Change

One of my personal mantras is: "change is good". Sometimes I say that because I really feel it and other times it it because I need to remind myself that it is good. Once in a while I say it to shut up other people who would rather complain than embrace change.
Every once in a while, though, my mantra changes to be: "Change is good...except for when it sucks". I found out this morning that I am probably going to have to move to a new desk at work. Yes, my new desk will be in a logical location. According to the management "team" (the word "team" makes me feel like I'm at Target...I can even smell the cheap popcorn...) is the motivating factor behind the desk shuffle.

I love my desk. I told my manager this. I'm guessing he's much more concerned with logical placement than with the following:

1. I have spent 1/3 of my life at my current desk for well over three years now. You don't realize how much your desk feels like your home until you are faced with a potential desk shuffle.
2. I have plenty of warning when someone is approaching my desk--giving me sufficient time to "alt-tab" off of my hotmail window, my threadless window, my bank window, or...my blog window.
3. My new desk smells funny...sometimes like B.O. Sometimes like rotten salsa...sometimes like sewage...
4. My best work friend sits right next to me, so I can work/play at the same time
5. (in a whinny voice) I don't wanna sit by THOSE people!!!! Nobody will come talk to me!! Sigh...
6. I will no longer be able to lean way over to the left and see whether it is raining/snowing outside.
7. Moving sucks
8. My desk only has 2.75 cubicle walls. I like my .25 non-wall.
9. My humongus file cabinet won't fit at my new desk. I can just see it now...people will start thinking about using my file cabinet...then they will push my stuff over to the side a little...then they will start putting their crappy stuff in my file cabinet...then pretty soon they'll steal the key and lock it and I won't have my humongus file cabinet any longer. Then stuff will pile up on my desk and pretty soon I'll be like "Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout who would not take the garbage out".
10. Finally--my new desk will be 12 steps further from the entrance to the building than my old desk. This will delay my exit to the building by approximately 3.6 seconds.

Alrighty then...it occurred to me that several of my reasons for not wanting to move stem from my desire to not work the full 40 hours that I'm being paid to work.
So...in the spirit of sick optimism, here is my list of benefits to moving:

1. It is warmer at my new desk (I'm always freezing).
2. Forced detailed cleaning of my desk
3. I'll have to work harder...I don't know how that is a good thing, but it seems like it should be for someone
4. maybe those 12 extra daily steps will help me lose weight...(Okay, I know this one isn't true because I currently walk over to my new desk about 6x per day so I'll actually be walking less)
5. who doesn't love staring at a blank wall all day? (Oh crap...I forgot that I was listing GOOD things now)
6. Change is good

I really did mean that last one. The fun thing about change is that you really don't know what new things you will encounter during a change. You can take time to weigh the pros and cons of a situation like this, but you really have no idea what the pros will be.
So, here I go: embracing this change with a good attitude and lots of hope for a new desk, a new year, and maybe a new unknown talent that can only be unleashed by moving to a new desk. (Okay, that last part was just dumb).

kill 'em with kindness

Is annoying people with kindness mean? My job is not to answer phones. When I took my job, I didn’t anticipate having to answer phones…but I guess someone has to do it and in order to keep my job, I find myself having to answer phones. I work at a newspaper and I take A LOT of calls from people—just for kicks, let’s call them “crazy people who think they are really cool”—who think several things.
1) THEIR opinion is the only thing controlling the decisions made at the paper. Yes, your subscription is valuable, but truthfully, we don’t value your subscription enough to spend thousands of dollars on a new ad entry system.
2) Yes, they hung up and therefore got out of line to place a classified ad in order to yell at me. That makes it my fault that they got out of line and therefore, I should transfer them to an imaginary line where they don’t have to hold...(FYI—yelling at me won’t get you what you want.)
3) Everyone should be in the office sitting at their desk at all times waiting for phone calls. I’m no journalist, but I think it would be pretty hard to do investigative reporting while sitting at my desk taking phone calls. The kicker is when they tell me that they don’t have time to sit at their phone and wait for a call back…huh…that makes sense.
4) Some people “don’t believe” in voicemail. I have no idea what that means.
5) Some people think that if they don’t get their credit issue resolved immediately, the world will end. I don’t know why they couldn’t call at any point over the last 90 days when our credit rep wasn’t using the restroom. It is remarkable.
6) I spoke with a woman today who was on hold in our classified line for “600 years”. I kicked myself after I hung up with her for not asking whether took time to watch any part of the Revolutionary War while she was on hold.
This is just a sampling of the things that people will do/say/think (or are they thinking at all?) when upset.
So, the question remains—is insincere kindness a method of insulting the customer, or is it the best way to keep people calm? I’m not sure—today a gentleman offered to buy me a drink and is going to send a letter to my manager—all because of my insincere kindness.

