So the new job. I had no idea what to expect when I started my new job as a Recruiting Support Specialist in HR at a company of 650ish people but I can easily say that a first week with 7 hours of overtime was not it. With over 60 positions to fill it seems like there is more work to be done than when I worked for a nonprofit. BUT I’m really not complaining. I like it. And for the first time in EVER I get paid overtime…so work away, that’s what I say!
So I spend my days mostly scheduling interviews, speaking with potential clients, and overall trying to wrangle the schedule and largeish egos of corporate executives all over the country. It is an interesting phenomenon that was tempered last week with the luxury of scheduling some lovely ladies interviewing for a secretary. Overall the people are nice and email is a blessing.
This is my first time ever working for corporate America. I have TWO computer screens complete with windows 2010! I had to fight for a computer a PFH. I have all the supplies I can sneeze at and just spent well over a thousand dollars to fly one candidate in for a an interview…we may not even hire him. So while I stand in awe of the money that flows out, I vacillate between the giddy excitement of my shiny toys and complete and utter disgust at the pure indulgent waste.
However, I refuse to be jaded (for at least the first month). I really do like this job. Flexible hours, no vacation or sick day restrictions, casual dress, and I hear we are having beer Thursday this week. SO in the spirit I’m going to do a top ten list:
The Top Eight (because I’m too tired for ten) Most Fascinating Things About Megan’s New Job
1. Lunch time is a fallacy. If it requires utensils then you had better save it for dinner.
2. There is no soda machine but there are “snacks” in the break room…for free. Todo, I don’t think we are in nonprofit anymore.
3. Our building says we are ATI testing but not one of our 6 business units carries that as a name.
4. The other day at a town hall meeting our boss gave away a $50 gift card to the person who asked the most antagonistic question about salaries and bonuses. He literally got paid for being an ass.
5. We HAVE BEER FRIDAYS (or Thursdays) which entails free beer in the break room.
6. Some lady drives a mini with British tags. She doesn’t have a British accent. Maybe she wants to look cool?
7. Lots of the men wear cardigans. Either the sign of a cold building or a group of porn stars…its up in the air for me still.
8. Sometimes, whole rows of cubicle will simultaneously stand up on the hour and do stretches together. I’m just waiting for them to come in wearing the same shoes and offer me a drink of their Kool-Aid.
Regardless I'm excited for the things to come. Stay tuned.
Monday, May 23, 2011
Sunday, May 1, 2011
So the other day I was babysitting some kids. It’s kind of what I seem to be doing in my spare time now days. And this little girl, name Fyn (Who had a little brother named Becket but every time she said her brother’s name it sounded like “Bucket” and I giggled) was telling me what she was learning about at school (preschool, apparently some kind of catholic preschool).
So Fyn says to me (while she, myself and “Bucket” are sitting at the lunch table), “Do you know that God is invisible?” I confirmed that I was aware of the theological truth of the invisibility of God’s person (or whatever one would call it). Fyn took a bite of her carrots and then turned and looked at me and said (very seriously), “Well God is invisible BUT (and she gets this HUGE grin on her face) Jesus isn’t invisible.” I could do nothing more than mimic her Christmas morning grin and agree.
In truth, Fyn the four year old who still can’t wipe her own behind, nailed it on the head. Sometimes it seems bleak and God (who, or is it whom, is also magic according to Fyn while Jesus is just a little magic) does seem very invisible to me. I struggle to grasp hold of something that I can see. In the darkest of night I want God to turn on a nightlight. But in his invisibility that doesn’t seem possible so it’s a good thing that Jesus is visible. So this blog goes out to Fyn (and Bucket) for helping me uncover my head and recognize the complete visibility of my nightlight in the dark. Thanks for the spiritual lesson before rest time!
