I can get half credit, right?

A fleeting ambitious moment combined with public accountability minus much discretionary time plus a teaspoon of laziness yeilds... this 30 x 30 in 30 update.  Out of a possible 30 points (one for each), let's see how I did.

1. Start a new, professional-oriented blog.  Quarter point here.I did claim the word press name Mel @ Work, I just never actually blogged.  But oh, I have big plans...stay tuned. 
2. Have one day, just one, where I actually do it all. Yea, this um, just really doesn't happen.  There was one day I almost achieved it, but I opted for an extra 30 min of sleep over a run.  I am tempted to give myself a half a point for figuring this out now instead of after an anguished breakdown three years from now when I have a kid or something.
3. Move into a home I actually own. Oh snap!  One point!  We haven't yet spent in a weekend in it, but all in good time, I guess.
4. Go to Las Vegas for the first time. Check it.  One point. Why have I stayed away so long?
5. Have one ridiculous, early-twenties style, wild-ass night out. Ha ha.  I should get two points.  Vegas, oh Vegas. I would say more, but I don't want to betray the confidence of my companions.  I did eat a 4 a.m. breakfast at Denny's on the strip with a nice lad I met that night named Billy.  When I told my husband of all my exploits, his only disbelief was "You ate at Denny's??"
6. Buy one really fun, really age-inappropriate outfit. I get one point for purchasing the sequined-fronted and lace-backed  tank top, but it gets taken away for returning it three weeks later.
7. Buy one really nice, high-quality, going to last a long time, 30s-appropriate outfit. Score one for me.  Kelly green pencil skirt with embellished royal blue cardigan?  I should get an extra point for it not being black.
8. Reach out to a friend I haven't talked to in a long time and grab a drink. Fail.  I had some big plans, but sometimes it's hard just finding time to see Dinslage.  However, once I am done with summer school in July...I will... probably just think of another excuse. 
9. Lose four pounds.  Um, I believe I gained four.  Okay, five.
10. See some live music.One point.  Thank you Mayer Hawthorne.  This concert also led me to demand we have rounds of Henny and Ginger Ale for my birthday, but luckily those closest to me are pretty good at knowing when to dismiss my demands as folly.
11. Get rid of any clothing I haven't worn in two years, any that "might work if only..." and any that just looks a little too well-worn. Half point here.  I made a good effort...but I suspect there are at least several items that could hit the donation bin.
12. Learn how to roast asparagus. Yes!  Thanks to some facebook crowd sourcing, I learned I just cooked those suckers for far too long.
13. Make sure my parents know just how grateful I am for these past 30 years. No points here...no comment either.
14. Make sure my nearest and dearest know how much they mean to me. Okay, so perhaps this is an area to work on. No points.
15. Plant something. Like, in dirt. Point!  I did this on my actual birthday, so it was a last-minute slip in.  I keep the award despite the fact that some new renters moved in upstairs (the genesis of which is saved for a blog that will be entitled "Home ownership.  You have no f***ing idea until it's too late.") and without asking the ONLY OWNERS WHO ACTUALLY LIVE IN THE BUILDING proceed to tear up the entire garden destroying not only the seedlings I planted,  but the gorgeous herb garden that our home's previous residents established.
16. Read a Jane Austen work.  Half point.  Still working on and loving Pride and Prejudice.  It's a thinker that one - can't read it when not at > 75% mental capacity.
17. Go to one yoga sculpt class a week.  Point! Have I been since?  Nah.  I credit all the lifting of boxes and furniture for these fab arms.
18. Try the gourmet hot dog down the street before we move. Point...and a point I would repeat. Seriously, Chicagoans - Frank'n'Dawgs.  The rolls alone....oh.
19. Go to the Whole Foods and drink a glass of wine while I grocery shop. Quarter point.  Did a little shopping and had the free samples of wine they dole out on Friday nights.  Yes, Friday night.  This was clearly not one of the wild-ass 20-something nights aforementioned.
20. Make a perfect party playlist. I have Spotify to thank for this one. It would be a laid-back, blue-grass laden with tinges of Drake type of party, but yea, I think it's worth a point.
21. Finishing changing my name.  Ug. Halvsies.  I got the paperwork I needed for this final account, but it's lost in a packed box...somewhere...in the...basement?
22. Watch the sunrise over North Beach.  Ha. I saw two Vegas sunrises, but I was pretty specific on this one, so no points for me.  Again, John offered to get up and run to the beach to see it, but sleep won out.
23. Have a glass of really good champagne al fresco. Nope.  But...I will do this before October.
24. Have a ridiculous artisan cocktail along the river. Yes!  At Japonais...the cocktail was actually a little gross...but it was artisanal and I made John sit on a patio during breezy 60 degree weather to check this off, so...point!
25. Learn how to get those movie-star gorgeous waves in only five minutes so I can do them before work. Half point.  I can do it, but it takes more like 15 minutes.  However, with my bangs I end up looking a bit like Zooey Deschnel.
26. Call my mother in law just to chat. A delightful point that I will make a habit of.
27. Close on a house. What a layup.  But, a point none-the-less
28. Drink the pricey bottle of non-oaky chardonnay we picked up in Sonoma three years ago. Um...it's still packed?
29. This one is open to suggestions. Cousin Carl suggested a "first tattoo."  Luckily I already have two.  Still planning on getting Richgels inked at some point, but regardless, no points.
30. Cut myself some slack.  Have fun with these. I did.  I do!  Point for me.

