Now, first of all, lets be clear. I don't turn thirty until September. Mid September at that. Well, perhaps not everyone would call the 2nd 'mid' September, but for my purposes, I shall. As you know, thats a very, very, very long ways away. I still have plenty of time left in my twenties. Time which I shall spend clubbing and wearing short Tshirts and getting body peircings.
But anyways, that said, today I had a bit of "Oh, God, I really am getting old" moment, which has caused much distress. I found out today that it is absolutely not cool to wear a jean jacket with jeans, a little piece of fashion wisdom to which I had been previously completely unaware. The really bad thing is that I could STILL be unaware if not for the offhand remark of my employer today. See SHE was going to be fool enough to wear a jean jacket with her jeans today. We sometimes wear jeans to work on Fridays. One advantage to working on 20th Street. Anyways, she was very nearly out the door when her 16 year old daughter caught her. "You're NOT going to work like that?" She asked, in horror. My boss was perplexed. She had thought that her ensemble was rather hip. But apparently, you would be an absolute LAUGHINGSTOCK to be seen in public like that. Gulp. Because I actually, in honesty, have been seen in public like that. How was I to know it was a fashion disaster? No one told me, but then who wants to tell someone that they're a laugingstock, unless your Simon Cowell? I was like, but I thought that was the point of having a jean jacket is to wear it with jeans?? But no, you should absolutely, never, ever do this. Except, maybe, for the possibility of a rodeo, at which point the rules are a bit blurred. But rodeos really aren't cool anyways in the first place. So to compensate for this, I am going to work harder to get cool. This is probably why I haven't had my big break yet or been featured on Lifestyles of The Rich and Famous. That and the fact that I'm neither rich nor famous, at least by tradional definitions of rich or famous.
Friday, March 30, 2007
Thursday, March 29, 2007
On the Blog again
Well, here I am again. I took a short sabatical to read my new book, Shopaholic & Baby. Sadly for me, the magical journey is over. I must wait another year now before another Becky Bloomwood story comes out. I feel like Bex and I are old friends. I'm going to miss her. Oh God. I can't talk about. Its too emotional. I'll give you a topic: discuss amongst yourselves. Post 9/11 Patriotism
All right. Feeling better now. I just arrived from my 'three way conference' with Gage's teacher. Surprisingly, it went better than I thought. We're well passed the forged note incident (don't ask) and things are looking up. He's reading and spelling above grade level. His math is very strong. Alls they really said was that he needed to print neater. Whoopty. Let me tell you I know plenty of people who could stand to print better-- and they're the doctors I work for. They also said that the only trouble he seems to be having in school is Girl Trouble. They said that he's a real charmer and the girls all seem to hang off him quite a bit. Yikes. I could, potentially, be a grandmother in just a few short years. I think one of my hairs has literally just turned gray.
And speaking of hair, what do you make of American Idol on Tuesday? That damn Sanjaya freak is still on there. I simply cannot believe it. Its almost to the point where its painful to watch because the guy is making a damn fool of himself. Someone should just tell him. He's becoming a national joke. Worse than KFed. Is that show rigged or what? Honestly, if it weren't so blasted entertaining I might just stop watching it all together.
The other big news around here is that Payton got new socks. Purple, yet. Her favorite color. You should have seen how excited she was. It was like waking up on Christmas morning to a shiny new bike under the tree. Shrieking and dancing. I said to Geoff "I think our kids must be deprived". We buy them socks and they have a fit. Perhaps this new budget we're on isn't quite cutting it.
But back to ME, the subject of this blog. I applied for that job. It closes on Friday, so I should here within the next week or two. I am not really holding my breath. I almost hope I don't get called because I don't know if I can take the stress of a blimey interview. I HATE job interviews. Even though beforehand I do this meditation thing and deep breathing and guided imagery stuff, not terribly differnt from Stuart Smileys Daily Affirmation, I always get nervous as soon as I walk in the room and see the panel of people, all with their pens posed and business suits on. But on the up side, it might deliver me from this evil that is nursing. Nursing is pretty OK by and large. I mean the pay is OK, and the work is pretty stimulating. But there are times when I just want to throw my hands in the air and head for the hills. Like yesterday was a prime example. I will not go into the details, but let me say that it involved a distressed patient with a colostomy, a kidney basin, rubber gloves and me in the thick of it. Anyways, sometimes I would just love a change of pace. I mean, couldn't we just leave it all behind, maybe start a dairy ranch somewhere and live a pure, simple life (where there are no colostomies)? I could just see myself as a milk maid, enjoying the sun all day, spending my time outside, surrounded by children and animals. I'd be wearing a nice floppy sun bonnet and cotton dress. Maybe with a sublte floral print. Aah. We can always have our daydreams. But I'd better go now. Reality beckons. Thanks for reading.
