A Shortage of Beakers?

I started this blog for a variety of reasons, old fashioned peer pressure was not the least among them, and although it wasn't intended to be centered around my job, both the story that started it all and the name I chose come directly from work.

As of exactly a week ago, I am no longer surrounded by my glass beakers, or my people Beakers - after seven years (SEVEN!) I had my last day of work in the lab. I had been talking about a change for a while (by "a while" I mean a long, long time) and when an opportunity arose without me even seeking it out, I took it. I'm not sure if this was the best decision... I had planned on starting to look around as soon as I got through some family wedding business, and I got a phone call about a new job the week before I was to get to that. So... I just kinda took it without seeing what else was out there. I guess some people might call this "lazy". It will be a huge change from what I was used to, and frankly, I'm a little scared. I talked to someone this weekend that works in a very similar organization to my own, and when I asked her what she did she said she worked in water, but mostly she checked email. Me, too! I worked in air, but mostly I checked email. But I have a feeling there will be a lot less of the email. I will also not be leaving promptly at 5, or having every other Friday off, or expecting that no one from work would ever, EVER contact me at home. I haven't even started my new job yet, and already - they keep asking me to do things! Like expecting me to work and stuff. I am not so much used to that anymore.

I used up a couple of my vacation days last week so that I could sit in on some meetings with my new coworkers. (I was passed a note about a third of the way trough on the 2nd day that read, "None of this really applies to you - you didn't have to come today. Sorry I didn't think of that sooner!" But I am not bitter. No, not even though I specifically asked if I could be at my old job that day, since I kinda had a lot to do in a hurry before I left, which was very soon, at the request of new job. See how I am starting off all positive?) Anyway, I was excited to be around something all new, but at the same time, it wasn't all happy leaving the land of the beakers.

First of all, my wonderful sweetest boss ever? My direct supervisor who is from China and thinks I am the only person in the world that can write her English for her? She cried when I told her. And she is not a crier. She tried to hide behind some of our instruments so that I wouldn't see. It was like this, "I just think that we are so good together..." tears start, and she ducks down behind a GC Mass Spec. I told her it would be a while before I could start, which is what I had thought, and the next day, it came up that they wanted me right away. So I gave my 2 weeks notice just 2 days after assuring her that I would still be there for a while yet to help out, and she was seriously down all day. Not only would she have to do all my work in addition to her own (because the lab is on a hiring freeze! Yay!) But it also meant that she couldn't take any long trips to China to see her family, because I was the only person in the lab that could cover for her when she was gone. And they aren't allowed to not have all stations manned at all times. So, big bummer for her. And finding all this out did not make me feel exactly good?

But do you know what she did? She responded by gathering up a collection for a going away present, and she made ME write the email to our coworkers. I kept telling her, "I can't write this! Can't you get someone else?" But she wouldn't. And she was saying things like, "Sometimes... my English... I know what in my heart, but I don't know how to say it in English. I want to sat more... about your kindness, and how good you are, and how we are not just losing someone we work with, but a good friend."
See? This was not happy.

And then she brought in a camera and took pictures of me working, and presented me with a scrapbook later on. A scrapbook that she spent a full day and a half putting together. It was so sweet! And so sad!
Do you think anyone at my new job will make me a scrapbook? I'm going to say probably not.

So that is what's going on around here in work world. I guess I won't have any more coworker stories. I'm not planning on writing about my new job, but then I already went and vented a little bit about that, didn't I? That does not bode well.

I'll tell you one thing I won't miss: breathing in carcinogenic gases. Which were not given the proper resources for dealing with. When she took the pictures of me working, she said she wanted to show me "enjoy work" - so here I am loving on some of those gases that poisoned me. It's a goodbye hug. But these, these I won't miss.



See that old gray-hooded sweatshirt I'm wearing? I kept it at work and put it on when I wanted to feel extra sexy. Because if there was one thing my workplace inspired, it was sexiness.

There were a number of other pictures taken of my everyday work tasks. Me staring into a computer, etc. As I brainstormed about what I did every day, one of the things that came to mind was "torment Vienna Sausage Lady." Sometimes I combine this with "exercise" and I would practice my running, flying kicks on her while she is working. Because you never know when a running flying kick might be needed. Or sometimes instead of flying kicks, I would practice my standing crane kick, because if I am cast in the next Karate Kid movie, I want to be ready.



