I honestly do NOT believe this.

I just got back from “lunch,” if you even wanna call it that.

So I’m doing nothing here at work and the day is dragging. I’m informed that my last day here is August 27th which I expected, but this all means I have to start job searching again which I’ve found to be more annoying that most anything.

Finally lunchtime rolls around. I’m STARVING. I turn around just to see that it’s raining outside. Not too bad, but still bad enough for me to see out our window. (Most of the time it’s raining so lightly that it’s not noticable out the window.) Do I stay or do I go? I go, because I’m hungry.

I change into my sneakers and off I trudge out to the mall food court. It’s raining steadily, but just enough to be refreshing. Any more and it would be annoying. I get to the mall and head to the ATM. OMG no I did NOT forget my wallet at the office!! I forgot my wallet at the office. &^(!&!@#^!!!! AHHHHHH!!!! So now I have to go allllll the way back and get my wallet and come allllllllll the way back here and get food. Is it worth the effort my lazy self would go through? Yes, because I’m hungry.

I walk toward the exit just to see BUCKETS upon BUCKETS pouring out of the sky. This is NOT happening. It’s happening. I wait in the vestibule impatiently for it to lighten up. Five minutes later, it’s not lightening up. If I had left right away, I’d be back by now. I let out a sigh loud enough for people within a 10 m radius to hear and start out walking. Do Burlington parking lots NOT have sewer drains?! Apparently, not cause I feel like I’m wading through a pond all the way back. Every step I take is literally over 2″ into water. Oh here’s a shallow spot… nope. Here’s one… nope. What the heck, my shoes by now are drowned so I might as well wade back to the office.

In the meantime, my skirt is drenched, showing through, and sticking to me. Sexy, I know.

And ya know, RIGHT before I left, I looked at my wallet on my desk and thought to myself, “I need to get money out in order to eat.” How the heck did I forget my wallet?!?! Also, right as I walked out the door I think, “Maybe I should change into my pants before I leave… Nah. It’s not that bad out.” I guess I should be glad that I at least brought my pants today. At least I have something dry to wear. Hopefully, no one chews me out for wearing jeans, but I’ve hung my soaked skirt over my chair as a hint to why I’m in the jeans to begin with.

Hopefully, my skirt dries before the meeting tonight. And no, I didn’t end up walking back to get food. I’m starving now and… OH. Nice. Real nice. I just looked behind me just to see that it’s stopped raining for the time being. Great.

Even so, I’m nice and DRY and comfy aside from being starving. I don’t dare try to gamble the only spare clothing I’ve got today. What a sucky day!!! Only in Kara’s world.

I think I’ll make popcorn now.

Pee-Wee’s magic word of the day

So today I added a word to my vocabulary. “Episiotomy.” What does it mean? It’s when a woman is giving birth and the baby doesn’t fit out, the doctors cut a larger hole down to your anus, in short, tearing you a new A.

Maybe I’ve led a sheltered life, but I’ve NEVER heard of this before, let alone that there’s a name for it. I’ve heard of some pretty horrific things about birth but never this. Today, some people were talking about it at work and I just listened in disgust.

Why would anyone want to put themselves thru this. God-forbid I ever fell on my head and suffered permanent amnesia and suddenly wanted a kid, I’d totally go in the C-section direction, ’cause it’s rhymey for one thing. But also because it’s pretty much predictable, you know how long approximately you’re delivering for as opposed to 12+ hours maybe of labor, less after effects, and now, no episiotomy.

I hear it’s 6 of one, half dozen of the other. Yes, with a C-section you have the pain of operation recovery and a huge cut across your stomach, but if chances are you get cut either way, I’d rather have the cut on my stomach where I can treat it easier than it being where the sun don’t shine and effecting my natural bodily functions. I also heard that when they rip your butt open, they don’t even give you a colostomy bag to do your business while you heal. You have to subject the incision to passing crap. Doesn’t that sound healthy? And then you have to deal with the hemerrhoids that normally come after natural child birth.