All right. Feeling better now. I just arrived from my 'three way conference' with Gage's teacher. Surprisingly, it went better than I thought. We're well passed the forged note incident (don't ask) and things are looking up. He's reading and spelling above grade level. His math is very strong. Alls they really said was that he needed to print neater. Whoopty. Let me tell you I know plenty of people who could stand to print better-- and they're the doctors I work for. They also said that the only trouble he seems to be having in school is Girl Trouble. They said that he's a real charmer and the girls all seem to hang off him quite a bit. Yikes. I could, potentially, be a grandmother in just a few short years. I think one of my hairs has literally just turned gray.
And speaking of hair, what do you make of American Idol on Tuesday? That damn Sanjaya freak is still on there. I simply cannot believe it. Its almost to the point where its painful to watch because the guy is making a damn fool of himself. Someone should just tell him. He's becoming a national joke. Worse than KFed. Is that show rigged or what? Honestly, if it weren't so blasted entertaining I might just stop watching it all together.
The other big news around here is that Payton got new socks. Purple, yet. Her favorite color. You should have seen how excited she was. It was like waking up on Christmas morning to a shiny new bike under the tree. Shrieking and dancing. I said to Geoff "I think our kids must be deprived". We buy them socks and they have a fit. Perhaps this new budget we're on isn't quite cutting it.
But back to ME, the subject of this blog. I applied for that job. It closes on Friday, so I should here within the next week or two. I am not really holding my breath. I almost hope I don't get called because I don't know if I can take the stress of a blimey interview. I HATE job interviews. Even though beforehand I do this meditation thing and deep breathing and guided imagery stuff, not terribly differnt from Stuart Smileys Daily Affirmation, I always get nervous as soon as I walk in the room and see the panel of people, all with their pens posed and business suits on. But on the up side, it might deliver me from this evil that is nursing. Nursing is pretty OK by and large. I mean the pay is OK, and the work is pretty stimulating. But there are times when I just want to throw my hands in the air and head for the hills. Like yesterday was a prime example. I will not go into the details, but let me say that it involved a distressed patient with a colostomy, a kidney basin, rubber gloves and me in the thick of it. Anyways, sometimes I would just love a change of pace. I mean, couldn't we just leave it all behind, maybe start a dairy ranch somewhere and live a pure, simple life (where there are no colostomies)? I could just see myself as a milk maid, enjoying the sun all day, spending my time outside, surrounded by children and animals. I'd be wearing a nice floppy sun bonnet and cotton dress. Maybe with a sublte floral print. Aah. We can always have our daydreams. But I'd better go now. Reality beckons. Thanks for reading.
Sunday, March 25, 2007
GREAT NEWS
You are simply not going to believe this. My favorite author in the whole wide world has a BRAND new book out. I didn't even know there was a book coming out. You know how in some books at the end they say when to expect the next book. Well the last one I read (Undomestic Goddess- summer of '06- a ten out of ten) didn't say ANYTHING about an up and coming book. But I happened to find myself downtown today when I saw it. I was just walking past Coles and there it was- a big shelf full of them. Fate. So its out in hardcover, which is a bit of a pill, financially speaking ($30), but then I noticed the sign 30% OFF. So that just sealed the deal right there. I could save nine dollars AND be entertained for HOURS. My heart was just pounding. I bought right then and there. Which, inidentally, I'm not really supposed to because I've put myelf on an allowance of $200/month, which you might think sounds very reasonable, but I tell you it adds up very fast. Yesterday, my little field trip to Superstore cost me $67. And my shopping trip today (all I bought was two books and a Booster Juice) was like $70. So I'm already half over my monthly budget in two days. But that's not the point. The point is, this book is totally FAB. And for being a loyal reader, I am going to post the first page on here. Enjoy. I am already on page forty. I want to read it and read it and read it, but then at the same time I want to slow down and really enjoy it, because I know it will be over soon and I'll have to wait six more months for another book. Here's the first page. Its called Shopoholic & Baby
OK. Don't panic. Everythings going to be fine. Of course it is.
Of COURSE it is.
"If you could lift up your top, Mrs. Brandon." The sonographer has a pleasant, professional air as she looks down at me. "I need to apply some jelly to your abdomen before we start the scan."
"Absolutely!" I say without moving a muscle. "The thing is I'm just a teeny bit... nervous."
I'm lying on a bed at Chelsea and Westminster hospital, tense with anticipation. ANy minute now, Luke and I will see our baby on the screen for the first time since it was just a teeny blob. I still can't quite believe it. In fact, I still haven't quite gotten over the fact that I'm pregnant. In nineteen weeks time, I, Becky Brandon, nee Bloomwood... am going to be a mother!! A mother!
Luke's my husband, by the way. We've just been married for a year and this is a one hundreed percent genuine honey moon baby. We traveled loads on our honeymoon, but I've pretty much worked out that we concieved it while we were staying in this gorgeous resort in Sri Lanka, called Unawauna, all orhcids and bamboo trees and beautiful views.
