Cubed

Question One: So when I came home today, it was to find a package waiting for me, or rather, waiting for Lady Bean. And it was from Crazy! Just when you thought we were done getting gifts from Crazy and it was safe to check the mail ...



So, do I open it now or do I wait to open it until we "set up XMAS tree" as directed on the bottom of the mailing label? Also, cool or creepy that she is still sending LB gifts?

Question Two: I mucked up LB's C'mas stocking.



What? You don't see the goof? Here, look again.



I zigged when I should have zagged. So obviously, I need to rip back. But do I rip back to the beginning and start all over? Maybe do it toe up and make the "snow flakes" face the same way they do on the picture of the stocking. Yah, I KNOW. It totally annoys me that the picture was obviously knit toe up while the pattern is written toe down. I don't think one looks better than the other. It just makes me twitchy that they won't be the same. Also, I think LB's name could be fatter. Maybe two rows instead of one. Sounds like I may have already answered this question, eh?

Question Three: How long do green peas stay in one's system?

Too Funny

The woman that replaced me at my old job .. she gave her notice yesterday! Hah!

R is for ...

Retirement!

Yesterday was my last day of work. I'm officially retired. Well, from the law. I don't expect to ever retire from mommyhood. I'm not sure how I feel about this end of my legal career. Mostly excited. I think. If it sucks, I can look for another job later. But I really want to try this retirement thing out. So, in order to push myself firmly into the pro-retirement camp, I thought a celebration was in order. Unfortunately the confluence of events leading up to yesterday evening resulted in a busy husband and busy friends so that my celebration was a celebration by one, me. Even Lady Bean was asleep by the time I amped up the party. Which sounds a little pitiful. And, if I had taken a picture ... leftover office funfetti cake, topped with a brownie from a box mix, a half a glass of wine because that is all I had left, and a bestselling vampire romance novel, for teenagers ... well, my celebration may have actually been a little pitiful. But it's all good. I have years no-work-in-the-morning-I'm-retired weeknights to yuck it up with full glasses of wine and bestselling vampire romance novels written for adults!

Dammit

So the one day when I don't have the camera and I don't have my cell phone with its camera is, of course, the one day in which Crazy brings me a new present! Could this be the start of another run of presents?

Twists and Turns

I am all over the place with this one. On Friday, I gave Crazy my letter of resignation. I gave her two weeks notice and planned on saying sayonara on August 15, 2008. I had wrapped my brain around this and was finally comfortable with the decision. I had made peace with resigning. Which may seem surprising as I have bitched and moaned about this place for the last six years, so you'd think I would be turning cartwheels at the idea of leaving, but not so much. I'm okay with leaving Lady Bean in day care. I don't think day care is evil and your child will be screwed up for life. I like working, though not necessarily at my current job, and the thought of not working, well, it was a bit nauseating. Also, I love my daughter to bits but spending twenty-four/seven with her (or anyone)? Also a bit nauseating. But whatever, I got over it and was ready to move on. Stay-at-home-mommyness, here I come. But, considering I work where I work and with the people I work with, it should come as no surprise that I couldn't actually outright resign. NOTHING IN THIS PLACE IS STRAIGHTFORWARD.

I feared that once I gave my notice, I was going to get kicked out of the door on the spot and not be eligible for our bonus. Or, maybe Crazy would be all crazy and how-dare-you-leave-after-all-I-have-done-for-you and the last two weeks would be pure torture. But this is not what I got. No, I got a oh-no-I-am-going-to-miss-you-what-will-we-do-without-you-can-you-work-part-time-for-a-little-longer-while-we-replace-you-we'll-pay-you-lots-more. Yes, in case you got lost in that run-on sentence, I was asked to work part-time at a decent hourly rate, a rate better than what I make now, for an extra two weeks. Even though I was told I couldn't work part-time EVER, AT ALL, when I was setting up my maternity leave and at that time I was only asking for a few weeks part-time at my current el-cheapo salary rate. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?

Initially I was thinking all NO, FUCK NO, I AM NOT DOING THAT. I planned to quit and quitting I will be. But then I learned that my COBRA insurance was going to be well over five hundred dollars a month (To which I replied, "The hell? I'm the young one. The one that had the baby, not the near death experience. The healthy one. ARE YOU LOOKING AT THE RIGHT PERSON'S RATE?" And was told, "Yes. I am looking at you. Suck it."). So now I am all conflicted.

