Well, it's official. Life is kind of sucking balls right now.

Work is simply out of control. So many things I neither can nor should enumerate, but needless to say, I'm committed to exploring other employment opportunities. Pretty much anywhere. Pretty much either in higher education human resources (specifically benefits administration) or general kickassedness. I keep waiting to get a book deal like every other blogger out there, but alas, no dice.

It's about 100 degrees here daily + 1000% humidity which leaves everyone sweaty zombies. Thank the lord for central air, but even that doesn't zap the sapping nature of excessive heat (They keep saying that on the news - excessive compared to what? It's Oklahoma in July. Duh.). To keep my brain and body cool, I've been holing up under the vents perusing blogs with people who have their shit together. I want to be one of those people. I just want to get my poops in a group. It's not that bad, I just think (hope) it could be better. It being my sense of accomplishment when compared to an imaginary bar contrived by me, which is never a good thing.

Right, so, I've been reading Hither and Thither from start to finish. It's lovely and inspirational and confirms my contention that a regular brunch can cure anything. Unfortunately, there's literally nowhere to brunch that's worth a damn in Norman.

keeping it all in perspective

Disclaimer - I'm sure none of these feelings have anything to do with the fact that I turn the big 2-9 in mere weeks. It's totally cool that I've accomplished very little aside from a sizable collection of sale shoes in my 29 years. I've still got all of next year to tick off the things I'd planned before 30... house, real, actual vacation, permanent partner in crime, iPhone, six months of savings, my last killer hangover, twice daily flossing, the ability to tell my family no, etc.

Well, it's official.

2% pay cut, among other things (e.g. no retirement contribution match) for at least nine months. When you're as poor as I am, 2% is a big deal (like a student loan payment and/or rent). More than that, there's the idea that working your way up and through a complicated job with a huge personnel issue is rewarded by the expectation of more work for less money. Yes, I still have my job, which is good, because the Department of Education and Citibank would be pretty sad if I found myself unemployed, but what am I working for? Another round of salary reductions? Constant fear of a reduction in force? Working in HR is difficult, since I catch wind, but not details of these decisions and have ample time to obsess. Also, there will surely be exceptions to the official rules to wrangle our budget, and I will have to process them, all the while living on less myself. Life isn't fair. I know this. But I was so hopeful. So hopeful.

Right, so, do I use this as impetus to see what else is out there? Do I seriously look at grad school now that I know I'll be just as poor working as I would in school? Do I look into selling my eggs? Do I hang out at retirement centers and befriend oldies who will add me to their life insurance policies? Do I move back in with my parents and save as much as I can to fund some sort of real change? Or, do I just tread water and hope for the best since I do actually like my job, the people I work with, and am not through learning what I'd need to know to be marketable in this area. I could do other stuff, sure, but I just invested over two years learning benefits and compensation.

Ugh. Sad panda. I don't know what that means, Shain says it, so I repeat it.

Oklahoma! Where the wind comes sweeping down the plains.

Except replace "wind" with sleet and "plains" with asphalt of death. It only took me an hour and a half to get from 23rd and 235 to Nompton. In the middle of the afternoon.

I blame you, Gary England.

I am so awesome at my job, it hurts.

Have you ever received a document at work and looked at it and are like, WTF? Did Paris Hilton and LiLo write this together or something? What the hell is this shwords?* So, you take it to your boss, not your supervisor that you're chummy with, but you know, the VP of your department, and relay your concern about the clarity if not veracity of said document. And then your kind boss looks at you with her wise eyes and drops the bomb that she was in fact the author. FUCKSTICKS! Sweet Lincoln's mullet, I am a fucktard. I mumbled something about my public school education failing me in terms of reading comprehension and backed my butt out of her office. Now what?

*For the love of all things fashion, watch the fucking videos already. I would like to make jokes about this stuff for the rest of my life or at least through the next couple of weeks.

Otis Redding Wednesday

Sometimes, there is nothing that describes one's mental state better than an Otis Redding song.

In which I am a horrible person with a completely unfunny sense of humor.

The other day, I ventured onto Facebook, my official nemesis, for the first time in some time. It's absolutely terrifying to see your social world fit onto one screen. Everyone is literally connected to everyone and I don't like it. I need to befriend some oldies without computers besides my parents. I am apparently friends with the workstudies in my office. They are adorable. They're roommates and also work for one of our performing arts camps, which means they sing songs and wear funny costumes as they work. I thought it would be hi-larious to make a comment on S's wall that said simply, 'less facebook, more work.' HILARIOUS! I thought, by now, she had picked up on my inappropriate abuse of nuanced sarcasm bordering on cruelty. But alas, I guess she didn't. I should've noticed when I asked her if everything was ok and she tried to murder me with her stare. Today, she pops her head into my office and asks if we can talk. Then, almost teary eyed, she asks why I wrote that on her FB wall, and furthermore, clearly I was on FB myself during the day - she checked the time. I screamed at her, 'that's why it's funny!' She was not laughing. Finally, we hugged, a real one, not a FB application one. I think we're good now.