"Unawauana Brandon"
Miss Unawauana Orchid Bamboo Tree Brandon.
Hmm. I'm not sure what Mum would say.
Isn't it great?? Don't you just love it?? Well, perhaps you will get lucky and I post more of it. Or perhaps I will raffle it off to the highest bidder once I'm done reading it. Well, have a pleasant day. I must get back to the book.
OK. Don't panic. Everythings going to be fine. Of course it is.
Of COURSE it is.
"If you could lift up your top, Mrs. Brandon." The sonographer has a pleasant, professional air as she looks down at me. "I need to apply some jelly to your abdomen before we start the scan."
"Absolutely!" I say without moving a muscle. "The thing is I'm just a teeny bit... nervous."
I'm lying on a bed at Chelsea and Westminster hospital, tense with anticipation. ANy minute now, Luke and I will see our baby on the screen for the first time since it was just a teeny blob. I still can't quite believe it. In fact, I still haven't quite gotten over the fact that I'm pregnant. In nineteen weeks time, I, Becky Brandon, nee Bloomwood... am going to be a mother!! A mother!
Luke's my husband, by the way. We've just been married for a year and this is a one hundreed percent genuine honey moon baby. We traveled loads on our honeymoon, but I've pretty much worked out that we concieved it while we were staying in this gorgeous resort in Sri Lanka, called Unawauna, all orhcids and bamboo trees and beautiful views.
"Unawauana Brandon"
Miss Unawauana Orchid Bamboo Tree Brandon.
Hmm. I'm not sure what Mum would say.
Isn't it great?? Don't you just love it?? Well, perhaps you will get lucky and I post more of it. Or perhaps I will raffle it off to the highest bidder once I'm done reading it. Well, have a pleasant day. I must get back to the book.
Domestic Drudgery
Here is a breakdown of how I have spent my days off:
Friday: 5:30-6:30 Grocery shopping (after working a full 8hr day)
6:30-7:00 Unloading groceries. The dog runs away. Chasing the dog. Trying to keep the dogs away from the groceries. Trying to keep the kids away from the groceries. Suddenly they are like children from the wild, ripping through the bags, grabbing at items as though they have never seen food before. "Oh we've got cookies", tearing into the cookies and then abandoning them for something else "Oh we have strawberries". The strawberries will meet a similar fate once they discover the fruit roll ups.
7:00-7:04 Trying to wolf down a bun quickly.
7:05-8:00 Putting away groceries while simultaneously chucking half the contents of the refrigerator. Moldy tomato from two weeks ago. Spaghetti from who knows when.
8:00-8:15 Cleaning up various biological spills that have occured while I have been occupied in the kitchen. Payton has peed her pants. Baxter has crapped on the floor. JD has vomited from eating a stray strawberry.
8:15 Yelling at the kids that they have had enough to eat.
8:16 Getting Payton to bed.
9:00: Collapsing into bed. Too tired to read or watch TV
Saturday
0740: Letting Baxter out of his kennel. Taking him outside.
0745: Getting up with Payton
0800: Loading the dishwasher
0815: Making Payton waffles.
0830: Putting in the first of umpteen loads of laundry.
0845: Doing dishes
0900: Brushing my teeth.
0902: Making Gage toast and cereal
0905: Unloading the dishwasher
0920: Putting the laundry in the dryer
0940: Cleaning up the juice Payton spilled while I was downstairs.
1000: Work on resume
1030: Laundry
1130: Making lunch
1200: Laying Payton down for a nap
1205: Laying down for a nap
1:00: Trying to ignore the fact that I think Payton is awake.
1:05 Getting Payton out of bed
1:06 Realizing (with horror) that she's had a rather nasty BM (thanks to the mineral oil we started her on- for regularity). Worse yet- she's attempted to change her own diaper. She comes in my room carrying a diaper full of sh**. Its all over her room and down her legs, etc.
1:07: Running an impromptu bath for Payton
1:10 Putting shitty clothes and sheets in the laundry. Just when the mound starts to look reasonable, I throw another heap on top of it.
1:15 Getting Payton out of the tub.
2:00 Field trip. I HAVE to get out of this house!!!! We go to Superstore (how exciting!). We buy only the neccesities- Dora pops and Dill pickle chips. Also, must buy Lorrie those pictures she's been crying about.
3:00 Visiting with Aunty Lorrie and Unlce Trent
4:00 Return home. Make stuffing for the chicken.
4:30 Stuff chicken and put it in the oven.
5:00 Load disher and do dishes from breakfast/lunch
5:30 Laundry
5:45 Peel pototoes
6:00 Wash kitchen floor
6:15 Make gravy. Cut cheese and pickles. Wash and set table.
6:30 Serve supper.
6:40 Quick walk.
7:00 Clear the table. Put dishes in dishwasher.