I could work three hours a day, several days a week, for two weeks and pay my COBRA for the time I will need it and maybe even have a few bucks left over to feed my addiction. Heck, I might even be able to feed my other addiction and buy some yarn (yah, yah, I don't need it, whatever) for Mystery Stole 4. I'd even get to knit during the day since my home time would be during the long afternoon nap (oh knitting how I miss thee). But then I would STILL BE HERE. I busted my ass and cashed in all sorts of favors to make things work out child care wise to get us to August 15, which now would seem somehow lame, like I am a big whiner crying all "I just need to get to August 15" when in fact August 15 is now a regular day of no import. Not that I would need to tap anyone else, in order to make this work, Boo would swoosh his schedule around (yet again for like the eleventygillionth time). But I would be missing him on the days I do work since we would be passing like two ships in the night. There is also the chance that Crazy would find out I am looking at a real part-time job. I did tell her I am looking for something part-time but I forgot to mention that I was looking right now and that the job I have my eye on is the part-time version of one that she applied for and did not get. So that could be bad. Real bad. The job is a political appointment and she could, well, I dunno, she could do something and that something would be bad. But even as I type this drivel, I think, asshole, you want to work part-time, so what's the real downside? Crazy? Dealing with jailbirds? Actually having to work?

Whoops

"What's that smell? Did you spray something?"

"Huh?"

"That smell? It's like bug spray and air freshener combined to form a nuclear mushroom cloud that then rolled around in three-week old garbage that contained rancid citrus."

"Oh, THAT. It's Investigator's new cologne."

Lame

I've only been back at work for a week and yet I find myself pumping more often than I might normally do, just so I have an excuse to close my door and be left alone, well sort of alone. Now, if I could only pump and work on my Bee Fields Shawl at the same time ...

Open Your Eyes

So Lady Bean is still breast feeding. Well more like breast snacking, but whatever. You get the idea. And, since I am back to work, I've been pumping. I've told everyone in the office this, you know to give them a heads up, just in case. So. You'd think that since I have my own, non-shared, private office, this would be a pretty painless endeavor. You'd think the big NEON ORANGE (like, Hi, hunters wear this color so they don't get shot) sign posted at eye level would be a hint, a hint that you shouldn't walk in my office without at least knocking.



But no, you'd be wrong. One of the other lawyers just walked in on me and my pumping frankentitties (have you seen what a pump does to one's nipples? Frankentitties). Dumbass reads the sign, knocks and then, without waiting for an answer opens the door. The best part: when he knocks, I start yelling, "No! No! Nnnnnoooo!" and yet, he keeps opening the door and then looks around it to see me. Unreal.

So far my boobs have gotten more action at work (groped by boss, ogled by co-worker) than they do at home.

The Bloom Is Off The Rose

I got absolutely nothing done at work on Monday. I didn't answer a single letter, I didn't even log my mail. Actually, that's not totally true. I did manage to take a legal call and I answered and sorted the sixty-four e-mails that had accumulated while I was in Miami visiting with my uncle before his surgery. Oh, I also got a cheap thrill. But work-wise, nada. And the day, it flew by. It was fun and it was over. All of a sudden it was 4:30pm and I had done nothing but relocate two piles of crap work. Yesterday, I got some work done. Clients' crap correspondence was organized, I devised a plan of attack to get stuff done and I even finished three or four of those things. And in the end, the day, it didn't fly by, but I wasn't staring at the clock counting the seconds either. Which brings us to today, apparently the slowest day ever. I've pumped the boobs (exciting), eaten breakfast (ham, egg and cheese on a multi-grain bagel, yum), caught up on my celebrity gossip (Justin Long, you slut!), read my e-mail (hi boo!), written to two clients (you crazy fuks), chatted with Mr. Cool (bad knees suck), and yet it is only 8:31 a.m. How is this possible. It should be like 10:00 a.m.

And, is it just me or is my use of the word "got" totally ghetto? I write like I speak and well, maybe I need to take a remedial English class or something. Yowsers. Ghettoness aside, I can't believe how slow this day is progressing. An inchworm moves faster than time in my office. Prof. Larson's business law class moves faster than time in my office. Invasive anal examinations performed by knowledge seeking space aliens move faster than time in my office. Gah.

Also slow, my ability to blog about Miami. I brought my camera with me and took some great shots of Lady Bean on her first boat ride and playing at the Stiltsville house. I had planned to blog about the highlights of my trip (afterall my uncle's five hour surgery, not a highlight, though surving the surgery was) but I am slow, however, and have not managed to upload any of the good ones. Instead I have this one ...



