We Can Pickle That!

Lured by the siren song of a paycheque and a misplaced sense of purpose, I venture daily into the massive rectangular structure. Most of my waking hours are spent plugged in to the system, shaping thoughts and products that I hope will please my superiors. By way of swift and systematic feedback I become trained in their ways. Slowly, irrevocably, my thoughts become one with those of the hive brain; little by little, I am made one of them.

They let me keep my own face and stuff so that's nice, but otherwise it's pretty much the Borg in there. Resistance is futile.

One of the interesting side effects of my indoctrination is the inappropriate application of work concepts in every aspect of my life, "mitigate" being among the worst offenders: look like total arse in the morning? Mitigation measures include makeup; hair styling; artful use of cleavage to draw the eye away from the haggard face. Feel like total arse in the morning? Mitigation measures include more makeup; caffeine; handful of ibuprofen. (Crunchy!) Lousy day at work? Wash down your ibuprofen with a light sprinkling of tears and something chocolate. Supper looks like/tastes like/totally is arse, and/or too tired to cook at all? 310-0001. Plus ibuprofen.

The list goes on. No matter the problem, We Can Mitigate That! And if it can't be technically or economically mitigated? Well, it probably wasn't significant anyway, so, y'know, whatevs. Here, I'll show you how that beautiful piece of magic works:

"Oh, gawd, I'm dying to eat a slice of cheesecake right now. But it's too late at night for me to mitigate this slice of cheesecake with a workout, so I'd better evaluate the significance of any potential effects before proceeding with this poor nutrition choice. Let's see... based on the the basal metabolic rate of the ingestee; the gym membership she could (theoretically) deploy to healthful effect at any time; and the 5% Lycra in her clothing, it is concluded that this slice of cheesecake will have no significant cumulative effect. Dig in." Simple!

Note the sliding baseline (i.e., my 34-year-old physique with its decades of accumulated kummerspeck was used as the point of comparison) and the examination of the cheesecake effects in complete isolation of the larger dietary/lifestyle context. Contrary to what your gut feel on this might be, it's actually a strength of the argument, not a drawback: you can explain away anything in the entire world with this. It's the single most powerful piece of illogic a person can hold in their arsenal of self-talk, even more so than whatever my mother uses when she buys all those shoes.

And I wouldn't have learned it if it weren't for work. Thanks, guys! I offer up my humble blog for co-opting into the collective workplace mind in return.  

Feels Like the First Time

Welp, the Powers That Be recently kicked off a formalized mentorship program at work. There's a little matchmaking questionnaire, some PowerPoint presentations, some billable time allotted, and poof! No employee left behind. Sweet, eh? Plus, they somehow decided I would make a suitable mentor. Me! This gives me a warm, fuzzy and mildly terrified feeling inside, similar to the one I got when I managed to trick the bank into giving me a mortgage - they think I’m a grown-up!

 

Suckahs.

 

What gives me a decidedly less-fuzzy feeling is the actual mentorship process itself. I mean, the people are great, that’s not an issue, but the atmosphere of the whole thing is so... ‘ow you say?... awkward as all get out. It’s like I’m first-dating these people. But a very pointed first date: first-dating with a purpose, which is wildly different from any first-dating I’ve previously done. Historically, I’d say that I’m actually really good at first-dating. I realize this seems contrary to my purported social awkwardness issues, but it always seemed to me there was a well-defined set of parameters to work with for dating: it goes poorly, you bail. It goes well, you get naked. Easy! This new first-dating has no such tidy exit or move-forward strategies. And like I said, it’s so - purposeful. We’re talking about our resumes. We’re sharing five-year plans. We’re planning our next phase together.

 

This must be what first-dating is like when you’re in your thirties: Listen, my clock is ticking here. D'you want a big wedding or what?

By way of a timely tactical shift in my early twenties from aggressive sport dating to serial monogamy I thought I had managed to dodge that particular bullet, yet here we are, and I have to confess I'm at a bit of a loss for how to deal with this thirty-something purposeful-dating business. I had simply never considered the prospect. Plus I know they're going to talk about their experiences with other mentees in the company so now it's a competition on top of everything else. I find myself trying for super-cool-and-fun purposeful-dates. The cognitive dissonance is killing me.

And if it doesn't go well? No matter, we simply continue purposeful-dating, quarterly, for all eternity or until one of us un-friends the other person via an HR intervention (and you thought the dates were awkward!), whichever comes first.

There's one small way in which these purposeful-dates have the edge over other dates: don't tell my mentees, but I'm so not shaving my legs for them.
 