So Fyn says to me (while she, myself and “Bucket” are sitting at the lunch table), “Do you know that God is invisible?” I confirmed that I was aware of the theological truth of the invisibility of God’s person (or whatever one would call it). Fyn took a bite of her carrots and then turned and looked at me and said (very seriously), “Well God is invisible BUT (and she gets this HUGE grin on her face) Jesus isn’t invisible.” I could do nothing more than mimic her Christmas morning grin and agree.
In truth, Fyn the four year old who still can’t wipe her own behind, nailed it on the head. Sometimes it seems bleak and God (who, or is it whom, is also magic according to Fyn while Jesus is just a little magic) does seem very invisible to me. I struggle to grasp hold of something that I can see. In the darkest of night I want God to turn on a nightlight. But in his invisibility that doesn’t seem possible so it’s a good thing that Jesus is visible. So this blog goes out to Fyn (and Bucket) for helping me uncover my head and recognize the complete visibility of my nightlight in the dark. Thanks for the spiritual lesson before rest time!
Sunday, April 24, 2011
The story of one girl's epic battle with oatmeal
A slightly more serious line of thought. So I’m a little late to the party but I’ve officially decided what I’m giving up for lent. YES I know its Easter. (I proclaimed that, “He has risen indeed” at least three times today.) We all know that the Lord works in mysterious ways and perhaps my brain is the most mysterious of them all. So here is the deal.
I hate my current job (with a capital H). Sad story, but true nevertheless. One of the things I hate the most, besides the awful chaos and mismanagement of every possible product we have, is making the oatmeal in the morning. Since I’m ALWAYS the first one there I have to start the oatmeal so it will be done. We make those long cooking oats, you know the ones that taste really bland until you add about half a cup of brown sugar, nuts and raisins (all served right beside it). Anyway, so I have to put in the oatmeal, add water, and put it in an industrial Crockpot (ON HIGH) so that it can cook the full hour while I prepare other things.
It took me about 2 months and Andy (my morning coworker) not getting out of bed one morning, for me to even attempt the oatmeal. It makes me nervous. People are very serious about their oatmeal. On a scale of 1 to 10 it rates right up there with World Peace and the brand of toilet paper you should use in some people’s lives (I know I don’t get it either. Why not buy the packets with the delicious, and cute, strawberries and cream swirls that you can nuke for a minute throw in a tablespoon of butter and call it a day). So the first time I did it I followed the directions exactly which yielded about ¼ of the amount I needed. Not good. So from there on out it was left to eyeballing it.
Well as ridiculous as it sounds, nearly a month later, I still base my morning success on how well the oatmeal was received. (Who knew I would at 26 base my value on my oatmeal making skills). Here are a few tips I’ve learned along the way (in case you ever find yourself in my predicament:
1. An open lid every 5 minutes does not allow for heat to maintain in the cooker so I have to just throw it in and give it a whirl for the first forty minutes.
2. If you open the lid at 5:45 and it looks a little thick all is not lost, just add some hot water and stir it in.
3. When you don’t turn the heat up all the way it takes longer to cook.
4. People always prefer the thing that requires the process. I don’t know why but time has value (even for oatmeal).
5. Go with your gut and commit! 9 times out of 10 if I just stick with what I dumped in first, then I’m good to go.
6. Some people like it soupy, some people like it thick. Neither way will please everyone so just do what you think is best and take the compliments with the criticisms.
While this list is not comprehensive of the things I’ve learned while making oatmeal, it certainly is representative of a multitude of my life areas. I’m always so nervous to do things in my life. I drag my feet allowing others to do it until the proverbial coworker doesn’t get out of bed and then I’m forced into a corner (does that even makes sense?). But as it turns out EVERYTHING is a process and not an event and that is what makes it good. I’ve got to just throw in all my cards, go with my gut, turn the heat up full blaze and let it cook with the faith that I’ve done it right (or that I can add some hot water too it in the five minutes before people start rolling in). In the end, it may not please everyone but not everyone has to eat oatmeal, and the truth is that some people like the end product quite a lot.