7:30 Watch TV
8:30 Put Payton to bed
9:00 Bath and bed
9:30 Catch a few minutes of SNL before falling asleep
Sunday
8:00 Convince Geoff that it's his turn to wake up with Payton
9:30 Try to ignore the fact that the kids have all climbed into bed with me, as well as the animals.
9:35 Wake up. Discover dear husband. Snoring on couch.
9:40 Unload dishwasher and do supper dishes from last night Defrost chicken for supper tonight.
1000: Continue with the laundry
10:30: Make porridge and toast for the kids breakfast
10:40: Clean up dog puke under the table.
10:45 Brush teeth and put hair in pony tail
10:50: Payton pees herself. Clean urine off the bathroom floor.
1100: Go on blog to vent.
Here is a rundown of my husbands weekend:
Friday: 6:00 Make sandwich
7:00 Hockey game
9:00 Beer and darts with Kris
Saturday: 1000: Wake up, stretch, fart, make a big production of being exhausted.
1015: Shower, groom
1100: Go to work
2:30: Return from work. Nap on couch.
4:00 Simpsons
5:00 Smoke break.
6:00 Hockey game
6:30 Supper
7:30 Beer with Trent
9:00 TV
Sunday 8:00 Wake up with Payton. Put Treehouse on. Lay down on couch.
9:00 Fall asleep on couch
1000: Go back to bed for a nap after such a hectic morning.
Is it me, or is there something wrong with this picture?? And I know what you're probably thinking, you're thinking "you should talk to him." But I do. I said to him just the other day, I said, "There's too much work to do in this house" and he says "Maybe we need a bigger house" and I said "No, what we need is more people doing the work." and he's like "Oh, yeah, thats right, because you do EVERYTHING and I do NOTHING. Right? I'm just lazy and good for nothing. I know this speech." So then what can I say? He THINKS that he helps. Yes, he may on occasion put a fork in the dishwasher or change Payton or make a meal. But this hardly helps. The most frustrating thing is that I've been busting my ass all weekend cleaning, but guess what?? The house is still a MESS!!! It seems that the most I can do is hold off major domestic chaos. But I'd better go. The laundry beckons.
Friday: 5:30-6:30 Grocery shopping (after working a full 8hr day)
6:30-7:00 Unloading groceries. The dog runs away. Chasing the dog. Trying to keep the dogs away from the groceries. Trying to keep the kids away from the groceries. Suddenly they are like children from the wild, ripping through the bags, grabbing at items as though they have never seen food before. "Oh we've got cookies", tearing into the cookies and then abandoning them for something else "Oh we have strawberries". The strawberries will meet a similar fate once they discover the fruit roll ups.
7:00-7:04 Trying to wolf down a bun quickly.
7:05-8:00 Putting away groceries while simultaneously chucking half the contents of the refrigerator. Moldy tomato from two weeks ago. Spaghetti from who knows when.
8:00-8:15 Cleaning up various biological spills that have occured while I have been occupied in the kitchen. Payton has peed her pants. Baxter has crapped on the floor. JD has vomited from eating a stray strawberry.
8:15 Yelling at the kids that they have had enough to eat.
8:16 Getting Payton to bed.
9:00: Collapsing into bed. Too tired to read or watch TV
Saturday
0740: Letting Baxter out of his kennel. Taking him outside.
0745: Getting up with Payton
0800: Loading the dishwasher
0815: Making Payton waffles.
0830: Putting in the first of umpteen loads of laundry.
0845: Doing dishes
0900: Brushing my teeth.
0902: Making Gage toast and cereal
0905: Unloading the dishwasher
0920: Putting the laundry in the dryer
0940: Cleaning up the juice Payton spilled while I was downstairs.
1000: Work on resume
1030: Laundry
1130: Making lunch
1200: Laying Payton down for a nap
1205: Laying down for a nap
1:00: Trying to ignore the fact that I think Payton is awake.
1:05 Getting Payton out of bed
1:06 Realizing (with horror) that she's had a rather nasty BM (thanks to the mineral oil we started her on- for regularity). Worse yet- she's attempted to change her own diaper. She comes in my room carrying a diaper full of sh**. Its all over her room and down her legs, etc.
1:07: Running an impromptu bath for Payton
1:10 Putting shitty clothes and sheets in the laundry. Just when the mound starts to look reasonable, I throw another heap on top of it.
1:15 Getting Payton out of the tub.
2:00 Field trip. I HAVE to get out of this house!!!! We go to Superstore (how exciting!). We buy only the neccesities- Dora pops and Dill pickle chips. Also, must buy Lorrie those pictures she's been crying about.
3:00 Visiting with Aunty Lorrie and Unlce Trent
4:00 Return home. Make stuffing for the chicken.
4:30 Stuff chicken and put it in the oven.
5:00 Load disher and do dishes from breakfast/lunch
5:30 Laundry
5:45 Peel pototoes
6:00 Wash kitchen floor
6:15 Make gravy. Cut cheese and pickles. Wash and set table.