Charlie Brown Christmas

You know the way waitresses will just ignore you altogether when your food is too long in coming? (I can still see you, this is not a problem that's going to get any better while you refuse to make eye contact or refill my soda.) Oh gawd, that drives me crazy! But I realized that I've been doing the self-same thing myself for a little while now and I've got to come clean: we put up the Christmas tree over two weeks ago.

(cue crickets)

If you've known me a while you'll know that we were forced to give up on real trees at Christmas a few years back because we couldn't stop Small Fry from eating stray needles and drinking out of the tree stand. Thinking that it was the 'real' part of the Christmas tree situation that was the problem, we bought a 'forever' tree the next year, only to find out that, nope, it's just Small Fry + any kind of tree that causes trouble.

But the thing with kids is that they get older every year, right? Surely he would be over his tree fetish by the year after that...?

Nope. No luck.

This year I thought, what the hell. I don't have to clean fir-filled diapers anymore, I'm getting a real tree again. Then I fired up my laptop and waited for Small Fry to lob me an easy seasonal blogging opportunity.

But the thing with kids is that they get older every year, I guess. As I was saying, we put the tree up over two weeks ago: DH brought it home, I strung the lights and the chillies decorated it together without incident. Small Fry even had a little chuckle at last year's gingerbread amputee ornaments - "I wemember biting those!" - before shaking his head sagely at the foolishness of his younger self and hanging them on the tree, thus marking a surprisingly bittersweet end to a somewhat dubious Christmas tradition.

Humour me for a moment here and pretend we're making eye contact: sorry, folks. It's a sad fact that your order is not forthcoming. D'you want a refill on your Diet Coke with that?

Visitor Triage

How imminent is your pending visit?
a. guests > 12hrs away
b. guests 2-12hrs away
c. guests 1-2hrs away
d. guests < 1hr away
e. guests < 10mins away
f. guests in driveway

What is your personal state?
a. well-rested and alert
b. tired and frazzled
c. sweaty
d. disheveled
e. naked
f. sweaty, disheveled and naked

What is the state of your child(ren)?
a. sleeping
b. fighting - basement or outdoors
c. fighting - living areas
d. sticky
e. filthy
f. vomiting

What is the state of your household?
a. not bad
b. smells like fish
c. light to moderate surface grime
d. large dust bunnies; pubes on toilets
e. OMG
f. FML

If you answered mostly a's, bathe and beautify self and children. Fluff cushions and place fresh cut flowers throughout home. Consider preparing a gourmet meal to welcome your esteemed guests.

If you answered mostly b's, put some colour back in your cheeks with a quick dusting of bronzer and a glass of wine. Consider lighting a stick of incense or a few candles; closing open doors or windows to attenuate any unpleasant noises coming from your children; and defrosting something from M&M Meat Shop to serve to your guests, who will probably show up hungry.

If you answered mostly c's, put the children in the basement. Powder nose; comb hair. Consider implementing a Level 3 Budget Clean (light tidying throughout main floor of house; light candles or spritz room spray to freshen home; wash counters and dishes; wipe down mirrors and faucets in bathroom; flush toilets) to appease your guests, not that that will keep them from judging you. Put on a pot of coffee and pray they don't stay too long.

If you answered mostly d's, wipe children down with a damp rag dipped in the same multi-purpose household cleaning solution you will subsequently use to implement your Level 2 Budget Clean (light tidying and spot cleaning throughout main floor of home; polish mirrors and faucets in bathroom; flush toilets; shove all remaining errant items into dishwasher). Put out a half-empty carton of orange juice and some granola bars. Hopefully they'll get the hint.

If you answered mostly e's, for gawd's sake, get dressed woman. Implement Level 1 Budget Clean (spot clean children, kitchen and bathroom with same damp rag, hopefully - but not necessarily - in that order; spritz self and home with room spray; shove all errant items and children in dishwasher). Why are these jerks always showing up unannounced anyway? Put out some tap water.

If you answered mostly f's, implement Family Emergency Preparedness Plan (wrap self in bedsheet; lock doors; hide self, children and suitable vomit receptacle in basement until you're sure those horrible, horrible people are gone; while you're waiting, rehearse a suitable excuse for the next time you see them).

Forkopoly

I have the sort of job where my family and friends have essentially no idea whatsoever what it is I do. If you also have this sort of job you'll feel my pain right now. (If you're something like a teacher or a proctologist you might think you know what I'm talking about, in a 'no one knows all the shit I have to put up with' sort of way [he he he, proctologists], but really you have no idea what I'm talking about so it's time to stop nodding now.)

