4 weeks went by? You must be kidding.

I had GRAND plans to post while I was on vacation.
I had visions of updating about our amazing trip to Paris; our fabulous travels with Renee; our ridiculousness in Belgium; our theatre experiences in London...


But, alas and alack, I'm reminded of a quote from Ernest Hemingway (that I'm most certainly butchering here): "You don't take a pencil on a lion hunt." Meaning, of course, that you can't really document the most exciting parts of your life... mainly because you're too busy living them. And I can say, without a doubt, that there has been a lot of living crammed into the last four weeks.


It started with our trip to Europe. 5 days in Paris--check. 4 days in the south of France--check. 3 days in Belgium--check. 4 days in London--check. Stopping in 4 countries and traveling for 24 hours to get back to the United States--check.


Then, we quickly turned around (about 26 hours, to be exact) and got on another plane. This time, to Oregon. Jimmy was there (the little bro), and John (the bigger of the little bros) flew out, in an unexpected turn of events, for the 4th of July. There's no time quite like family time--especially Dzundza family time. And it's not just because all of us are so ridiculously good looking. There's so much more to us, (we have our own language, for example) and us kids are so rarely all in the same place; it was a real treat to have some dedicated time together.


After the short reunion, Chris and I flew back to San Diego. I was at home for about 2 hours--mostly to have dinner, repack, and buy a one piece bathing suit. Then I was off to camp at Forest Home with the senior high students from the church. Another fabulous week of frisbee, late night conversation, laughter, and good memories.

And here I am, on Monday, at my new job.

I'm currently reminding myself to breathe.

What. a. trip.

The Case of the Missing Bag

Never joke about losing a bag.

It's never all that funny to begin with, and then when it actually happens--you only have yourself to blame. Well, in this case, you only have your husband to blame.

“Hey Jessie, what if your bag doesn’t make it? Is that covered under traveler’s insurance?” he joked.

“Yep, they'll reimburse me up to $1000 if they lose my bag, and $300 if it’s late by 24 hours or more. For emergencies." I said. "Do you think $300 boots could be classified as an emergency?”

After traveling all night to get to Paris, we soon discovered that my bag was held up for security reasons in San Diego (the bag pictured above belongs to Chris).  So, instead of being on our flight, which arrived early (7:03am, Paris time), it most assuredly was not. I held out hope for a while, but when I saw the last person from our flight walk away from the carousel with luggage in tow, I knew for certain that my trusty friend didn't make it. At least not directly.

Turns out, the folks at American Airlines thought my luggage could use a little side trip to Chicago. So, we waited until that plane landed--which was only about 45 minutes later. 

Thankfully, the folks at the airport in Paris were extremely helpful, and we were reunited in no time. All's well that ends well.

Ministry Assistant to Adult Discipleship

Well, the background check went through and I started training yesterday. I'm at the church for a full three days this week, but I don't officially start until July 13.

Here's a quick list of the things I'm really excited about (in no particular order):

1. My office--yes, office--has its own door and printer.
2. I work 3 miles away from my house.
3. I'm contributing to something bigger than a bottom line.
4. My new boss is invested in me as a person, not just as a professional and/or assistant.
5. I have a built in community of friends.
6. I get to organize and edit.
7. I get to help cast vision for our church.
8. I get to help facilitate real change.
9. I sing when I get home because I'm so happy.
10. This feels right.

The job is an amalgamation of a bunch of different tasks. Yes, there's a lot of admin work, but I'm no stranger to that. And, at the end of the day, I'm doing things to help make a ministry thrive and grow.

I'm so jazzed I can hardly stand it.

All in the Timing

I was in a play called Words, Words, Words by David Ives when I was in high school. It was originally published with other short plays by the same author in a book called All in the Timing. The premise of Words was simple: Given infinite, if you put 3 monkeys in a room with 3 typewriters, eventually they will type Hamlet. Of course, the genius of this play--and most comedic forays--is perfect timing. And I can't help but wonder if sometimes our lives read like such literary pursuits.

Allow me to explain.

