The Office Sniffler Made Me Lose My Lunch

Former Sales Guy sits one row of cubes away from me. Normally, he's a quiet guy. As of late, he must have developed the worst nervous habit or a monster case of allergies because all I hear is...sniff........sniff sniff.....SNIFFFFFFFFF.

It. Drives. Me. Freaking. Crazy.

Mostly because he's obsessed with cleanliness yet can't seem to find a Kleenex. But also because it's just damn annoying.

As I ate my PB&J sammich at my desk earlier today, I literally lost my appetite as I listened to this. It's just disgusting. Where is the class? Honestly.

I know I am disrupted easily when it comes to sounds like this. It's not the first time and it certainly won't be the last. He's leaving the company on Friday. I keep telling myself I can stomach a few more days of the god-awful sniffling.

In the meantime, I envision myself whipping a box of Kleenex over the cube wall at his head. It's gratifying, but it's hard not to reach for the box on my desk when I hear it.

Night of the 20-Somethings

These days it seems as though someone around every corner is throwing it in my face- intentionally or not- that I am no longer the hip 20-something I once was.

Of course, now I am a hip 30-something, and there once was a TV show about this age group (which used to be one of my faves in high school), and it seems like 20-something was just yesterday.

:: Wistful sigh ::

Last night I attended a friend of a friend's brother's wedding. It was beautiful. Filled with beautiful speeches I could only hope someone could ever give one-half of for me. Lots of young love. Lots of 20-something fun. You know the kind. The kind that my friend and I tried to have and we just got That Look from the young hipsters. You know That Look. The one that says, half-pitingly, "Oh, look at the old ones try to be hip. I bet they once stood a chance. You know, back in the day." I know That Look because a decade ago I was shooting it right and left.

After said reception, which was fun, Rafferty and I drove off to Trinity Pub to meet up with another friend. Lo and behold, who should be there but the non-dressed-up carbon copies of the group we just left. Maybe even younger. Unfreakingbelievable.

You know you're in trouble when (a) some Mom is boozing with a gaggle of kids (probably because she is trying to recreate her 20-somethings); (b) rowdy 20-somethings, naturally drunk, are taking hold of the bar. Drunken Lord of the Flies comparison possible; and, (c) you ask someone what they're celebrating- because with so many of them, it looks as though they must be celebrating something- and you get this blank look, you see a flicker of a lightbulb in those transparent eyes, and you get, "Oh, nothing. Just Saturday night."

Just Saturday night. I remember when that was the excuse for Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday -- and all day Sunday. "Just [insert day here]." Essentially, "Just because I can." I wanted so badly to tell the poor girl, "Enjoy it because in a few years you're going to be getting That Look and you'll enjoy a quiet night in as opposed to this loud night out. And that's Ok. But you're going to look back and wonder when it happened and why it was so quick and why didn't anyone warn you."

But me not being that nice of a person decided that further communication with someone barely old enough to be in there was fruitless. Plus, no one told me, so why should be bother?

Last night made me realize just how fast those 20-something years go. And though I'd love to have just one night (preferrably a weekend one) back, I don't mind my life now. It's actually more stable than those 20-something years. I guess I've grown up. I still feel like I'm 20-something and still look like I'm 20-something. I just have the responsibilities of someone who is not just barely drinking age. And that's Ok.

Instead last night gave me a great excuse to get dressed up (I adored my springy, "Riviera" dress), have a good free meal, enjoy a nice open bar (enough said), and partake in a self-created after-party where more than a few whispers made their way about us as we walked in. We were the most dressed up that bar ever saw, and I do so love attention. Even if it is from a 20-something.

Domestic Activities are Bad for My Health

Admiring my gorgeous kitchen this afternoon, I decided that the floor could use a light sweeping. Since the new pad is MoC-sized and therefore has a kitchen floor that will require all of 2 minutes to sweep, I didn't think twice of picking up the broom and dustpan and setting to work. This sort of cleaning I can fit into any day.

As I was patting myself on the back for (a) even thinking of cleaning, (b) actually setting about doing, and (c) encompassing the very essence of domesticity, I felt a pain. A sharp, ouch-something-but-me pain. This, as I was cleaning off the baby dust bunny that has developed at the end of the broom.