... a comparison of what I brought to Stiltsville for me (on the right) and what I brought to Stiltsville for her. I had my phone, camera, knitting, sunscreen and a hat, whereas, she, she had two bags of stuff.

I also have these two pictures...




... which should be accompanied by my mental soundtrack of "Are we there yet? Are we there yet? How much longer?" I have several pictures of Stiltsville, but none of the trip out there. I was trying to get some shots that would capture my mounting excitement as the houses got closer and closer. I didn't really do that.

The last picture I managed to upload is from the front patio/deck of the house looking at the city of Miami ...



It is one of the least interesting pictures I took. I really need to get my butt in gear and get those pictures off of the camera. And, if I had brought the camera to work today, maybe I could do that to pass time because even with all of my blathering .... it is still only 9:02 a.m.

Highlights, vol. 1

I walk into my office to find a sign from the gang (nice) and a present from Crazy,which, for the record, brings us up to six animals. I am feeling a bit like Noah.


I know y'all are some jealous biatches but you better step off my pink striped zebra!

I decided to take a picture to represent what going back to work meant to me ... knitting and napping time. But my inbox was so full, it tipped over when I put my yarn on top.

I was hugged by Crazy and then groped ... after hugging me (WTF?), she stepped back, put her hands on the girls and said, "Oh! I should be careful of those, I don't want to get wet."

I start to sort through the "personal mail" pile on my desk and find a court notice ... informing me of a hearing on MAY 9, 2008.

It's only 9:41 a.m. ... this is going to be a GREAT day!

More Cowbell

Lady Bean received a present in the mail today. A present from Crazy. Well, actually, a present from Crazy's cats. Go figure.



Why yes, those are three more garbage bag animals. Apparently, we are building a menagerie. A menagerie of sharp, pointy (did I mention sharp?) bag animals that are TOTALLY appropriate for an infant.



And, for the record, I am screwed when it comes time to identify the brown guy cause I have no inkling of exactly what he is. A mini-Snuffleupagus?

My Own Fault

For the most part my maternity leave has been Crazy free. There was the call informing me that I might get laid off, then there were the five gazillion subsequent calls telling me that no, not getting laid off. And, for the record, that totally bummed me out. I wanted to get laid off. But I digress. I had been pretty much Crazy free and I guess all the normalcy pushed me into complacency because I voluntarily stopped by my office last week and then, again voluntarily, brought Lady Bean up to Crazy's office to say hi. One thing led to another and the next thing I know, the woman touched my belly. I KNOW! Who the fuk rubs a non-pregnant person's belly? She says, "You're looking good" and then rub-a-dub-dubs. I was NOT prepared. Not that you can be. I mean, really, who is prepared for that kind of thing? Especially at her office. A pole dancer, maybe. But not a lawyer.

Ha

So Crazy called me at home tonight and for about one millionth of one tenth of one second I missed work. Then she started to speak and the missing work thing evaporated. In any event, the rumor is that the state may not be renewing my firm's contract and so we may all be laid off at the end of the month. Somehow getting laid off while on maternity leave seems like the perfect ending to my current job. There is something poetic and perfect about the whole thing, so poetic and perfect that it will never happen which is I'm not the least bit worried about it. It just ain't happenin. What, am I tempting fate by putting that out there in writing? BRING IT Fates! Lay me off! Force me to stay home with my new kid while collecting unemployment, I dare you!

The End is In Sight

In exactly 21 minutes I will be free from work. Free from Crazy. I can't wait.

!&^$#@!

Gawdammit! I missed Ten on Tuesday, AGAIN! I was so psyched to do this and now, now, I've repeatedly spit the bit. So in honor of this weeks miss ('10 Things to Do Before You Get Married'), I am going for Ten On [cough, cough] Thursday ... BUT before I do, I have a short little Crazy tale to share.

As I walked into the office this morning, Crazy was lurking behind a door or something because I never saw her. When I went to check my mailbox she popped up behind me and said, "Hi!" Startled, I turned around and greeted her with a, "Good morning." She then just starts rambling on and on about some woman at her gym who is pregnant. She is going on and on and I am starting to tune out when she says, "And I told her your breasts really filled out. They look full today." Um, WHAT THE FUCK? And now, on with my list ...

