Archive for the 'Job' Category

Spring Has Sprung…Almost

I have funny stories.  I have stress-coping strategies.  In two days I’ll have time to share them.  Even better, I’ll be able to catch up with everyone.  I’ll lose the bags under my eyes.  I’ll open windows and fumigate my much-neglected house (even though hubby did a great job keeping things manageable!).  This is what life is starting to look like…on April 14th…to a weary tax accountant.

Remember this:  Just keep plodding on.  Where there’s life, there’s hope.  And on Friday, a warm bed that I won’t have to climb out of until I’m good and ready!!!


I’ve chosen to not turn my computer on until very late in the day this week.  I have dust bunnies to sweep up and walls to scrub, and it’s too easy to get ensnared for too long in the interwebs.  I may have tricked convinced my kids into thinking they rarely missed school because a little dust built up their immune systems, but the guy from the foster parent agency may not see things that way.  The house is looking clean and shiny!  This is a welcome change.

I became aware of a not so lovely change today, however, when I popped into the office for a visit on my way to Wal-Mart.  For the second time since we’ve moved into this building, our lovely office space is being downsized again!  Last time I got a bigger office, with even more window space.  This new configuration is giving me an interior area, with no windows, no doors, and not much privacy.  Like the rest of the world in this downsized economy, I am feeling the results of the havoc wreaked by greedy CEOs and inept politicians.  Lucky for me, though, I will still be working at a job I enjoy with people that I like.  And it’s only two months a year.  I was a tad spoiled.

I would feel a lot better about the whole thing, however, if we could force the jerks on Capitol Hill to give up their plush offices and fancy cars paid for by us, the poor downsized taxpayers.  It only seems fair!

I Like To Work At Nothing All Day

It’s the perfect storm. It’s been rainy and unseasonably cold for weeks. Youngest Son has hardly had time to text me, let alone come home for a visit. He’s the strong-minded son that can often motivate me to get off my lazy butt and sprint up hills with him or make me lift weights. As I noted a few posts ago, I was having trouble finding motivation to write. Looking at the whole picture, I’m having trouble doing much of anything. I’m not depressed or anything–nothing more serious than the seasonal blues I get from lack of warmth and sunshine. And, after talking with Youngest Son, who finally managed to come home this weekend only because his school has a 4-day fall break, I may just need to add some self-imposed torture structure to my life.  Just a little.  Just temporary. I may need to get myself a temporary job.

It’s funny he mentioned this.  I love my life.  I love my work schedule.  Due to our extreme awesomeness and efficiency at work, my 12-month part-time job became a 2-month seasonal full-time with overtime job over the years.  This schedule suits all of us.  They only need to pay me when they really need me. I recuperate, enjoy my summer, get projects done, get lazy, and then repeat the cycle.  The laziness has settled in with a vengeance this month.  I DID bake cookies last week, which shocked the hell out of Oldest Son, but that was only because Big Daddy’s been craving baked goods and I couldn’t find anything cheaper than $3.99/dozen in the bakery.  I’m cheaper than I am lazy.  But as much as I love the freedom of structuring my own days, the thought has recently crossed my mind to maybe find a temp job until the end of the year.

Like Youngest Son said, you get more done when you have to do it.  I do manage to get the essentials done, whether I’m working or not.  But somehow, making yourself have to get up early and forcing upon yourself that sense of urgency that comes from having limited free time helps push you to do more.  And not feel so much like a lazy slug.  And God knows September always drains the family finances.  Two college tuition bills, school supplies, the BIG real estate tax payment, and the quarterly car insurance payment make September quite the bleak month.  And the damn van still hasn’t sold!  It’s not like I couldn’t use the extra cash.

But I’ll have to think this through a little more.  Later today Youngest Son and I are planning to hit the track.  I won’t have so much time to do this if I’m working.  And the morning’s supposed to be extra chilly, which means I’ll feel so cozy with the covers pulled up over my head.  It’s 2:00am right now and I don’t need to be in bed. I’ve always been a night person.  Early morning makes me gag.  What’s a lazy mama to do?  Stay tuned while I try to figure out the answer.

Every Girl Crazy ‘Bout A Sharp Dressed Man

I used to sing that old ZZ Top song to the boys whenever they were younger and I got them all dressed up and handsome.  I swear their little chests would puff out and they would actually swagger a little.  But Youngest Son still hates to get dressed up.  In high school, the girls would want him to go to dances but he almost managed to avoid every single formal event.  “You don’t even want to go to the prom?” we all asked.  And of course every single time he would reply that he hates to dance, and he hates to get dressed up.  Why would he want to go to a dance?  (He’s also tight with the money.  I taught him well).

His luck ran out senior year.  He had a very persuasive girlfriend that convinced him to go to not only her prom, but also the one at his high school.  She wanted him to wear a white tux to hers.  I got my way for his prom and he wore a black tux.  He looked sharp both nights, but the suit didn’t help him have fun at his prom.  His date and his ex-girlfriend made him miserable in the midst of their dagger-looks and catty remarks to each other.  He had a lot more fun at her prom even though he worried about spilling stuff on the white tux and getting charged extra for it.