It's no secret that I'm not entirely pleased with my current place of employment (to say the least). In fact, most of my postings in the last year have been devoted to the fact that since Harcourt closed its San Diego office in June of 2008, I've been relatively limp as far as my career is concerned. I've mourned the loss of that place and that job for so long. And while I know it was important for me to walk this journey, I can't help but feel a little ridiculous. I spent so much time being bitter and angry... and now I'm feeling a bit bitter and angry that I let myself waste so much time being bitter and angry. (See, it's a vicious cycle.)

Of course, it's easy to feel positive now.

Chris and I are planning a European adventure that I still can't believe is real. We're leaving in TWO WEEKS, and I for one, cannot wrap my brain around it. Our marriage is strong and our relationship is healthy. I'm visiting my parents and brother this weekend.

And, yes, I was offered a new job.

I can't be explicit yet because the offer is pending based on the results of my background check. But, we're 99.9% there. I'll give you three guesses where it is.

Here's a clue... as my dad mentioned when I told him the news: "Jess, God wants you working in his house. And that's a good thing."

Perfect timing.

T-Shirt Genius

Allison Morris blogged about a few of these t-shirt designs a while back, and I just have to follow up with a few of my favorites. I know my birthday has already past, but if you get a hankering to buy me a "Just Because" gift--these are all at the top of my list:

So far, this is the oldest I've ever been
Procrastinators: Leaders of Tomorrow
I'm a noun!
Ninjas and Pirates agree: Cowboys suck
I listen to bands that don't even exist yet
Haikus are easy

Hilarious!

What I Saw and How I Lied

Recently, we read THIS book for Book Club. It's a teen novel, so it went fast. A little too fast. In fact, I read this book in about three and a half hours.

Since it's only available in hardcover (which, after tax, winds up being $18.98!), I decided that I'd return it to the retailer. The day after I bought it.

I don't normally make a habit of treating the book store like a library. But when I finish a book as quickly as I did--in hardcover--for that price!--it seemed fair. Plus, the subject matter made me really sad. (All those who like to read about how a mom and daughter unknowingly compete against each other for the same man, say "I". Oh, did I mention that Mom is married?)

I could picture myself staring at the book on my shelf, thinking, "I overpaid. And for a book I didn't even like very much." What future joy will come from that?

Don't worry. The book store got the last laugh. When I returned the already read book, the woman working the counter was the same clerk I bought it from originally.

"Just not the right one, huh?" she asked as I handed back the book and receipt. It was like she could see right through me!
"Yeah," I lied. "Something like that."

Oh, Happy Day(s)!

It was my birthday on Sunday, May 3. But really, celebrations started as early as Thursday, April 30.

It all began a few weeks ago, when Chris told me we were having dinner with his lab on Thursday. However, unknown to me, this was a complete and total lie.

Fast forward to Thursday evening, when Chris tells me that we need to stop by my aunt's house--on the way to dinner with the lab--in order to pick up some tubs for the birthday party we were throwing on Saturday. Chris was running late, and I was stressed that we were going to be even later to his professor's house. But, we got the show on the road, and managed to get to Aunt Deb's by 6:45. (The dinner was supposedly at 7:00.)

The tubs were waiting by the door, and Chris quickly loaded them in our car. I really wanted to visit with Deb & Tom's new puppy, so, I moseyed up the stairs. I hugged my family, said hello, and asked, "Where's the little guy?"

Out of nowhere, my MOM bounced up from behind the couch--holding the dog. I couldn't believe it! Since she and my dad moved to Oregon, I hardly ever get to see them. And it was such a treat to be surprised by her--in the flesh!--for my birthday.

Everyone started laughing; I started crying; Mom started screaming; the puppy started dancing. It was the most wonderful moment ever.

Deb quickly added: "Chris planned a totally bogus get-together tonight. You're actually staying here and having dinner with us!"

Best Birthday Gift... Ever!

A Good Trade

In an effort to be more fiscally conservative, Chris and I have been doing more grocery shopping and less dining out. Additionally, we've been trying to watch what we eat--and limit our intake of fast food. Being that we both work 40-hour weeks (sometimes more), dinner can sometimes be a big task. But we're slowly getting more creative with our cooking, and learning how to make semi-gourmet meals as fast as possible.