6:30 Serve supper.
6:40 Quick walk.
7:00 Clear the table. Put dishes in dishwasher.
7:30 Watch TV
8:30 Put Payton to bed
9:00 Bath and bed
9:30 Catch a few minutes of SNL before falling asleep
Sunday
8:00 Convince Geoff that it's his turn to wake up with Payton
9:30 Try to ignore the fact that the kids have all climbed into bed with me, as well as the animals.
9:35 Wake up. Discover dear husband. Snoring on couch.
9:40 Unload dishwasher and do supper dishes from last night Defrost chicken for supper tonight.
1000: Continue with the laundry
10:30: Make porridge and toast for the kids breakfast
10:40: Clean up dog puke under the table.
10:45 Brush teeth and put hair in pony tail
10:50: Payton pees herself. Clean urine off the bathroom floor.
1100: Go on blog to vent.
Here is a rundown of my husbands weekend:
Friday: 6:00 Make sandwich
7:00 Hockey game
9:00 Beer and darts with Kris
Saturday: 1000: Wake up, stretch, fart, make a big production of being exhausted.
1015: Shower, groom
1100: Go to work
2:30: Return from work. Nap on couch.
4:00 Simpsons
5:00 Smoke break.
6:00 Hockey game
6:30 Supper
7:30 Beer with Trent
9:00 TV
Sunday 8:00 Wake up with Payton. Put Treehouse on. Lay down on couch.
9:00 Fall asleep on couch
1000: Go back to bed for a nap after such a hectic morning.
Is it me, or is there something wrong with this picture?? And I know what you're probably thinking, you're thinking "you should talk to him." But I do. I said to him just the other day, I said, "There's too much work to do in this house" and he says "Maybe we need a bigger house" and I said "No, what we need is more people doing the work." and he's like "Oh, yeah, thats right, because you do EVERYTHING and I do NOTHING. Right? I'm just lazy and good for nothing. I know this speech." So then what can I say? He THINKS that he helps. Yes, he may on occasion put a fork in the dishwasher or change Payton or make a meal. But this hardly helps. The most frustrating thing is that I've been busting my ass all weekend cleaning, but guess what?? The house is still a MESS!!! It seems that the most I can do is hold off major domestic chaos. But I'd better go. The laundry beckons.
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
More book
Well here is more of my book. I am simply too lazy to post a real blog right now. Enjoy!
The Immaculate Conception
-6-
My feet are in stirrups. There is an overweight balding man standing at the foot of the bed staring into my vagina. I’m looking at the ceiling, trying to be cool about. It’s no big thing. I do this sort of thing all the time. Sure.
“Kristina, I’m going to insert this catheter now. You might feel some slight cramping,” he says. I’m trying to just block it out. I scan the room quickly, looking for some support or something. But everything just looks so cold. So clinical. Probably because this is a clinic, I tell myself. Duh.
Ouch. What was that? A pain of some sort causes me to flinch.
I look at the man, baldy, whatever his name is. Dr. Lytchensomething. He’s concentrating very seriously on the matter at hand.
“The catheter is in situ,” he says, more to the team of people in the room rather than me, looking alternately back and forth between the ultrasound screen and my vulva. “Transferring the blastocytes now,” he continues.
Oh man. This is really, really, not how I considered this milestone taking place. Not in my wildest dreams. The stirrups, I admit, might have cropped up in some of my more exotic fantasies, particularly during the years when I as dating that pre med student who was thinking about Gynecology as a specialty. But certainly not the bald dude. Or the talk about catheters and blastocytes.
I’ll just try to think about something else. Like the war in the Middle East. The war in the Middle East… hmm.
Hmmm.
Mid.
Dle.
East.
Hmm. Funny, but nothing seems to becoming to mind. Note to self: must start watching more CNN.
“All right,” Lytchensomething says, snapping off his gloves. “They’re implanted.”
And then I realize. He said ‘they’. As in: plural. As in: more than one of the little buggers.
“They? What? How many?” I ask, dumbfounded, fumbling to get my feet out of the stirrups, to regain a modicum of dignity.
“All four of them.”
“Four? I’m sorry. There must be some kind of a mistake. Cynthia and I agreed on one. Only one.”
“Yes, but she had a change of heart. She said you were fully aware,” he said, looking puzzled. “In fact, all the paperwork is in order. You signed all the consent forms, which explain everything.”
The consent forms? Ah, he must be referring to those utterly inscrutable documents that were fourteen pages long with font small enough to require a magnifying glass. The forms that the lawyer shoved under my nose and said “sign here, here and here.” Those forms? My degree is in accounting, not law, so I pretty much skipped to the dollar figures in the document, effectively ignoring all the legal jargon.