I slowlt put down the bristly rod, stepped back, and examined the pad of my finger. Pain. Redness. A minute slice of skin that feels as though someone gouged out my fingerprint.

The broom bit me.

I don't doubt that I of all people can achiev an injury while doing minor domestic activities. However, now I know what I have long thought is true. Domestic activities are indeed bad for my health.

My Quarantine

Since returning from Asia, I have had this desire to see Diva Niece. At 10-months and counting, she is a ball of cuteness and I know she will be so different from when I saw her before my departure. I also can;t let her think I have somehow deserted her.

My brother has failed to return my messages- verbal and written- and I puzzled over this for days. Granted, he's not the best communicator, but I found it odd that he wouldn't want to arrange a visit between Diva Niece and Auntie MoC.

Turns out that Diva Niece is currently vacationing at Lake Ozark with SILs relations. Diva Niece at a lakehouse...Already. So fitting for the little princess. However... Mom cleared up any confusion about when I might see her by telling me I have been quarantined.

Huh?

Brother, in his infinite desire to play Overprotective Dad, has decided that I must be carrying avian flu. By spending any amount of time in Asia and breathing in Asian air and being in contact with your average Asian businessperson, I must be infected with the virus. And until I have proven I have not developed bird flu nor has anyone who has been in contact with me, I cannot see Diva Niece. I am a leper to my own niece.

After laughing hysterically at my brother's hyper-active imagination, Mom deadpanned that no, he was actually quite serious but would "probably get over it in a few weeks."

A few weeks! This is insane!

I intend to send Diva Niece a note to be opened when she turns 16 and decides to go through the general "I hate my parents" bit all kids go through during those teen angst periods. Said note will confirm the fact that, yes, her father is a nut job. As evidenced by his futile attempts to quarantine me as well as what is bound to be a long list of other senseless stupidities between now and then. And this should have no bearing on me or the rest of our side of the family.

Sighing is Bad for my Health

(Or at least my livelihood)

Yesterday was my review. Boss Lady- who is actually someone who I get along with- sat me down and proceeded to read to me. I liked this story because I thought she fairly assessed me, scoring me high in all categories but one.

That one being what I like to term "Does not play well with others." Which is so wrong because I do so play with others!

In either case, after documenting that I am an outgoing individual that gets along well with everyone, things took a turn when the next topic states that I get frustrated easily and exhibit it noticeably. In addition, I should learn to work better with other departments when I'm frustrated.

Huh??

I must've looked puzzled because Boss Lady said, "You know, frustrated. Outwardly. Like, those sighs."

Ummm...so sighing is no longer Ok?

I have been very self-observant the past 24 hours, catching myself sighing or almost sighing. It doesn't happen a lot, but to stifle it is hell.

A bad score in one category...over sighing and standing up for myself. I don't get it. It also isn't bothering me too much because it didn't affect the over all review in the least. I'm just wondering how I can show improvement in that category. Is it possible to go an entire year without sighing?

Little Known Fact About Me

Contrary what most people think, I love to cook.

How the misconception came about is beyond me, but it's a bit of a joke among my family and friends.

Now that I have more than ample time and opportunity to put my culinary skills to the test, I realize just how lonely it is to cook for one. There's something very fulfilling about throwing together a meal for two or more. But cooking for me alone... well, it's just not as worthwhile. As much as I wanted to, all I could muster up tonight was a salad. A darn good one at that. But nonetheless, a salad. Nothing fancy, nothing hard, nothing fulfilling.

Meal time can be a lonesome thing sometimes. I apparently haven't snapped out of my travel mode, where I had lovely dining partners each night. I also apparently had such fantasticly fatteningly yummy food that my body is rejecting the thought of anything that does not fall into the vegetable or fruit category.

My Rack Thanks You

After turning another year older, I have been especially concerned about the state of some of my best features. Still no crows feet. Skin is still glowing and smooth. Ankles are still slim. My largest concern has been directed mostly to the biggest best asset -- my perky rack.

The positive feedback continues to roll in; however, I never wholly trust where these comments come from. Let's face it: the compliment-giver usually just wants to get laid or is laying the initial groundwork of the getting laid process.