More often than not, I end up bringing leftovers to work for a few days. (This also helps the budget. Eating out at roughly $7/day adds up fast.) However, there are days when I'm just sick of the meal--and can't eat it for a third day in a row.

Today was one such day. We'd made sauteed chicken with pesto bow tie pasta for dinner on Monday. It was great, and we were both thoroughly pleased with how it came out. I brought it for lunch yesterday--and for dinner, we cut up some of the leftover chicken and made quesadillas. But today, I couldn't stomach the possibility of having that chicken for lunch... again.

I shared my dilemma with a coworker who obligingly said,
"How about I give you my lunch money, and I'll take your leftovers."
"Are you serious? That doesn't seem fair."
"It's totally fair. I think that sounds delicious. And I really don't want to eat out."

So, I took my new found $7 and got myself a nice salad.

Who knew that leftovers could be such a hot commodity?

P is for Pointless

I have a confession to make. When I travel, I often like to buy $7.99 mass market paperback mysteries and read them as fast as I can. This weekend, since Chris and I traveled to the Bay Area to visit his folks for Easter, was a perfect opportunity to do just that.

At the airport, I paid my dutiful $8.08 for a novel by Sue Grafton called P is for Peril. It had all the makings of a great vacation read: murder, romance, divorce, mistaken identity, and interior design. To sum up using a perfectly cliche phrase, nothing was as it seemed. But once I got to the end, I never wanted to read another Sue Grafton novel ever again.

I wasn't expecting much; a simple who-done-it was all I wanted. But what good is a who-done-it if you come to the end and still don't know? Thankfully I hadn't invested a lot of time in it, but still. I was seriously annoyed.

Quickly thereafter, I decide to poke around online and see if I was the only one who felt this way. My google searches took me to countless websites where people confessed their disappointment:

• "After reading the last chapter, I actually tried to return this because I thought there were pages missing."
• "I have no idea who murdered Dowan Purcell. HELP!!!!!!"
• "Are Anica and Crystal lovers?"
• "Wait. So there was a hospital cover up, right? Who takes the fall?"
• Was anyone else totally confused at the end?"
• "This book is two revisions and one chapter short of being publishable. Who was the editor?"

Feeling redeemed and much better about my reading comprehension skills, I mentioned the debacle to a friend at work.

"Oh I love Sue Grafton," he said.

He then went searching through his desk and showed me a picture of the two of them at an author signing. "She's a really nice lady."

"Oh, jeez," I said. "I can't hate this woman. She's the real life Jessica Fletcher."

"She totally is! Give the girl another shot," he smiled. "No pun intended."

I now find myself in the midst of another crisis: Do I give her another chance? Or move on to Jonathan Kellerman?

Stranger than Fiction

Today I received an email from our IT Department. I've copied and pasted it in its entirety.

All:

Tough economic times call for tough economic measures.

The cost for keeping our applications running is skyrocketing. In order to offset some of those costs, we will have to start charging all Partner Applications users a small per-use fee whenever logging into the site. You will only be charged once per login regardless of how many applications you run. The fee is $0.22 and will be deducted from your paycheck by-weekly. The new charge will take effect today.

Please let me know if you have any concerns.

Regards,

I'd like to point out a few things:

1. The misspelled "bi-weekly" in the second paragraph
2. There is no name after "Regards,"
3. This is potentially the worst April Fool's Joke ever.

Crazy people are my favorite...sometimes

In an effort to flex my performance muscle, I've recently started taking an improv class. I had my first session (of 6) on Monday night, and I really enjoyed it.

I did some improv in high school--sort of by accident--and really loved it. But I've never really pursued it, or attempted to get better. Turns out, I'm still pretty good; but this class is giving me the basic training I need to get better--as well as the creative outlet that I'm desperately seeking. It's truly a perfect fit for me right now.

I was a little nervous to begin. What if I suck at this? What if the teacher is lame? What if it's not as fun as I remember? But I was surprised at how much came back to me--and how much I have to learn. The other beginners are great classmates: no one was hogging the stage; everyone was there to have a good time; it was a no pressure environment, etc.

In fact, things were going so well, I almost couldn't believe it.

And then Gina showed up.

