Worker Bee! Weeeeee!

It's been a while...

I've been adjusting on so many levels. I'm a worker bee now.

Okay, so I got a job. It's a great job. I love it. I really do. It's with a medical imaging company, and I can't tell you which one because I had to sign eight pages of confidentiality contract so basically I'm an International Woman of Mystery now. I'll just call it the Company That Must Not Be Named.

And last week, my first week, I felt a bit stupid. I had so much to learn about computer architecture and medical imaging itself. But I can now confidently say the words Multi-Planar Reconstruction and know exactly what they mean! Who needs med school? I could so totally be a radiologist now. I've looked at 3D CAT scans and I can tell you with absolute authority that you have something white and fuzzy somewhere on your scan. It's probably going to kill you, too.

The other big adjustment is traffic. I've been getting over the outrage that other people insist on being on the road at the same time as me. How dare they? Don't they know I've have Places To Go! So, in an effort to destress the commute, I took the bus: the loser cruiser, the vomit comit...the weirdo magnet. In a word, it sucks. I'd rather drive. Yeah, I know the imprint on the environment and all that, but there's the imprint on my face from the knapsack on that dude's back that kept whacking me. That's worse.

So, I'm back to the blog - oh, haven't you just sooooo missed me? But I'm behaving myself now that I'm a corporate worker bee and not an underpaid teacher. I am a recovering academic. This is my rehab. The best part? I can go to the bathroom WHENEVER I WANT! I don't have to wait for a bell to tell me I am permitted to empty my bladder. I can't even describe how happy that makes me.

How to Get Along with Difficult People

I’ve been accused of being difficult. I know! Me! Clearly this was the declaration of a fool who didn’t get how lucky he was to access to my brilliance.

Then I married him.

At the library last night, I couldn’t resist picking up a book with the title “How To Get Along With Difficult People”. I raced home, cracked it open and devoured it. It was an easy read. Here’s why: it said basically the same thing on every page! There are no difficult people – only your own reactions to people are difficult.

Thanks. That was helpful.

To be fair, it started out pragmatically. Like how to deal with the Doom & Gloomer? The guy who always thinks that whatever I’m currently doing is sure to bring about my personal downfall and the violent deaths of all that are close to me? The author actually suggests that I “walk away” which is difficult if this is a member of your family and they may come to suspect I have strange motives when I’ve secluded myself in the front hall closet…but then again, they might just get the point…

Then there’s the Advice Giver: The person who constantly offers unsolicited opinions about what she thinks you should do with your life, your children, and your hair. (I take real umbrage with the last one!) This one was fun, it suggests to take all the unwanted advice to heart, tally up the expenses and present the Advice Giver with the total, saying, “Since you believe so strongly that my child should be in Lady Herversham’s Finishing School for Young Ladies of Merit, I’d appreciate a check for the tuition. And thank you so much. You were absolutely right. Oh and I did find a better hairdresser, and she charges $150 for a cut so that could just be added on. And thanks again!” Don’t know if I actually possess the balls to act on that one!

And finally, the worst and most difficult person of all: oneself. That is so not what I wanted to read. I wanted validation that I am perfect and forced to live in an imperfect world among imperfect people. No. (Apparently, thinking that makes me a Type of Difficult Person. I know! Me!)

Turns out the fool was only partially wrong. I am not difficult. But I really am because we all are. See, Rachael’s favourite word is “NO!!!!”. And we don’t tell her she’s negative. We think it’s funny. So perhaps that’s what it’s all about. Yeah, we’ll see how that goes over…the next time I do one of my Difficult things (like be extra touchy), and Andrew laughs at me…we’ll see how that one turns out.

Betta than a Jetta?

This is SO not what they have in mind when they audition car models. If it weren't for the smirk on my face, I'd look like an extremely unfortunate pedestrian. I look like sidewalk carnage...

This most awkwardly posed of photos marks the day we traded in our beloved Blue Bullet for our Van of Impossible Proportions - the V.I.P.

Stay tuned! There is much to be blogged about driving a cruise ship around the city. Just...please, get off the sidewalks - for your own good.

Bad Mother Award

Today was Nic's first REAL day of school. She wanted me to look nice when I took her there, and I did. I looked amazing! But Rachael threw a bowl of prunes and yogurt at me.

So I took her to school in whatever wasn't currently covered in food. And when I left I walked home waiting for the tears....the anguish...the separation anxiety....the sense that my baby no longer needs me....and it never came. What did come was an unbelieveable urge to go to Starbucks. Well then. So much for traumas and the agony of it all. No, I was pretty much okay.

Until lunchtime.

I was in the shower, when I got a call from the school:

"We have Nicola here in the office,"

...and I thought ("Oh no. She's punched the teacher!" or "She's inconsolably homesick!")

"Kindergarten let out at 11:30."

If Andy and I ever get divorced this is total fodder for grounds that I am an unfit mother.

How To Look Good Naked

I've discovered the greatest TV show ever made: How To Look Good Naked.

With a title like that, what's not to love? It focusses on the magic work of the wonderfully flamboyant Gok Wan. He takes women who hate their bodies and shows them how to love themselves - with a little help from corsets, Spanx, hair love and makeup.

Other than when I was a terribly awkward teenager, I've never hated my body. I mean, if I could have custom-ordered it, I'd have asked for a taller model (and the superhuman metabolism that allows me to eat endless amounts of French Fries).

There's a point to this. Sort of. Last night, Nicola asked me to on my string bikini. (Yes, I actually own a black string bikini! I bought it for my honeymoon seven years ago.) In fact, it looks exactly like this picture! I, however, do not look exactly like I did on my honeymoon.

But...it's....okay. Enthusiastically okay. Not that I'd wear it in public...just yet.

After all, anyone can wear a string bikini, right? I mean, it's physically possible, it's just not always a wise decision...And where do you draw the line? Can you wear one if you're decent-looking? Or do you have to have a fitness model body for it to be acceptable? I see men at the pool whom I would not call "fit" in any way. But they all wear the same kind of bathing suit. So...where am I going with this? Nowhere.

I have absolutely nothing of interest, value or impact to say today. Just this: put on a bathing suit, take stock, and love your nearly naked self! Yeah Baby! I think about how Rachael approaches this: she struts around totally nude with her little tummy preceding the rest of her and she's the happiest little creature on the planet.

No reason that should ever change.

Kindergarten Flop

You know when your kid gets home from school and you ask her what she did all day, and she says, “Nothing,”?

I’m starting to think it’s not entirely untrue.

Yesterday was Nicola’s much hyped First Day of School. New outfit, new shoes, a staged photo on the front porch (complete with the facial mask of pointed irritation).

It was also monumentally anti-climactic.

We trudged off (skipped with unmitigated glee actually because it’s not MY first day of school!), and mulled around the kindergarten room in a confused mass. The teacher took attendance and that was it.

It.

Then we went home.

I keep assuring her that school does get more interesting. She’s so accepting of it all and when Andy asked, “What did you do at school today,” Nic proudly said, “I raised my hand when my teacher called my name,”.

And I sullenly mumbled, “Nothing.”