Okay, so what is the grand total?  Drum-roll....16 points. 

It's cool.  I had fun and plan on checking off the rest of these as I embark on my 31st year hanging around this here life.  Cheers! 

30 x 30 in 30 Update

I like the Huff Post article that is circulating around right now - on women turning 30 and the 30 things they should know/have by that time.  It is interesting - it is actually from a 1997 issue of Glamour - but it so resonates, it gets resurrected every few years by the latest crop of ladies marking three decades on earth. 

Makes sense - I penned by own 30 x30 (but in 30 days - see, that is the fun twist - my ideas aren't ubiquitous!) a few days before Huff Po made it cool.  So what does it mean?  It means that even if we don't want it to be, or don't think it is, 30 is a big birthday.  Most certainly by society's timeline (at least for women - I think we somehow sprout a "sell-by" date on our foreheads visible to men 50 years old and younger), but for a lot of us, personally as well. 

I guess it's a standard milestone that has been popular to mark with lists of what we have done, or sometimes more sadly, what we have yet to do. I don't know about you, but that feels like a lot of pressure.  It's one thing to have your own list, but to have a standard set by someone else?  I know I don't meet all or perhaps even most of Glamour's 1997 checklist. Wait, just kidding.  I did buy myself a great umbrella.

So for that, I'll focus on my own.

How am I doing? Well, I have started Pride and Prejudice, I got a domain for my professional blog (just haven't written in it yet), I am going to yoga sculpt on Saturday and I am waiting for the weather to turn so I can drink fabulous drinks in open air.

A Very Compressed 30 by 30

Sometimes inspiration takes a bit to strike.  In getting ready for a one-year-old's birthday party this morning, I realized that today, in fact is one month until my birthday.  The very one that turns me 30.

I haven't been angsty about it, nor feeling like I am about to turn a crazy age corner.  I have felt like I need to use more moisturizer around my eyes and questioned if I can, in fact, pull off red skinny jeans, but that is about it. 

However, while nothing is actually going to change on May 21, I have been gripped with a desire to do a ceremonial 30 before 30 - just to ride out the last days of my twenties in a celebratory but forward-moving fashion.   

I think people typically give themselves a year for this, but let's see what I can do in the next 30 days.

1. Start a new, professional-oriented blog - something I can share widely and generate some personal branding around to further my career. Thank you, Lori Fong for the inspirational push.
2. Have one day, just one, where I actually do it all.  Work out in the morning, have a productive, gratifying day at work, grab a quick drink to socialize with friends, eat a healthy, balanced dinner, converse with the hubs on our days, and read a chapter for grad school.
3. Move into a home I actually own.  Okay, it's a built-in, but I'll take it.
4. Go to Las Vegas for the first time
5. Have one ridiculous, early-twenties style, wild-ass night out.  Vegas should help with that.
6. Buy one really fun, really age-inappropriate outfit.
7. Buy one really nice, high-quality, going to last a long time, 30s-appropriate outfit.
8. Reach out to a friend I haven't talked to in a long time and grab a drink.
9. Lose four pounds.  'Cause, ya know, what girl doesn't want that?
10. See some live music.  I used to do this all the time - having a brother and boyfriend's best friend in a band helped, but I miss it.  It was a hallmark of my 20s.
11. Get rid of any clothing I haven't worn in two years, any that "might work if only..." and any that just looks a little too well-worn.
12. Learn how to roast asparagus. It's always awful.
13. Make sure my parents know just how grateful I am for these past 30 years.
14. Make sure my nearest and dearest know how much they mean to me.
15. Plant something. Like, in dirt.
16. Read a Jane Austen work.  Not with zombies.
17. Go to one yoga sculpt class a week.  I really hate yoga sculpt.
18. Try the gourmet hot dog down the street before we move.
19. Go to the Whole Foods and drink a glass of wine while I grocery shop (for the five items that will keep my bill under $50).
20. Make a perfect party playlist.
21. Finishing changing my name.  Ug. 
22. Watch the sunrise over North Beach.  Setting an alarm and getting up for this is acceptable. Bonus points for me if I STAY UP to see the sunrise, but let's be honest, I think that only happened twice in my 20s and I don't think I can make it three.
23. Have a glass of really good champagne al fresco.
24. Have a ridiculous artisan cocktail along the river.
25. Learn how to get those movie-star gorgeous waves in only five minutes so I can do them before work.
26. Call my mother in law just to chat.
27. Close on a house.  Okay, okay - another built-in, but hey - I only have 30 days.
28. Drink the pricey bottle of non-oaky chardonnay we picked up in Sonoma three years ago.  Not alone.  With John.  On our deck - old or new.  I don't like moving bottles.
29. This one is open to suggestions.  What do you think? I was going to donate my hair, but my stylist told me I can't cut that much without looking like Ramona Quimbly.
30. Cut myself some slack.  Have fun with these.  Boo-ya.

In Their Shoes

I am a better sarcastic writer than serious one. Gas.  Gas and legumes were somewhat going to be the centerpiece of this post , because I have decided to try a week hard core on the 4-Hour Body Slow Carb diet.  It involves eating a lot of beans.  A lot.