'10 Things to Do at Work Before Going on Maternity Leave'

10. Create a countdown clock listing the days, hours and minutes you have left. Ensure that the countdown is written in several places so that you can always catch a soothing glimpse when the crazy factor amps up (like say your boobs are critiqued by your psycho boss). FYI, my clock reads the rest of today plus two and a half more days, or about 22 hours, or 1,320 minutes, or 79,200 seconds, give or take a few.

9. Practice looking slightly sad at the thought of missing three months of work. Just because you can't win an Oscar for your performance, doesn't mean you shouldn't act as if you can. Bonus points if you can tear up, without actually spilling a tear, and get the quivering lip going all the while laughing manically on the inside.

8. Go through your desk and pull out all of the old resumes and job applications you've filled out for other, less crazy places. Pack them up and bring them home to shred. Why tempt the crazies by throwing them out at work?

7. Copy and export your bookmarks of blogs and online shopping and porn, e-mail them to yourself and then delete them from your computer's hard drive. No need for some nosey fuck to find out that you like to read about one armed, albino, zombie prostitutes and celebrity gossip while you search for deals on shoes.

6. Check office food items for expiration dates. Triscuits gonna expire before you return? Be kind, give them to a co-worker. M&M's gonna go bad? Open that mouth and start eating!

5. Copy all of your work files and bring them home with you. It's good to have copies of all of the crap you've done over the years in case you are asked not to return.

4. Get on your hands and knees and look under your desk. You might find ... a safety pin, a peanut M&M, a phone message from 2005, a knitting marker, and some dental floss.

3. Copy, print, e-mail and re-print the memo concerning your maternity absence and when you are leaving and returning. This is your insurance should someone claim that you need to be back at work now and demand an early return.

2. Scour the cabinet of office supplies for anything that you might need over the next three months ... like post it notes, an easy, non-toxic way to have your newborn remind you of things like "feed me"; and, paperclips, McGyver uses them for everything, you probably can too; and, rubber gloves, good for sketchy inmate mail AND diaper blow outs.

1. Plan your celebratory dance for when you make it to your last day without killing anyone, while at the same time perfecting your alibi in case you don't make it.

Now With Less Crazy

A new day, less insanity? I'm hoping so. The whole Crazy thing yesterday really did creep me out. For months now I've been hearing how she wants to deliver my baby and what she'll do if I have contractions at work (including graphic details on the things she would do to me) and how she keeps seeing things that the baby MUST HAVE and how she must visit my baby because she is REALLY good with kids so I need to bring her to work and how I should rethink my stance on 'no visitors' in the hospital and how her only regret is not having children of her own; not to mention all the nasty and mean things that I hear from other people that she has said about me behind my back. Thus far it has been comical, or at least weirdly amusing, but that card totally crossed the line into Fatal Attraction territory and I don't want my bunny boiling in that bitch's pot. Ya know? Anywho, I could go on and on about the sick comments that Crazy kept dropping yesterday and the apparent intent to give me/us yet more items, but instead I am going to focus on the good, the happy, the not creepy. So let us begin.

Did you know that there is no number that starts with the letter W? I know this because I was going to make up for bailing on Ten on Tuesday by giving you, um, Weven on Wednesday? Yah, that doesn't work. I could have been ghetto and done "Won on Wednesday" acting like won was one, but I restrained myself (just barely) because there is something already out there for Wednesday ... WIP Wednesday. I'm not sure if it is an organized thing, or if people just do it on their own, but either way I am calling dibs on it today. So, here we go, my works in progress.

First we have Clapotis in all of her pink and purpley sparkly goodness.



She is probably not as close to done as I think she is, but I am on the decreases and it is moving right along. I hope to have her done by Sunday. Maybe. We'll see.

Then we have the Sweet Pea socks. I wasn't digging on the Un-Ridged Feather so I ripped back to the toe(s). Now I need to figure out where to go from here.



When you get up to an average sock number of stitches, the yarn seems to stripe with the purple and yellow going together which is okay, I guess. It reminds me of the LSU Tigers. I have no affiliation with LSU and so this isn't really a good thing. On the other hand, I don't hate the Tigers, so I guess it isn't a bad thing either.

Last, we have the old Kangaroo Duo chestnut. I haven't worked on this in ... well quite some time. I think at some point I wanted to have it done for this winter.



At some point I must have been high. I wonder if I can have it done by next winter. I need to use my brain to do some sleeve math and quite frankly that is about as appealing as ... spending time with Crazy. Well, maybe not that unappealing. But you catch my drift.

