things I need to accomplish this weekend, no matter how much gas it takes me:

• Yard Work
• Mow the lawn
• Rake the lawn
• Clean the gardens
• Weed-Whack the edges
• House Cleaning
• Completely clean the inside of the house
• No, really - clean all the things.
• Dog Training
• Meet with dog trainer to begin "clicker" training with the Young Master
• Perform on Saturday evening at a local restaurant
• Baking
• Make cookies, muffins and other miscellany for next weekend's party
• Crafting
• Make guest book for next weekend's party
• Socialization
• Meet up with besticle for birthday dinner
• Take Young Master for "Blessing of the Pets" ceremony with Mom
• Spend time remembering how amazing Boyfriend of Amazingness is, and remind him that I appreciate his Amazingness

It's going to be busy, and it's going to be great!

New and Exciting

Indeed, that is the name of the game today: "New and Exciting."

Because Boyfriend of Amazingness and I have embarked upon a New and Exciting Journey, wherein we welcomed a New and Exciting Houseguest to join our family.

No, we are not procreating...

No, we've not randomly welcomed a vagabond into our home and decided to keep him as a permanent fixture, between the lamp and the bookcase in the library...

No. Instead, we've welcomed a four-legged youngster to our home, and he's decided that it might be okay to stay.

After a whirlwind adoption process,**1 Friday marked the day that 44 pounds of fur, drool and snuggles took up residence on our living room couch.

And on the kitchen floor.

And on the bed.

And just about everywhere else in the house. (Well... everywhere except the craft room. Craft rooms are full of things that Young Masters would find shiny and delicious, and there's no need for yakked-up piles of crayon to become my new decorating scheme.)

So, over the past few days, everything has been an adventure.

No, seriously...

Everything.

You're going to go pee? Let me come watch. I'll rest my head on your leg, and make sure you're okay in this weird little room on your weird little throne.

You're going to pour yourself a glass of lemonade? Let me stick my head in the refrigerator and make sure there's nothing out-of-the-ordinary. For good measure, I'll lick the bottle. Yeah... I think you'll be okay if you drink this.

You're going to sit on the couch? Why, I think that sounds fabulous. Let me just... oops, that was your face I just hit with my tail, and your squishy middle bit feels funny under my feet. So sorry, just trying to get to the optimized seating area between you and The Important One.**2 Won't take me but a moment more... here's a kiss for your troubles.

What will tomorrow bring?

Only he knows.

**1 When I say whirlwind, I mean that this makes Dorothy's tornado seem tame. We sent in an application and a lighthearted request for additional information on Tuesday, thinking that (at best) we might be able to schedule a short meet-and-greet over the weekend, if he hadn't alreay gone to a Forever Home. By noon Wednesday, the shelter called to inform us that we were approved and they wanted to know when we'd be retrieving the young master to bring him home. After a short session of flailing our arms and saying "But we haven't even met him yet!", we decided that Boyfriend of Amazingness would check out the situation on Friday morning, at his earliest convenience, and see if it might work out. By the time I arrived home from work on Friday afternoon, we were Proud Puppy Parents. Now that, my ReaderFriends, is a whirlwind.

**2 How I imagine the Young Master refers to Boyfriend of Amazingness. I am The Tolerable One. He is The Important One. It's a Man-And-Beast bonding thing. My lack of dangling bits in the middle means that I simply wouldn't understand.

Too Productive for Work

This morning was sort of an early morning.

I say "sort of" because it wasn't so early as it could have been - we only had to get up about half an hour before we usually do.

But it was rainy... And the rain was making a delightful pitter-patter against the window pane without raining so hard that the sound would make me have to leave my bed-cocoon to go pee...**1 And Boyfriend of Amazingness was being full of snuggles.

So when the alarm went off half an hour before we typically have to rise-and-shine, I didn't want any part of it.

But then, once I did rouse myself, I started having the most productive morning I've had in quite some time.

I showered. I dressed myself, and was happy with the result on the second try. Hair, makeup, brushed teeth, and the rest of the shenanigans that are typically attended in the morning were seen to.

