dianaschnuth

Well, I did really well getting to work on time for the past two weeks. Then, yesterday and today, I came in at ten minutes after eight. And, of course, when my boss brought me into his office to give me a couple projects to do, he called me on it. He tried to be “friendly” about it, asking if there was something that was holding me up in the mornings, maybe dropping someone off somewhere or something… but no, it’s just me being late. *sigh* Finally he said that, if necessary, he would look up the procedure for giving verbal and written warnings, but that he didn’t want to go there. He’d rather just keep it a friendly reminder. I agree wholeheartedly.

That really put me in kind of a pissy mood all day. Matter of fact, it kind of felt like High School, to tell the truth, and it kind of gave me a new perspective on my recurrent attitude problem when I realized that. I felt kind of put-upon, like he knew that extra five minutes wasn’t a big deal, and hadn’t I been doing well for two freakin’ weeks straight? And hell, I see all sorts of salary people coming in at the same time I come in, so how is that fair? And on and on.

But, finally, I realized that I was feeling unreasonably oppressed. I mean, hell, who’s the one who’s coming in late? Me. All I need to do is get the fuck out of bed fifteen minutes earlier, and I’ll be just fine. I think I get feeling like that when I know it’s my fault, and I know I could have done something simple to remedy the situation, but I didn’t because I was a lazy-ass, and I resent myself for it, but I don’t want to admit it, so I turn the resentment outward.

Or maybe I’m just overanalyzing. I’ve been known to do that.

So, I’m just going to set myself a goal to a.) not be late for the rest of the week, and b.) clock in before 8:00am at least once next week. We’ll see. I’m going to have to get up much, much earlier when we live in Toledo and I actually have a commute, so I’d better get used to it.

In other news, I faxed a 28-page monstrosity to John from NOIC, containing all our little worksheets, landlord info, W2’s, bank statements, and pay stubs. Aaron, meanwhile, finished calling around and comparing prices for homeowner’s insurance, and ended up going with Allstate. Incidentally, no one seems able to beat our auto insurance with Progressive, since most of the insurance places wanted to try to give us a deal on both. Anyway, we’re pretty much set on the house thing, and just need to wait for everyone else to do their jobs and schedule a final date for the closing.

I’m also beginning to liquidate all the crap I’ve been meaning to eBay for a while. Check it.

Edit: I found the notes I’d scribbled at work about my plight, and here they are, unedited and without grammatical additions:

Start times were fine last week—late last 2 days. Got called on it—hate it, but probably good for me. Feel all high-school again, resentful

Oh, yeah, and my computer won’t cooperate.

All this has really put me in a pissy mood and unfortunately, since I get pissy so seldom, I tend to almost revel in it. Part of me doesn’t want to shake it.

I’m beginning to remember why H.S. [High School] was such a big deal. Little things grow in your brain over the course of the day and make you think too much.

Unfortunately, it didn’t occur to me that the link would a.) only link to blog.htm, and b.) be titled with the lame-o title I gave the page, "ye blogs!" Ah, well, I’ve got a link off of Bob’s blog. And I’ve changed the title of this page to "dianaschnuth: ye blogs!"

Hey, random surfers? (I doubt I’ll get any hits, but hey.) You should really check out the full iFramed site — you may currently be missing some vital navigation and design elements. 🙂

I’ve got a lot of random shit to unload again. You should see all the little scraps of paper with snippets of blog ideas scattered on my desk.

I told Deb, my co-worker, that I’d finished a website for selling my soy candles. She’d seen and smelled one of the Chocolate Java Bean candles I’d made, and I’d told her how fragrant it was while burning — a little three-ounce candle filled my whole living room. So, when I told her I was selling them online, she asked how much I was asking. When I told her about five bucks, she said she might be interested in buying one of those. I ended up showing her my webpage (which was the whole reason I told her in the first place: to get some feedback), and she browsed my list of fragrances, asking how certain things smelled. She was also amazed at the copy I wrote, describing my candles. "Enjoy the rich, sweet fragrance of amaretto," and crap like that.

When she found out I had designed the entire page myself, she was duly impressed, and wanted to see everything else I’d put online. So, I figured, WTF, and I surfed off my directory page, showing her all the stuff I’ve got online. It really surprized me how excited she was to see my work. It was like I was some sort of hero or miracle worker. Seriously! She even told me how cool it was to know someone who actually could do all this.

I recall telling her, "This is what I do. I work at Sky to make money, but this is what I do." And it made me feel good to say that and mean it. For once, I really felt like a Web Designer, instead of a hack Photoshop twiddler who makes web pages, or an amateur photographer who puts stuff on the web, or any number of other jacks-of-all-media I’ve felt like lately.

Moving on with more randomness from work… One of the ladies who works in the same room with me got in a car accident last week. She’s OK, but since the airbags deployed, the car is considered totaled. That’s not the best part, though. The best part is that it’s her fault, because she took her eyes off the road to answer her cellphone. A truck had made a right turn to pull in front of her, and was about to make an immediate left, and due to her distraction, she only had time to slam on the brakes and swerve into the ditch. Now everyone she knows is forcing her to use a hands-free headset when she drives. 🙂

Amusing stuff I find while researching clients’ bank accounts for my work: There’s a place in each account where the teller can post notes or warnings on an account, for multiple signers or legal issues or whatnot. One I came across said, "customer has medical condition that may cause mood swings." Wow.

More about my co-workers: Deb’s daughter (one of four children) is in the first grade, and is having trouble with her reading. Turns out that she can write and recognize certain words, but doesn’t know all her letters. The kid’s learning backwards somehow, learning shapes of words by rote without knowing the letters that make them. How bizarre. I don’t remember learning how to read, so I can’t even comprehend that. Once Aaron and I have kids, we’ll have to read to them constantly like our mothers read to us, so our kids will learn to read like we did. 🙂

I’ve got plenty more randomness to report, but I’ll save some for later.

Pretty good day today. Got to work on time for the first time
in a long time: 8:01am. (That’s instead of consistently being 8 to 10 minutes
late.) Brought one of my yummy Chocolate Covered Coffee Bean candles to make
my desk nice and smelly. Started feeling more comfortable talking to banking
centers over the phone about Patriot Act stuff. The bad part came in the
middle of the day, when I had to eat honey roasted peanuts out of the vending
machine because I didn’t bring a lunch. But, when I got home, I made myself
a burger with provolone cheese and sauteed some mushrooms and red pepper
to go with. I got all fancy on myself. *tee-hee*

Oh, here’s a gross story from one of the ladies who works in
the same room with me: She and some of her friends (keep in mind, they’re
in their fifties) went to Bourbon Street in New Orleans for a vacation…
and ended up in a strip club. Not a For-Ladies-Only male strip club—a
guys’ strip club with nasty, skanky ho’s. (I know, "ho" isn’t possessive,
but I had to put an apostrophe because "hos" looks retarded.) Anyway,
one of the guys she was with got his eyeglasses taken by the nasty ho, who
then proceeded to put them on and around all her nasty places. All the people
at the table were joking with him, telling him he’d better not put those
back on when she was done. But she came back and put them back on his face
for him… and he didn’t take them right back off like any sane individual
would, for later sanitization. No, he left them on.

And had a sty by the next morning.

Ewwww.