With that said, I think I received the very best compliment -- and this one more truthful than any other in my recent past. In passing, Fun Gay Co-Worker (who had no idea I was pondering gravity's effects (or lack thereof)) smiled down at me, stared admirably at my chest, and declared, "You have fantastic tits!"

:: blush ::

The man made my day. An honest passing comment from a person who has zero interest in getting into my pants. The girls and I so adore him.

The Joys of International Travel

Have the day off and still couldn't sleep in. Am wide awake and can't understand why. I hardly call this jet lag. Just sleeping too much in the past 24 hours. How can my body revolt over that?!? I was actually excited that for the first time in a long time I could actually nap on a plane. And now look what it's done to me. Drats. Foiled again.

Am excited about the new windows and screens being installed. Just a few more hours and I'll be able to say my first home improvement project is complete. The list of smaller and more detailed projects continues to grow.

Must worry now about bill payments. So easy to forget the mortgage and the assessments and the other various and sundry bills that pile up while gone. Can I procrastrinate just a bit more, please?

Luckily, the weather is cooperating. Another fantastic spring day in Chicago. Exactly what I need right now. I don't think I could handle the cold after returning from such exotic sun and fun.

Home Again

After nearly 24 hours of trans-Pacific travel (and sitting in airports), I'm back home from what was a great business trip and a fantastic vacation. I do so adore Hong Kong! The markets, the architecture, the cuisine, the outstanding beauty, the friendly people. I can rave for hours and hours about it. For the first time in a long time, I wasn't ready to come home. I could have easily stayed for a few more days, even with the new home to come back to, loads more unpacking to tackle, home improvement projects to start, and piles of work at the office. One or two more days would've been fantastic.

The typhoon amounted to very little. So much for my first-time typhoon experience. It ended up veering away from the island and hitting mainland China instead. Slight devastation occurred. As awful as that is for the people in the small town it hit, it worked out very well for my vacation plans. I got some fantastic color, relaxed enormously, drank even more enormously, and just enjoyed myself immensely.

Am already planning my next vacation there -- if all goes well, some time next April/May.

In the meantime, it looks as though I'll be home for awhile before the next round of international travel, which is welcome if only because I do have some home things I need to take care of. First, window and screen replacements tomorrow followed by getting the linen closet "build" situation sorted out (estimated completion date: mid-June at the very latest. I'm also hoping to get some summer vacation plans laid out. Stephen would like to come visit in June/July, and I'd like to make it up to Michigan in August. Inexpensive and relaxing are the two key points for my summer vacation ideas. I think I can easily accommodate that.

Exhaustion is setting in. I'm looking forward to doing a whole lot of nothing right now.

Welcome, Typhoon Chanchu

I am in the midst of my first typhoon. Typhoon Chanchu began to arrive this morning with some strong winds, and now some rain has been added to the mix. All in all, it doesn't look that bad and it certainly doesn't feel that bad. But everyone is already being warned of closings and the locals are beginning to fret. Honestly, Chicago is windier most winter days, and the rain back home coupled with the wind out-does this.

The typhoon is currently at a level 3 (there is no level 2, so we skipped right to 3 this morning). From the way it was explained to me from a local, this means that the winds are strong, the rains are strong, and most people begin to freak out. Level 8, which I have heard threatened, means people become shut-ins. Though level 8 could be really cool, it would suck business-wise so we're hoping for just a level 3.

This is certainly a little surprise- and some added excitement that will help make this the most memorable part of the trip. However, I do hope it passes quickly. I need the nice warm, sunny weather for the weekend, when the vacation kicks in.

East Meets West Where I Go

Am off to Hong Kong today. Good thing I like it because (a) I will be there for an extended period of time for business; and, (b) business is going to be more than a challenge a day with the mixed cultures that can wear on the best of nerves.

Though I think work will go smoothly, I am most excited about the pure relaxation involved at the end, when I am willingly staying for vacation. There's much I haven't done in past travels that I'd like to do, and even some places I'd like to return to. Plus, I'll be with some fun people and am looking forward to exposing them to some of my favorite things on the island.

The only bittersweet thing about this trip is it's the very first without Pooh. It feels weird. Nerves are a bit shot. It makes me sad. Life moves on, but it's just not the same without him.