But, as I was thinking about what to write, I couldn't shake two stories from the past few days.  The first is of the car crash deaths of three Bowling Green State University students, Rebekah Blakkolb, Christina Goyett, and Sarah Hammond, and the second is of Philip Patanaude, a 28-year-old Chicagoan who drowned in Lake Michigan Saturday.

See, right now in my life I am doing a lot of planning.  Planning to buy a house, planning to graduate from business school, planning a new career path.  Part of all that planning is hedging decisions with unknowns, but assuming the best outcome.  But, life isn't always that auspicious, and when it is, you don't always have much or anything to do with it.

I can just see it - ten sorority sisters in two cars, heading to the airport for Spring Break.  It's the middle of the night, but that's okay, the driver is rested and everyone is too excited to sleep.  Their parents are mostly worried about what they will do on the trip, but not so much about the ride to the airport.  I can see it because I have done it.  I have been in that car, I have been with those girls - same sorority, even.  The difference is that I, like thousands of others, made it to the airport.  I didn't encounter a car driving the wrong way on the interstate, so my life, the lives of my friends and family, were not spider-webbed across a windshield and splintered. 

I was doing a hell of a lot of planning this time last year, getting ready for our September wedding.  That's really all you do when you are prepping for nuptials - you make plans, get excited for a big party and a bigger forever, and day by day you focus more and more on that person who is going to be with you for the rest of your life.  I have been there, too.  Now, I imagine for a moment at a time what Philip's fiancee is going through, but I have to stop because even the fiction of it makes me sob and feel physical pain. 

I have had a night or two when I wondered where the hell my fiancee was, but unlike Philip, John came home.  And while John wasn't at the lake, haven't we all made decisions that in one way or another have put our lives at risk?  I know have.  I've had a lucky youth characterized by a carefree spirit peppered with reckless behavior and bad choices.  Yet here I am.  And knock on the biggest damn piece of wood while throwing a block of salt over my shoulder, all of my friends and family are here too.


As much as I plan my future, make decisions and influence what I can, the fact is, I am really not in control of anything at all.  None of us are. It's comforting to think that is not the case, but really, all we can control is our behavior. Our actions towards others.  The outcomes?  Not so much. 

So now, all I can do is pray for these people's friends and families and for continued luck and guidance. I can be loving, grateful, honest, generous and charitable, because these are the right ways to be. I can tell people I love to be safe and I can be safe myself.  But I know, without a doubt, it is only by the grace of God go any of us.

Turning Legumes into Love Handles

I am giving up sugar for Lent.  Please note, sugar-free Jell-o pudding, skinny vanilla lattes (sugar-free syrup, duh), wine, and Belgian chocolate when physically in Belgium are not, for these 40 days, going to fall into the "sugar I am giving up" category.  And, before you call me a sell-short, slacker, half-ass or pagan, understand that I am a realist and want to set myself up for success.  Hence, appropriate boundaries.

Anyway, the reasons I am doing this vary.  To start, I got married about five months ago, and while I wouldn't say I've "let myself go," I would say I likely need pliers, duct tape  and an allen wrench to zip into my wedding dress.  Another reason has to do with showing the most minuscule bit of solidarity with a friend who is facing (and will always face) some pretty daunting medical issues, and I want to offer this Lent to her (not real sure where God stands on that, but it is done with good intentions so I'll worry about that later).  It's insignificant, but I see it as a bit of prayer every time I pass the candy dish. Moving on.

So, in preparation, I have gone on a bit of a bender, but this is an odd sort, because I have managed to make lean legumes into corpulent conspirators.  Backing up for context, wheat and I don't get along so well.  It's not dangerous to me by any means - no Celiac here - but gluten leaves varying degrees of digestive devastation in its wake.  Generally speaking, I avoid most wheat products (but not pizza on St. Patrick's day after six beers).

It started on Friday night, after John and I cooked up an Asian feast.  I won't get into this, because when you and your spouse decide Friday night is a good time to shop for and prepare a four-course meal that requires ingredients like galangal, please believe me when I say it's going to involve trips to three separate food stores, at least two squabbles, and one meal consumed at 10:30 p.m. But, I digress.

So after this meal, we were both hankering for something sweet, but light.  We decided to try a pumpkin smoothie from Real Simple, because it seemed easy enough and we had the ingrediants on hand.  Really, you say? Pumpkin puree?  Oh yes.  After each Halloween, rather than pitch our pumpkins, we roast them, puree the insides and then have about 16 cups of real pumpkin in our freezer for the balance of  the year.  The rest of the recipe seemed simple enough - pumpkin, milk, honey, ice. 

Well, I don't like whole milk or honey, so we used skim and agave.  Then the taste wasn't quite right so we added Splenda and cinnamon.  Then something was still off, so more pumpkin and actual pumpkin pie spice was added to the mix.  On it went until we ended up with a frothy, spicy, not quite sweet enough oddity that all added up to "meh" calories consumed.  Yes, I drank it all.  And yes, I know pumpkin is not a legume, but don't kill my alliteration.