A few weeks ago, Youngest Son had to get himself into a suit again.  He was not excited about it.  He much prefers a pair of basketball shorts and a T-shirt.  But he, along with a bunch of other students at his college, were applying for the chance to become a residence hall advisor at his school next year.  He’s the kind of kid you’d expect to be in charge.  He’s helpful, considerate, and plays by the rules.  He’s tutored other students for years.  I’d hire him–but I’m sure I’m a little biased.  He wanted the job for all the right reasons, but also because he’d finally have his own room.  Even though he really likes his roommate, Youngest Son likes his privacy.  I was excited because the job pays with free room and board! There were plenty of applicants, and the interview process took an entire Saturday on one of his busiest weekends.  And the only thing he complained about was the fact that he had to wear a suit–and that he better not have had to get dressed up for nothing!

I had forgotten all about this until I got a text this morning.  Youngest Son got the job!  He’ll have his own room next year, and I’ll be saving some bucks.  I told him he looked handsome in that suit.

I’m Writing In My Head

Because, damn it, I can’t really find the time to sit and write here about all the things I want to write about.  Like how I slept through a loud commotion the other night while my family thought they were standing near a corpse.  Like how someone I know tried filing for their kid’s college financial aid at instead of and then stressed me out so bad because when I instinctively gave her the “look” like maybe you shouldn’t have gone there she went into such a panic attack I thought she might have a nervous breakdown.  Then there are the ridiculously funny comments some douchebags made on the sports talk radio station about how the Penguins should trade the young hockey god Sid Crosby because he could play better than Sid.  When the announcer asked what level hockey this guy played, he said he doesn’t play hockey but  Sid always gets injured when he plays him on his NHL video game.  OMG.  Like is this guy for real?  And there were many other stupid comments by other callers.  I just want to convince my readers that Pittsburgh and the surrounding areas really does have some very brilliant people.  Seriously.  There are organ transplant geniuses.  There are the techie brains at Carnegie Mellon.  And of course, moi.  Who was on Jeopardy.  Even though I didn’t win.

I really would not just like to tell you about this stuff.  I’d like to expound on it, and entertain you with it, and make you feel the thoughts I feel about it.  Especially about the almost corpse.  But I’m exhausted.  And I haven’t even started working 6 days a week yet, or 10 hour days.  I’m getting too old for this, folks.  Mama needs 2 rest, then she can rant.  But I gotta go now because sis needs her tax return done.  I got bills to pay.  I don’t know what I’m wearing tomorrow and I’m not even thinking about packing a lunch.  Screw it.  I’ll pry open my wallet and buy something.  Okay.  More later.

No Sunday Blues This Week!

Normally, when I have to go to work on Monday, I get the Sunday blues.  This is not because I dislike my job.  Actually, I quite like the job.  It’s just the crap that goes along with having a job that makes me blue.  Things like:  getting up early, having to wear something less comfortable than my sweats, and needing to end my weekend early and going to bed at a “normal” time so I’m not a total zombie at work.  Okay.  So I’m a tad lazy and set in my ways.

However, tomorrow is my first day back after 10 months off.  I’m excited to see everyone again.  I’m ready to dig in and keep our loyal clients from paying a penny more in taxes than they’re legally obligated to pay.  Our elected officials would only waste the money, anyways.

Last week when they asked if I’d be available to start back to work, I asked them if there have been any changes with the alarm system.  I told them I do not want to start off my first day back setting off the alarm.  I did this two years ago when I was holding down the fort while they were all at Disney World.  My brain was still on vacation that morning and I forgot the procedure, prompting calls from the alarm company and the state police.  Not a fun way to start the day.  They told me that there are no changes with the alarm system but that my office has been moved to the next office down the hall.  Our two preschoolers now occupy my old office.  I went to college 4 years for that office, and these little girls haven’t even gone to Kindergarten!  But they’re awfully cute, well-behaved, and most importantly, the boss’s lovely granddaughters.  My new office is slightly larger–about half a window width, and a tad closer to the kitchen (and the coffee).  The only downside is it’s a bit further from the reception area, so it will be harder for nosy mama to hear what’s going on when people stop in.

Best of all, Middle Son J is coming home tomorrow.  He’s on leave from the Army for about 3 weeks and we’re all excited to have him back home with us for a while.  Even if he does have 11 damn tattoos now.

So no Sunday blues this week.  Although I guarantee that 7:00 a.m. tomorrow will be a real bitch.

Winter Funk

The winter funk has settled in.  It usually hits sometime in late January or early February.  With the arctic weather we’ve been having this winter, I’m surprised it didn’t hit earlier.

My brother gets it worse than me.  He actually has that Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD) where the lack of daylight seriously causes depression.  The year I turned 40, Big Daddy avoided living with the “winter funk” by planning the most wonderful all-inclusive vacation to sunny Cancun for the family.  My birthday is in December, so he planned it for mid-January.  The kids still talk about that vacation.

From visiting the blogosphere, it seems I’m not alone in this land of blah. The economy has everybody down.  It hasn’t helped that I had to starve myself for a day, and endured “alien probature” (Oldest Son’s term–and the reason he brought me home some California rolls to make me feel better).  Nor does it help that I’m forced to look at the pathetic pittance that is our portfolio because it’s necessary to do our taxes.  For the past six months, I have done everything I can to avoid looking at my stock accounts.  And now, I must confront the train wreck that our jack-ass politicians and their crooked CEO cronies engineered.

Things could be worse, however.  The alien probe found nothing amiss, and I have the sweetest most generous boys in the world.  I haven’t even finished filling in all of my deductions and already it looks like we’re getting a tax refund (I was actually a little worried this year).  I’ll be earning a paycheck again in a week or so and drinking quarts of coffee in my cozy little office.  And in my purse is a script for 6-months worth of Lexapro.  Mama loves her Lexapro.

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