Drop Edge of Yonder

I meant for the post title to demonstrate that I’m mentioning a lot of little things that I keep forgetting to post about, but I have been cleaning house. Every day. Thanks to FlyLady. You should really try it out. Your house will be clean and you won’t even have to plan what to do or when to do it.

Remember that whole thing with my boss’s inability to take responsibility and do her job? Last Monday I contacted our area manager, who’s responsible for employee issues. He was horrified by my story and assured me the issue would be addressed. On Wednesday my boss told me she was writing me up because there was 75 minutes of overtime on the last payroll. I’m also losing part of my bonus for November. The 75 minutes of overtime meant we paid someone $5 more. I’m not even kidding.

Tomorrow Rocco and I are going to church together. It will be the first time I’ve attended religious services in exactly one year.

I have five unread comic books sitting on my nightstand. This is a sentence I’d have never typed exactly one year ago.

My middle sister LaTasha has created a blog tracking my mother’s recovery from her medical nightmare.

Meghan has a link on her blog to some terrifically cute hand-made hair bows. My youngest sister Kyli should keep these in mind for her daughter, Tayden. They’re extra-super cute.

bettie has some photos of the WGA Strike from Mutant Enemy Day at Fox. You can see Joss Whedon’s arm and enough of Nathan Fillion to make me salivate. bettie was on the picket line.

The colon cleanse/total body purification is going nicely. No discomfort, no diarrhea, and no funny smells oozing from my pores.

Confession: I was disappointed that I didn’t win a NaBloPoMo prize. I think that, subconsciously, I thought that I was supposed to win a prize, karmically speaking. Because, let’s be honest: between my mother’s brain exploding and the shit at work and the near-decapitation event, the final quarter of 2007 kind of sucked. But then I thought that karma would bite me in the ass for thinking karma owed me. And then my head sort of exploded in that vicious circle sort of way, so I stopped thinking about it.

The Christmas tree and decorations are in place. Rocco tried to hang gym socks from the mantle for stockings. Naturally, I objected.

If you know any wealthy people who like to give Christmas gifts to strangers, please tell them I’d like a basic digital camera so I can participate in 12 of 12, a “blank” spice rack so I can put what I want/need/use in it, and a personal assistant whose sole responsibility is to clean the litter box.

I really can’t gather the energy or brainpower to post anything, but I’ll hate myself tomorrow if I don’t post something and stick with NaBloPoMo.

I will sleep well tonight, between the exhaustion and the fact that Rocco and I installed our new programmable thermostat tonight. We haven’t had heat for ten days!

from bettie

Wouldn’t it be great if I won a free Dyson? And it was Pink? Rocco might love it more than the Rainbow he stole out of a Goodwill pile. (But it’s not likely. He’s obsessed with the vacuum cleaner.)

My (new) roommate’s stuff arrived yesterday. (I didn’t mention I had a roommate now? Oh. Sorry. I have a roommate now!) Last night as he was unpacking, we got into an argument about his desire to display his collection of Muppet glasses on the baker’s rack in the kitchen. I resisted. Ultimately, we reached a compromise: he could display said “glassware” in said location if my Buffy DVDs could stay on the built-in shelves in the living room.

And so it begins.

So, lots to cover. Let’s get down to business, shall we?

I love my current job as Director of Guest Services at a large, full-service hotel in an upscale part of Little Rock. Nevertheless, tomorrow is my last day. When I accepted the promotion to DGS, one of the things I specifically asked was if I would continue to work nights. (At the time, I was primarily the Manager on Duty for the 3-11 shift.) I was told — not once, but twice — that whether or not I worked nights would be up to me, as I would be making my own schedule from that point forward. And I did — up until June, when the General Manager began putting me on the 3-11 shift for occasional MOD shifts. That was the point when things got crazy, because suddenly I was working 9-6 one day, then 3-11 the next, then 7-3 the next. And on top of that, I was suddenly scheduled to work 12 days straight, had one day off, and then was scheduled for 13 more consecutive days. My body just can’t take the absence of routine that a schedule like that requires.

As luck would have it, the company I used to work for as the General Manager of a limited-service property needed an Assistant General Manager for a property they own. In fact, it’s at the first hotel I ever worked at, so I know the property backwards and forwards. I accepted the job, even though it means a paycut of about $6,000 annually. But I’m okay with that, because the new job is only 20 minutes from my house, as opposed to the 45-minute drive I’m making right now. I’ll also be working 7-4, Monday through Friday, and on call every other weekend. That’s way better than 25 days straight in crazy schedule land with one day off in the middle.