See how much she worked on the little details of the book? I need to give her a call and see how my work is going. And then I need to get back to unemployment. I am soaking it up while I can.
Hope work is going well for you today, real world.

how I can be stupid about the same thing more than once

I can't remember if I wrote about the little eye cream mishap I had a couple of months ago. To recap, a makeup lady (when are they not causing trouble?) went out of her way to stress how much it would mean to her if I would please please use eye cream. So she gave me some for free - because this was very important to her. And I started to use it. And the more I used it, the more I realized, "wow, I really do need this eye cream" - because the skin around my eyes was not looking so good. So I lathered that stuff on. And it looked worse. So I became very diligent in my lathering. And pretty soon my eyes were red and puffy and peeling, and a friend took one look at them and said, "It looks like you're having an allergic reaction." And then the teeny tiny light bulb in my head came on and I stopped using the cream, and my poor little eyes began to shrink back down to a normal size and color.

Recently I bought a new chapstick - and I decided it was the best chapstick ever. It smelled delicious, and it felt so good and soft and creamy when I put it on! So for the first time ever, I paid attention to where I put that chapstick, and did not lose it within it's first two weeks with me. And I used it! I used it all the time. I've never had a big problem with chapped lips - not like my sister. When we were younger, she the corners of her mouth would get cracked, and I would tell her it was because she drooled all the time. I told her that she couldn't tell that it was happening, but that everyone else could see that there were pools of slobber resting in the corners of her mouth all the time. And she believed me, because that's what younger siblings do, which is their most redeeming quality. And then I could gloat a little bit because my own mouth would always remain nice and uncracked. Well, lucky for me I got this lovely chapstick just before I started experiencing my own bought of dry lips! Suddenly I really needed this chapstick, so I used it. And I used it more. And more and more. And yet the problem just got worse. It got so bad that would think I was living on a fishing boat in Norway, and not in hot, humid, Georgia in July. Pretty soon, smiling was a problem. And then it was eating - because you have to open your mouth to put food in it, and it seems that this causes your lips to stretch. And as anyone who knows me knows, you had better not mess with my meal time. So the other night I was dousing myself in chapstick once again, when finally, FINALLY I remembered the eye cream incident, and I furiously wiped off my mouth. I've been carrying around a small container of vaseline ever since, and keeping that stuff all over my mouth. Because it took one day away from my lips falling off my face to figure out that there may be a problem here. So yesterday at work I was training a new guy, and all the time he's asking me questions, and I'm just sticking globs of vaseline all over my mouth. I'm sure he wasn't frightened.

Already my lips are looking less leprous, so I'm pretty sure I've found the problem. Thank you, big brain of mine. Nothing gets past you!
Seriously, is there a boot camp for one's big brain muscle? Because I'm afraid that thing is atrophying away. Wait, can the brain be considered a muscle..? See what I mean?!!

A meeting with Bathroom Lady is like taking a look in a skinny mirror

Unless she is telling you how wide your hips are, at least.

I just ran into her in the hallway, and she greeted me with a, "Wooo-oo! You slimming down!"
(Note: I am most definitely not slimming down.)

me: "No."
BL: "Yes you are! What you doing? I tried to walk today but my foot started hurting."
And I used the hurt foot opening to talk about my own hurt foot, as well as the knees that have been aching ever since I attempted to run 6.2 miles. (The foot is also from the race - it's bruised all over one side - and it hurts! How did I get this old??)
Anyway, while I was talking, she was not looking me in the eye, nor at my knees or foot - she was staring at my mid-section. And mid "I think I'm going to go swimming after work today" sentence she commanded: "Turn around." What I am supposed to do? I turned. So she could size up the size of my butt, I suppose. I don't know what's effecting her vision, but she seemed to think my butt size supported her theory.
BL: "mmhmm! You definitely slimming down! How you do it?"
me: "I'm not doing anything." (sadly true.)
BL: "I know you doing something."
me: "I've been sitting back there eating cookies*."
BL: laughing, as she walks away, "No, that ain't it! You doing something! One day you going to tell me how you do it!"

I don't think she knows I have only 2 more days of working in this building with her. I think I'll actually miss our little run-ins.