Then I made the bed.

Complete with brandy-new fresh sheets for this evening.

I folded the clean laundry that had made it to the bedroom but needed to be folded.

Then I put it away.

I put the dirty laundry into baskets, ready to be taken downstairs and washed.

I emptied the bedroom trashcan - which was overflowing with dryer sheets and dead socks - and brought everything downstairs to the kitchen trashcan. Upon realizing that this trash filled the can completely, I brought the bag outside and put a fresh one in the kitchen.

I packed my lunch.

I looked at the clock, and it was finally time for me to depart.

As I tied my shoes, I thought about how productive I had been in the past hour.

I hadn't gotten so much done in weeks.

I mean... I had intended to. But there's been the house-hunting thing going on, and the emotions and stress tied to that have made me a Sunny-Zombie. I come home from work, struggle through dinner and then crash on the couch full of sleeps. Sometimes I make it through a couple episodes of a TV show with Boyfriend of Amazingness... but most often I just zonk into dreamland. He wakes me up around bedtime and points me in the direction of Bed.

On weekends, instead of being productive, I sit and I think about everything that needs to get done. Typically there's some social event or another that needs attending. And then... I nap. My mind is exhausted and frustrated.

So this morning, when I awoke all full of rain-assisted sleep and ready to face the day, I thought "Hmm... what a waste. I'm so ready to get things done, and I have to go to work."

Which was the point at which I wondered if it's ever okay to call in "too productive for work."

"I'm sorry, Boss. I can't come in to work today. There's laundry and dishes and vacuuming and I'm seriously thinking I might even get out the dust rag... and I'm just feeling too productive to come sit at my desk today. I'll see you tomorrow, when I'm worn out and pathetic again."

**1 I realized upon re-reading this that I had made it sound ever-so-slightly as though a light rain is cause for peeing in the bed instead of getting up to use the facilities. This is not the case... but it made me giggle so I didn't rephrase it. This clarification is offered for anyone who was worried about my bladder control.

My Self-Induced Insomnia Post

As I begin this post, it is 3:48 a.m. Eastern Standard Time. I am laying in my childhood bed listening to crickets and coyotes outside and realizing just how deeply I have adapted to city life that I can sleep through airplanes taking off and touching down at our local airplanery, but not sleep through the peaceful chirp that used to lull me to sleep every evening.

I shouldn't be awake this late/early. And it's not for lack of trying that I am. I *did* go to bed at a reasonable hour, I promise. But a day of real work has taken its toll, and I currently find myself in that horrid position of having gotten too tired and having worked my intolerant muscles too far the day before and then being awakened in the middle of the night by strange sounds. (I heard the water destinkification machine kick on, and then start draining through our Emergency Drainage System. As a child, I was extremely fortunate to live in a home where my father really knew his stuff and was able to build our home himself, but that means he took some shortcuts... Like attaching the Emergency Drain in the bathroom - for child exuberance in the bathtub - to the Emergency Drain in the wellroom for water system upkeep. That created a weird gurgling from the Emergency Drain in the bathroom, which woke me up in a blind panic that the leaking-pipe-I-have-yet-to-fix had somehow spontaneously burst in July and was flooding the basement-that-has-yet-to-be-hit-by-the-Great-Purge-that-brings-me-here-in-the-first-place. So I rocketed out of bed, asserted that a funny sound was coming from the bathroom, shot into my Mother's bedroom to turn on her light and babble something about "Running water in the basement," ignored her "It's okay - it does that" as early morning babble on HER behalf, and ran to the basement. You'll be surprised - she was right. But by the time I realized, she was already out of bed and on her way down the stairs to make sure I hadn't totally lost my marbles. I love my Mumma. But now, I've put her back to bed and I've worn off my adrenaline and I'm still very much awake.) 

I don't mind being up this early. The aforementioned Father used to get up every single day, without an alarm, between 4 and 4:30 a.m. He would toddle to the kitchen for his coffee from his bedroom immediately above my own, and the sound of his footsteps creaking on the rough hewn joints would stir me from my slumber. I wouldn't get out of bed, but the rest I got between that time and when I really did get up could only be considered "Off and On." And really, I didn't mind. Eventually.