Moving on to Saturday, my friend Lauren had been raving about these black bean brownies a friend of hers brought into work.  Curious, and always wanting to try new flour-free tricks, I gave this recipe a spin, sans the chocolate chips and powdered sugar.  They were pretty good, not great - perfect consistency, needed more sweet, probably what the sugar or chocolate would have provided.  But still despite the mediocre taste, I managed to put away about half of them in a two day span because hey - these are beans right?  Healthy, full of protein.  A solid snack!

Anyway, the real hum-dinger came tonight.  After mentally committing to going sugar-free this Lent, there was this little sprout of an idea that kept calling to me, and jumping around in my head.  On Friday, one of the girls at the office mentioned  a cookie dough dip.  Made with CHICKPEAS. I had looked it up last week and added it to to my mental must-do, but in the middle of tonight's painful, incomprehensible Macro Economics lecture, I kept having inappropriate thoughts about this dip.  It would be mine.  It would be mine tonight! Yes.  Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!

Fast forward.  I plow through Dominick's and grab the requisite items to make this version of the dip.  Chocolate Covered Katie, I don't know you, but I love you.  I skipped the flax and oats, added a few splashes of milk, used Splenda and squeeze of agave, and I kid you not, it was like eating raw cookie dough with a spoon.  I was floored.  I proudly served it up to John with apples (for me) and graham crackers (for him), waiting to have the awe echoed.  Let's just say I should have known better.  John's mom, Agnes, is a comfort-food kitchen goddess.  He grew up in a full fat, full butter, full Crisco paradise, so the underwhelming response of "Yeah, it's good.  Missing some mouth feel.  Probably be better cold" was par for the course.

But trust me, ladies. Nothing "meh" here. Totally worth it.  Because in a "sh*t girls say" world, a bowlful of cookie dough makes perfect sense.  It only made my pants tighter, but what a great fat Monday.

Eat up.  One more day.

T-e-s-t T-y-p-e

Ah-hem . Uh, is this thing on? . Re-verb, whoa. I guess so.

I am so cold at writing, I hardly know where to start. Well, not at writing. I still write for work. Everyday. A lot. And for school. Not everyday. Not so lot. But, ah-hem, let me clear my throat. See, this isn't so hard.

I have wanted to pick the blog back up for so long, but haven't for a number of reasons, not the least of which is laziness seasoned with a bit of busy, broiled in procrastination served with the foie gras-textured what-do-I-write-about-as-an-employed-person-on-a-blog-called-Lady-Laid-Off?

Well, it may not be a rich dish, but here we go, just to get back in the swing of things.

Today was a happy day. Today I learned with certainty that I can claim at least - at the very least - three days of my life back from the expressway. My company is relocating and my commute time will be cut by 45 minutes each day (conservative estimate - I think it may be more like 1 hour, but I will hold off and be pleasantly surprised). This means I have just under four extra hours every week, 15 hours a month and three whole days a year back into my wallet of spendable time. Or rather, will have. This is a year in the making.

Small victories, though, right?

And enough blogging for now. I am boring myself.

They Don't Print This on Sorority T-shirts

A few years ago I was writing a book. This book was a non-fiction, story-laden exploration of the post-21st-year-of-life set - their (my) immature, dependent and bumbling attempt at living outside the bubble of college and the shell of childhood. It, like so many post-collegiate dreams was put on hold. The first hold because I was just having too much damn fun living that life and the second because I began growing out of it and no longer thought I had time to explain it.

Again, like so many bubbly dreams, I aimed to pick it back up this winter break (six weeks of no classes and three weeks of low-key work). I also thought I would do some pre-work for my stats class. Can you guess which I did? If you guessed "ate cheese ball and read fantasy novels," you would be correct. I hope to get back to it one day, and yes, I do realize that I was rather free (unemployed) for three and a half months earlier this year.

Why all that blathering of unrealized goals? Well, I have been thinking a great deal about the evolution and percolation of friendships. The book was heavily focused on the relationships I had with my girlfriends. In fact, much was dedicated to the realization that at some points in my life, they, for better or worse, represented everything important to me. It was very difficult to picture a life that didn't involve at least three weekends per month of 48-hours' constant contact and a part-time job comprised of dissecting drama (in my case, it was usually my own, self-inflicted variety).

Mistake me not, these people are still essential to my life, utterly irreplaceable, but somewhere along the way, my dependency on faded from north-star caliber to a healthy just-came-in-from-the-cold-rosy-glow. Among finding a career, a sense of self (+ esteem), a love and a desire to be alone every now and again, I became a less-clingy version of myself. In many ways, we all have. In no way does this mean they are less a part of my life, or me theirs - you might say we've diversified our portfolios. It doesn't diminish the value of friendship or the love felt, just presents a means of appreciating what has always existed in new ways.

As with most people who have a (insert "hard time" cliche here), I experienced that there are levels of depth to certain friendships that I had forgotten were there, and I also figured out that some of the ones that I thought were deepest were actually just me standing alone in a dried-up well. Then, once you get (insert "back on your feet" cliche here), the shared joy of your friends means just as much, if not more, as the daily calls to make sure you did follow through with the goal of getting out of bed by 10 a.m. and not cracking a beer until noon.

And the really cool thing is how as my girlfriends have become busier, older, wiser, they've become more interesting - two-hour dinners are as bonding as the 48-hour bender/hangover/movie/bender cycles were. I have always known and believed in the spherical nature of friendships (it was just harder to be friends with me when I took everything personally - ahem, crybaby), but at this point, it's a fascinating case study in what you knew would always be true and what you know is true.