Boy, He Can Move

Six minutes of pure fun.

Like a Virgin

I always thought it was a little strange that (a) there is a Christian Sex Education Project and that (b) there sole goal in life is making teens pledge they won't have sex until they're married. And come to find out that- surprise!- many of these kids are breaking their pledges without a second thought.

Now, I wholeheartedly agree that a 12-year-old has no business engaging in any sex act. Just like I also believe that high school kids are too young to take such a great responsibility -- for themselves and their partner. But I can't believe that any teenager is willing to sign a pledge that they'll be abstinent until marriage and then believe that because they signed their name that they're beholden to it.

A few inspirational and/or scary words from some right-wing conservative pro-abstinence groups and I can see where maybe some kids would think, "Well, now I'm scared." But all it takes are some teenage hormones to make the thought of that pledge fly out the window. Because when you're a teenager, having sex is cool. It might mean stories for the guys or keeping your boyfriend (or so you think). They're not saying yes for the right reasons, but they're not saying no for the right ones either. And signing your namke to a pledge is worthless if you're not doing it for yourself and the right reasons.

Isn't it up to parents to hand down good values for their children? Isn't it up to parents to discuss their expectations with their children; advise them of not only the basics behind the birds and the bees, but also that it is a matter of self-respect to conduct such acts with one you truly love.

But obviously they're not all doing that. Who's tuning in to these kids? Who's ensuring they grow up to be caring, thoughtful, respectful and self-respecting adults? Apparently, just the pledge collectors who are so adamant that the stats aren't true. Maybe they care so much about our future adults that they can't bellieve they're good work is shot to hell by pure human desire.

Fall of the Blonde Bombshells

This is hardly cutting-edge news, but it made me smile to know those who were once so adored are now nothing more than a name mentioned in passing and on their way to washed-up has-been status. Even more, it amuses me that there are statistics to support the fact that Britney, Paris, and Jess are no longer the lovables they once were.

Waiting for the Cable Guy

It seems like I'm always waiting for someone. Back when W worked with me, it was a running joke that I spent more time waiting for him (answers to questions, going on a break, leaving for lunch) than I did actually doing my job. This week my waiting is more service-oriented: waiting for furniture to be delivered; waiting for movers.

In all of these scenarios, the actual amount of time spent waiting was either acceptable in length or expected and used more for nitpicking purposes than anything else. However, today I am waiting on the Big Deal. The cable guy is coming to hook me up. This is important. I have somehow managed to survive a week with three channels (only one of which is halfway decent). If I find nothing I like on those three channels, I'm SOL because it's that or fuzz. And after seeing White Noise, I prefer quickly skipping over those spooky channels.

But I digress. The Cable Guy is coming, scheduled for this afternoon between 12 and 4. I admittedly set it up late, so I can't complain about my lack of TV entertainment the past week. If nothing else, this week has given me plenty of time to do more constructive things -- like test out my wine glasses and ensure they survived the move. They all work fine.

Comcast called me this morning. In fact, their automated caller had the nerve to wake me up. At 8am. After a late (really late) night out, I wasn't pleased and even tried pushing some buttons to get to a real person. To ask them if they were aware of the time, of course. But see, that's why they have a computer calling me. All of their employees are asleep at 8am. Like I should've been. Anyway, Lady Computer Voice confirmed today's appointment and I thought, "Oh good, just 4 more hours and the cable will be working and I can have the rest of my day for me." Yeah, nice thought.

I am almost 2 hours into my wait. It's not like waiting for furniture or waiting for movers or even waiting for W. It's a million times worse. Because I just know that they'll arrive at 3:55. They'll still be considered on time. And my entire day will be ruined. It's a gorgeous day in Chicago. I should be out enjoying it. And instead I am stuck indoors, wistfully looking out the window and trying to enjoy an occasional breeze.

I'd turn on the TV to occupy my time, but there's only three channels and fuzz. I'm out of wine, so I couldn't even start drinking early if I wanted to. I'm not patient enough to wait. This sucks.

Office Annoyances

My sales guy is a bit strange. He's jolly as can be and very sweet in this rough-around-the-edges (and yes, strange) sort of way. But he has some annoying quirks that disturb me to no end. As he sits on the other side of my cube, some of these annoyances irk me in ways I can barely stand.