So to be awake this early is reminding me of that. 

But you must be wondering what the real reason for this post is, being that this is a work-flavored blog and *obviously* not a workday post...

Well, my point is that tomorrow is going to suck.

A lot.

Although my current intent is to post this, double check on my Social Networking Site (to make sure nothing has happened in the twenty minutes it's taken me to jot down these thoughts) and then turn the computer off (before it dies) and go back to sleep before my Adventures in Organized Religion (TM) tomorrow. The reality is that I will probably lay here for a while, doze Off and On, and then be useless the rest of the day. Which won't immediately effect me during this Sunshine Period, but *will* create a conundrum on my half-day of work tomorrow, when I really do have the opportunity to take an afternoon nap. Which will then throw me into the expecting-a-nap cycle, which will make 2:00 p.m. every day this work week absolutely intolerable when I have to be awake.

And so, tonight's adventures in the darkness reveal that I really *am* a work-minded individual. If only because I know that my sleeplessness is going to make me tetchy, and my tetchiness induces a lower tolerance for EngineerFriend-isms. 

But for now, as the clock ticks just past 4:00 a.m., my worry should be closing my eyes and keeping my Sunshine for the morning.

Sweet dreams, ReaderFriends, and goodnight.

I Turn The Music Up... I Got My Records On...

Ah... Another quiet Friday afternoon in the office.

(She says nonchalantly, as though she hasn't just spent the last two hours ripping her hair out from boredom.)

Quiet Friday afternoons aren't horrible. Usually they can be almost pleasant, if the appropriate mix of snack and game and music can be reached (and if that pesky phone doesn't ring... Which is my other complaint this afternoon. It's actually been busy with calls for people who went home already. "Sorry, Client, that particular employee said 'Screw This' an hour and a half ago and left no forwarding address. I suggest holding your question until Monday, and going for a beer instead... Because I guarantee that's what Employee did.")  to minimize my boredom. 

But today was not that day. I've been antsy and fidgety and less than productive for a whole lot of hot, miserable hours in an office I would vacate were it not for its orgasmic air-conditioning. So I had to find a way to cope.

My method of choice today relied heavily upon music. Unfortunately,I was rocking out to the radio when I realized that I had it turned up a little loud. I realized this when that famous song came on that got me in trouble not too long ago:

"Sticks and stones may break my bones, But chains and whips excite me." 

Cue a lecherous EngineerFriend who comes toddling around the corner, wide-eyed and springy-stepped to ask what's going on with a "wicked grin." (His words. <eye roll and sigh> Not going there.)

So I shut the radio off (after cussing at it a little for getting me into that situation in the first place) and decided to google "Office Appropriate Music."

And got PILES of hits.

(Apparently I'm not the only ignorant schmuck who has been caught busting a move behind her desk.)

There have been oodles of studies revolving around Office-Friendly Tune-age. And here's the basis of what I've found:

* If you work in an office (anywhere boring, really, which bases itself on client service), you have two options: light, airy, classical drivel; or silence.

*If you work anywhere else (anywhere equally boring but less client-oriented), you have two options: headphones, or silence.

* There will ALWAYS be someone who prefers to listen to country. (Thank goodness it's that and not Christian Screamo. Yes, it exists. Count your lucky stars and be grateful that you don't know about it.)

* It is almost never appropriate to listen to music with lyrics in a client-oriented space. You risk offending someone with a lyric that comes out of nowhere, or leaving someone out of a genre they don't know/understand/give-a-crap-about.

Which is all fine and dandy with me, I suppose. I'm not particularly a fan of the classical drivel, but every once in a while I do get caught air-conducting Tchaikovsky's The Nutcracker Suite. And it *is* nice to know that there is a standard I should be meeting... Even though my own desk has a propensity towards announcing its sadomasochism.