With my job search, enrolling back in school, facing death with friends, and being hurt by people I love (and probably hurting them in return) I feel like I’ve been doing a lot of simmering in the industrial crock pot of life. It’s been tumultuous (still is). I’m not really sure how it’s going to end up but it will either be thick or soupy and somebody is going to eat it or they won’t and tomorrow I’ll start the whole process over again and see if I can do better. God is good that way. That’s what I’m taking away from this. But because I don’t want to forget this lesson I’m going to start my lent tomorrow. I think I’ll start with doing away with the most simple way I cheat myself of the process and stop eating out (although I’ll still allow myself one Sabbath because I love my friends and don’t want to have to say no all the time).
So for the next forty days I’m going to stop eating out and hopefully spend time (when cooking) reflecting about what God’s got cooking in my pot. Maybe this will be helpful, maybe not (at the very least it should lend to my budget!). Who knows what God has in store? Regardless, I’m going to go with my gut, toss in what I think, close the lid and leave it closed. Hopefully when I reopen this lid on June 5th I’ll have something that is worth sharing!
I hate my current job (with a capital H). Sad story, but true nevertheless. One of the things I hate the most, besides the awful chaos and mismanagement of every possible product we have, is making the oatmeal in the morning. Since I’m ALWAYS the first one there I have to start the oatmeal so it will be done. We make those long cooking oats, you know the ones that taste really bland until you add about half a cup of brown sugar, nuts and raisins (all served right beside it). Anyway, so I have to put in the oatmeal, add water, and put it in an industrial Crockpot (ON HIGH) so that it can cook the full hour while I prepare other things.
It took me about 2 months and Andy (my morning coworker) not getting out of bed one morning, for me to even attempt the oatmeal. It makes me nervous. People are very serious about their oatmeal. On a scale of 1 to 10 it rates right up there with World Peace and the brand of toilet paper you should use in some people’s lives (I know I don’t get it either. Why not buy the packets with the delicious, and cute, strawberries and cream swirls that you can nuke for a minute throw in a tablespoon of butter and call it a day). So the first time I did it I followed the directions exactly which yielded about ¼ of the amount I needed. Not good. So from there on out it was left to eyeballing it.
Well as ridiculous as it sounds, nearly a month later, I still base my morning success on how well the oatmeal was received. (Who knew I would at 26 base my value on my oatmeal making skills). Here are a few tips I’ve learned along the way (in case you ever find yourself in my predicament:
1. An open lid every 5 minutes does not allow for heat to maintain in the cooker so I have to just throw it in and give it a whirl for the first forty minutes.
2. If you open the lid at 5:45 and it looks a little thick all is not lost, just add some hot water and stir it in.
3. When you don’t turn the heat up all the way it takes longer to cook.
4. People always prefer the thing that requires the process. I don’t know why but time has value (even for oatmeal).
5. Go with your gut and commit! 9 times out of 10 if I just stick with what I dumped in first, then I’m good to go.
6. Some people like it soupy, some people like it thick. Neither way will please everyone so just do what you think is best and take the compliments with the criticisms.
While this list is not comprehensive of the things I’ve learned while making oatmeal, it certainly is representative of a multitude of my life areas. I’m always so nervous to do things in my life. I drag my feet allowing others to do it until the proverbial coworker doesn’t get out of bed and then I’m forced into a corner (does that even makes sense?). But as it turns out EVERYTHING is a process and not an event and that is what makes it good. I’ve got to just throw in all my cards, go with my gut, turn the heat up full blaze and let it cook with the faith that I’ve done it right (or that I can add some hot water too it in the five minutes before people start rolling in). In the end, it may not please everyone but not everyone has to eat oatmeal, and the truth is that some people like the end product quite a lot.