Shit. Shit Fuck Shit. And now the little buggers were in there. Probably settling in, making themselves at home, watching Cribs and eating Doritos. Getting crumbs all over the place in my virgin uterus.
I feel sick. Is it too early for morning sickness? Yes, I think it is. But I really do feel sick. This isn’t good. What will I do?
My body. My figure. My bladder control.
All down the tubes.
Figuratively speaking.
The Immaculate Conception
-6-
My feet are in stirrups. There is an overweight balding man standing at the foot of the bed staring into my vagina. I’m looking at the ceiling, trying to be cool about. It’s no big thing. I do this sort of thing all the time. Sure.
“Kristina, I’m going to insert this catheter now. You might feel some slight cramping,” he says. I’m trying to just block it out. I scan the room quickly, looking for some support or something. But everything just looks so cold. So clinical. Probably because this is a clinic, I tell myself. Duh.
Ouch. What was that? A pain of some sort causes me to flinch.
I look at the man, baldy, whatever his name is. Dr. Lytchensomething. He’s concentrating very seriously on the matter at hand.
“The catheter is in situ,” he says, more to the team of people in the room rather than me, looking alternately back and forth between the ultrasound screen and my vulva. “Transferring the blastocytes now,” he continues.
Oh man. This is really, really, not how I considered this milestone taking place. Not in my wildest dreams. The stirrups, I admit, might have cropped up in some of my more exotic fantasies, particularly during the years when I as dating that pre med student who was thinking about Gynecology as a specialty. But certainly not the bald dude. Or the talk about catheters and blastocytes.
I’ll just try to think about something else. Like the war in the Middle East. The war in the Middle East… hmm.
Hmmm.
Mid.
Dle.
East.
Hmm. Funny, but nothing seems to becoming to mind. Note to self: must start watching more CNN.
“All right,” Lytchensomething says, snapping off his gloves. “They’re implanted.”
And then I realize. He said ‘they’. As in: plural. As in: more than one of the little buggers.
“They? What? How many?” I ask, dumbfounded, fumbling to get my feet out of the stirrups, to regain a modicum of dignity.
“All four of them.”
“Four? I’m sorry. There must be some kind of a mistake. Cynthia and I agreed on one. Only one.”
“Yes, but she had a change of heart. She said you were fully aware,” he said, looking puzzled. “In fact, all the paperwork is in order. You signed all the consent forms, which explain everything.”
The consent forms? Ah, he must be referring to those utterly inscrutable documents that were fourteen pages long with font small enough to require a magnifying glass. The forms that the lawyer shoved under my nose and said “sign here, here and here.” Those forms? My degree is in accounting, not law, so I pretty much skipped to the dollar figures in the document, effectively ignoring all the legal jargon.
Shit. Shit Fuck Shit. And now the little buggers were in there. Probably settling in, making themselves at home, watching Cribs and eating Doritos. Getting crumbs all over the place in my virgin uterus.
I feel sick. Is it too early for morning sickness? Yes, I think it is. But I really do feel sick. This isn’t good. What will I do?
My body. My figure. My bladder control.
All down the tubes.
Figuratively speaking.
Monday, March 19, 2007
Men in Black
Here is something interesting. I was out and about this weekend when here I find myself at my moms house. So she's busy in the kitchen with the eleven children she keeps, so I am left alone to fend for myself. Sigh. Such is the life. So I pick up a paper and start flipping throug it. I'm not really one for the paper. Its mostly boring stories about the economy and crap like that. If I wanted to know about the economy I would watch CNN. I don't even know what channel CNN is on and I intend to keep it that way. But, anyways, back to the story. So I'm flipping through the paper and this job pops out at me. Right now I am thinking about applying for. But I'm hesitant because a)I don't meet all of the requirements to a T b)I'm not confident in my ability to interview for such a job if called for c)I'm not confident in my ability to perform all of the responsiblities. However, having said that, I am still contemplating throwing in a resume anyways because a)whats the cost of a stamp anyways? b)it sounds like a pretty damn interesting job and c)check out the pay scale!
This is the posting, which I have had to painstakingly retype as it is not available on line.
Title: RCMP Criminal Intelligence Analyst
This is a civilian member position that will report to the officer in charge of Combined Special Forces Special Enforcement Unit.
Responsibilies:
1) Collecting, researching, evaluating and analyzing intelligence information to identify criminal trends and patterns and to develop analytical intelligence products
2) Preparing reports identifying or illustrating criminal group/individual associations and criminal trends.
3)Providing expert advice on complex issues, assessing intelligence and providing tactical and strategic analysis focused on local, provincial and federal criminal activity.
4) establishing a network of contacts in dientifying criminal trends and conducting intelligence analysis
5) participating in presentations, lectures and seminars as an expert resource and attending conferences and training courses.
Basic Requirements:
Language: English
Security: Eligible to hold Top Secret Security Clearance
Education: A bachelors degree from a recognized university
Experience:
--2+ years experience in research, writing, analyzing and editing documents.