How ’bout no to all of that. After all, one has to keep one’s butt in tact incase one wants to become a spy someday.

Going to kill someone

There is absolutely no words that can describe what I just went through. Needless to say, I hate shopping. It’s hit a low I don’t think I’ll ever reach again.

Lori and I decided, instead of flowers, to get Teresa’s baby a teddy bear. So we go to vermontteddybear.com to look for one. Turns out this would cost more than $100 including a ridiculous shipping price. Then I recalled that there’s this new Build-A-Bear Workshop store in the Burlington Mall. Why not do that? Well, I’ll tell you.

So we go there during lunch break. We enter this store with shiny, happy, prozac-medicated employees. First guy wasn’t so bad. Gave us the low down on what’s up. “Have you ever been here before?… Well, here’s how it works. Yadda yadda. You pick out an unstuffed bear, stuff it, give it an air bath, and then dress it and pay at the end.” Well he said it in semi-toddlerish words. I guess he forgot we were adults. Whatever.

We’re looking around, trying to ignore the Channel 2-ish music looping again and again in the background. We finally decide on a bunny which we bring over to stuff. So what could this all involve? Get the rabbit, stuff it, dress it, and be on our merry way. No, no. You’re forgeting this is happening to me, not to mention Lori’s with me and she seems to have the same kind of “every day’s a Monday” days that I have.

Anyway, so we bring our unstuffed rabbit to the stuffing booth. This OVERLY, and I can’t express that enough, man says, “OK. I’m going to need your help.” Oh, good god. “I need you to step on this pedal.” Lori and I look at each other. I’m thinking, “We’re paying for this thing. You step on the pedal.” But I was nice. I reluctantly step. It would be nice if that were all I had to do.

Then he says, “Now pick a little satin heart to go inside.” Fine. Here you go. “Now rub the heart. You don’t want to put a cold heart inside.” So I squeeze the heart with a look on my face that combined embarrassment and a look that said, “We really don’t want to waste time here.”

Guy: “Now put it on your forehead so the bunny can be smart.”

Me: “Are you serious?”

Guy: “Yes.” (So I comply.) “Now, put it on your chin for good luck.” (I don’t believe I’m doing this. Then he tells Lori to do the same.) “Now, put it on your stomach so the bear doesn’t go hungry.” (Oh we mustn’t have that now.) “Now kiss the heart.”

Finally, this excruciating ordeal is over. Well, the heart part anyway. Then he tells us to go give the bear an air bath. It clearly had no point except to make it fun for kids. Lori did this. I just stood and watched. Then we dressed the bear. Man, I can never see me dressing a child. I’d probably be arrested for abuse. I’m cramming the feet into the shoes on this table that’s about knee height. I had Lori do the rest of the dressing ’cause she’s got a baby so she’s used to it. To me, it felt almost perverted, especially when we put the underwear on it.

Now it’s time to make the birth certificate. I have to type all this info into this computer with Funhouse font on the keys and every letter I press, it talks to me telling me what letter it is. That was just obnoxious, but not nearly as obnoxious as the people.

So now we’re done. We go to the register and this woman who I’m expecting to be halfway normal is far from it. She’s talking in a voice that’s about 2 octaves higher than the average person’s and apparently she’s the “sheriff.” Says she, “Oh, no! I lost my star! I’m the sheriff and no one’s gonna know I’m the sheriff now!” After all, what happens if we need help from the law? So the whole time she’s talking to us like we’re 3. She’s also talking to the rabbit. She’s trying to get it into the box and she’s like, “Sorry, but we’re going to have to sit you down so you can fit in here?”

Lori tells me later that the “sheriff” asked her, “Do you play this kind of music at your work? Oh, you can come back here anytime and listen to it.” Thanks. I’ll pass.

