JOB JOB JOB!

Once again, I am writing to say that I got a JOB JOB JOB! Woo-hoo! I left my pseudo-Job that I had from mid October to Feb. 4. When I call it a pseudo-job it is because of the following reasons:

1. It began as a temporary assignment to fill in for the preceding temp who'd called it one morn, saying she'd "had it with the GM and wouldn't be back," who had been filling in for the accountant who was on maternity leave. It wasn't even supposed to have led to a permanant position.

2. After I worked my arse off brown nosing (yes, post-partum depression owing to unemployment has led to my becoming a brown noser to get work) to get this job, I realized that they were going to have even More Layoffs and the chances of me getting axed was fairly high. The company wasn't doing well and I knew it from looking at the accounts and having to uber-plan for payroll AND FROM GETTING MEAN AND NASTY CALLS FROM OTHER COMPANIES' ACCOUNTS RECEIVABLE DEPARTMENTS WAITING FOR THEIR PAYMENT(S).

So on Jan 7 I received a call that a hefty high powered oil and gas company was looking for contractors, so by the time I jumped ship on Feb 4 and started at this uber-amazing oil and gas company on Feb 7, I was totally psyched.

And I have been ever since. It is an amazing experience. I am thoroughly enjoying my job for the second time in my life. (The first job I enjoyed was a telecom company when I was a property accountant.) I did not think that I would ever like my job again, but I do. It really adds value to my life. I have not given myself time or energy to write much, but I am hoping this blog post will spiral me into writing more again soon.

Job job job

After Eternal Bleakdom, Gloomdom and Doomdom (Not to mention Despair, Agony and Woebegone Pathetiqueness), I FINALLY got a job.

BUT (there is Always a butt somewhere, hopefully not MINE that smells though) now it rather looks as if I might lose it yet again.

Thus, history repeats itself. (I KNOW that so I stopped reading history books long ago.)

I just found out earlier today that I could lose this job, albeit not to my own folly.

I cannot help but think that somebody is playing a HUGE DIRTY ROTTEN SORDID Trick on me.

This is the reason I haven't blogged in a while. I have been seriously looking for a job all year long. I was laid off June 30 2009 and didn't work seriously until mid June 2010. Which was about a year of sleeping until noon with lines on my face. (I have got to get new silk pillow sheets!)

So I temped somewhere Hellish from June until July. Then I temped somewhere else Hellish from July until October. Then I temped somewhere new mid October until December 1 in which case THEY HIRED ME. JOB JOB JOB!

But now it looks like the company where they JUST HIRED ME isn't doing at all well b/c of this piss ass poor economy being on the rocks. They might lay me off in mid January.

At this point I am thinking that YES YES YES I should write a bestselling novel. But which one to finish?

I've got the baddate.com story I suppose I could finish that one.

I've got the Fucking Princess Handbook story which is pretty cool.

I've got the Alien abduction story which my writer's group liked.

Or I could MERGE them all together and save time and try to get the fucker published.

Looks like I am back to writing a lot more often now. Since this job job job isn't working out out out.

The Girl Who Got Away...

Yes. I am the Girl who got Away.

This is perhaps what Michael Folk is thinking.

And who is Michael Folk?

Well...he is YET ANOTHER INVINCIBLE EX-BOYFRIEND OF MINE WHO WANTS TO BE "FRIENDS" WITH ME ON FACEBOOK.

Yes, yes, there are SO many of them on my Facebook! LOL! It really cracks me up when I think about it! If I ever need a good laugh - which is often - I think of this fact. It's such an odd concept for me to fathom. That scads of gorgeous guys I have dated in my youth (and even most recently of 3 years ago) are my FRIENDS.

I often fantasize about sending them messages asking them something like, "What were you thinking of DUMPING me? Especially on EMAIL? I mean, how CRUEL! Oh, and by the way, I KEPT your stupid email and I send it to my girlfriends to WARN them about possibly dating you!"

Is that even possible? To be FRIENDS with exes? Even on Facebook?