Self-indulgent post? Absolutely. But also a thank you to my friends for who you were then and who you are now.

Double Dipping Gold

I just hit the jackpot of school/work balance. The topic for class this week - motivation. The assignment - assess your company's reward and recognition program. One of my deliverables at work (that keeps getting pushed down on the priority list, incidentally) - revamp the project's internal reward and recognition program. This is when the chi gets good - when you can not only instantly apply theories (which I have been - I listen real good now) but put them into a practice that satisfies both your work work and your school work. To quote Jim Brewer, former SNL "Goat Boy" and current Pizza Hut product whore: "Jackpot!" Seriously, have you seen those commercials? They are nonsensical and disturbingly over-enthused. I imagine Jim's agent calling him, relieved that finally, finally, he would be on TV again. How they passed test audiences, let alone aired more than once, is a mystery to me.

Anyway, this "jackpot's" arrival came just in time - this weekend I started to feel the pinch of going to school, working and maintaining a normal life. Well, actually, it was less of a pinch and more of a anxiety-induced sweat rash catalyzed by sitting in a four-hour video taped management simulation taking place in a building that is not air-conditioned on Sundays trying to sort through an "inbox" of problems while prepping a speech to be graded by peers and formulating an informed point on potential CEO resumes when you realize that you are missing the Bears game and you are legitimately stressed and don't have the benefit of actually having been on the three-week African safari that led "you" to the simulated mess. Whew. The rash intensifies since all the while, work work and school reading taunt you from home. May I quote Mercutio? "'Tis but a scratch."

End of the world? Hardly. Do many people have it worse than me? Damn straight. What is my issue then? Good point. Moving on.

An interesting tidbit from class - a substantial chunk of the three-hour session is spent discussing management issues, our experiences and learned theory. The class is pretty varied in terms of experience, age and gender. As I blogged a long time ago, I was starting to feel that the stigma of being laid off was fading. A woman in my class caused me to re-theorize. The stigma of being laid off has softened among the seasoned work force. Among the millennials (which, technically, I am), or those who haven't worked long or faced the threat of lay offs head on, being laid off puts you in the sloth bucket. To quote: "Well, I am in HR and we always say we eliminate positions not people, but there is always a reason they go. That is just trying to soften the blow." She went on, I boiled.

Head Full of Maple Syrup

I really, really don't like cats. It's bad. I am hesitant type that, because as a lover of dogs, I wonder how someone can even be neutral to those wonderful animals, let alone dislike, or, hate them. Moreover, there are some wonderful people in my life that love cats. Like really, really love cats. For some reason, my freshman year roommate, Gretchen, comes to mind. She is probably the first passionate cat person I ever encountered. We had many mutual loves - junior mints, napping, strange roommate behavior - but we never quite saw eye to eye on pets. However, G did me a great service - she prepped me for a life of loving the owner despite hating the pet. (Thanks, G-ski!)

Why bring this up now, you ask? Where is it going? Well, I'm home from work right now, with a head full of what feels like maple syrup, unable to breathe through my noise, making beautiful hhhoouuchhhuuuuukkkkk klahhh klahhhh sounds and coughing up ungodly amoeba-like globs. I believe this is because of, and will continue due to, cats.

I'm pretty horrifically allergic to these independent, oh-so-sleek creatures. Two weeks ago, John and I went to Nebraska and stayed with a lovely, more than hospitable couple who has an adorable miniature schnauzer and a "world's smallest bear" cat. Having been there before, I stocked up on allergy meds, nasal sprays and prepared to get quite intimate with a Kleenex box. It was pretty much what I expected - runny nose, watering eyes, itchy throat - making me one attractive lady. However, what I forgot was this: after putting my system through such membrane strain, I usually catch a really sweet virus and end up sick sick. And here I am.

Tomorrow, we leave for Minnesota, to visit John's sister, a lovely woman who also loves cats. Perhaps I'll plead H1N1 and don a mask. Long and short, I anticipate another week of illness, which my coworkers seem to revel in and appreciate. Despite my best attempts to hide, "hhhoouuchhhuuuuukkkkk klahhh klahhhh" can be heard down the hall, even when I am in the bathroom. Sorry, esteemed colleagues and polished outside consultants.

The cat deck has been stacked against me from the beginning - between the allergies and the influence of my father, I guess my heart was never open. Here's a story for you:

When I was about seven or eight, there were some cats roaming around our neighborhood. One day, as he pulled into the garage in his sweet 1990 tan Buick LaSabre, my father spotted such a creature on our roof. Just arriving home from work, still in his suit and tie, he sprang into action (dare I say his reflexes had a cat-like quality to them?). As I watched with intense curiosity, he grabbed a rake from the garage and moved to the side of the house. I assumed he was going to encourage the cat off the roof by startling or poking it. This would be one of the many instanced in which I underestimated my father.

He laid the rake down, right in the cat's motion path. When I asked him what he was doing he calmly replied "Just wait." I still have a vivid image of him, never taking his eyes from the cat, carefully anticipating its path with the rake, tongue sticking out just slightly from the corner of his mouth.