--One+ years in a research, publishing or analytical environment
--One+ years experience in working with computers, in particular word processing, spreadsheets and database software.
Additional Abilities:
Above average oral and written communication skills
As a prerequisite, must successfully complete an examination in the required field of work.
Location: Saskatoon, SK
Salary: 67,446-72,919
Now, I have only seven months of experience in research. And, most of time was spent in the field rather than doing the writing and editing, but as you know, this I am well capable of as I have written novels and maintain this blog to a very high degree of customer satisfaction. But I'm not sure that they will accept this. As far as the job, it sounds sweet. A cushy government job pushing papers. But not just boring papers. Interesting papers. And I'm GOOD at pushing papers. This is why I enjoyed my research job so much. That and the smell of the pig barn. Anyways, please feel free to comment about whether I am crazy to think that I would even stand a chance or whether I would be remiss to not at least throw in a resume. I welcome your feedback as always. Just imagine... me... a top secret spy. I'll have to get a pair of sunglasses and a dark suit just like on Men in Black. Perhaps I should rent the movie to do some background research. Yes, yes. Thats what I'll do. And then I'll list it on my resume under courses taken. That is sure to impress!
This is the posting, which I have had to painstakingly retype as it is not available on line.
Title: RCMP Criminal Intelligence Analyst
This is a civilian member position that will report to the officer in charge of Combined Special Forces Special Enforcement Unit.
Responsibilies:
1) Collecting, researching, evaluating and analyzing intelligence information to identify criminal trends and patterns and to develop analytical intelligence products
2) Preparing reports identifying or illustrating criminal group/individual associations and criminal trends.
3)Providing expert advice on complex issues, assessing intelligence and providing tactical and strategic analysis focused on local, provincial and federal criminal activity.
4) establishing a network of contacts in dientifying criminal trends and conducting intelligence analysis
5) participating in presentations, lectures and seminars as an expert resource and attending conferences and training courses.
Basic Requirements:
Language: English
Security: Eligible to hold Top Secret Security Clearance
Education: A bachelors degree from a recognized university
Experience:
--2+ years experience in research, writing, analyzing and editing documents.
--One+ years in a research, publishing or analytical environment
--One+ years experience in working with computers, in particular word processing, spreadsheets and database software.
Additional Abilities:
Above average oral and written communication skills
As a prerequisite, must successfully complete an examination in the required field of work.
Location: Saskatoon, SK
Salary: 67,446-72,919
Now, I have only seven months of experience in research. And, most of time was spent in the field rather than doing the writing and editing, but as you know, this I am well capable of as I have written novels and maintain this blog to a very high degree of customer satisfaction. But I'm not sure that they will accept this. As far as the job, it sounds sweet. A cushy government job pushing papers. But not just boring papers. Interesting papers. And I'm GOOD at pushing papers. This is why I enjoyed my research job so much. That and the smell of the pig barn. Anyways, please feel free to comment about whether I am crazy to think that I would even stand a chance or whether I would be remiss to not at least throw in a resume. I welcome your feedback as always. Just imagine... me... a top secret spy. I'll have to get a pair of sunglasses and a dark suit just like on Men in Black. Perhaps I should rent the movie to do some background research. Yes, yes. Thats what I'll do. And then I'll list it on my resume under courses taken. That is sure to impress!
Sunday, March 18, 2007
P15
I returned to the office outraged. I could not believe she would do such a thing. To actually railroad me into believing that her sister was a therapist so that I would spill my secrets.
“Where were you?” Constance asked as soon as I sat down at my cubicle.
“I had an appointment,” I answered, checking my email.
“Cynthia’s been in here twice already asking about you, you’re supposed to go directly to her office when you come back,” Constance informed, looking pained. “I tried to cover for you but she wouldn’t listen to me.” Her voice carried a note of panic. She nervously tugged at the oversized sweater she was wearing. “I think she’s really mad,” she concluded, her brows burrowed in a strained expression.
“Don’t worry, Constance,” I replied, marching down the hall to Cynthia’s office. I would just tell her to forget it. This was not what I had signed up for. What was I thinking? Did I actually think that Cynthia was rational? Reasonable?
Delores buzzed me through to Cynthia directly with a puzzled expression. No one got buzzed through directly.
“So you met with Jan?” Cynthia asked, without turning to face me. She was looking out the window.
“I met with Jan,” I replied. “Who, incidentally, you failed to mention, was not a counselor,” I added, allowing my frustration to seep into my voice.
“What? But I never said she was a counselor,” Cynthia said, turning around, feigning confusion. Aargh. I had heard her clearly use the word counselor. How could I have mistaken ‘sister’ for ‘counselor’? Is that what she was implying?
“Yes, actually, that it is precisely what you said,” I replied, standing my ground.
She waved her hand in the air. “It’s no matter, so we somehow got our wires crossed” she said dismissively. “She said you passed. With flying colors. Way better than the last three I sent.”