With my job search, enrolling back in school, facing death with friends, and being hurt by people I love (and probably hurting them in return) I feel like I’ve been doing a lot of simmering in the industrial crock pot of life. It’s been tumultuous (still is). I’m not really sure how it’s going to end up but it will either be thick or soupy and somebody is going to eat it or they won’t and tomorrow I’ll start the whole process over again and see if I can do better. God is good that way. That’s what I’m taking away from this. But because I don’t want to forget this lesson I’m going to start my lent tomorrow. I think I’ll start with doing away with the most simple way I cheat myself of the process and stop eating out (although I’ll still allow myself one Sabbath because I love my friends and don’t want to have to say no all the time).
So for the next forty days I’m going to stop eating out and hopefully spend time (when cooking) reflecting about what God’s got cooking in my pot. Maybe this will be helpful, maybe not (at the very least it should lend to my budget!). Who knows what God has in store? Regardless, I’m going to go with my gut, toss in what I think, close the lid and leave it closed. Hopefully when I reopen this lid on June 5th I’ll have something that is worth sharing!
Thursday, April 21, 2011
The secret life of a caterer
So the other day at work my boss told me he had to go to the doctor because (and yes this is a direct quote) “I need to get a scope up my butt”. Let me give you a little back story on my boss. He is very nice. People (especially our guests) LOVE Craig. He is also very flamboyant and gay. I’m not talking Jack from Dawson’s Creek kind of gay, more like Will from Will and Grace kind of gay.
So anyway, he tells me he needs to have this colonoscopy. Wowza. If there is one thing that way jumps over the boss/employee boundary it is to know anything about my very gay boss’s anal region. A N Y T H I N G. I just told him to do what he needed to do and I hope it all turned out ok. He says to me, but you don’t understand Megan I’m bleeding down there. OK. Enough. NO MORE. Just take care of it Craig.
So, the next week he comes into work and tells me he has to have surgery because when they “put the scope up my butthole they found hemorrhoids…really big hemorrhoids”. Once again I feel like this is a huge jump over the Boss/employee line. However, I just simply tell Craig I’m glad it isn’t worse. To this he responds, oh well it gets worse. (Of course it does). I also have Vagina warts. (Ok. Lets be real. Vagina warts? Seriously. You don’t HAVE a vagina. And again way more information then I need. Vagina warts….) I was able to mostly keep it together and express my sympathies while quickly extracting myself from the fount of information that was my boss.
All this has lead me to the conclusion that people talk if you listen. Heck, people talk if you don’t listen. Here is to hoping I never again have to have a conversation with a boss that includes the words butthole or vagina warts.
So anyway, he tells me he needs to have this colonoscopy. Wowza. If there is one thing that way jumps over the boss/employee boundary it is to know anything about my very gay boss’s anal region. A N Y T H I N G. I just told him to do what he needed to do and I hope it all turned out ok. He says to me, but you don’t understand Megan I’m bleeding down there. OK. Enough. NO MORE. Just take care of it Craig.
So, the next week he comes into work and tells me he has to have surgery because when they “put the scope up my butthole they found hemorrhoids…really big hemorrhoids”. Once again I feel like this is a huge jump over the Boss/employee line. However, I just simply tell Craig I’m glad it isn’t worse. To this he responds, oh well it gets worse. (Of course it does). I also have Vagina warts. (Ok. Lets be real. Vagina warts? Seriously. You don’t HAVE a vagina. And again way more information then I need. Vagina warts….) I was able to mostly keep it together and express my sympathies while quickly extracting myself from the fount of information that was my boss.
All this has lead me to the conclusion that people talk if you listen. Heck, people talk if you don’t listen. Here is to hoping I never again have to have a conversation with a boss that includes the words butthole or vagina warts.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Contemplations on being submissive (and I don't mean in the wifely way)
So the other day (this marks the first in my serious of "so the other day" blogs) I went to Funky Town with a friend of mine. Lillie is a little more mature in years (fine wine and all that) and so we got there a little early. (Actually I think we got there at like 8 o'clock which I think is really early. But we sat in my car talking while L passed more gas then I will use in a vehicle in a lifetime and chatted. Eventually the workers of Funky Town waved us in...yes I said they waved us in, hilarious). When we finally went in the place was empty and so we sat as close as we could to the dance floor but were still back a couple tables because the ones in front of us were reserved.