We had 40 minutes left in the class. All of a sudden this 50-something woman comes barreling into the theatre.
"I'm sorry I'm late. I've taken this class three times, but I want to take it again. And then I couldn't find parking. I forgot how difficult it is to find parking downtown. I was circling and circling and circling. Can I sit in?"

Although I used punctuation above, this came out of her mouth in a single breath. She was about 5'3'' and of an average build. Her bobbed red hair framed her face neatly, but there was a depth of insanity that seemed to seep out of her. The class began to fidget almost immediately.

My teacher nervously broke the ice. "Yeah, it's fine. We end at 9, but why don't you come and introduce yourself."

She got on stage, and by then it was clear we were doomed.

The introduction was supposed to be your name, what you do for a living, and why you're taking the class. Basic stuff.

What we got was a diatribe so ridiculous, it's almost hard for me to believe that it happened. I've done my best to paraphrase below:

"Hello," she started. "My name is Gina. I work for the federal government. And let me tell you, it's the safest place to be right now. Not the state, not the local, but the federal. I've been there for almost a year now. Hooray! (Picture arms in the air.) About three months after I started, they asked me to role play in my job. And sometimes, I really lose myself in the part. I mean, it's fun to think on your feet and pretend to be a drug dealer or criminal. This one time I brought a cane into the confession room and just started to hit stuff. I mean, people were scared. I was scared. Sometimes things just come out, like, 'Hey, there's a donut!' or 'Get off me!' Of course I have dreams of becoming an actress. Everybody does. But there are times when I really don't know where I end and the role playing begins."

This kind of chatter continued for a full 3 minutes. We were all sort of mesmerized by what was going on. My mouth was agape during her monologue. How could it not be? This lady was on par with a verbal train wreck of epic proportions. Just when you thought it couldn't get any worse, something even more insane would exit her mouth.

My teacher finally cut her off mid-sentence.

"OK. That's great, thanks for sharing," he said. I can only imagine what he must have been thinking.

"Yeah, that's the end," she said, walking back to her seat. (Which by some happy accident, was right next to mine.)

But that woman is a liar. It's not the end. When class was over, she marched right up to the instructor and paid in full for the class. I understand his position: theatres are hurting right now, and an extra person in a six-week class is a lot of money. But still, I'm very concerned about future sessions.

I really hope she's sick next week.

Freedom of Choice

Over the weekend, I was thinking a lot about the choices I've made thus far:

1. I'm married.
2. I live in San Diego.
3. I work with books.
4. I go to church.
5. I voted for and am a proud supporter of Obama.
6. Et cetera.

But, it occurred to me recently that a big reason why I've been so bitter and angry about the layoff that happened almost one year ago is because I feel like I wasn't given a choice. My thinking was very circular: "This happened to me; I had no control; I'm a victim of corporate greed--(blah blah blah)--therefore my life is worse for it."


However, I've had a few job opportunities come to light--none of which have worked out. But effectively, I can't help but feel like I'm choosing to stay where I am. And ironically, there's a lot of comfort and freedom in that. Knowing that there are opportunities available--not great opportunities, but opportunities nonetheless--is really encouraging. I guess you could say that as a result, I feel less trapped.

I still feel, though, that I'm at kind of a loss when it comes to figuring out what I want to do with the rest of my days. I've always wanted to be a mother--but I don't want to be one right now. I've always wanted to be an actress--but that seems entirely unreasonable, and I don't necessarily want to put my kids through it. It's sad, but, in terms of real life goals, I'm entirely confused about where to take my life next.

Last night some friends and I were talking about the fact that I have a tender heart. And that I willingly seem to enter into people's pain (or joy) on a profound level. In a word: I'm empathetic. If I'm honest with myself, I really love people and could talk about relationships until I'm blue in the face. But... what kind of career does this lend itself to? It's not like I can be a professional friend.

I guess I'm just going to have to sit with this for a little while.

Spring Cleaning: A good habit or a task with a seedy underbelly?

I have to confess, when it comes to cleaning, I'm relatively awful. My husband is patient and kind, and therefore, he can put up with me and my bad habits. But because I love him, and don't necessarily enjoy being messy, I'm trying to do a better job of keeping things tidy around the house. After all, cleanliness is next to Godliness, as the saying goes.