P.S. - I would love to cite the information here specifically, but it's all basically the same no matter what website you pull up. So, to make it more exciting, google "Office Appropriate Music" and see what hits you get. But make sure to check out http://www.externaldesign.com/office-music-in-the-workplace.html. That one was my favorite, and had the greatest wealth of information.

Green Land

OH MY GOODNESS! You poor dear! Sit down! Sit down!!

I know... it's crazy. It's WEDNESDAY, and it's been over a week since my last blog post. How did you survive?!

(I know. You probably ate lots of bacon and drank lots of rum and got through just fine without me. But humor me, dear. It's been a long week.)

First, I must apologize. The busy nature of my schedule notwithstanding, I've been fighting against this inexplicable bout of writer's block lately. Which is frustrating. I want so badly to share witticisms and fun thoughts with you all, but find myself zapped of creative energies enough to bring these intents to fruition. But NO LONGER! Today, I break the block and *make* myself find something to tell you about. 

What an exciting week it's been! Last Wednesday I packed myself up and got myself together and shipped off for Lands Unknown for my very first ever historical recreation event. (Recreation, as in fun. Not reenactment. We're not doing anything over again - we're starting fresh, because we're cool like that.) I exercised muscles I forgot that I had, made friends I didn't know could be so cool and had an all around glamorous time under a completely different name that was just totally awesome. And it was good.

But all good things must come to an end... As did my adventure. And with the end of my adventure came my re-immersion into 

But then, upon my arrival back in the office, I found I had forgotten to do something before my departure...

Water the plants.

I wish I could tell you I lived in Green Land. No, not the country... I mean the state of being. That happy place where so many of my cohorts can go to commune with nature and bring forth shoots of new life from dry, hardened dirt.

But I do not live in Green Land. I don't visit there, either. I don't call, text, or smoke signal. For the most part... I pretend it doesn't exist.

Why?

Because I kill plants.

No, I don't think you understand.

I KILL THEM. They see me coming, and they just *die.* 

Now this is an unfortunate habit for an administrative person. 

I sit at the Reception desk of my dear office. And the Reception desk is disgustingly close to all communal company areas... Like the kitchen, the copy rooms, and the area where clients congregate when they step off of the elevator. It is the last where I find myself standing, hands on hips as I survey the carnage this afternoon.

I forgot to water the plants before I went on vacation. The current state of affairs finds me gazing at greenery in states of disrepair ranging from slightly-wilty-around-the-edges to mostly-yellow-with-just-a-little-green to back-to-becoming-one-with-the-dirt-from-whence-they-sprung. This means that one of two things could have happened:

1) Some kind soul took notice of their plight and watered them for me on Friday afternoon. Then another kind soul, not wary of the actions of the first, did the same. And now they're drowned.

2) No one has touched the blasted things since I left.

I'm leaning more towards the second on this list. The droopy leaves and absent puddles of water lead me to think that these poor critters are famished, dying for a drink from the wellspring of the bathroom. They cry out to me, "Please, Sunny! Help us! We're dying!"

But that's a problem.

I could water them. But they're so dry right now that I risk OVER-watering. And that's a horrible, fatal thought in and of itself. The oozing, dripping puddles that leak from the bottom of the planters and pool across my desk, the windowsill and my printerstand* wreak havoc on my workspace and my calm. Water stains soak across the paperwork that litters my desk, and inevitably I find myself cussing at an empty roll of paper towels long before the mess is tidied up.

I don't set out to be a horrible plant mommy. It didn't happen overnight. As a child, I helped tend our vegetable gardens and could (for the most part) tell the difference between baby corn stalks and baby pigweed. However, as I grew older, my abilities lessened in direct proportion to the amount of time my father had to help me with my green endeavors.

It is a conundrum that does not go unnoticed. For my high school graduation, a good friend gave me a wonderful plant encyclopedia that, by rights, should help me grow anything out of plain old dirt. But it doesn't happen. I soak the dirt tablets, I set up the pots, I push in the seeds and sometimes can even get little sprouts to spring up... but then they collapse in a glorious blaze that would make Bon Jovi stand up and take notice. Tender shoots curling, browning and disintegrating back to their origins in a catastrophic meltdown. 