Eventually there three people sat down at the first of the reserved tables (a couple whose names I never did learn and a lady named Susan). Anyway after a small passing of time they told us we were welcome to move up a table because they weren't going to need the second table they had reserved. Sweet! It is always a goal when one visits Funky Town to be as close to the action as possible. So we moved up and exchanged some pleasantries. I found out that Susan was 43 and I complimented her on not at all looking her age. She assured me it was due to her fake breasts (second set, but hey who is counting). I agreed that they must clearly be the cause and wandered back to my new, shiny and much closer table.
Most of the night passed fairly uneventful (with the exception of the nerdy boys bachelor party that stole my heart...the villains!). At some point another man had joined Susan's party and the couple seemed to have left. Toward the end of the evening the new guy in the party approached me and commented on how I must feel young at Funky Town because he felt young at age 45. I politely informed him that Funky Town is solely a "dance your pants off" kind of establishment and that age matters little when I'm sweating like a man from dancing to 60's, 70's and 80's music all night long.
Susan (young boobs) came over and looked at her friend and said (referring to me), "Isn't she adorable". Her friend agreed and then she went on to inform me that he was her sex slave and that she was a Dominatrix. Ok. From then I think it best I relay the rest in conversation form:
Me: "Well Congratulations on having your own sex slave"
Susan: "You know I'm always looking for good female slaves if you’re interested."
Me: "Well as it turns out I'm not very submissive"
Susan: "Those are the best kind!" (While giving me her phone number and name)
Me: "Thanks for the offer and if I change my mind you will be the first to know"
And then we left. I guess I can cross "Get asked by a woman to be her sex slave" off my bucket list. Big accomplishment.
So I guess the moral of this story is that my milk shake brings all the S and M bisexual Dominatrix ladies to the yard.
Eventually there three people sat down at the first of the reserved tables (a couple whose names I never did learn and a lady named Susan). Anyway after a small passing of time they told us we were welcome to move up a table because they weren't going to need the second table they had reserved. Sweet! It is always a goal when one visits Funky Town to be as close to the action as possible. So we moved up and exchanged some pleasantries. I found out that Susan was 43 and I complimented her on not at all looking her age. She assured me it was due to her fake breasts (second set, but hey who is counting). I agreed that they must clearly be the cause and wandered back to my new, shiny and much closer table.
Most of the night passed fairly uneventful (with the exception of the nerdy boys bachelor party that stole my heart...the villains!). At some point another man had joined Susan's party and the couple seemed to have left. Toward the end of the evening the new guy in the party approached me and commented on how I must feel young at Funky Town because he felt young at age 45. I politely informed him that Funky Town is solely a "dance your pants off" kind of establishment and that age matters little when I'm sweating like a man from dancing to 60's, 70's and 80's music all night long.
Susan (young boobs) came over and looked at her friend and said (referring to me), "Isn't she adorable". Her friend agreed and then she went on to inform me that he was her sex slave and that she was a Dominatrix. Ok. From then I think it best I relay the rest in conversation form:
Me: "Well Congratulations on having your own sex slave"
Susan: "You know I'm always looking for good female slaves if you’re interested."
Me: "Well as it turns out I'm not very submissive"
Susan: "Those are the best kind!" (While giving me her phone number and name)
Me: "Thanks for the offer and if I change my mind you will be the first to know"
And then we left. I guess I can cross "Get asked by a woman to be her sex slave" off my bucket list. Big accomplishment.
So I guess the moral of this story is that my milk shake brings all the S and M bisexual Dominatrix ladies to the yard.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Now the outfit
Date is a green light go. Easier than I thought. Hopefully no embarrassment to follow. Now I just need to find the clothes. Thanks to everyone who helped out!