More powerful than two Cleopatras

There is only one person who can get me through the five plus hours I still have left at work tonight (the end of the academic year brings peace to some at a university, but not to my department). And that definitely crazy, possibly racist, certainly reclusive, once in Sister Act II: Back in the Habit person is none other than former Fugee herself, Lauryn Hill. The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill is kind of the perfect album for anything whether it's slumping to the floor of your bedroom when you accidentally find an old picture you and your old boyfriend looking so young and stupid ("Ex-Factor"), sexytime ("Nothing Even Matters"), or windows down afternoon driving ("Doo Wop - That Thing"). Hell, I'll even consider religion when "Tell Him" comes on. It's truly applicable to any situation, except stalking people on Facebook. That should be done in silence. I would say, without hesitation, that it's a musical staple (you will find a small sampling below, but seriously, click your way to a copy).

Ex-Factor

I bite their heads off first.

Have you ever been at work, enjoying a nice snack of animal crackers while returning emails, finishing super fun reports, etc when you drop one of the crackers down into your cleavage? And then you push back your head to see how deep the little monkey has fallen, then pull your shirt from your chest and reach into to the depths to retrieve it? And then a new faculty member pops into your office to learn about health insurance options while your hand is very conspicuously rooting around between your boobs? Awesome.

1-2-3-4 tell me that you love me anymore (like you ever did)

I am not so good at the blogging with all of the working and the sleeping and the solitary drinking and such. Apologies. My job continues to dominate 80% of my time that I don't spend thinking or talking about my job. The other .01% of my time I spend bitching about everything else, including this blog and the lack thereof. However, this weekend, I took a little break from my self imposed prison of work and bitchiness and ventured out into my community with the following results:

1. Apple Store, Penn Square Mall, Oklahoma City, OK: My dad called to let me know that TurboTax had felled our mighty eMac from 2004. Surprise. He was freaking out because now he had no computer with which to go online and order a new computer so that he could complete filing in a timely manner. I suggested that instead of ordering a computer and taking a day off work to await its arrival that we go to the Apple Store conveniently located near a J. Crew. He agreed, with reservation - about what, I don't know. We completed the purchase after about 500 hours of luddite torture inflicted by Dad toward myself and the poor, annoying apple guy who says he will email the receipt and call us when the additional memory stick has been installed - yes, we had them do it. When we return to pick up the computer, the concierge/dumbass asks for our receipt. I say it will be emailed to us with our Apple Care information. Dad then completely freaks out because it dons on him that without his old computer working, he can't possibly check email to print out the new receipt. FOR REAL! I calmly try to tell him that he can access his email from any computer and that we need only to turn on the new computer so that he can log in to gmail. He thinks this over and clearly thinks that he has spawned a complete and utter retard for thinking that email can exist on more than just one's personal computer. Seriously, folks, it's amazing I can even read. Also, he has a Ph.D.

2. Meacham Hall, OU, Norman, OK: Later that night, Darryl/Craig Robinson, the endearing warehouser from The Office performed his stand up routine at OU. It bordered on totally lame and awful and made extensive use of a Casio and the word "panties." I could make better jokes in my sleep, if I were funny. Later that night, we saw him holding court over a mixture of fratsters and sorostitutes (who probably don't watch The Office unless it's on in the background while they're blowing dudes with their boat shoes* still on) at the bar. Ew.

3. East Lawn, OU, Norman, OK: Later, later that night, we returned from the disappointing "comedy" show to whine and complain about the lack of interesting shit to do in Norman, the boyfriend stumbled upon the fact that Voxtrot would be performing at OU, right where we had been a mere minutes earlier. We finished our Keystones and braved the streets filled with the remnants of OU's first scrimmage to listen to approximately 1.5 songs before they finished. Oops. They are darling! Like all good hipsters, they are mini. Super cute, teeny tiny musicians. Oh well, random indie bands are always clamoring to play in Norman, so there'll be more... Actually, if you read this (ha!) and you're from the area, the Norman Music Festival happens the 26th. The line up isn't bad including British Sea Power, The Polyphonic Spree and lots of not totally sucky local acts.