Finally, at the exact moment that cat had all four paws on the rake, my father, with the precision of a color guard captain, whipped the rake up and sent that feline flying. I watched, and in what seemed like slow motion, the cat arced into the sky, meowed, then landed on its feet 20 feet from our house. I stood agog.

Being young and under the influence of farm books and the Bearnstein Bears, I asked him if he was worried the cat would get hurt. As the it darted away, he laughed and said "No, babe. They always land on their feet. And now, he won't be back."

So there you have it friends. Do I think kittens are adorable? Yep. Do I respect a cat's independence? Sure. Am I sorry for what my father did? Not really.

Now, I must stop because I get dizzy looking at computer screens. Thanks, Boo.

Overdue and Undertime

How lame is this? I am blogging into a Word document so I can copy and paste the text when I am live tomorrow, as our apartment is currently sans an internet connection (perhaps this is as lame as using the word lame). However, it’s been far too long since I last sat down to type it out, and, quite frankly, I miss LadyLaidOff.

Now, a little countdown of key events in my life of late. Since coming back to work I have:

• Been contacted by five (yes, count ‘em) recruiters for potential job opportunities
• Made four drop-offs to the White Elephant (the resale shop benefiting Children’s Memorial Hospital)
• Been accepted to three grad programs
• Lived in two apartments (it wasn’t eviction, per say, but it was a battle)
• Had one massive, debilitating migraine (and several just “pretty bad” tributaries)

Here’s a good story for you.

About a week into my new stint at the old company, I ran into someone who was pretty directly involved in my lay off. They walked into the break room to wash out their mug (sustainability, people!) while I was making popcorn in the microwave. These individual actions committed us to sharing a mildly awkward space for at least two minutes.

They start by asking “So, are you glad to be back?” I respond with my standard (trite, but truthful) “Oh, yes. It’s great. It’s great to be working again, have some new challenges.” From there, the conversasion goes a little something like this:

Person: “It’s funny how things have a way of working out, it’s great we could bring you back.”

Me: “I know, good connections, good people.”

Person: “So, what did you do with your time off?”

Me: In my head…Oh, yes, isn’t it nice how we can call it time off now?...Out loud “I…”

Person: “Were you even looking?”

Now, at this point, if, all at the same time, the record could scratch, the crickets could chirp, the room could fall silent and the waiter could drop the drinks, clichés that scream “STUNNED/STUMPED/STUPIFIED” would not be enough to describe the my incredulous befuddlement.

Me: (After a loooong pause) “Yes. Very much so.”

Person: “Ah, so it’s as bad out there as they say.”

Me: “Yes. Very much so.”

Person: “Well, then it’s great you could come back!”

Me: “Yes. Very much so.”

At this point, they may have realized I was acting as if Voldemort himself had just put a stunning and repeating curse on me, or perhaps the beep of the microwave was their excuse to leave.

Person: “Well, good luck! Great to have you back.”

Me: “Thanks.”

Truly, this was the most insulted I have felt in recent memory. After unlocking my jaw (no easy task – I have TMJ – if you don’t know what it is, look it up and be thankful) and taking my eyes down from saucer-size, I grabbed my popcorn and headed back to my cube.

With relative certainly, I believe this person didn’t mean to convey the message I received. I don’t think they pictured me sitting on the couch (imprinted with my ass, no less), covered in orange Cheeto dust, wearing holey XXL sweatpants and four-day dirty hair waiting for the phone call from Old Company asking me to come back. However, to ask if I had even looked? Child, you don’ gon’ crazy.

I Am Bee-Hind

Do I need to update? You betcha. Do I have the time? Not so much. Work is deliciously busy, the summer move #2 is imminent and grad school gallops closer.

Yikes.

You're Not a Chubby, Greasy, Poorly Dressed Person!

Came back to work on Monday. Same building, sitting one floor down. It's funny - when people first saw me, particularly if they didn't know I was coming back, they all said the same thing: "You look good!"

Even better was how most people I took by surprise said it: "You look...good..." As if, they were really blown away I maintained a standard of physical decency. The surprise in their voices pretty much said: "Huh. You didn't go off the deep end after being let go. Well done!"

Other frequently heard comments:

• "Your hair got long!" Well, that happens after four months, I suppose.
• "You look so well rested!" Yep. I've been sleeping about 10 hours a day for quite some time.
• "You are tan!" Well, let's just say that after confirming my new employment, I didn't spend my days inside.
• "You've lost weight!" Hm...perhaps five pounds, perhaps the all-black shirtwaist dress. I won't tell you which.

Don't get me wrong, I can be told how great I look all day long, but I just particularly enjoyed the tone of astonishment in people's voices. I suppose people do go off the deep end after being laid off - that's why I had to get a drug test.

Last Day of Unemployment...

...and I wish I could say I was going out with a bang, but that's just not the case. Why, you ask? Well, largely because I didn't get around to finishing my Loyola essay earlier this week. Why, you ask? Well, kids, the best laid plans... My intention was to wrap it up yesterday afternoon. That was until John called to inform me we needed to be out of our apartment by September 30. Please note, we moved in June 1. Whaaaaaa....?

