Welcome to my other blog. I started this one shortly after graduating from the C.I.A, to differentiate between my food and my other thoughts. It's a cozy little place with frequent weird but real, honest thoughts.

There's really not much more to say here, as anything mildly interesting is either down below or written in my Armadillo section above.
Hope you can relate to some of my thoughts and situations, even if they tend to be strange sometimes

Wednesday, July 16, 2014

Externs and delayed words

Over the years I started and stopped a number of blog posts that involved an open letter to my previous-previous job. Most of them were angry, but they were also true. But this isn't that. It's an apology.
For years I've felt very badly over the externs with whom I worked a few years ago.

Girls, I wanted to say I am very, very sorry. As a C.I.A grad I knew it was my duty to look out for you. I was supposed to take care of you and whatever problems arose. And I didn't. This is particularly awful of me because my externship was horrific. Probably just about as awful as yours probably was.

I should have taken better care of you. I only once told Her off that day one of you worked a 24 hour shift. I had just returned to work after an approximetly 1 hour nap and 5 minute shower at about 2 am on Thanksgiving morning. I saw one of you STILL there and was shocked, angry and disgusted. Not at you, of course, but at her. And him. I was furious.

She was bitching how "mommy" had to call and I curtly and not so kindly told her that you had worked a 24 hour shift and how that was really pretty shitty. I wish I told her more. I wish I theatened to call the school, to have them shut down her as an extern site. But I didn't have the balls. When I quit December 31st, 2009,  I went to the school within two weeks to personally tell the extern office about them. I hope they are no longer a site but I am truly afraid they still are.

I'm so sorry. You girls were all so talented, smart, strong and very kind to a weird girl like me. You were tough and stuck it out. I hope you are all in a much better place because you deserve to be in a place where you love what you do about 80% of the time (let's be honest, work can suck sometimes) and you make enough money.  Having you girls around made the place less lonely. Not just less lonely, but less Alone, you know? It wasn't just Me against the Irrational People.

I didn't want to post anything about this particular job before now because I was worried a boss, or an associate or someone who could get me into major trouble/fired would read this, and think I was unprofessional.

But the thing is, I like my current job. I'm terribly shy and nervous all the time because I'm so used to working with Crazy/Unfit/Burnt-Out bosses that when I come across a kind one like I have now, it seriously throws me.
 I can adapt to crazy. I can adapt to unfit. Adapting to nice and Someone Who Seems to Get How to Treat People, is harder.  Yes, I am so neurotic and socially awkward that when people are nice to me, I was weary and suspicious. It's not you, it's me.

So I don't care if the former-former aforementioned bosses "Her" and "Him" read this. "Him" barely can read past a 4th grade level and "Her" is so busy belittling everyone else that she doesn't have time to read this. It really doesn't matter to me.  Also, I don't think I have any evidence left of my old jobs anywhere on either blogs, so unless you know my personal work history you don't know who I mean.

And I would never actually do this to any other job I have ever or will ever work. I liked my old job, and I like my new one even better.  I like my co-workers, I like the quiet moments and the busy moments. I have almost mastered the perfect cappuccino, which is kind of rad. I'm pretty happy, but definitely glad to be there. I wouldn't make marshmallows and cookies for people I didn't like.

This old-old job is just a special case.

Tuesday, July 15, 2014

Chop Suey, Goulosh.

 At work today no less than three customers told me I "looked tired" and only ONE of them was a regular (and therefore is allowed to say such things to me) I wanted to tell them "No, that's just my face." My face does look a little different from other people. I don't know if it's my gigantic pores or the fact that I couldn't sleep laying down til I was about two years old. (Side bar: When I was born the space between my nose and throat wasn't fully formed, so I had to have surgery to correct it; which involved them breaking that space.) Or the fact that I have NF. And almost every person I know has the same kind of eye area. We have the same darkish circles, with teeny, tiny bubbly-esqe bumps. My eyes look slightly sunken in.
No amount of make-up, sleep, or expensive eye cream can correct it. It makes me terribly unphotogenic. And yeah, it makes me look tired.
 And explaining why that is to a stranger or even someone I work with or regulars is difficult, awkward and totally unnecessary

I also resent when older customers tease me about thinking I feel "old". Yes, I am almost 29, and yes, I feel old.
You kind of tend to feel old when you've had more MRIs by age 12 than most people do in their entire life time. You feel old when you've been poked and prodded and have had your naked to semi-naked body looked at more times than a steak, pork, or hooker.
You feel old when you know NF is going to kill you. You feel old when you know it's going to get worse, not better. You feel old when you worry how it will turn on your future kids. You just....feel worn out.

