My boss doesn’t like to wear pants

You know those mommy bloggers who write post after glowing post about how wonderful motherhood is and how each moment is a precious gift?

This is not one of those posts.

If I were to define my job lately, it would go something like this:

Begin day early. Too early. Mentally prepare for 12-13 hour work day. Greet boss, who is ready with a list of demands already, starting with his breakfast, which I’m not attending to quickly enough. Fight with boss about wearing pants. Explain to boss that pants are a part of life and other people in the office (and outside the office as well) appreciate the use of pants. Especially when it’s 32 degrees outside.

Prepare breakfast for boss while he sits in his chair, high and mighty above this lowly servant. Offer him a beverage to tide him over while he waits. He concedes and for the moment, is quiet. Serve boss a bowl of oatmeal and blueberries. With a spoon, per request. He eats the blueberries first. Fifteen minutes later, he is finished and off to start his day. If I am lucky, he will be happy for a bit and allow me to get some other work done. You know, the work that keeps his life running smoothly, like cleaning the office, scheduling his meetings with acquaintances and preparing various food stuffs.

Oh wait, the boss is demanding another drink. Only I was busy with another task and wasn’t quite fast enough getting it to him and…OH MY GOD, THE WORLD IS ENDING!!!!!!

Walk away from the ranting and allow boss to vent his frustrations about my poor performance. When he has succeeded in telling me just how terrible I am, he decides the drink I offered him five minutes before will suffice and walks off with it.

Enjoy a few hours while boss is happy and pleasant. Share some jokes around the milk cooler and exchange some high fives. Laugh at his fart noises. Indulge in some office-place hugs and kisses. Promise him I won’t sue for harassment; I actually like them a lot, you know.

Sense a shift in the tides. Boss is hungry for lunch and my window is small. Hurry to create a meal suitable for a prince and serve him before his blood sugar drops. Am successful today, and avoid a speaking to. We chill some more. Begin to think that maybe today is the today boss will come out of this foul mood he’s been in for the past week. (Realize I am an idiot.)

He’s getting tired and is ready for a siesta. We’re one of those rare offices that encourages sleeping on the job, so I dim the lights, draw the shades and read him some books. He finally succumbs to sleep and for a blissful hour and a half, I slack off.

He awakes and is angry about it. I offer him a snack, but it’s only after I supply the exact combination of food and TV show (blueberries and cereal with milk in a cup, Curious George on PBS) that he stops shouting at me. We spend the next few hours alternating between having fun, and throwing ourselves on the floor for no reason and sobbing. (Him, not me. Although…I’m thisclose.)

Dada’s home! DADA’S HOOOOOOOOOMMMMMEEEE!!!!!! Joy and happiness and doves and rainbows and sunshine. I go to my office and use the bathroom with the door closed for the first time all day. Well, for a few minutes, anyway, until my boss opens the door on me.

*******

It’s been a week. The last couple molars coming in plus the arrival of the (early?) Terrible Twos tantrums has pretty much knocked me out cold. The early wakings — hours of the morning we haven’t seen in ages — paired with the insistence that he come into “Mama and Dada’s bed” rather than go back to sleep in his own, the yelling and hurling himself to the floor for seemingly NO REASON WHATSOEVER multiple times a day. It’s taken all my strength and patience not to hang him upside down by his ankles and shaking the stuffing out of him.

I love him. And I get it, I really do. His teeth hurt, he’s old enough to become frustrated and wants me to know about it, but despite being highly verbal (ew, that was such a braggy mom thing to say. But no, really. He has a LOT of words. I promise.), he’s not old enough to clearly express to me WHY he’s so frustrated. So, he yells. And cries. And throws himself on the floor. A LOT.

It’s times like these during my motherhood journey that I want to take my mom by the shoulders, look her in the eyes and tell her, OH MY GOD, I’M SO SORRY. Because I did the exact.same.thing. to her, I’m sure. And then I turned into a teenager, so yeah. Shout out to my mama.