Passed?
With flying colors?
What were the criteria here? Does not arrive at interview wielding ax? Does not have a tatoo of a cross on the center of the forehead? Does not casually allude to “my time in the pen” as some of the most productive of their life?
“She was a little concerned about the fact that you seemed fixated on her chest,” she added. “But that is absolutely not my business. I, for one, am not homophobic in the least, and I told my sister that she simply needs to loosen up.”
“What? No. I wasn’t staring at her chest. Honestly. It was the sailboats, on her dress. It was a very busy pattern, Mrs. Jacobson.”
She laughed a wry chuckle while lighting a cigarette. “I think the lady doth protest too much,” she said cryptically.
God.
I’m screwed here. If I say nothing then I’m gay by virtue of the fact that I’m not denying it. But if I do deny it then I’m ‘protesting too much’ and am, therefore, gay anyways.
“Now I see why your wedding was called off. Trust me Kristina, you did the right thing. No use pretending.”
How? How could I be having this conversation?
“Mrs. Jacobson, that is not why my wedding was called off. I’m not gay. I told you. It was the sailboats. They were, like, hypnotic or something” I was pleading.
“Right. The sailboats. Of course,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “But rest assured, Kristina, it matters not to me. All that matters to me is the fact that you passed.”
I said nothing, just slumped down in leather couch.
Suddenly, the gay matter aside, though not the least bit resolved, she was all business again.
“You have an appointment on Friday at three for an ultrasound. Be sure to drink plenty of water.” She said before leaving the room.
I sat there for several minutes, until I could hear the clacking of her stilettos return to the room, just trying to process everything. Then I made a mad dash for my office where I buried myself in work for the remainder of the day.
“Where were you?” Constance asked as soon as I sat down at my cubicle.
“I had an appointment,” I answered, checking my email.
“Cynthia’s been in here twice already asking about you, you’re supposed to go directly to her office when you come back,” Constance informed, looking pained. “I tried to cover for you but she wouldn’t listen to me.” Her voice carried a note of panic. She nervously tugged at the oversized sweater she was wearing. “I think she’s really mad,” she concluded, her brows burrowed in a strained expression.
“Don’t worry, Constance,” I replied, marching down the hall to Cynthia’s office. I would just tell her to forget it. This was not what I had signed up for. What was I thinking? Did I actually think that Cynthia was rational? Reasonable?
Delores buzzed me through to Cynthia directly with a puzzled expression. No one got buzzed through directly.
“So you met with Jan?” Cynthia asked, without turning to face me. She was looking out the window.
“I met with Jan,” I replied. “Who, incidentally, you failed to mention, was not a counselor,” I added, allowing my frustration to seep into my voice.
“What? But I never said she was a counselor,” Cynthia said, turning around, feigning confusion. Aargh. I had heard her clearly use the word counselor. How could I have mistaken ‘sister’ for ‘counselor’? Is that what she was implying?
“Yes, actually, that it is precisely what you said,” I replied, standing my ground.
She waved her hand in the air. “It’s no matter, so we somehow got our wires crossed” she said dismissively. “She said you passed. With flying colors. Way better than the last three I sent.”
Passed?
With flying colors?
What were the criteria here? Does not arrive at interview wielding ax? Does not have a tatoo of a cross on the center of the forehead? Does not casually allude to “my time in the pen” as some of the most productive of their life?
“She was a little concerned about the fact that you seemed fixated on her chest,” she added. “But that is absolutely not my business. I, for one, am not homophobic in the least, and I told my sister that she simply needs to loosen up.”
“What? No. I wasn’t staring at her chest. Honestly. It was the sailboats, on her dress. It was a very busy pattern, Mrs. Jacobson.”
She laughed a wry chuckle while lighting a cigarette. “I think the lady doth protest too much,” she said cryptically.
God.
I’m screwed here. If I say nothing then I’m gay by virtue of the fact that I’m not denying it. But if I do deny it then I’m ‘protesting too much’ and am, therefore, gay anyways.
“Now I see why your wedding was called off. Trust me Kristina, you did the right thing. No use pretending.”
How? How could I be having this conversation?
“Mrs. Jacobson, that is not why my wedding was called off. I’m not gay. I told you. It was the sailboats. They were, like, hypnotic or something” I was pleading.
“Right. The sailboats. Of course,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “But rest assured, Kristina, it matters not to me. All that matters to me is the fact that you passed.”
I said nothing, just slumped down in leather couch.
Suddenly, the gay matter aside, though not the least bit resolved, she was all business again.
“You have an appointment on Friday at three for an ultrasound. Be sure to drink plenty of water.” She said before leaving the room.
I sat there for several minutes, until I could hear the clacking of her stilettos return to the room, just trying to process everything. Then I made a mad dash for my office where I buried myself in work for the remainder of the day.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)