Well...these days it somehow is! Who'da thought?

So, yes, I "friended" him. (What an odd concept? I wouldn't have thought that this guy, this gorgeous guy back in the day of the late 1990's who I dated, who seemed so out of reach, the cool bartender, would want to finally be friends with me? He seemed so elusive and just so bloody gorgeous.)

So yes, Michael Folk is now kicking himself in the arse wondering about me. The one who got away.

Actually, to be technical, I am pretty sure that he just stopped calling me. He was really laid back. Lackadaisacal, really. We went out a few times. He was never the Love of my Life type though.

So all that being said, I am getting the idea that a new story could be emerging from my head about ex-boyfriends on Facebook. It might have colorful phrases and stalking and dumpster diving involved. A common thread is the girl who got away - me!

Get your stiletto in the door chick lit writer contest!

I just found a great contest to share with all you other chick lit writers out there! Get your stiletto in the door chick lit writer contest! Sounds great, right?

I think so. I'm going to enter it. I'm not in Romance Writers of America. Perhaps I'll join!

The only problem I have with this is that I don't actually wear stiletto's. Ever. I can't.

It would be like putting stilettos on a milk cow and getting her to actually move in them. Is that really possible?

Can you imagine? And it's already hard to go cow-tipping, which I have done back in the heyday of my yesteryear and hearty youth (which was a long time ago since I am, after all, a QUIM - a Quirky Uncontrollable Immature Middel-aged woman)!

First of all, the milk cow would just stare at you and perhaps not budge an inch if you tried to lift up her hooves to put the stilettos on her. Then she'd moo, which is the equivalent of a laugh - mocking you perhaps. And then she'd probably change her mind at the last minute and STEP on you. Eegads! Then you'd perhaps be injured and fall back into the mud (yes, mud IS involved if you are brave enough to go out to a hayfield and find a milk cow near the barn...) and curse yourself, her, and the evil stilettos. Yikes!

Anyway, I just can't wear stilettos for almost the same reason, except for the mud and hooves part. If you tried to put them on ME, I WOULD just stare at you like a milk cow, long lashes curling, chewing my cud (or chocolate!) and laugh at you. Then I'd probably sneer and push you down into the mud or whatever else was nearby.

Three reasons I don't wear stiletto's:

1. I can't walk in stilettos because I can't MOVE in them. I'm very afraid that I will trip and fall. It's analagous to a green (and very scared) paratrooper whose job in training in whats-it man-sludge army/navy/manly-whatever-R-Us is to jump out of a perfectly good airplane. I won't jump, thus I won't walk.

2. I rock from side to side wearing stilettos. How can you walk if you are rocking and swaying uncontrollably? Not meaning to rock? I guess I could go dancing in them, but I wouldn't be able to walk onto the dance floor. I'd have to change from my sneakers into the stilettos and then rock. And then where would I be if the dance style changed to tango? In Hell?! Oh yeah!

3. I might be just way too attractive to the opposite sex and my beau might have to help me fend off all those men! Ugh! Who wants that? I already have my man, and trust me, one is plenty!

So get your stiletto in the door at this fine chick lit writer contest! And maybe one of us will win! Hurrah!

I'd like to make a living writing chick lit online

I'd like to make a living writing chick lit (or anything at this point EXCEPT accounting) online.

Yes, it's true.

I once thought about writing serious accounting stuff, but the vernacular of accounting lingo (which is Deadly Dull) combined with THINKING about something as grainymade and gritchy made my pulse slow down drastically ("Heart Stopped Beating," I bleated blandly to them), and I had to get my friends Clarabelle, Hilda, and Ermengarde to take me to ER where I wound up being JUST FINE once I saw all the HOT DOCTORS at the hospital so then my heart started pounding quickly once again.

"LIFE! There is LIFE in her again!" Squeaked Clarabelle.

"Hurrah!" Chorused Hilda and Ermengarde.

So Death Might Becomes Others who write boring wasteland mind-numbing accounting, but NOT ME!