Enjoy: The Start of Something - Voxtrot

4. Cain's Ballroom, Tulsa, OK: Mr. Shain and I hit the turnpike for a quick trip to Tulsa to hear my favorite Feist perform Monday night. Shain is truly dear sometimes, but I don't know why, and frankly, it scares me. He picked me up from work and promptly handed me a Boylan lime seltzer, my favorite, for the trip. I thought for sure this meant that he was the Silvio to my Ade. After a pit stop at McDonald's so Shain could stuff his face with the new southern chicken sandwich (what does that even mean, McDonald's?) we arrived in Tulsa to get lost in the totally dead downtown area. It was weird. We were afraid to park, but we did and made it inside. Now, I love Feist and you will not convince me otherwise. I have Let it Die and The Reminder memorized. I will fight you if you say she sucks unless it looks like I cannot win. Right, my point was that I suspected, as we entered the venue, that the Urban Outfitted attendees did not share the same kind of love. I was right. Instead of singing the The Park, she railed the audience for their behavior to the melody. I imagine this is not unusual for her, that she probably rehearses admonishments for mid-western audiences, but I got her point. Shain thought it was preachy and tacky. What was actually maybe more tacky was her outfit - I couldn't decide if her white fringed mini dress with white leather booties topped with beaded Native American inspired necklaces was an homage to her surroundings or just bizarre taste. More disturbing was the continued audience behavior. This chick beside me totally flipped her shit on the security guy near us chatting up a totally drunk girl. The security dude actually told her to shut the fuck up. I was stunned. But then I returned to the hypnotic effect of the music accompanied by this super hot piano player and the boyfriend's doppleganger on guitar (he seriously looked quite like him). She played all the old favorites including new versions of Inside and Out and Let it Die. She forgot a verse of Mushaboom, but came back with a fantastic encore of Sealion Woman. One of the most compelling things about the whole show, besides Shain's clothing choice which involved a stuffed in t-shirt and vest, was the shadow imagery projected on the back of the stage area. Usually, I hate that shit, but now, of course, I want to change careers. We got home about 2 and I headed into work by 8. Awesome, but worth it.

Enjoy:
So Sorry
Gatekeeper

5. My Bed, Norman, OK: I went to bed last night a about 7pm and woke up at 6.30 this morning. Hence the bloglessness. I'll try to be better about reporting my totally boring life and inane observations, but no promises.




*Has anyone noticed this trend? WFT? They are the summer equivalent of Uggs, I suppose. I will never understand and assume that's for the best.

48 hours of pure hell and an ice storm.

Hey there. Perhaps you have read of my plight. I think it's been a leading story on cnn.com, so that means it's a big deal. Yesterday, I awoke to the strange combination of snapping trees, thunder and sizzling power lines. A veritable winter symphony that Dickens himself couldn't have better written. Or something. A few hours later, the power finally went out. You were right Mike Mitchell England (only funny to native Oklahomans, apologies, also, it might not be funny to them either). Shain (for his version, click HERE) forged a path across town amidst tree debris and stoplightless traffic (what's so tough to understand about a four-way stop people?) to pick me up so we could do important things like seek out coffee, pastry and toilet paper. Shain chose to dress for the occasion by wearing a freshly pressed white button down oxford, pin-striped mid-weight pants and shined dress shoes. With no real coat - some puffy thing he claims he got in Prague or some bullshit. Business homeless chic, I say. (I had on fleece upon fleece, mittens, scarf, heavy coat, etc - like a normal person.) Anyway, we make our way to SuperTarget where in addition to toilet paper, I remember my mom has requested hot dogs in the event she was able to start a fire in our fireplace. I left her as she was frantically tearing pages out of our second copy of The Riverside Shakespeare to use as kindling, so I was skeptical. Turns out it didn't matter as all that was left on the shelves turned out to be pepperoni. Mmm. After my superhappyfuntime with Shain, I spent some superhappyfuntime with my fam in the dark. We only had scented candles. Our living room rivaled my brief stint trapped in a ventless office at Yankee Candle Co. headquarters. Ugh. However, power was returned and I finally succumbed to the migraine graciously supplied by my mother and went to bed retardedly early beneath a pile of quilts and a dog. I awoke this morning to a bevy of texts from my workstudies happily alerting me that XXX had no power. No school! Yay! I went back to sleep and continued to drool while dreaming about appearing on The Barefoot Contessa. I wish I were kidding. Work's back on for tomorrow, but after almost 48 solid hours of family time, I couldn't be happier.

That's the sadness that is my backyard and a tree that used to be more complete. It continued cracking and breaking all day till there's not a lot left.

Close up of crunchy, frozen grass. But I finally got to break out my Montrails and clomp around just like the old days of New England!

More tree sadness. And my neighborhood was pretty fortunate in that it's a cheap, newish subdivision with no real trees, just crap Bradford pears that snap like my mom when she misses her 4pm snack.

Hey, yeah, I'll just run out and grab something from the store. NOT! That's probably 1.5 inches of ice encasing my car, folks.

Hmm. Pepperoni or pepperoni? I just don't know!

Ice encapsulated holly. Pretty. Sort of.

Music for winter misery:
All That I Want - The Weepies
Cold December - Matt Costa
Sister Winter - Sufjan Stevens

Story about work #4,592.7

I have this coworker. She's from Malaysia. She's dear. English is not her first language, obvs. She says v's as w's. Th's as t's. Every morning she greets me, "Good morning, blyt." Because it is morning and because I have been awake since 5.55am and have suffered through one hour of traffic while listening to possibly the worst morning show on the radio in the entire country, I hear this: "Good morning, blight." Why yes, yes I am.