So no, I don't feel old because "the 90's was 20 years ago" or "I know how to use a card catalog".  I sincerely did not think I'd make it this far. I didn't think I'd be turning 29 with a husband. Seriously thinking about getting pregnant. Thinking about our dream house and  having a career. My doctors as a child sure as hell didn't think I'd be capable of getting this far.

Combine that with former terrible bosses, middle-of-the-night shifts, school struggles, betrayed friendships and a bullied childhood and you get me. Worn out, weary of others and tired of everything.

A customer today commented "Yeah, because you're so old!" when I said "I used to be optimistic". I did used to be optimistic! I used to be more naive than I am now. More sunny and cheerful.  If you were me on my externship and experienced the nastiness, bullying, deep loneliness, betrayal, heartbreak and sheer cruelty of that time in my life, you might understand why I feel bitter, old and tired. 


I never really gave much thought to religion growing up.
It's sort of funny how religion never actually occurred to me until it was shoved into my face and down my throat at catholic girls' school. Then I realized. Catholics are crazy.

My mom's family was raised Catholic. So finding out Catholics were actually this level of crazy surprised me. I never made the connection til I hit high school and met the Crazy People.
 My mom's family is big and loud and kind and big hearted. Gatherings have no less than 5 pounds of food per person. They are all good, hard working, excellent people and I am very lucky to be apart of the family.
When I was a kid, I thought all families were this big and this loud. I thought all Thanksgivings contained 40 people. When a classmate only had one uncle or no uncles I thought how weird and quiet that must be. No cousins to hang out and torture!? I still can't imagine that.  I was actually a little disappointed when I found out Matt only had two siblings. I wanted my kids to have what I had. A dozen uncles, loud holidays and lots of food. But then I realized they'd have a dozen great Great-Uncles and great Great- Aunts and a few dozen cousins besides. (great cousins? Second cousins? How does that work?) So I think my kids will be okay. They'll be loved like crazy by about a hundred people.  It has to be said again that I really do feel lucky to have such a large web of family. It is a blessing to have so many people around.

Back to the Crazy Catholics. 
So I was surprised when I met the Crazy Catholics. At least, the snobby, rich, entitled girls with their Kate Spade bags, Coach Wallets and other fancy things a teenager probably shouldn't own. 

I never really fit in during high school. The small group of girls I was friends with were kind and un-crazy. At least not "catholic" The S.H.A class of '04 had a reunion at some point this summer and I saw that only about a dozen showed up. If I were to be brutally honest, I didn't really like about 80% of the girls I went to school with. The "smart" kids actually treated me like I was retarded. Like it was my fault the SCHOOL put me in A.P ANATOMY only because it "fit my schedule". But one of the girls Michelle (one of about 5 in my class) treated everyone like they were retarded anyway. And I hate to use that word. I know the meaning it has and how terrible a word it is. But she did. She literally did.  She treated me like I had a mental disability. And I loathed her for it. Rich bitch. I think if you didn't own a designer bag you were beneath my classes' notice.

If I didn't see 78% of these girls again, I'd be okay with it. Sorry, but I think most people in high school feel that way, I just have the guts to say it. Also I really don't think any of them actually care or even remember who the hell I am.

On a final note. Being married is awesome.
I don't have much more to say about it, because that's all that needs to be said. It is awesome to have a companion, if you will. It's great to be glad to see someone when they come home. To make weekend plans to watch six episodes of Doctor Who and make pizza.
And also, I thought this post was a bummer so I wanted to leave it on an awesome note.