May 03, 2011
Writer's Block Is a Persistant Bitch
So yeah, the unrelenting uncertainty of my job continues to wrest all joy from my life, making it hard for me to regale you with amusing anecdotes. Oh, dour Posh-Spice-at-the-royal-wedding face. Oh, wrestling with total non-problems that 50% of the population would gladly trade for their own. Don't I make you puke?
Okay, update on what's been going on, covering the essentials.
Food
I had my first Yorkshire pudding on Friday night. And it's not pudding at all. Stupid Brits. It's essentially a roast beef sandwich on a pancake. Tasty, but hardly worthy of its uppity name. Also had a crumpet, which is bread. In other news -- and at the same party -- I continue to enjoy brie, and anything I bake is always the first dessert to go, no matter what anyone else brought. So there.
Shelter
Had some guests the other day, one of whom Husband and I were meeting for the first time. It was an event for which I cleaned the entire house, cooked several courses and served wine. Dude is my age and showed up wearing gym shoes with no socks, jeans with rips and paint stains, and white t-shirt, and one of those knit ski caps, which he did not remove upon entering my house. Is it just me, or is that obnoxious? I understand that I am now officially An Old Biddy, but what the fuck? You don't make some effort when you are meeting someone for the first time and they are making you dinner?! Turns out, he's a fairly decent human being, but sheesh -- it literally pains me to say that after the indifference he showed to both himself and to me. Appearance matters, people! It shows that you give a shit! And in general, people like people who give a shit... about something, anything. God, just take off your hat. This isn't the old west.
Clothing
Obsession about what I will wear to Older Step Daughter's (OSD) wedding reached fever pitch over the weekend as I sobbed in Husband's arms about how I will never be glamorous and the only thing I can shoot for is to not look slovenly, and begged him to take a day off work to come dress shopping with me, which he readily agreed to in order to stop the crazy lady from getting snot on his shirt. Adding to my anxiety is the fact that Husband's ex is a size two, as is everyone on that side of the family. In fact, she still fits into her high school cheerleading uniform. I KNOW, RIGHT?! How have I not taken my own life, yet???
Work
Three months left in my current contract. And yet somehow, no end in sight... My job hasn't been posted, so no one has interviewed for it. I am coming to the horrific realization that my contract will probably be extended beyond July 31, and the even MORE apocolyptically-horrifying thought that I will probably agree to it. Shall we start a pool: What Will Be Wenchie's Last Day? I'll take September 15th for five dollars.
Family
Billi and I are having our annual Raise Money For Our Spring Trip To Door County Garage Sale on Thursday. And since it's also Cinco de Mayo, we are also putting up pinatas and serving complimentary margaritas to our shoppers. ... No, we are most certainly not. And you're probably wondering, as I am, Wenchie, how is it that you have enough crap in your house to make a hundred bucks at a garage sale every single year? I honestly don't know, and it's more than a little disturbing. Billi's children are constantly outgrowing their clothes, giving her a constant supply of wares to sell. Me? I just got tchotchkes. (Not to be confused with Chachi, whom I would never get rid of!)