This stage will pass, eventually. I hope. Or you know, get worse, right as the baby is born.

At least then I can drink wine again.

Unemployment: Six months

Based on my experience, I have decided there are four emotional stages of unemployment.

Shock.

Depression.

Indifference.

Acceptance.

June 1st marked six months of being unemployed. In that time, I’ve applied to countless jobs. I’ve received a handful of rejection letters, had two interviews that went nowhere and heard nothing from the rest. In short, it’s frustrating.

If you go back through my winter achieves, you can probably tell I was depressed. Some days it was hard to get off the couch and when I did, it was usually to snap at Michael over something stupid, then cry. He was so good to me during that time period, remaining understanding and knowing that all I needed him to do was be there.

Then there was a shift. I began to think, “screw you” to the people not responding to me, got off the couch and started to get busy. Eventually that turned into full blown acceptance. I don’t  have a job. It is what it is.

It’s no secret that I want to start trying to have children soon. Of course, having or not having a job is a factor in this. Do I find a job now, then leave in x-amount of months to raise a baby? Do I continue to try and find freelance and online jobs that allow me to work from home? (Not as easy to find as I had hoped.) Do I start working part time somewhere in the hopes of having flexible hours?

In three weeks my unemployment insurance runs out. According to the paperwork I’ve received, I MAY qualify for an extension. May. And because this state is AWESOME, they won’t tell me if I qualify until after my first round of money runs out. I’m left in the dark with a hope, but that’s about it.

If it runs out and I don’t qualify for an extension, I’m going to have to find something, probably in retail. I’m not looking down my nose at retail jobs, absolutely not. I just decided not to take one these past few months and use that time and weekly unemployment money to search for another full time job.

But it might be time to start looking.

To be honest, I wouldn’t mind starting a family and working part time. These six months have given me a lot (a LOT) of time to think and although some people might not agree with it, that drive to be a career woman is quickly fading. When I see my professional future, instead of demanding clients and busy Outlook calendars, I see a job, maybe administrative, where I can go in, do my job, and come home. Without taking the stress of the day home to me. And I see another job, that of a mother.

But in order to achieve this vision, I need a J-O-B. I just hope it doesn’t take me another six months to find one.

Prospect

After a lovely lunch with a girl I haven’t seen in forever, I have a job interview secured for tomorrow.

It has absolutely nothing to do with public relations.

I am realistic — it would mean a pay cut, but could be rewarding in many other ways.

I am optimistic.

I am excited.

I have to figure out what to wear.

Unemployment: Week 2

Updating a resume blows. I  just thought I’d put it out there. Thinking back to all you’ve done in the past year and trying to make it into a concise and organized paragraph gives me a headache. Are resumes still supposed to only be one page? I’m doing my best to make it that way.

The job market looks pretty bleak…at least that’s the conclusion I’ve come to after a search this morning of monster.com. I think it’s going to be a long few months.

Last night I was watching the Hills and Whitney went on an “interview” for Diane von Furstenberg, and even though it was completely scripted and merely a formality — because hey, didn’t you know that all it takes to do PR for a major designer is to have experience styling models and appearing on a reality show? — I still felt uneasy watching her go through the interview process.

I hate interviewing. It’s probably one of the most nerve-wracking thing I can think of. And I blame my first boss for it. Well, not blame per say, but he made it too easy for me. My first interview was more like a conversation with an old friend so Mike, to you I shake my fist! I guess it’s not too surprising that he’s no longer my boss and instead he’s a great friend.

I think another problem is that I’ve had pretty good luck in this life of mine. I’ve never really not gotten anything I wanted when it comes to my career. And now I’m anticipating a lot of no’s, a lot of closed doors. I’m also shaking my fist at this economy and at the state I live in for having the highest unemployment rate in the country right now.