*Also sadly true. Just ask Splann. Just moments before we had this conversation:
Splann: "How are you feeling?"
me: "Ok. I'm sitting in the bathroom eating a bag of cookies."
Splann: "So, not good."

I think this is the first time I've ever stooped to eating in the bathroom. But there was no privacy from the rule-enforcing presence today! I had to take a break. I took my phone and the cookies with me. Don't judge.

that just ain't right

Most inappropriate status I have seen on facebook:

 

"(Name) is pissed about the rumor of my good firend of many many many years husband. I could totally kick his ass for it! Now the question is should I tell her??"

 

hmm... let's see... if I were your good friend of many many many years, what would I want...  Yes - that's it.  I would want you to tell everyone but me.  Perpetuate the rumor, but don't tell me about it.  I would instead like to wonder why people suddenly stop whispering when I walk into a room.  I know!  You could announce it on facebook!  That way, not only would our mutual friends know, but even those people in your contact list that you only know because someone you know married someone that they know, and even when you happen to see them you don't really talk - tell those people!  But not me.  Yes. this is what a really good friend would do.  So glad you already thought of it.

(Does putting this on a blog make me just as tacky? I think it may be close, but I still think contestant #1 wins. And being just slightly less tacky than this is obviously a worthy goal to shoot for.)

I promise that sometimes I do not complain (but this is not one of them)

So sit back, I've got some venting to do. Hey, it's either you or calling up my friends and venting to them, and if I were to do that all the time pretty soon they wouldn't want to hang out with me anymore. So I choose you, internets. You are that special to me.

Numero Uno) A kickball lineup for this weekend was sent out over email, and imagine my surprise when I discover that I don't seem to be a highly valued team member!! (I know, I could hardly believe it, either.) You see, I signed up for this college alumni kickball team, and signed up a friend along with me, because she was looking for new guys to hit on a fun physical activity to contribute to. Unfortunately, I was out of town for both the league kick-off party, the team get to know you party, and the first game. But she went solo, because she really wants to get a jump-start on those guys is really dedicated to kickball. We have a team captain that sends out emails, and she told me that he's very nice - in what he says - but perhaps a little sexist in how he directs this game. I don't know if I somehow thought this wouldn't extend to me, a complete stranger, but I was nevertheless offended to see that in the list of 18 players, I would be kicking dead last. And I would only be playing half the game - and when I am in I will be a catcher, which as everyone knows, is just like sitting out anyway. Not too many people whiff a ball. Really you just stand there and pick your nose. Oh wait! One time I get to play left center field. But our captain has designated himself all-time center fielder, so I'm pretty sure he plans on covering my territory when I'm out there. (Oh, he's a risk taker! Putting me in the out field that one time!)
I think my pride is particularly wounded because back in elementary school (which of course wasn't very long ago), I played kickball every single day at recess, and I was GOOD, damnit. I was always 2nd pick, and the first pick would go on to be a highly sought after college athlete, and a (marginally successful) professional one. If he was a captain and got first pick, it meant we were on the same team and a few kids would always whine it wasn't fair. Yes, those were the good old days - I think I reached my peak at 10. It's been down hill ever since. And actually, I may have been a tiny bit overrated back then. And also, when I last played, I discovered that I am worse as an adult than I was as a kid. And I don't just mean everyone else is better - true, grown men have a power advantage they didn't have as kids - but I mean I myself am worse. I once was a kid that could sling the ball at a runner and knock him over (at least if he was kind of small - don't judge, I wasn't big, either), and now I throw like a girl. How did that happen? Is there something in the genes that just kicks in at some point?
Anyway, my whole point is - my kickball reputation should have magically extended into the present, and I should not be made to play less than anyone else on the team. As my soccer-friend Jay once said, "I have some meaty legs" - that goes for me, too. If I am cursed with these meaty legs, at least some good should come out of it. And kickball is about the only upside of that I can think of.
My friend wanted to go out for drinks before our game tomorrow, but nay, little flirty friend, it is not to be! I am fired up now. I will not be drinking - I will be psyching myself up to prove myself to my team! My pride is wounded!!
(If anyone has any idea how I can prepare myself, please let me know. Now that I have written this I fully expect to dumbly stand there while a ball bounces off my face at least one time.)