My dad doesn't drink much, but once a year or so he'll get a few too many shortbread cookies or something in him and will summon up the courage to suffer another convoluted explanation from me:

'So, sweetie, how's that... job of yours... that you do?'
'Oh, pretty good, Dad, thanks for asking.'
'They're, uh... paying you good and stuff?'
'Yup, can't complain.'
'So, uh, what is it that you do again?'

When I reach the lame conclusion of my latest poor description, he'll nod and say, 'Oh, yup, yup, for sure,' and chuckle his patented Dad Chuckle and teeter back to the kitchen to work back up his cookie buzz that I just killed. 'Yup, for sure,' by the way, is parent speak for 'I'm pretty sure you're actually a prostitute because there's no way anyone could get paid that much money for a job that doesn't actually exist.' (Hi, Dad. Still not a prostitute. Just sayin'.)

Admittedly, this is a pretty piddling irritant compared to greater whole of a decent job, but still there's some small part of me that wishes I did something more... tangible with my life. Something you could really put a word to and people would instantly understand, and maybe even sympathize with ('Oh, wow - I can just imagine all the shit you have to put up with!').

* * *

Our office kitchens (and, hence, employees) suffer from a grievous dearth of cutlery. No word of a lie, I saw a coworker eating his lunch on Wednesday with a sort of chopstick-spork contraption he had crafted out of coffee stir sticks. That is how bad our cutlery problem is. Interestingly (due to a complex chain of events involving an office move, a timely staycation and a certain cinephile-slash-botanist), I happen to be the proud - if unlikely - owner of about five dozen (matching!) forks. They live in a vase in my office.

Now, unlike other famous distribution problems (world hunger, say), solving the cutlery issue at my workplace would be as simple as moving my massive excess of forks from my office to nearby kitchen drawers. In fact, I've been meaning to do so for a few weeks now. But seeing B. trying to wrangle a stir fry into his face with a chopstick-spork made me realize the power inherent in my situation:  

I have a complete and total forkopoly. 

O, the power! The responsibility! The happiness I can produce and the suffering I can engender with my every whim! The shit I have to put up with!

I am a Cutlery Don.

* * *

Finally, a job people can understand.

It's Like Meteorology, but Less Accurate

Unspoken Spousal Agreement No. 2,366: a.k.a. the Likelihood of Getting Any Tonight (Variations on a Theme*): if the night guard ith in, no way in hell mithter.

2,366.1: And if the night guard is not in? Jeez, I was too tired to even put in my night guard, you think I have energy for anything else?

* Only one of approximately 3,000 closely related Agreements that comprise the bulk of the Unspoken Household Regulations, pursuant to the Spousal (Dis)Agreement Act. The exact number of Agreements related to the vetoing of sexual activities is not known due in part to their evanescent and mystifying nature, and in part because the Unspoken Spousal Agreements are for the most part - as the name suggests - unspoken. Some Spouses have hypothesized (sotto voce, of course) that the number fluctuates on a "monthly" basis, although this is hotly contested by other Spouses who a) have very good hearing and b) counter that the probability of encountering willingness to engage in certain adult activities on any given day is inversely proportional to the percentage of household cleaning conducted, over the time period of her choosing, by the Spouse exerting the authority granted her under the SDA to stymie such activities. Also over the time period of her choosing.

I'll Try Anything Once

Psst, hey, you got anything?

Yeah, man, check this out.

Whoa. What is it?

An oldie but a goodie. Hot right now.

What's it do?

Aw, you have no idea how good it is. Will lay you flat for hours. Don't expect to be operating any machinery anytime soon, know what I'm saying? 

Sounds awesome. But, like, is it alright?

Totally. It's natural, you know? People been up on this shit since caveman days. You got receptors built just for it; can't argue with Mother Nature, that's what I always say. He he.

So how do you...?

Easy man, you just slip one under your tongue, maybe two once you build up a little tolerance, let 'em dissolve and hang on for the ride.

Seriously?

Yeah. They say Hendrix used to put it under his headband some nights but I never tried it. I figure why mess with what works.

Yeah fer sure. So, uh, how much?

Hey, man, you gotta ask that you can't afford it, he he. I can give you a couple to try right now, no charge. Wait 'til you're home before you dose. Don't want you tripping out on the road.

Sweet, thanks. Can't wait.

You like it, you can get your own stash. Like, twenty bucks at Costco for a big jar.

Awesome. Thanks for the tips, Yvonne. I'm so excited to try treating my chronic insomnia with melatonin!

No problem. Hey, got any more of those cookies?