I’ve been reading a book where three of the main characters are pregnant. Last night I dreamt I was too and in the dream I thought how much easier it would be to just be preggers and let the hubby go off to work each day. Clearly, my dream world did not include a mortgage or a savings account or any of the other factors that mean I still have to work…at least for now.

My plan is to dedicate one to two hours a day to the job search. It needs to be a priority, but I won’t let myself burn out on it. And I should probably stop staying up past midnight reading, or I’m going to start believing I’m living in a chic lit novel and will be severely disappointed each morning I wake up to a closet not filled with designer shoes.

Well, I wake up disappointed about that most days.

I’ve become a statistic

I lost my job today. Just about two hours ago, actually.

I’m currently sitting on my couch with a glass of wine going through what I assume are the stages you go through when one gets laid off.

Anger.

Sadness.

Paranoia.

Wine. More wine. Would like some more wine.

Acceptance.

OK, I haven’t reached acceptance yet. As a matter of fact I’m in pretty bad shape. I’m faced with finding a job in the worst economy our country as seen in a very long time.

And that scares the crap out of me.

But maybe this is an opportunity to do something I really love to do. Or at least something I really like to do.

In the meantime, I’ll take a week, drink some wine, have a good cry fest, revamp my resume and hope to God someone wants to hire me.

Any of you looking for a freelancer? I can write my ass off.

I’m going to get some more wine in the meantime.

Update: Denver is flat

Seriously. Flying into Denver I was surprised at how flat it is.

Other than that…

Weeeee I am tired! And my legs hurt from walking a trade show floor all day. But, I can honestly say, this is the first time I’ve actually loved this job.

Also,

Bandaid blister bandaids are a great invention.

As is Chipolte.

And a shower. Seriously, I was taking for granted the transformative power they hold.

And riding a fake cow at midnight is fun.

What?

Yes.

Back to work…

Leaving on a jet plane

Tomorrow morning at the ungodly hour of 6 a.m. my flight will depart for Denver. I have not packed. I haven’t even remotely begun to even think about packing. I did, however, do laundry yesterday so at least I’m one step ahead of the game.

I actually considering starting to pack this weekend, but then wedding band shopping, barbecue hopping and mudslides with Oreo cookie crumbles and one really ouchy hornet sting on my stomach conveniently made me forget all about it. Until I woke up this morning and realized that I have to be at the airport when the little hand is on the four and that leaves no time for last minute packing.

The good news: during the day it will be a rotation of the same pants, shoes and work shirts (side note: work shirts never fit right, do they?) so that will be pretty simple to pack. It’s the evening events I have to really think about, all while fitting everything in one suite case. I’ll probably have to limit my shoes. Meh.

So for now, I bid you adieu. I’ve left you with three fabulous guest bloggers to keep you entertained and I’ll be back Monday, possibly drooling and mumbling something about sleep and airplane peanuts.

(PS- Happy birthday to my little sister! Nineteen today omigod. Not so little anymore.)

Have not fallen off face of earth. Yet.

Posting is going to be sporadic the next two weeks, as every single moment of my work day is actually being consumed by work, work and MORE WORK. We leave next week for Denver and while the actual trip should be pretty cool, the preparation leading up to it is nothing but completely and totally draining.

Case in point, I brought lunch today, then completely forgot I did. So I bought lunch, leaving my leftover homemade Thai chicken pizza sitting sadly in the fridge. This is actually progress, because yesterday I forgot to eat entirely. Forgot. To. Eat. ME! Something is clearly wrong here.

I haven’t lined up any guest posters for next week because honestly, I have not had the time to read any of you, let alone compose a coherent email that says something along the lines of, space for rent — cheap. Box of chocolate donuts or best offer.

So if you’d like to do a guest post, shoot me an email. I’ve got four days to fill.

Also, I’ve been wearing jeans and flip flops almost every day to work for the last couple days. I can’t put the energy into getting dressed in anything decent because the only time I’m seeing the light of day, let alone any other human being, is when I run to the bathroom after not peeing for hours because OMIGOD THERE IS SO MUCH WORK GO AWAY.