2) Did you know that when you move you may get an energy bill for a month after you move out? I called them yesterday because I thought it was a mistake. They had the time period listed as one day, and the amount was more than half of what my last bill had been. I thought that even if they were issuing a bill for one day, the amount must be wrong. But, noooo, it seems that anytime you move out after the 20th of the month (which is everyone that moves, right?) they get to charge you all their fees for the next month. (On a side note, I can't believe that much of my bill was "fees"!). Before the guy would explain it to me he told me that his paperwork showed I had been alerted to this rule when I called in to cancel my service. First of all, this was the kind of thing I would remember had it been explained to me, because just the principle of it, it makes me mad. (So I don't think they did tell me, looks like another example of this, but there's no evidence to point to in this case), but even if they did, what am I supposed to do? Not turn off my service? So I'm thinking about writing a letter. But I know I'm lazy, so maybe you should write a letter. Start with: "Dear Cheating Bastards".

3) You know, I think I will leave off three. I had a coworker anecdote, but even I am tired of my own complaining.

I will leave you with something light to see you off into the weekend! My brother introduced me to this comic strip xkcd. I would classify this as a strip for big nerds, which is probably why my brother likes it. Half the time, I don't know what it's talking about, and then I feel stupid. But at least sometimes I leave it and then try to learn what that was all about. And every once in a while, there is one that the simple folks like me can take part in, and then I feel so pleased with myself! (Even though I have not actually gotten any smarter.) So here's one for everyone: enjoy.

I may have a *teeny* problem with confrontation

I was reading over on jamelah.net today when I was reminded of something my brain had almost managed to completely repress. Jamelah (and if you ever want to read a blog that actually updates on a regular basis, I highly recommend it! I especially enjoy hearing about her Grandma.) - uh, where was I? Oh yes, in her letter to her hypothetical future potential boyfriend, she goes through her list of stellar qualities years of experience has taught her to look for - like not picking your nose and then touching her with your hand* - and that, is what opened up my little memory vault.

*Single fellas, I suggest you read it for something to aspire to. Seriously, the more time that goes on, the more that we see, the more important "please, please just be normal" becomes. I like to think that it's a reachable goal.

My own nose-picking experience is a little different - not potential boyfriend related at all. Just a few weeks ago when I was going out of town for my brother's wedding, I went to get a pedicure, so as not to disgrace my mother with my unkempt feet. For any you out there who have never had a pedicure (do it! trust me!), one of the processes you go through is the tweezing off of cuticles around your nail (at this point in reading, I predict my brother starts to feel disgusted). They soak your feet and lots of warm water with nice little lotions and get them all softened up first, so you really don't feel it at all. Just dead skin coming off to leave the soft, new skin underneath. But every once in a while a person will get a little carried away with the tweezers, and pluck away some of your living, still-connected-to-nerves skin. And that junk hurts. And then it bleeds.

That happened to me on this particular day, except I didn't even feel it. I just happened to look down at my foot and saw that one of my toes was bleeding. And while I was actually very anxious to get out of town and to a wedding, I had come at a slow time of day (because I wasn't at work! because I need to get on the road people!) and the lady that was doing my pedicure was taking her time. Which meant an extra long foot message, so should I really complain? But she was also talking to everyone else in the place, and looking all around and usually more absorbed in her conversation than in my feet (I don't blame her) so she hadn't noticed my bleeding toe. I was considering whether or not to bring it to her attention when she reached for a long stream of toilet paper she had laid across one leg. "Oh good!", I thought, "She's going to stop the blood!" but instead she used that toilet paper to pick her nose. She put it up in there and she dug around, and then she laid it back down and continued going with the foot. She still hadn't noticed and I still hadn't said anything when she started smearing the blood all over my foot. (Kinda gross, sorry.) And finally, she looked down and saw it. And then, can you guess what she did next? That's right. She picked up the same stream of toilet paper, and using the EXACT SAME END she had used for her boogers, she stuck it onto the wound in my toe. And here is where I really should have said something, like, I don't even know what... "Do you have something clean you could use? Like something that wasn't just in your nose a minute ago?" And while I realize this, all I could do while I saw it happening, while I saw that toilet paper move towards my sore, bloody toe, was maybe get a little croak out of my throat, and like Jamelah, have my brain silently scream, "Nooooooooo!!!" When I first saw her lifting it, I assumed she would use the other end, and I was still disturbed. Little did I know that toilet paper conversation was such a high priority for her.
This just isn't a situation that one is prepared with a set response for. I mean, everyone has a few stand-bys for certain circumstances. Say someone asks you out that you don't want to go out with, it's no problem to quickly blurt out, "I'm dating someone", or, "Sorry, I'm a lesbian." But the words "Please don't insert your used tissue into my open flesh" were just not readily available to my tongue. Plus, I didn't want to offend her! That would be rude. (And this is why I have issues. One of them, at least.)