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Thank you friends (seriously sarcastic here...but really)
Ok so I have been conferencing with a few people about potential dates for this fiasco that I could be a part of at work. Its a surprise birthday party for my boss (the dad). So my criteria are that the guy must be an ok time (I need someone to talk to), must exhibit a certain amount of class, AND must be able to deal with some high profile people being there with out asking for a picture or autograph or whatever. SO here are the things that my "friends" have come up with.
L: "Go to my FB and look up Nick. He would be good. He works for the post office. He walks the mail and such."...what does that even mean? How does mail delivery qualify you for a good (and most importantly non embarrassing) time?
A: "Ill dress like a guy and go"...ok sure, I'd love to have a "drag queen" type date. Good. THAT fits my criteria.
M: "How about J or S. Sure they like anime but they are quite (even if its awkwardly so) so they won't embarrass you. Or I know how about C? He is social and he loves sports...but he is married."...Oh good. Maybe I could dress up as my favorite Pokemon. Better yet I can just be like, Hi Mrs. C, I know I don't know you but could your husband be my date to a work like function for the evening since he is social and into sports?....
In an effort to take matters into my own hands I opted to go to Jerry's Bait Shop and listen to a Christian band sing with a friend of mine (who is friends with all the band). (I was disregarding the fact that I generally dislike Christian music considerably and they are of the "metally screamy" genre which I dislike even more. So I go, she knows my intentions and says all the guys are really great guys. It turns out they are...however they all wear skinny jeans, have spacers and face piercings, and tattoos. Now the skinny jeans I'm personally against...man shall not wear jeans tighter than women (it was on the fine print of the first of the tablets that God/Moses wrote the 10 commandments on) however the other things are fine with me (spacers and tats and odd assortments of lip piercings). HOWEVER since I have to tell Dom and Stella (if they ever ask about my own tattoos) that they were "a big mistake and that Santa Claus didn't visit me for three years after I got them" (and I believe they added if I could work in tears that would be great), I don't think spacers, tattoo sleeves, and lip piercings will work well for this. Additionally I didn't really "click" with anyone even in the friendly way. Sigh.
Day 1 of "Find myself a sophisticated non date date" did not turn out like I hoped.
L: "Go to my FB and look up Nick. He would be good. He works for the post office. He walks the mail and such."...what does that even mean? How does mail delivery qualify you for a good (and most importantly non embarrassing) time?
A: "Ill dress like a guy and go"...ok sure, I'd love to have a "drag queen" type date. Good. THAT fits my criteria.
M: "How about J or S. Sure they like anime but they are quite (even if its awkwardly so) so they won't embarrass you. Or I know how about C? He is social and he loves sports...but he is married."...Oh good. Maybe I could dress up as my favorite Pokemon. Better yet I can just be like, Hi Mrs. C, I know I don't know you but could your husband be my date to a work like function for the evening since he is social and into sports?....
In an effort to take matters into my own hands I opted to go to Jerry's Bait Shop and listen to a Christian band sing with a friend of mine (who is friends with all the band). (I was disregarding the fact that I generally dislike Christian music considerably and they are of the "metally screamy" genre which I dislike even more. So I go, she knows my intentions and says all the guys are really great guys. It turns out they are...however they all wear skinny jeans, have spacers and face piercings, and tattoos. Now the skinny jeans I'm personally against...man shall not wear jeans tighter than women (it was on the fine print of the first of the tablets that God/Moses wrote the 10 commandments on) however the other things are fine with me (spacers and tats and odd assortments of lip piercings). HOWEVER since I have to tell Dom and Stella (if they ever ask about my own tattoos) that they were "a big mistake and that Santa Claus didn't visit me for three years after I got them" (and I believe they added if I could work in tears that would be great), I don't think spacers, tattoo sleeves, and lip piercings will work well for this. Additionally I didn't really "click" with anyone even in the friendly way. Sigh.
Day 1 of "Find myself a sophisticated non date date" did not turn out like I hoped.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