Am I even making sense anymore? I have no idea.

Hopefully I will have a moment tomorrow because I have a dilemma to write about and you guys always have the best answers.

Back to the grind…

For the birds

Work, what is it good for?

(Aside from paying the bills, allowing me to have a wedding, a roof over my head, a car, lots of shoes and food on a regular basis.)

(And oh yeah, I guess life experience and friendships that I wouldn’t have gained otherwise.)

(And maybe blogging too — because I started blogging on a down day at work.)

(Damn it, there goes my whole theory about working being good for nothing.)

(Meh.)

I really don’t think I’m cut out to be a working woman. I mean yes, work is a necessary evil of life and I think I do my job pretty well, but if I really had the choice I would opt to retire like, last week, and live the life of a lady of leisure.

What, like it’s hard?

I just think I could fill my free time with much better things than sitting at a desk all day and dealing with press people. Like…

Being a dance teacher. Not any professional competition business, but teaching kids under 10. I realize that theoretically I could do that now, but unfortunately the paycheck would not be as substantial.

Professional shopper. Need an outfit for a big date? I’m your girl. Especially if you wear a size 8.5 shoe and need me to try on every pair of Jimmy Choos in the store. I mean, it’s asking a lot, but I’d take one for the team.

Professional blog writer. Oh why the hell not? Writing is actually something I enjoy more than anything and it’s much easier to spew the inner contents of my brain onto a page than write a magazine piece (which by the way, Anna, it came in the mail Friday and looks awesome!)

Miss Cleo version 2. Don’t you miss those commercials for a phone psychic? I could totally do that. And not end up with a lawsuit against me. I hope.

Ice cream taste tester. Ben & Jerry’s, I’m looking at you.

Muse. For Christian Louboutin.

What would you do if you could retire right this very minute?

You better not say be Miss Cleo version 2 because I’ve got the hold on that market thankyouverymuch.

Molly and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day

Yesterday was one of those days that tosses you around like a washing machine, squeezes you out, tosses you back in for good measure then spits you out wet and cold on a dirty floor, leaving you sitting in a puddle and blinking over and over, trying to figure out how exactly you got there.

For a good two hours yesterday I thought one of our clients was going to be sued for something my team put out. As far as I know, if you get your client sued, you probably lose your job. They didn’t get sued, but I need a breath mint after all that butt kissing I did yesterday.

After eight and a half hours of pure work related hell, I was excited to at least hold in my hand the final proof of my wedding invitation that was supposed to be printed and DONE on Monday.

The proof looked like ass. Ok, not ass, exactly. But not what I thought it was going to look like and they only gave me the main part, not all the components like they were supposed to. When I called my designer friend to talk about it, she basically made it clear that it was her one night a week out of the house and she would not be available until the next day.

This is a tricky situation because she is a very good friend. But she’s also doing a business-related service for me. It has been my intention all along that my invitations would go out right before I left for a week in Colorado, which means they need to go out at the very latest, a week from today. Why? Because if they go out after I get back that only leaves people two and a half weeks to RSVP before certain vendors need head counts and we all know that two and a half weeks is not enough time to hear from 185 people.

We finally talked on the phone this morning and she could tell immediately that my patience was wearing very  thin. I think she’ll make it work. I HOPE she makes it work. Cross your fingers.

So after the initial invitation disappointment, I rushed over to the salon for my hair appointment. Usually I lighten the roots, then add some highlights, but since my next appointment is the end of September (spaced out perfectly for the wedding), the stylist suggested I just do my roots.

When I got home they had become not light, but a dark band of dark darkness around my head. Which is not only a waste of money, but NOT WHAT I WANTED AT ALL. I left a message this morning pleading to get back in there this week.

And oh yeah, I got my period too. I think the Universe deserves a medal for this crushing defeat.