And They Say Cars are Just for Driving

Yes, it has been 41 days since I last posted…it would be boring for me to list out my relatively pathetic excuses and even more boring for you to read them. So—moving on.
When I was born, my parents owned a 1973 red convertible Volkswagen Super Beetle. My grandpa had bought it for my mom as a high school graduation present. This started my family’s now long standing passion for Farfegnugan—the people’s car—German engineering—the cute little body styles and wide variety of colors.
Since then, my parents have gone through two Bugs, two Vans, two Jettas, and two Cabriolets.
When I moved out of my parent’s house I was poor and scared of owning an unreliable car, so I was left alone and depressed; driving a Chevy S-10 truck that was loaned to me by my grandparents. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciated their generosity, but if you have ever owned a Volkswagen, you know what it is like to feel the legendary “farfegnugan”; you have felt a connection with your car unlike any other. You know what it is like to sit in the drivers seat, hugging the steering wheel, crying and apologizing to your car for smashing its headlights, hood and fender in the accident; as if it was a friend…uh…maybe that was just me.

Anyway, I find it interesting that the most depressing six years of my life coincided with the six years when I didn’t have a VW in my life.
My first marriage lasted for three years. I should have known that it wasn’t going to work when he convinced me to buy a Mazda. Yes, Mazdas are reliable and well engineered, but for me, they are like a dress from Ann Taylor. Pretty cute…well made…but they just don’t ever fit quite right.

I knew I was in love with my new husband long before I saw his ’64 VW Bus; but seeing it made me believe that he was someone I could love forever. If you are reading this and thinking that the last sentence is the weirdest thing you’ve ever heard, chances are that you don’t have a VW sitting in your garage. My husband and I have a baby blue Cabriolet and his freshly painted red and white Bus sitting in our garage. While our relationship is held together by so many things besides the Volkswagen blood that runs through our veins, it is always nice to know that deep down; we’ll forever remember the happiness we found together as VW drivers.

Easter Dinner...or the Lack Thereof

My husband and I both hate cooking. When we got married we realized that one of us had to demonstrate a vested interest in food or one of two things would inevitably happen. Either we would starve, or we'd go bankrupt (I'm not sure which is worse, but both seem like hearty punishments).

We don't put much focus on "traditional roles" in our relationship, but with cooking, I have graciously accepted the burden. Well--I've been working on graciously accepting the burden.
My success was evidenced by our Easter dinner on Sunday.

People (namely my husband's ex-wife) seem to be able to sit down and figure out what to eat for the next two weeks and then they make a list, and then go to the store once and don't go again for two weeks. My brain is capable of comprehending a lot of things--calculus, organic chemistry, the history of the universe, but when it comes to organizing a meal plan, I lose all ability to focus, then I start to panic and go into convulsions as I try to figure out how many slices of bread one would need to make toast every morning for two weeks.

My husband and I are Christian, but we fairly standardly forget to put much emphasis on holidays. We have a shopping center located about a mile from our house. On Sunday (Easter), we walked over there, as we often do on Sunday evenings to have dinner at the Mexican restaurant. When we got about 20 feet away, we realized that all of the stores we had passed so far were closed and that the lights seemed to be off at our restaurant. Damn! Yes, we had forgotten that it was Easter (we went to church that morning, but I generally remember things like that for about two hours).

In the end, we decided to try out "cooking". We walked home, and then drove to Wal-mart, where we purchased all the ingredients we needed for tacos (back off--I know I should have already had this kind of standard stuff)--made with refried beans out of the can, and cheese on store bought tortillas. It was really good...I suppose I should have remembered the Easter ham, deviled eggs, and au gratin potatoes, but oh well...maybe next year.

Yeah right--that is about as likely as the ex-wife inviting us over for Easter dinner.

Truth

Remember when research meant driving/walking/biking down to the library, locating the card catalog, spending an hour trying to find a book on static electricity or Communism, or Ancient Greek relics, only to find four books with one paragraph each on your topic? So, then, you'd go home and copy down what the encyclopedia had to say about the topic (on notebook paper--so archaic); making sure to not include your encyclopedia in your bibliography.