And that's my little trip down memory lane (of a couple of weeks ago) for you! You are welcome. Hopefully sometime soon I'll update more. Can you believe they are keeping me busy at work? Terrible, I know.

why yes, I guess it does...

I was washing my hands in the bathroom a few minutes ago, when I encountered none other than Bathroom Lady. She came in, and we exchanged a few polite remarks as she passed me on her way to the stalls. "How are you?" "Pretty good, how are you?" "oh, fine, fine." Like that. And a moment later she closed the stall door and announced, "Here it go:" and then she, you know, went. She wasn't muttering to herself, she was speaking very loudly - to the whole room. I just thought that was kind of interesting.

I've gotten to make my fair share of visits to the old work bathroom today because I have been drinking about 3 times as much water as I usually do - and I usually drink water steadily throughout the day. You see, I am running my first road race tomorrow morning, and I like to make sure I am prepared. "But Jenn," you may be saying, "It's only a 10K - you can run that easy!" (In fact, a friend said pretty much that to me today at lunch. In between describing her recent climb of Mount Hood - which starts with 7 miles straight up in freezing temperatures and life threatening conditions. And then you have to get down hill before the sun gets to high and it's even harder plus you're tired and your legs are shaking from the strain. But not her legs! Hers were fine! I hate her.) So I know to all you marathoners and half-marathoners - and let's face it - even most of you so called "casual runners" 6.2 miles is a breeze. And here's my first problem - is a 10K 6.2 miles? That sounds kind of familiar, but I don't really know. This is not something that has ever concerned me before. Remember when I did boot camp? One day I ran about 5.5 miles in the boot camp "fast group", and THAT was pretty much a miracle of an occasion. And I hated every second of it. But I made it. And two days later my body found it necessary to sleep for an entire day. I don't think that's a good sign.

It was at around this time that I signed up for the race with my friend, Lob. By the time I got to my second month of boot camp, the work outs seemed fairly easy. And then it ended. And then I... took a break? And then I got a beast of a stomach virus from a 2 year old, and it was all down hill from there. Because the next time I tried to run, I couldn't. And the next time after that... oh, I'm sorry, did I say that there was a next time after that? hmm.

The thing is, I would be completely happy walking this whole freakin' thing and coming in dead last. They can take the barriers down, the traffic can resume, and I can still be walking - I don't care. But Lob. Lob is a different story. Lob is a woman who never loses, and Lob says we are to NEVER STOP RUNNING. And I try to tell Lob that I am not in condition to run that distance, and she says she isn't either but that we can do it together. mmhm. Anyone who knows Lob knows what I'm thinking about. "Oh, I messed up horribly on that test!" A week later: "Oh, I got a 100. Well, I did miss one point - it's just that I got the extra credit." That woman has been training, and we both know it. I suggested to her that she might be happier running with my climbing friend with the legs of steel, or that perhaps we could throw some water on our faces, and jog up to the t-shirt tent and just pretend we had run over 6 miles. I believe her response was: "Don't even think about it. We are in this together, bitch."

Which is why I believe I may die tomorrow. Or at least have my first true fainting experience.

But now that it's imminent, I'm doing my best to prepare! Like by drinking water! And not going running yesterday because I wouldn't want to be sore! And the race information has other things for me to think about, like eating carbs (check - fruit for breakfast and pasta and bread for lunch) and getting acclimated to heat (check - went to New Orleans last weekend - slowly walked around and felt like the sun was sucking the life force out of me). So, it's good that I got those covered!