They are converting our rental building into condos, and this requires a major gut rehab. If you've seen our place, you know. I love living here (or, rather, I loved) but it's not the kind of place you buy, unless you're cool with a dishwasher circa 1979 and windows so thin the trains on the L set your schedule. But, our sweet management company did a bang-up job of under- and mis-communicating the situation to us, since we first received a notice saying the building is going condo (good luck with that), but our lease will be honored. Several more follies ensued, but I'll spare you the details.

We didn't go overboard purchasing decor for the apartment, but Home Depot got some serious cash out of us as we built a custom microwave shelf, added hanging bars to closets and assisted in preserving the structural integrity of this building. Add to that moving expenses, man-hours cleaning the place (ever seen black mop water with nail clippings in it? Yea, that bad), and an army of friends who carried our crap (Tom has a very strict one move, per friend, per year policy, as he told us already) and it's just plain annoying that MTD Management doesn't believe they owe us financial recourse. We'll see, my friends, we'll see.

Tangent aside, today, last day of unemployment, will be spent finessing an essay. Then on Monday, I return to work. I don't know where I am sitting. I'm not sure what my title is. But, I think I know to whom I report. Small victories, big dance.

In the end, I guess the joke is on the former company. They generously gave me three months' severance, laid four and half months of unemployment on top of that, and now, the prodigal daughter returns. It would have been a bit more fun for me had I known the ending, but I guess that spoils the plot, doesn't it? It's been fun. And emotional. And stressful. And educational. And I think I need to share my learnings with others. So, the plan is to try and write a short book on what to do when you're laid off. We'll see if it makes it past the idea stage.

You Can't Go Home Again...

...But, apparently, you can move in next door.

I just found out that I will officially be reporting to my old group, (thus, my former boss) when I return to work on Monday. Thrilling news (I loved reporting to Leslie and greatly respect the work of the team), but it certainly threw me for a loop.

When I was let go, I pined so deeply to return to my old company, my old group, my old desk (check out this entry) I actually inhibited my own forward progress. I probably spoke to too many former colleagues about too much work stuff, too often and wanted so desperately to be part of this fantastic group again, I got myself in a knot. The only way to move on was to really let go.

That didn't mean not speaking to these people anymore; that would have been nearly impossible - they are my work family. But I did release any hope of being part of the team and I moved forward, feeling healthier all the while.

Now, I am heading back, reporting to the same person but doing very different work. We'll call it returning to the neighborhood. Well, I can't mull over the situation too long, I suppose, as I have been known to be a tad analytical (I can see my girlfriends rolling there eyes right now) - okay, yes, chronic over analyzer here. Today's' college dating patterns will turn any gal into a damn gumshoe. I digress. Familiarity will bring some comfort while I work out new challenges. In the meantime, I need to get a drug test.

What is that? You must pee in a cup? Indeed. Since I have been gone from the company more than three months (ahem, whose fault is that, ahem) they want to make sure I haven't gone off the deep end, blowing coke and rockin' the gange. No, no, dear company, my dismissal only led to a few too many happy hours and three packs of cigarettes.

Dear Admissions Officer...

I am writing to inform you that I very much want to attend your graduate school. Why, you ask? Well, there are many reasons. To start, I think I can get into your school. Or alternatively, I am not sure I can, but will try and win you over with wit and charm.

I have had a passion for all things your university for the as long as I have seriously considered getting ready to maybe apply to grad schools - about six months in real time. What further appeals to me about your program is that it is located in Chicago, where I live, and is reachable via the "L."

Your XYZ program is widely respected nationally, and if not nationally, then definitely maybe regionally and definitely for sure locally. I think you will teach me what I need to know to further my personal and professional development. Well, certainly professional, and I believe personal development will come from learning to balance your rigorous academic schedule with the demands of my job. Of course, this leads me to another reason I want to attend - you offer a part-time program, demonstrating your concern and regard for the lives of students.

Further demonstrating your committment to students attendign the XYZ college, you offer an abundance of financial aide and scholarship options. All of the fiscal help options sound simple enough to apply for, and only require me committing my first-born child to your endentured service. Such a gift! Moreover, you are competitively priced with other Chicago instutions making you just as unaffordable, not more so, than comparable programs.

Finally, I want you to know that I have much to offer the XYZ program: a sardonic wit, an appreciation for those smarter than me, and a belief that what it meant to be will be. Oh, yes, also - I am willing to say whatever I must in order to gain acceptance to your program. However, once I am enrolled, you will see underneath me a fire so bright it requires a space suit.

Thank you for your time and consideration.

Facetiously yours,

Melissa A. Richgels

Putting Yourself Out There

Summer finally decided to come to Chicago. Thanks, buddy. We missed you. As such, I was at the beach yesterday. More specifically, I was at the North Avenue beach bar, Castaways, where my friend Becky works, having a beer. Yes, I do mean A beer. My five-year college reunion last weekend may have caused irreparable internal damage, so we're taking it slow (it must have been the fact we stayed in the dorms...saying "no" to one more just didn't feel right). Anyway, at Castaways, where the people watching is more fun than the beer is warm, I looked over to one of the shirt-less, tattooed, shorn-chested gentlemen (term used loosely) sardined around me and see this:

The other side reads "Laid Off." I asked him where he got it, thinking it was from a job fair or some laid off congregation, but he said he got it from a Web site that just sells these bands. I was curious and wanted to ask him more about his laid off experience, but he was annoyed that I even talked to him as he was busy trying to make headway with the size four blond in a white bikini that didn't quite cover her butt, which was the same tan as her legs. That's all fine and dandy, but don't forget, buddy - your lack of income is encircling your wrist, and I doubt Sandy wants to buy her own electric lemonade. Hope you have a trust fund. Oh, wait, that was the guy taking to Carly...