Leaving the full-service hotel is really sort of depressing because I like so many of the people I work with. I’ve also mentioned before that this hotel is undergoing a $12 million renovation and will be changing brands soon. As the DGS, a big part of my job has been getting the staff prepared for that change and to make sure all brand standards are met. I’m actually ahead of schedule, so even though the change won’t come until July 07, I’ve got everything in place for the transition to be effortless. I’ve since learned that the hotel does not plan to replace me, which indicates to me that my work here is truly done. It also didn’t help that I found out a mere 10 minutes after turning in my resignation that one of the young men I hired to be a bellman was offered (and accepted) a full-time, salaried management position making more money than I was. This really chaps my hide, because the young man had exactly two months of hotel experience as a bellman, whereas I have two years of management experience, am a certified general manager, and have four degrees. It’s a good thing I had given two weeks’ notice, because I’d probably have just walked out when I found that out.

In other news, I’m moving! Right now I’m in a lovely two-bedroom, one and one-half bath townhouse. I like it very much and just assumed I’d be there until I moved to another town, whenever that might have been. But a couple of weeks ago my aunt and uncle bought a new house, and they asked me to move into their current home for a minimal ($40 a month) difference in rent. Come Friday, I’ll be moving into a three bedroom, two bath, two-car garage house with a fenced-in yard (With a creek running through it: Bonus!), two-tiered deck, and swimming pool. I feel all fancy now. But where the hell am I going to get enough furniture to fill up a house that size? I’m accepting donations.

The boys have added another member to the band, bringing the total to six. If they add another member on by their next visit, I can get a fancy dress and sing to birds. (I already assigned appropriate names to these six. I really pushed for a keyboard player with severe allergies, but I bet they don’t heed my suggestion.)

Actually getting to the gig was a feat in and of itself.* And once I was there, it was uncomfortably apparent I didn’t belong. (Thus lending credence to all my prior lame excuses for not showing up at their shows.) There is no reason for a 32-year-old woman who spent 12 hours on the clock dealing with insolent CEOs while wearing hells and a business suit to spend an evening in a dank, subterranean outpost (venue name: The Cellar) with a bunch of teenagers on a Thursday night. I slipped in and stood in a corner (which, incidentally, smelled like cat litter) trying to become blinvisible, only to have a 17-year-old boy accost me for not paying the $5 cover charge upon my arrival 15 minutes earlier. Of course, then he couldn’t change my $20 bill. (And where was he when I arrived? I suspect he was snickering at what he thought were double entendres in the latest issue of Highlights.)

After the show I learned that the band’s merch guy was slated to become the new guitar player in September. That’s because the current guitarist has decided to become a full-time elementary art teacher, which totally gets my respect. (Casual readers will assume I’m being snarky. They can bite my ass.)

The next two days I had a mighty nice time with the boys, although I spent over $250 on them. (That’s a chunk of change for me to drop in a weekend, especially if it’s not on home improvement or auto maintenance. Again, I am very old.) Two of the boys had asked about watching Buffy (I got them hooked on their last visit.), but we ended up watching Freaks and Geeks. (I might have found a new TV obsession. That was some good stuff.) So for two days we watched DVDs and ate a lot of delivery.

There’s something very not right about a 32-year-old woman watching TV in her 6×5 living room with six college-aged boys, but it feels perfectly normal when you’re doing it. I fall somewhere between a queen (“Would you get me a Sprite, please?”) and a mother (“For the love of God, who’s up next in the shower? You all have to have one before you go, because you reek.”).

Twenty minutes before the boys left, four of them lined up at the bathroom door. The stench permeated my home for the next six hours, despite the fact that I gave them a pack of matches. And that’s how they left me.

Except it wasn’t. Because when I entered my bedroom two hours after their departure, I found all the blankets neatly folded and my bed made. And they’d taken two pieces of ribbon and formed them into the shape of a heart on my pillow.

Dear boys.

