The time when I have to renew my registration for my car. Of course I got the notice earlier this month, but in my usual style, I would much prefer to renew on the nearly the last hour of the last day that my current registration is still valid. It keeps life exciting (yes, I know I'm lying to myself, work with me). Then I have to print out the handy dandy temp registration to float me until the replacement decals arrive. At this point it's gone beyond being a bad habit. It's more of a tradition.
I am still considering the self publishing route. This is after years of believing and sometimes outright stating that self-published authors are hacks. Here comes the backpedaling: things are changing and people are hiring their own editors, cover designers and people to format their books. Sometimes authors that were previously published the old way have decided to take business into their own hands. I have to weigh whether I am considering this to avoid the painful search for an agent followed by the search for a publisher that wants what the agent is pushing process or if I think what I have is good enough to do well on its own. I think I know the answer, and maybe it’s: Try it the old way and if, after a certain amount of time, nothing happens, then self publish. But I know I will need to invest in a decent editor and cover designer first. I do not want to produce a work of crap. I will also have to do something very difficult—self promote. I seem to be able to do this in a resume and at job interviews, and I have to look at this the same way--it's a job. Whatever I do, I can tell you the current method of leaving it on the hard drive isn’t working.
I’ve been avoiding posting because I don’t want to come off as the cranky pregnant lady. I can’t quite explain the logic in my thinking here—wait three more months till I’m just the plain non-pregnant run-of-the-mill cranky lady? Meanwhile we are wasting away in Blogaritaville. While people mean well (yes, I know, they really do, please don’t remind me) they also think it’s necessary to comment on you like you’re public property. Like my husband’s uncle asking him “Is she exercising?” Uh, are you? Would you even care if I wasn’t the life support for someone else? Or random people asking when you’re due, only to remind you that it will be smack in the middle of a hot, swampy summer when August hits (Because really? I had no idea) and then keep harping on it as if it’s a tragedy that cannot be overcome. Did air conditioning and ice water somehow disappear from the earth while I wasn’t paying attention?
So for work, there’s an organizational day (AKA “mandatory fun” event) coming up, and to defray the cost, there are various fundraisers planned. The latest one in our office was chili and hotdog sale at lunchtime, AKA heartburn and preservatives. I did not contribute. Why? This is going to sound petty, or maybe it won’t. As a contractor who works here every day, who is otherwise considered part of the organization when there is work to be done, we have to take paid time off to participate in said mandatory fun. Where I work, contractors are most of the bodies that fill the seats, but when it comes to these events, I am willing to bet we will get many emailed reminders telling us that our place of duty that day is in the office. So it’s perfectly okay to take our money, but not okay for us to attend unless we do it on our own time. Be sure to stay tuned for the whining that will happen later, when shockingly, very few people participate.
Last week at work I got into a yelling match over the phone. Not very professional, I know. I will preface this story by saying the person on the other end started it, and is notorious for being a yeller. She also apparently works from home. I’m going to take a guess that there’s a good reason that she is not in an office environment with other people. Why does she get the benefit of telecommuting because she’s a jerk? But here is the real question—why do people just accept this? Why do people just roll their eyes and say “Oh, that’s just how she is?” One person who overheard me actually knew who it was without hearing her voice on the other end. Another gave me a high five after I hung up. Has anyone told this person that she is *that* person? Does this person realize no one wants to deal with her, that her email messages go unanswered because she is an incorrigible pain in the ass? I’m guessing no. But why is this? It’s not even that she is in a position of power, yet she stays employed and everyone else is forced to deal with it. When I yelled right back, and said I would hang up if she kept speaking to me that way, she calmed right down and admitted she didn’t know she was yelling. And she apologized. Lesson learned: Don’t try to out-crazy the pregnant lady, Mmm-kay?
Mother’s Day was okay. My husband attempted breakfast. This was a “bless his heart” moment. Once upon a time he used to cook for himself and was even competent with breakfast. Let’s just say he’s out of practice. I think eggs are right up there with pizza and burgers on this list of foods that you cannot eff up. I mean, you have to actively try to screw up eggs. And hurrah, he did it. I scooped out my portion of sticky scrambled eggs and tried hard not to mention the perimeter of oil surrounding them on my plate. Okay, I’m lying. I didn’t try that hard. Contrary to what one of my former section sergeants used to say, I don’t really believe there is a need to “lubricate the body.” This is also why I stay away from Popeyes chicken. Later, I didn’t feel so bad when he admitted that the eggs were “horrible.” Verdict: It was a failed omelet that morphed into a greasy mess. This was either an honest mistake, or more proof to support my theory that sometimes men purposely do things badly so the women in their lives will do it from that day forward.