The encyclopedias in my parents house were 1) old, and 2) British. It was always funny to read about things like the Revolutionary War...told from the British perspective. It really makes you wonder how much truth there is out there in the world.

Some people call me skeptical. I just think I'm realistic. I basically don't believe anything anyone tells me. After all, why should I? I remember going to the movie Home Alone 2 with my brother when I was maybe 12. My mom came to pick us up and my brother started to tell her the storyline of the movie. After twenty of my corrective inerruptions, Mom told me a lot of times two people can see the same thing and come away with completely different recollections of what happened. She went on to tell me that I should respect my little brother more and that I'm not always right...but that's not the point.

I guess the real question is, who can we trust? The answer is either no one or everyone. If we trust no one, we never find truth. If we trust everyone, we find truth everywhere (though it may be contradictory sometimes). Fortunately, my husband has a photographic memory, so whatever he remembers is what we consider "truth" in our relationship. I don't mind it when I remember things differnently. After all, if I can't trust anyone else, why should I trust myself?

Wedding Present

Shopping for wedding presents is always a complete pain in the ass, right? You get the cute little scrapbooked invitation in the mail with pictures of the happy couple and the card that says "so and so is registered at Target, Wal-Mart, Macys, McDonalds, US Bank..." It is amazing the things people come up with.

You go to the store with high hopes of finding that perfect present for your friend/relative but your hopes are immediately dashed as you print the registry and find 75 common kitchen utensils (so boring), towels that the store doesn't stock, sheets that are too expensive, and "decorative" pillows in colors that are so blase, and depressing you wonder if your friendship with the bride and groom should continue...maybe you've grown apart; otherwise, you would have protected them from picking lime green sheets to go along with apricot pillowcases.

I know you are with me so far...now, try this on for size. Imagine shopping for a wedding gift for your ex-husband and his new fiancee--who also happens to be your husband's ex-wife (yes, you heard me right--wife swap).

We were given a wedding invitation--because my husband wanted to see it--with explicit instructions that we are not actually invited. The new wife and I are not on speaking terms (use your imagination), so I had my husband call her to ask--"if we get you a wedding present will you throw it away, or actually use it? We don't want to waste our money". She promised to keep the present, so off I went to Target to find a gift.

After scouring the store for something under the following criterion 1) on the list, 2) under $50, 3)actually in the store, and 4) not ugly or useless, I wound up with a $30 shower curtain. (Insert big exasperated sigh.) The search continued for a $20 supplement.

I hate scrapbooking. Partially because I'm not that patient and find it to be a waste of time, and partially because my husband's ex-wife loves it. I do, however love to look at all of the little stickers and brads and markers and paper that I could spend hundreds of dollars on and organize them in little bins in my office and just let them sit...for years, and years. Yes, I did it--I bought scrapbooking supplies for the newlyweds. I thought it would be cute--you know, so they can scrapbook their honeymoon.

My husband will deliver the gift tonight when he goes to pick up the kids. We'll see what happens. He just might wind up returning home with the new stickers, decorations, and paper for me to uselessly organize in my sewing room.

Here we go.

Well, here goes--my first blog.

I'm am going to graduate school right now. This is mostly due to the fact that I'm in a dead end job which pays the bills and is overall a good place to be, but leaves me completely unfulfilled. I'll leave discussion of my job to another day.

Anyone who has been to college understands the frustration of waking up early to register for your classes, and the website crashes, and then you find that the classes have filled up without waiting for you (so inconsiderate!).

Anyway, I just got a call from my "academic advisor" who informed me that the class I was planning to take this fall is full (argh!). No big deal, right? At a normal university, that's correct. Pick another section, or find another class. Well, not at this university which shall remain nameless (I'll give you a hint...blue football field...that seems to be our pathetic claim to fame). It isn't possible to find another class or section because most of the courses in my program are only offered every two years and only have one section. I can't believe that I'm paying $250 per credit to deal with this kind of crap.

So, now I'm stuck on a waiting list. Those have a tendency to work out so well. (Yes, I'm being sarcastic.)

I guess life is in and of itself a waiting list. You just wake up every morning hoping that you'll be able to accomplish something. You don't just sit there thinking, hoping that someone will do your job for you; you work hard, you act like someone you're not in order to impress your boss, you exercise. You do all of these things in hopes of actually getting to the top of the waiting list. What it boils down to in the end is that there are no guarantees. Just like a class registration waiting list, the things we wish for in life so often depend on someone else. So, I'm going to go call the professor and hope that some other student gets to the top of their job waiting list and quits school so I can get my spot in the class.