Anyway, it really is amazing to see the stigma of being laid off slowly evaporate with every corporate cut, Wall Street analysis and Fed press release. If people are willing to spell it out, it almost seems en vogue. Which reminds me, I need to develop my laid off t-shirt line before I go back to work in a two weeks.

Two weeks. It still feels a bit surreal, but the date of my return to the ivory tower creeps closer and closer. It's time to do all those things I talked about when I was first laid off: "Well, I'm sad, but now I can organize my pictures, get my files in order and write that book I keep talking about ." Which reminds me, I should get cracking on that, eh? I think I'll postpone my non-fiction "The Second Adolescence" and write something more topical like "Laid Off? Me Too.Let's Crack a Bushe Light While Perusing Craigs List."

As for this blog, I enjoy it and keep having people come up to me and tell me they enjoy it, so I'll keep writing. No official new topic as of yet. Blogging about working again is probably not the best idea since it's rather a public link these days and I would hate to lose my newly acquired position do to an accidental slip of the keys. Plenty of time to find a topic. Now, I just need to find a publisher...

Surreal Cliches

"When it rains it pours." Damn straight it does. The week I received a job offer from my old company the following happened:

• A wonderful new contact shared that he was impressed with me and could easily arrange for me to get into Northwestern's IMC program.
• I had a call for a real interview.
• I had a call for a phone interview.
• I had a second call for a phone interview with a company that had previously rejected me, saying there had been a mistake.

Well, even given all of that, I decided to accept the new role with my old company. It's completely separate from what I did prior - a fresh, big challenge that uses my communications skills and will lend me more of the change readiness type. It's good.

Lots of things going through my head - will process, cynicize and spew for all of you later. Still kinda reeling (in the best way possible).

Drumroll, Please!

The ex-boyfriend asked me back. I got an offer from my old company today. Relief/joy/happiness/accomplishment/ahhhhhhh explosion!

Check One: Yes, No, Maybe

I feel like a fifth-grade girl who passed a note to a boy saying: "Do you like me? Check one: Yes, No, Maybe." In this case, the boy checked "Maybe" and said he'd get back to me early next week. Only that next week is this week and that boy is my old company.

Let's just say that I jump every time the phone rings and check my e-mail with apprehensive dread every fifteen minutes. See, I figure the "Yes" will come via phone and the "No" by e-mail. Something tells me this boy isn't much for confrontation. Maybe he'll even make one of his friends tell me "No." Wouldn't that just be neat? Not so much.

I have some other dates pending if you will, but I guess since I am courting my "ex-boyfriend," so to speak, the fear of being turned down is exacerbated. I mean really, who opens themselves up to being dumped twice? Me, I guess.

Old Company: Hey, you're lookin' fine. Maybe I want you back, but I don't know. Can you come in and talk to me first?
Me: Oh, yes, you handsome, handsome man with your evil commute. I want you to want me!

I know, I know. It's not like that at all in terms of business and opportunity. I would never turn down a great interview for a good company, no matter our history. But, when you flick on the emotional end, the dating game makes a lovely analogy. And see? See what I have done? A week has passed since my interview and I allowed myself to think maybe, just maybe this would work out. Remember when I said I was sure I wouldn't get the position? Yea, I need to go back to that school of thinking, like, now.

In other, better, news, I have phone screen today and an informational interview tomorrow. I got a large chunk of my grad school applications completed yesterday and am rolling on through.

Now, if only my phone wouldn't keep pretending to light up out of the corner of my eye...

Oversharing? That's the Name of This Game

So, I joined Twitter. As Lady Laid Off. I figured I could tweet about unemployment along with whatever else happened to strike me at the moment. There are so many rich ironies in life and mild moments of amusement, I think I'd like to add those to my writing arsenal.

This brings me to wonder: am I over sharing in a public domain? I am known among friends and confidants as one who tends to just give a tad too much information, particularly when relaying stories from the old days in pest control (have you ever seen a rat gnaw its leg free from a glue board? Probably not). Now, for whomever wants to read the highs and lows of my unemployment trek, I blog. And, adding fuel to the fire, I will share the minutia of my life through Twitter. By Tweeting. Talk about something to be overheard on the street: "Hey man, did you read my tweet? It was sweet!" What is the past tense of Tweet? I would think Twat, but that is actually horrific slang for...oh geez. That is probably more of a Twitter booty call? I'll stop there.

Written pontification aside, I will be Tweeting. Follow me.

I had an interview at my old company yesterday, for a specific project team. It went well, so naturally, I am certain I won't get it. There is an internal candidate also up for the position, and although they probably don't have the same communications skills requisite for the job, their current position is being eliminated soon, and with politics at play, I imagine that transition will be easier for the company. As much as I have consciously shut out the possibility of receiving an offer, (serious self-preservation mode here) my subconscious seems to relish the idea. I dreamed about it all last night, so much so I woke up thinking I had the job. Bastard dreams.

In any case, plan B is in full swing. Grad school apps due July 1.