As for other things I have been doing lately? They have consisted largely of sitting in cars/airplanes/sofas and eating that delicious chocolate cake mentioned in the previous post. (duty called.) And also sitting at some restaurants and eating. And then there was my final weekend of preparation a few days ago, which looked like a whole lotta this:



which can only be topped off with late night beignets here:




Meanwhile, Lob was doing practice runs and taking notes on which kind of socks were best worn, and to what degree a watch bothers her.
I think that this can only go well.

In case anyone wondered...

The wedding referred to in my last post did take place, and was a success. (Meaning, they are now married.) And everything and everyone was beautiful, and from what I could tell, a good time was had by all. I came back exhausted, worked for two days, and then headed off to New Orleans for more fun. And so my brain has been too dead or I have been too busy to update much. Until now! Lucky you.

As far as my fears about my outspoken relatives, I escaped (rather miraculously) with only one "I keep trying to get Jennifer to forget that they're cousins" from my aunt (in reference to her wife-search for her son, my first cousin). I turned and told the next single female cousin down the line to watch out, because our aunt would be trying to get her to forget next. And I said so loud enough for my aunt to hear, hoping that thought would take root and grow in her little scheming mind, and that she will eventually like that idea better. Because this cousin is younger and has more time to bear mutant babies.

This conversation occurred upon leaving a "ladies breakfast" the morning of the wedding. (Oh, the food, people, the food! It was all so delicious! And there were SO many meals for one weekend!) Now I am completely distracted by memories of food and have lost my train on thought... oh yeah! At the breakfast my aunt had been seated next to the brides two younger sisters, and even though they are still in college, and her son is 31, had said this to them: "You all are just so pretty! Are you married? No? Good! Because my son is here and he's single! I'm looking for a wife for him." This was followed by uncomfortable laughter from the girls. Or maybe it was just me that was uncomfortable, because I was the only one listening who knew that she was serious.
So, pretty mild stuff, if I do say so myself. They were on good behaviour.

I did get approached by a friend of the family at a breakfast the morning after the wedding (I told you, a lot of meals) who told me that one of the greatest mysteries (according to him) was why there aren't loads of young men chasing after me and his only remaining adult single daughter (a girl who I grew up with, and is 2 years older than me - I like mentioning when people are older than me.). I suggested that perhaps they were all intimidated by our overwhelming awesomeness. I thought this a pretty good theory, but he didn't entertain it at all. No, he told me what he says he tells her, that we are fishing in a small pond. He thinks that she needs to leave San Fran and I need to leave Atlanta and that we should both move to the land o' plenty (of straight men). And that we should also stop getting older. (That one's even tougher.)

But it was a great weekend surrounded by incredibly great people - and great food! (Have I mentioned that?) There were old friends and new friends and family, and toasting and roasting and storytelling, and dancing and feasting. And purpley mountains and green hills. Which can kind of be seen here:




And for the first time ever at a wedding...!! I saw men actively participate in a garter toss. It was unusual. So I took photos. Here's one:




And I got to see this lovely dance performed live in front of me. Well, most of this lovely dance. Maybe not the humping the floor part. Because it was a fancy weekend - and that stuff is better done in 80's aerobics gear than in a tux.

I'd say the only down side (for me, and this is all about me) was that I started feeling sick during the reception. Early into the meal - for no apparent reason. And you know when you feel like you're going to throw up the last thing you want to think about is eating? Well, that goes for drinking too. And we were at this lovely vineyard where they kept bringing out different wines paired for all the foods, and I actually wanted to try the beer - there was some good locally brewed beer. And I couldn't drink it. :( But you know what was worse? When they cut the cake and I realized that not only did they have white and chocolate cakes - but they were serving it with ICE CREAM! I have never been to a wedding where they served the cake with ice cream - and I've been to a lot of weddings. So you know how when you feel nauseous just thinking of eating makes you feel more so? Well, I was actually thinking of eating the cake anyway, even if it meant throwing up in my bridesmaid's dress - that is how devoted I am to cake. But I didn't. I acted mature. And you know what? I was rewarded! Because the next day on my way home you know what I found stored in my car? A couple of boxes of chocolate cake. So I stopped at the first convenience store I came to, got myself a plastic fork, and I went to work on one of those boxes. I went to work for the next 9 hours.

As I said, a great weekend.