Now, on entering the store at first, I saw the people talking like this to a little kid making his bear and I thought, “Oh, it’s nice they’re involved with him through the whole process.” I am still in utter disbelief that they did the exact same thing to us. It was obvious we were people buying for someone else, we’re on lunch break, and we’re not toddlers ourselves. There are times you know people are just joking around or they’re really the way they are. These people were totally like that. Sooo soo creepy. It started out annoying, then it just got creepy. The whole aura of the place felt like everyone had just gotten out of a psych ward, high on some kind of happy pill.

Again, nothing I can write here can even explain what this was like. When we left, I was a combo of aggravated and freaked out. There is much to be said for shopping online and this is yet another example.

And I can’t get a permanent job.

This work week is STILL not over. This has literally felt like two weeks crammed into one. Several reasons for this, but I’m only going to elaborate on one—Linda.

Linda is a middle-aged British woman who has moved into the desk behind me. Tuesday morning I am introduced to her. “This is Linda. She’s a designer. She does freelance for us here and there, and she’s going to be using Teresa’s desk for a while.”

“Hi, nice to meet you, yadda yadda… “

Note: I share an office with a woman named Lori. Fun stuff. I’m temping for Teresa who is on maternity. We usually have to do a lot of production stuff so we welcome the extra space in the office. Now it’s being occupied and we’re pissed off.

So I wasn’t too annoyed at first. Just continuing to do my work. She leaves the office for a sec and comes back and turns all the lights on.

Another note: Lori and I usually leave the lights off. The window supplies more than enough light for us, plus we like it a bit dim. The fluorescent lights in the office are blinding.

So Linda flips the lights on to my surprise and I’m nearly blinded. No asking or anything. She could’ve just turned the one on over by her desk, but no. So I’m not irritated yet. Just uncomfy. Then come the no-no’s—stupid questions.

She asks me twice that day and once the next day if Acrobat Distiller prints to the B&W printer or the color printer. I’m like, “It’s Acrobat. It doesn’t print.” <stares blankly back at me> “It makes PDFs.”

“Oh… I see.” She asked me that a few times over two days as if I were lying the first few times. I later found out she also asked Lori a couple times the same question. She said she just pointed at Linda’s computer and said, “It prints there.”

She also asked me a couple times how she can print something (seeing as she kept sending it to the how-you-say ‘Acrobat Distiller’ and nothing was coming out.) I don’t want to be bothered explaining stuff to her, so I just say, “E-mail me the file and I will print it from here.” <blank stares> This woman’s full of them.

“Oh, but I don’t have an e-mail account set up yet.”

“Do you have any e-mail account? Hotmail, Yahoo, anything?”

<pause> “Oh, OK.”

This is a question that followed the few questions about Acrobat. She ended up never sending me anything to print. I found out later from Lori that Linda doesn’t know how to send attachments. Might I repeat for emphasis, Linda is a designer.

Then comes the kicker. Linda is there, I guess, for the purpose of web research for this guy Lou (a.k.a. Lou-ser). She interrupts me again to ask a web-related question. Fine, but this better be worthy of losing my place in the insane multi-tasking I’m in the middle of.

“I have a question about Google.” (I’ll give her the benefit of the doubt… Maybe Google’s server is having problems today.) “When I’m in my search list and I click on a link, how do I get back to the list?” <Now it’s my turn for the blank stare.>

“Umm. The ‘Back’ button.”

“Oh… Now suppose I’m 10 pages ahead of the search list. Do I have to hit ‘Back’ 10 times?”

“No… You can use the dropdown menu next to the ‘Back’ button or the History menu.”

“OH! That’s so great! You know this is all so confusing.”

I let out a deep, long sigh as I go back to my pile of work trying to figure out where I left off.

After much venting by Lori and I, they finally moved her to her own computer somewhere in the building. I don’t understand why they planted her in my office anyway seeing as there are several other large offices, each with at least two computers, that were empty that day. Fortunately, now she’s gone, but her being there for two days this week really made the days drag like no work day ever can.

More later. The work week still isn’t over.