Every. Single. Time.

Actually, I had the opportunity to perform a study in which I tested my hypothesis on the speed at which a plant would die with my care, and without.

A few months ago, I graduated from college. Throughout a series of honors ceremonies, I found myself gifted with six potted plants and one cut arrangement. It spoke volumes to my abilities as, one by one, the plants gave up the fight and stopped trying for me. At the end of the graduation ceremonies, I boxed up all six potted plants and sent them to live with my mother (or, those whom I had attempted to care for and killed entirely, to be thrown away by my mother onto the farm where they could be given the burial they deserve). At the end of the ceremonies, the only flowers that still looked halfway decent were the three-week-old gerbera daisies in a vase on my kitchen counter.

It just boggles me. Why are plants such a necessity in the office environment, or indoors at all? In the movie "Music and Lyrics" with Hugh Grant and Drew Barrymore, Grant's character states that "Plants make women comfortable." This is hardly the case. Comfort does not spring forth from dead vines curling and crusting around my desk leg. Don't argue health benefits either, as if my measly fichus is going to offset the reams of paper we throw away every day. And as for the aesthetics? Hah. Don't make me laugh. 

The real question is this: How many receptionists cry out in frustration at the realization of the plight of their surrounding vegetation, and the further understanding that their best efforts will almost certainly mean an untimely herbal demise? I'm certain I can't be the only one.

*Not a smart move. 

Venom

Greetings from the non-work world, ReaderFriends!

Today is Sunday. Ah, blissful Sunday. I'm sitting on my couch, dressed and showered and rye-toast-ed (and wishing I had gotten my tush in gear some time in the last few days and dragged my lazybones to the market for juicey goodness...) and more than half an hour early for my Sunday Adventures in Organized Religion. I've surfed all the social networking sites I can take, and have decided to share a little venom from last week to get it good and out of my system so as to avoid angry leakage during tomorrow's impending Noontime Noms!

Last week... was not the greatest week ever. I have been proverbially (and emotionally) shat upon, and my strength was blasted to itty bitty Sunny Smithereens. I was called unreliable, self-serving and difficult to work with. I watched the morale-boosting extravaganza I single-handedly organized fall into the the chauvenistic fuddy-duddy (who told me to put it together in the first place)'s lap, at which point I watched him humbly accept every ounce of credit that was given for said extravaganza during a company-wide meeting, as I stood just a few feet behind him.

At the risk of dragging my personal life into the amazing world of EngineerFriend, I also spent the week worrying about money after a little Shadenfreude moment at my Friendly Local Courthouse left me wishing that I had a credit card, and the income of an EngineerFriend instead of just an Office Wench.

Work is just work, and bad times are just bad times. The work and the hardship and the bad times do not define me, and are not my life. There is more joy to be found and excitement to be had than can be expressed in purple font on one measly web page. I need only open my eyes to see it.

It is now Sunday, and the nastiness of the workweek is all behind me. I've spent 36 hours resting, recovering and releasing it all, and am now feeling thoroughly prepared for another 23. I've significantly imprinted my couch with my dent-inducing-derriere as I killed a four-pack of naturally sweetened root beer and a bag of raspberry chocolates. I've spent time with friends, with food and with cats, and have been loved by them all. I've watched an early-elementary-school child give his grandmother Tickets To The Gun Show and chuckled softly to myself at her proud smile.

But tomorrow, after these 23 hours are over, I will hold my head high and march proudly back to my desk, prepared to take on everything my coworkers can throw at me. Because, in the scheme of things, words are my greatest weapon... So I don't need to let someone turn them against me.

And, if all else fails, I can follow the advice I found in another amazing blog today...

"When all else fails, break something."*

Go forth, ReaderFriends, and have a wonderful last 23 hours of freedom. 

*- Posted by Jane in her blog at spinsterjane.blogspot.com. You should check it out! She's full of wisdom and amazing insight... She talks about dance and gardening and other fantastic adventures... Plus, she likes bacon.