*Short story: The friend who was supposed to go with me cancelled thirty minutes after the show had started. I locked up the house and got in my car, only to realize I’d picked up my work keys instead of my personal keys. I jimmied open a window, but I couldn’t get into it because I’m too short. So I “borrowed” a cooler from my neighbor’s garage and boosted myself in the window. Then, about half-way to the venue, I got thirsty. When I pulled into the parking lot I realized I’d left my wallet at work. So I drove 15 miles back to Magnolia, picked up my wallet, and drove to El Dorado. I arrived in time to hear the last three songs.

Yesterday afternoon Jordan called me. The conversation went something like this:

Him: Hey, little lady! What are you doing?
Me: Taking a nap.
Him: Oh. Sorry.
Me: No problem. What’s wrong?
Him: Nothing’s wrong. Why do you always think something’s wrong when I call you?
Me: [dead silence]
Him: Right. Anyway, we’re back in Arkansas and we’re going to play in El Dorado tonight. Isn’t that only 30 minutes away from you?
Me: Yes.
Him: So you’re going to come see us play, right?
Me: I guess.
Him: Great! And after the show we can all hang out, right?
Me: Yeah. No problem.

Of course, as soon as I disconnected I realized that “hang out” was likely a euphemism for “crash at your place.” So, yet again, there are a bunch of college boys in my breadbox. Except they added a new member, so now there are six of them.  Six people (and I make seven) in my 450-square breadbox of a house. And they’re staying two nights.

Also, I got two kittens yesterday. Needless to say, they’re completely freaked out and have taken up residence behind the couch. I hope they don’t stay back there forever.

There are five college-age boys sleeping in my house for the next four days. They are truly packed in like sardines. Sardines in a breadbox! Mmmm, tasty! Last night I put two of them in my full bed and the other three on a pallet in the floor. I am stuck sleeping on the couch. They’re basically living and sleeping in a van while they’re on tour, so hygiene hasn’t really been a top priority. Their feet smell so bad that I have to smoke to get anything resembling fresh air, and I swear that if I had wrung the oil out of their hair I would have had enough to fry an entire chicken.

But after their gig tonight, they want to watch Buffy, so I’m trying to be a good hostess.

When I moved into my breadbox, the electric company (Entergy) offered me levelized billing, which is calculated by taking “1/12 of the last 12 month’s actual bill amounts plus 1/12 of the accumulated difference between the last 12 month’s actual bill amounts and the levelized bill amounts.” The clerk told me it would average about $88 a month. I found this hard to swallow because my last house was almost three times the size of my current breadbox, and the (non-levelized) electric bill was usually between $60 and $70. Besides, my current breadbox has been sitting empty for two years, and, well, how do you figure the last 12 months of anything if it’s been empty for 24 months? Because I think that would make my bill $0. But I’m not so good with the maths, so I was afraid I might have screwed myself by foregoing the levelized billing option.

Guess how much my Entergy bill was for the first full month in residence. No, seriously. Go ahead and guess. Do you have a figure in your head? Okay. Let’s compare that to the actual bill, which was for — Are you ready for this? — $20.01

$20.01.

That’s right, ladies and gentlemen. Two sawbucks and one shiny Lincoln penny. This is what happens when you live in a breadbox with a mini-fridge, a hot plate, a toaster oven, and a gas hot water heater. (FYI: My gas bill was $20.85.)

If I had any rhythm, I’d be doing my dance of electricity conservation superiority.

I may be a sucker, but I’m not your sucker, Entergy!

No, not the television show. Rather, it’s mine. My tiny, tiny four-room house. It’s the size of a breadbox. It’s not bigger than a breadbox. It’s not smaller than a breadbox. It’s the size of a breadbox.

The house is actually fine, though, because it’s just me (and soon, hopefully, my cat) and I don’t need a lot of room. I expect utilities will be dirt cheap, and I couldn’t ask for a better rent situation. ($200 a month!) However, the house is very old and has been empty for a couple of years, so the interior is covered in dust and bugs. Plus, it smells like an old house. I finally got most everything put away last night, and I expect to do some serious deep cleaning tonight. (The last renters must have been disgusting. The toilet was frightening.)

The only other major problem I’m having is that everything in the house is some shade of brown. Dark brown paneling, light brown trim, medium brown lineoleum. Oh! The carpet in the bedroom is actually a rust color, and I’m not sure if that’s in the brown family. Anyway, I’ve decided to paint the living room and kitchen a combination of khaki, green and orangey-red. Yes, I know it sounds disgusting, but it’s going to be stunning. I’m sure of it.