But when enforced cleaning is required by my workplace, I get more than a little offended. Even when pizza is promised as a "reward for our efforts."

The reason I'm concerned is because a forced cleaning frenzy can't be a good sign. We've had 3 rounds of layoffs in the last 8 months, and I have a feeling that the powers that be in our organization are beginning to wonder why our office needs so much space in southern California. Perhaps I've become cynical; but I'd like to think I'm simply operating with an increased sense of awareness.

If I had to conjure a guess, I'd say that this is the beginning of a bigger action. Either a.) they're thinking of moving us to a smaller, less expensive space or b.) they're planning on getting rid of us all together.

Recessions are my favorite.

Sigh.

I find myself in the midst of an existential crisis. There are many reasons for this; all of them professional.

1. I was laid off from a pretty good gig last summer. Not because of bad performance; because the office closed.
2. I'm not particularly thrilled with my current job--which was supposed to be a temporary fix to pay the bills until I found something better.
3. It's been 8 months and I haven't yet found something better.
4. I was passed over for a new job by someone who had more experience.
5. I'm overqualified for yet another new job that would like to reduce my salary by about 30%.

What the hell?

I mean, I understand we're in an economic crisis, but seriously? I'm well-educated. I'm personable. I'm smart. I'm a quick learner. I'm responsible. I'm generally pleasant to be around. Why am I having such a hard time finding something that's worth my time? Is that so much to ask?

In all honesty, all I want is a position that's worth it. As Americans, we spend more time with our job than we generally do with our spouse. And so, if I'm going to be spending a significant portion of my life somewhere, I'd like to find a place that's fulfilling or inspiring or... better than what I'm doing now, which is merely existing. But I don't want to do that. I want to thrive. Maybe that's just not how American employment works.

Still, I can't help but wonder if the American rat race is responsible for everything bad in the world. I'm not just being dramatic. Allow me to explain:

1. People feel entitled when they come home because they've just spent 8-10 hours at a job they hate. They don't want to be bothered with volunteering, or donating, or recycling, or caring for anyone outside of their family--so they get sucked into tabloids, and reality TV, and Fox News instead.
2. They develop cancer because their cantankerous work environments are literally toxic. There's never enough time to relax or take time away or exercise or take care of themselves because companies are laying off people left and right in order to stay competitive.
3. People get bored and so they do stupid things like flirt and/or have inappropriate relationships.
4. They get bitter and complain, which in turn, makes their friends and family bitter, too.
5. People don't spend enough time with their kids. Then their kids get it in their heads that it's OK to spend more time at work than with their families, and they perpetuate the unhealthy cycle.

OK. So maybe nobody is out starting a war because they're pissed off at their employer. But they've become apathetic to the wars and injustices that are currently taking place. Which, in my opinion, is almost worse. And another shade of the same thing.

It's so rare that I come across people who are actually excited and passionate about what they're doing--or feel that they're making a difference or contributing to the greater good. It makes me wonder if our forefathers came up against the same kind of opposition when they were trying to organize a revolt against European rule in search of a better life... Actually, probably not. Opposition means that someone actually needs to form an opinion and take a stand against something.

A more perfect union.

I wonder what they'd think if they saw us now.

God of Small Things

Lately our church has gone through some difficult transition (again). Namely, our contemporary music director has left. This has inspired me to look (even more) at where I can find God's truth and beauty outside of church walls.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not bitter; I'm sad. And I'm trying to reconcile the fact that even the church isn't free from weird drama and office politics.

Listening to the radio yesterday, I was struck by The Fray's new song: You Found Me. It's probably about a girl, but it starts like a modern day psalm.

I found God on the corner of 1st and Amistad
Where the West was all but won
All alone, smoking his last cigarette
I said, "Where've you been?"
He said, "Ask anything."
Where were you, when everything was falling apart.
All my days were spent by the telephone that never rang
And all I needed was a call that never came
To the corner of 1st and Amistad
Lost and insecure, you found me, you found me
Lying on the floor, surrounded, surrounded
Why'd you have to wait?
Where were you? Where were you?
Just a little late, you found me, you found me

I've been thinking a lot about trying to get high school students to look at pop culture with an ear tuned to God. I feel like his fingerprints are everywhere... especially in mediums where intense creativity is required.