And how about re-visiting a finished handkint? Like my cozy pedicure socks. My feet are swollen little sausages and I can't reach my toes for shit. Add the Crazy factor in, and all I can say is that it was extremely fortuitous that I had a pedicure scheduled for last night. Apparently I was still a little stressed as my polish is um, somewhat dark. Not what one would call "Spring-ish" but that is okay because the experience was great.





Even Dogarella was into the pedicure wanting to check out my toes and compare the color with her fur-tone. We decided it was too dark for her complexion and that she needs something a little brighter.

Also warm and fuzzy, if not cozy ... The cuddly lovebugs that I come home to and that are always happy to see me and don't want talk shit about me when I am not around or, you know, boil my bunny.





I was going to say "Also not crazy ..." but let's be honest here, these guys have their own brand of crazy, like someone who removes her bedding from her crate and takes it up two flights of stairs to place it in the middle of our bed. Or someone else who has an unholy attraction to heat vents and likes to rub his furry belly all over them and then collapse on top of them in a big ole pile a mush. I think it's that they are cute so their crazy is totally acceptable.

Objectively Creepy

I was going to regale you with tales of Clapotis and of how I am this close to be done, which isn't really all that close, but it sure does feel like it. Especially since I am decreasing which means each row gets a little bit shorter and quicker. And, I was going to tell you about how I am not liking the socks I started and poll people for patterns that work for variegated yarn, patterns that wouldn't be obscured by the colors in the yarn. I was going to throw in some Ten on Tuesday action and tell you about where I'd take a tourist in my town. I was even going to fess up to being a cheater and having to look at local tourist info for some ideas because crikey, my town is small and not chock-a-block full of adventure. But then. But then, I came to work and found another present on my desk.



And I thought ... Well. I'll be damned. I guess saying, "Stop! You are going overboard. It's too much. No more! Mo mas!" wasn't really clear. I guess I was not specific enough with the whole, "Seriously, I really appreciate your generosity, but you have to stop." I was going to make a big fat joke and laugh and haha. I took the picture above for the blog and figured maybe I should hold a contest and if you guessed the gift I'd give you something fun. Like a stick in the eye. Or yarn. Or something else if you were a non-knitter. Hardy har har. Fun fun fun. A contest! The whole contest idea being my own token way to balance my karma for being so bitchy about the constant stream of presents that, under normal circumstances would be a sweet, kind, generous thing but under the circumstances of coming from Crazy was just plain weird. But then. But then I opened the card and it said this.

Honestly, that freaks me out just a bit. As Boo said, it is objectively creepy. It isn't just odd or uncomfortable or creepy because it is from Crazy, who is crazy. Or because it is from the managing attorney, someone not my friend, who I am not close to, my boss. It is just creepy. Period. My life is a Law & Order episode waiting to happen.

E is for ...

Effin' Christ! Enough already!



Dear Ms. Crazy,

Thank you for another baby gift. I appreciate it. There is, however, no amount of giftage that will convince me to spend a day, let alone multiple weeks, caring for your six, feral, clawing, biting, pissing-on-everything, like-to-run-away cats. Especially while I am out on maternity leave trying to figure out how to keep Lady Bean alive. Ain't gonna happen. Also, I'm not going to the career fair next year. So, again, thank you, but please, stop with the gifts.

Kisses!

More

Talking about my impending maternity leave . . .

Crazy: Why don't you baby sit our (six) kittens for two weeks?
Me: Um, no.
Crazy: But we could go away.
Me: No. NO. WAY.
Crazy: But really, you aren't going to be doing anything anyway.
Me: I said, NO! NO! NO!

Deja Vu All Over Again

Remember how I was an ungrateful biatch, constantly complaining that Crazy would not stop me gifts? Well, it is starting up again!


Picture courtesy of my camera phone ... better than nuthin' right?

I'm grateful. I really am. It is a nice gesture, or it was the first dozen times. But this shit is FREAKING ME OUT. You can't loathe someone for five years, and then shower her with presents and kindness while you mock her and bitch about her behind her back. Well, you can, especially if you are certifiable. BUT IT MAKES NO SENSE. I know it is not sincere. The other shoe will drop. I know that while one hand is giving me a gift, the other is giving me the finger. Which makes it all the creepier when I say thank you and get the sing-songy joking, "You never know, there might be more!" I know that sooner or later, I am getting knifed in the back, or as Boo only semi-kiddingly said, if you're found dead with the baby cut out of you, I'm telling the cops to skip your clients and look at your boss.