Which is why I must be saved from my accounting abysmal nightmare, from working here in this horrid and wretched field. It's like getting lost in a haystack and not getting found by the happiest of goats who eat said hay.

I am lost and I will write and write and write until I get paid enough to retire from accounting permanently.

The latest chick flick I've seen

I just saw Eat, Pray, Love. It is incredibly inspiring, plus I LOVE any chick flick with Julia Roberts. The story makes me want to go to Italy instantly. I'd like to find the rustic beauty of the scenery where the heroine stayed, the intense beauty of the food, the glorious food of which the heroine ate. Pure pleasure!

How we get such pleasure from food! The color of it, the density of it all...the joy of it. The tastebuds going to a party!

It is now my fave chick flick of the year. I see a LOT of chick flicks. I get lost in stories.

When Sex and The City 2 came out I saw it. I feel like I have lived Sex and The City. With all my dating traumas and pleasures of it all.

EPL makes me want to travel even more than I already have. It makes me want to write more than I already have. It makes me want to live more than I already have.

And that is why it is such a wonderful story and movie.

Enough said for now.

People In Transit or the Floor Above the Unemployment Stint and Below Permanent Job Status

People In Transit or "The Floor Above the Unemployment Stint" and Below "Permanent Job Status" is what this blog post is called.

After a grueling nano-year (which was ALMOST a year, but NOT quite) of being Unemployed in America, strapped slimily in the swarthy-in-grimy-decaying-pseudo-corpse-of-a-career, I grabbed the remains of my career (bloody carcass hanging off brittle bones, flailing away at the Vultures) and resurrected it Just In Time, fleeing to the Employment line at: Temps-R-Us.

Which is not always the nicest place to be, but MUCHO BETTER than the Sweaty, Uninvincible Unemployment Line.

So now I am a Temp.

No longer Unemployed.

Which is good because my Unemployment income (having twice been extended) had definitely run out. No more extensions. (Which is as cruel as getting short-sheeted at summer band camp.)

And while I am THRILLED TO PIECES TO BE WORKING AND BACK TO BEING SANE AGAIN AND FEELING VERY LUCKY AND VERY GRATEFUL TO HAVE A WONDERFUL FAMILY AND FRIENDS AS A SUPPORT SYSTEM THAT HELPED ME A LOT I DO want to point out that being a Temp is not always good.

You are neither here nor there.

You are a Person In Transit.

A PIT. And it can be the pits. The depths of despair.

The Bargain Basement of Leftover of the Used and Abused.

You have No Control over whether they will hire you or not.

And the Treatment of a Temp by Office People is very like the Treatment of a Humpbacked Igor by a Mad & Evil Scientist in an old black and white 20's film on the Big Screen back in The Day.

You can deal with people at the office who will be very very nice to you and spill their guts until you realize that you have initially become their therapist! Ugh! Who want's that?

It can be detrimental to your emotional energy and very draining to have whiny-ass friends at work.

Or that you have become (even worse! GASP!) their friend and they keep inviting you to Jewelry Parties (which are normally sponsored by some corporate company and thus are usually lame unless your "new best friend at work" is actually crafty and make their own which is very rare but my friend at IBM was like this so cool friends who are talented do exist) or Pampered Chef Parties (where you have to buy their crap or else you feel rude if you don't) or Birthday Parties with Fattening and Frosty-Girthed Birthday Cake (sometimes where everyone pitches in some money and this can pile up quickly!) or Happy Hours until you realize that if you want to be their friend you will have to be very rich to keep up because work IS their social life and you already have a social life. Or a life. This is the person at work who needs to get a life because they have made work their life. So you have to refrain from being their friend because you cannot keep up with their office political/social stratosphere so you either tell them you cannot afford all these extracurricular office party/events/social hour or make up some dumb lamo excuse like you have to pet sit for money or babysit or have a part time job or something to showcase how poor you are. Who knows. You normally have to white lie to get out of it.

