Sleeping on a planter at the port authority

You know how, after you have given your two weeks' notice or, perhaps, have plotted a Scene in which you will march into your boss's office, scream "YOU CAN'T FIRE ME- I QUIT!" at the top of your lungs and flounce out of the building with your coworkers' mouths agape in awe, you are still stuck at your desk and expected to perform your duties? But really, you can't be bothered to care whether the museum receives their shipment or whether the boss has the correct numbers or whether the ten-page piece on the history of the industry is relieved of its extra spaces and extraneous "that"s and is actually published next month? Sadly, this is where I find myself lately, in between "reliable" and "take this job and shove it", a place of "almost not my problem anymore".

The transition to The Perfect Day Job is in full swing and yes, this accounts for all the dancing I've done on the bed to 'Blister In The Sun' a'la Angela Chase, but unfortunately I'm responsible for the whole 'transition' part. Which sucks. While I understand I can't exactly be all, "Transition be damned!" and take myself out for three-cosmo lunches every day, I don't quite see why they think I still care about these things. Because I so. don't. care.

AND no one is quite ready for me to care about the things I'm ready to start caring about! If that makes sense. So while I am bursting to give my oh-so-valuable input on this, that and the other thing, no one is going to pay attention until I am Officially That Person.

So whatever. I've chosen to go the sullen teenager-ish route and just have a Bad Attitude until all of this is taken care of. The Bad Attitude, at least it is familiar to everyone. And I think it is the reason why Fountains of Wayne's Welcome Interstate Managers is on constant replay in my car. Those are some excellent hating-your-job songs. It's also probably why I glance every so often at my Dwight K. Schrute bobblehead and sigh loudly enough for everyone to hear.

(My Dwight K. Schrute bobblehead inspired two conversations about The Office yesterday, one with Mr. Random Dude who happened to walk in and the second with our FedEx guy, who we love and adore and who looks exactly like the Joe Boxer dancer. The Office: Bringing People Together.)

In other news, I think my new neighbors are going to be pretty cool. (Even though Phillip's new excuse for washing everything except the dirty pots and pans is: "The neighbor was washing dishes right across from me with his shirt off. I had to stop and go somewhere else!") The other day I actually sliced up one of the zucchini breads and wrote a nice little "welcome to the neighborhood" note and left it on their doorstep. Then I went home and wondered why I did such a thing, because now the neighbors might feel obligated to wave while we're washing dishes or now we won't be able to just ignore people as we are accustomed to doing. Blast.

But this morning there was a card on our doorstep. And even though it had a cutesy barfy picture of a kittycat on the front, the note inside was super nice and written in perfect elementary school teacher cursive and the new neighbors have promised to have us over for a drink once their boxes are unpacked. So shoot. I can't turn that down.

Of course, that doesn't mean we're not putting up a curtain. I don't want my husband being traumatized by shirtless men washing dishes nor do I want him to have another reason not to finish cleaning up. (I'm not saying that I clean up the kitchen every time I dirty a dish, but when I do the dishes, I DO THE DISHES. I don't do HALF the dishes and leave the greasy burned-things-stuck-to-the-sides dishes or the hard-to-wash oddly-shaped dishes on the side to "soak" or because I'm going to do them "later". Give me a break.) I was thankful for all of your suggestions, but some of them just weren't very practical. Like purchasing a curtain in Massachusetts. I think we would all like to borrow Maureen's mother, but while the curtains are cheap, the plane tickets won't be. I looked at the frosted film, but that would require ordering online and have I told you about how I can't order anything online because I have a negative amount of patience? Right. And while there IS an Ikea nearby, I try not to go to Ikea unless I am 1) drunk 2) desperate or 3) in possession of many many Ikea gift cards, the free-ness of which would make up for the fact that you have to actually go to Ikea to get the new things. As I hadn't quite reached desperation, I picked up a filmy white sheer panel at Fred Meyer and a roll of hemming tape. I'd prefer a RED curtain and one that I didn't have to hack into a cafe curtain, but for now, this will do. The curtain looks an awful lot like my wedding dress and the aunt who made my wedding dress would be horrified that I plan to use hemming tape, but I am desperate enough to not borrow and deal with a sewing machine. I just need to chop it in half, iron in a hem and ta-da! My husband will wash the dishes again.

Hmm. A lot of you don't have websites, but oh, I highly recommend them. You can complain about your job, your husband and your shirtless neighbors all at once, in an unedited incoherent jumble of whiny. You understand the therapeutic value, right?

Comments

[Christina/Mrs Broccoli Guy]

I for one love your "unedited incoherent jumble of whiny" - in fact that phrase right there cracked me up... so thanks for my first out-loud laugh of the day. :-)

My husband does that same "leaving dishes to soak" thing and also the "weird food left in the sink" thing and the "not wiping down a single counter" thing... all of which really bug me... but not enough to take him off dish duty. (see there, his plot failed! mwah ha ha)

[Maureen]

I will inform my mother that she is now famous for her curtain-purchasing abilities. She will be proud.

And, Lord, do I HEAR you regarding trips to IKEA. There are so many things at IKEA that are so clever and cheap and great ways to store stuff, but to get them, you have to go to IKEA. Much of the time it is not worth it. I've been to the IKEA in King of Prussia, PA and in Newark, NJ, and it has sucked each time. Particularly the IKEA in NJ. Avoid going there if at all possible. ESPECIALLY on a weekend. I'm pretty sure the entire tri-state area goes to the Newark IKEA every Saturday.

We have a new IKEA in Massachusetts now, but I haven't been desperate enough to go, although I did consider it briefly when I was looking for bathroom shelving.

[Vanessa]

Sorry about the IKEA suggestion, we have to drive 2 hrs to get to ours and I've only been there a handful of times, so it hasn't been that bad! Glad the hem tape was found uselfull.

I understand totally the job thing. Right this very moment I am plotting to kill all of my coworkers and then burn the building down until someone gives me my SwingLine back! But, being the good little worker bee that I am, I must set my drama queen self aside and realize two things.
1.Do Not have a new job yet and husband would have to start pimping on the side to pay GINORMOUS mortgage(that would be funny though, he's a cop)
2.That's not nearly good enough for the lovely people I work with. Maybe a spot of bird flu or ebola.
I LOVE MY JOB!!!(said very sarcastically as I am ramming pencils into my eyes)
Thanks for letting me use your site to vent in incoherant rambles. Your a peach

[Angela]

Oh, dude! Let's totally go to Ikea drunk someday! That might make it way less terrifying.

[Rosemary]

Hi Maggie, I think you said something recently about Maggie not being your real name - or did I just make that up? Because I had a dream last night that your name is Anna!

Maggie/Anna - your blog is making inroads into my inner life!