For instance, this morning Sales Guy decided to clip his nails at his desk. While I appreciate the fact that he wants to be well-groomed, this seems like a task that is better kept for the confines of his home. There is nothing more annoying than hearing the clip-clip-clip sound for what seems like forever.

And I truly must wonder: Where exactly did he put the nail clippings when he was done? Because I've seen the state of his desk. I doubt they immediately went into the trash. Ick. Just ick.

As if that wasn't a wonderfully pleasing way to start my morning in the office, he seems to have contracted a bit of a summer cold. Or perhaps he has a touch of allergies. Or maybe he was just a little snot-filled this afternoon. But there is nothing worse than hearing the sniff...sniff-sniff...SNIFF -- and then the choking and gutteral hocking up of whatever snot he inadvertently swallowed too fast. Yeecchhh! I can't even describe how my stomach turned.

Thinking I was being more than helpful -- for him and his nose and me and my sanity -- I threw him some Kleenex from over the cube wall. And he said, "What's this for?"

"You sounded like you could use some," I explained.

"Thanks, but I'm good."

Not 5 minutes later it sounded again. More disgusting than the first time. And as I cringed, I had to wonder, am I being too sound sensitive? I know I have a little quirk when it comes to that. But honestly, I know I'm not the only one in my area this bothers. A lot.

So I reminded him about the Kleenex and even offered him more.

Once again, I got the "no thanks" comment.

Yet after he went into a choking fit from too much booger in his thrat, he used the tissue, and wouldn't ya know, I get this comment thrown at me: "Thanks. That Kleenex really did the trick!"

He was excited. As though Kleenex was a novel idea.

It's nice to know the little things make Mr. Strange so happy. And the remainder of my afternoon was quiet and peaceful. And maybe I even did a small good deed to boot.

Metra Really is the Way to Really Fly

The only way to get to work in a fast, efficient, non-crazed manner now that I've moved is to take the Metra. I've long looked forward to this because it is faster than the El and has a helluva lot better class of people. Imagine sitting back and reading in uncramped quarters with other business folks and smelling coffee and mild perfumes and colognes and newspaper...as opposed to urine and body odor from some of the regulars aboard the Green Line.

Today I even managed to catch the express train into the city, which made me even happier. Not because I actually desired getting to the office earlier than I had to be but because it was so nice to speed along for a straight shot into the city and also not to have to worry about missing my connection and waiting for another unreliably serviced El train. I can definitely get used to this mode of transport.

Sure, there's something seedy and at the same time very Chicago-esque about the El. But I doubt I'll really miss it all that much. Not when I have the lovely Metra mere blocks from my door.

New Home, Same Old Life

It's true: The more things change, the more they stay the same. After I nearly passed out at my closing (due to too many people in a small room that desperately needed air circulation and a big water pitcher on the table...oh yeah, and dropping more money in 2 hours than I have ever spent so quickly in any given moment in my life), things went really smoothly. From my beautiful new furniture arriving to the fast and professional movers, everything was fantastic.

And now I am in my new abode. Lovely. Small, but lovely. And I am left only with the prospect of unpacking. The kitchen is completely done -- or as done as it will be until I can get a step stool allowing me to reach those cabinets not meant for the height-challenged. The very thought that it's done is humorous because it's so brilliantly state-of-the-art that it is my show piece. Hopefully I'll actually have the time to use it.

All the other rooms are coming together, too. It's amazing that the packing took days and the unpacking is nearly done. There will undoubtedly be boxes left laying around. I've lived out of boxes for most of the past 10 years, so what's a few more weeks?

I have my first two improvement projects lined up: The first being getting my new windows and screens installed (knew that was coming); the second being actually making the spot for my linen closet actually a linen closet. Start with the small but important parts, I say.

I do love my place, though. It's perfect for me; perfect for right now. Why I thought I would feel different is beyond me. Same old life indeed. And that's not a bad thing. I'm more than ready to begin this new phase in my life -- sigh with satisfaction and even a bit of relief that the home search and buying process is over; happy that the packing and moving is over. And now I can just enjoy. A fabulous thing.