It can be - ahem - rather expensive having these types of friends at work.

So you can suffer if you are a nice person. You have to not be too friendly to people at work. Know your limits.

And then there's the other side of the coin. The meanies at work.

You can deal with people at the office who will be very very mean to you for a variety of reasons. Maybe you are not hoopy-religious enough and the first thing they ask you is if you are conservative and whether you go to church or not. In fact, the first thing they might ask you, like Griselda Grunchthorpe did once:

"Where's your Home Church, sweetie?"

In which case I answer:

"I only went to church to pick up guys," with an inward sneer seething, but a polite-yet-snarky remark.

In which case, she'll gossip about you the rest of your stay at said office. Etc etc etc and it will be hell. Because all the other hoooopeee-religious assholes at work will give you a hard time. They might start putting syrupy Pepto-Dismal pink nightmare pamphlets about Jesus Christ being your Saviour, etc etc on your desk during their spare time.

In which case you can retaliate by putting Devil Worshipping and/or Black-as-Night Voodoo Doll paraphenalia on THEIR desks (of course I have NEVER done SUCH a thing, but I HAVE been tempted!) and where you can get it I have no idea. That would be another blog.

It's not that I don't like Hoopee-Religious people. I have to say that some of them are my very dearest friends and family members. I just think that work is not the place to shove crap down my throat, I'm already unindated with boring-ass work, thank you very much! I just don't like other people's stupid personal choices slammed onto me and I don't like being judged by having better personal choices than their's. Perhaps they're jealous that I get to sleep til noon on Sunday (with lines on my face if I want!) AND: It's also none of anybody's fucking business what I do with my free time when I'm not at work! If I want to sacrifice small children at the Pitchfork-Darkest-Midnight Moon on Halloween then that's MY BUSINESS.

So there are plenty of bad things about being a temp. Namely, being treated pretty shabbily. Like you are not a real person.

So my latest nightmare, after a year of:

1. trying to start a bookkeeping company (THAT doesn't work if spoiled princesslike selfish clients do NOT want to pay your rate)

2. trying to get free coffee through friends meeting friends and friends of friends at coffee shops for a year - one does not and cannot live on coffee alone, otherwise you - JUTTING - cannot - CRUNCHING - holda - SHAKING - conversation - CAFFEEEEEN/caffeine enrichment

3. trying to do this blog for a while until I realized nobody was really reading it except the few friends and family members I begged/pleaded/bludgeoned/conned into reading it, so I stopped (but I'm BACK, BABY!)

etc etc etc

So like I said my latest nightmare is Dealing with the Office Bully at Work.

She is basically what I like to call one of many types of accountants that can drive one crazy.

I like to call these types of accountants BAWCKERS. That was it. Boring Anal Wanderlust Cutthroat Klutzy Egotistical Retreads.

When I say boring I mean sludge-vomit vixen-bred snore-bore boring!

And when I say Anal I mean nose-stuck-up in the air cornucopia-stuck-up-the-butt along with a broomstuck-stuffed-up-the-ass Anal.

That’s it.

I could go on and on but I have been living this nightmare for a while now and the temp job before this one that began June 14 and lasted for six weeks was one in which I had to deal with another kind of accountant asshole: a control freak.

All I can say now is that after doing accounting for almost 20 years, I have finally figured out to Stand Up for Myself. Because, really, nobody's gonna do it for you. You have to do it for yourself.

And there are a lot of nasty-ass accountants out there. The Control Freak? She is Egotistical, Cutthroat, and Anal.

The Office Bully I've been dealing with this past week horribly and a few weeks before? She is threatened by me, scared I'll take her job, Anal, Cutthroat, Control Freaky, Boring, etc.

I could think of more acronymns for Evil Accountants, but I'm not going to right now.

I just wanted to say that I'm BACK! Back to blogging. I recently took a blogging for money class and I feel like I can do this better now.

Maybe then someday soon - hopefully - I can figure out how to make a living writing online so that I don't have to be an accountant any longer.

Hurrah!