Do any of you have suggestions about songs (or movie clips) that seem much more spiritual at second glance or closer inspection? I don't know where I'm going with this, but I want to do something with it... Here's the list I've come up with so far:

1. Believe by The Bravery
2. Everyday by Dave Matthews Band
3. Soul to Squeeze by The Red Hot Chili Peppers
4. Hurt by Nine Inch Nails/Johnny Cash

Feel free to leave a comment or shoot me an email. Thank you!

What the blog?

So last night was the Oscars. And I, for one, didn't have super high expectations. I was much more excited about eating pot roast (which my uncle cooked to perfection).

Perhaps it was unadulterated hunger (we didn't have dinner until 8:20 pm), but I absolutely loved this year's ceremony. I wasn't super into the hype or really paying attention to any pre-Oscar reporting. I didn't even realize Hugh Jackman was hosting until I saw him appear. But I thought the entire evening was so entertaining. And after it was over, I was left feeling like that was one of the most successful productions ever.

The whole night had a sort of vintage, throw-back vibe. Even the dresses & tuxedos seemed to mimic the 1950s "Old Hollywood" scene--with bow ties and ball gowns galore. The musical numbers were tasteful and hilarious. And it didn't feel like the host had to carry the whole damn show himself. This is the most star-studded night of the year; it makes sense that Hollywood's top talent would... well, perform. Right? Can we imagine a production of the Grammy's where nobody sings?

To me, it was obvious that we took a page from the Tony's playbook, (with surprise plants and surprise presenters!) and all I can say is THANK GOD. This is an evening to celebrate cinematic art and the people that make it possible. And I think this year's Oscars finally did just that. What better proof is there than the way each nominated actor was mentioned (and thanked!) before the announcement of the category's "best"? I'm not gonna lie--each of those presentations made me want to dust off my chops and become an actor again...

But I think Meryl Streep said it best earlier this year when she won the SAG award for her character in Doubt: "Women in the industry, nominated or not, should be proud of the work they did this year. Everybody wins when we get to play such parts."

Obviously this comment is geared toward a single gender, but I think it can be applied to all the films (and talent) that showed up this year--across all movie departments. When scripts get written, and budgets get approved, and stories get told, and actors get room, and directors get inspired, and producers get lost... we get a year like this. And it was truly a year to celebrate.

But, I was shocked to see how many people panned last night's affair. It's such a cliche to say that the Oscars are lame, long, and disappointing. But for an awards ceremony that totally reinvented itself last night (or rather, rediscovered what the night should be about), I'm thoroughly disappointed with the reviewers. Is it because Hollywood is ridiculously insecure--especially when compared with Broadway? Or is it something more?

I mean, let's face it. Most critics are wanna-be actors/writers/directors/fill-in-the-blanks themselves. And so it's easier to dis than criticize constructively (or own up to the fact that they couldn't do it better). But I'm going to paraphrase A. R. Rahman here (the man who won two Oscars for his music contributions to Slumdog Millionaire) in my opinion of Oscar Night 2009: If I have to choose between hate and love, I'll choose love.

Weird

Chris, unfortunately, got sick this weekend. Actually, that's not true. He got sick two weeks ago; got better last week; and then relapsed on Saturday. So, naturally, when Monday morning rolled around, guess who else started to feel achy and sniffly?

Me.

But I think the real indicator that I'm on my way to a potentially severe cold and/or sickness is the insane dream I had last night.

I was working the front gate of a mansion--checking packages and signing for deliveries. This usually isn't too difficult, but all of a sudden an enormous armored car showed up with a whopping 249 packages that needed to be signed and accounted for. They were all valuable pieces from an auction that the mansion owner had purchased; most of it was jewelry.

So, I start counting and labeling and sorting and what have you, when I see my coworker let about 100 packages through the gate--without counting or labeling.

"What are you doing?" I cry. "You can't just let them through."
She raised an eyebrow and then laughed.
"Did I not tell you? I only count and label for deliveries that are 5 packages or less. You know, as an exercise to pass the time. You don't have to do it for massive deliveries like this."

Because this was a dream, I have no idea how long I was working--or if I was happy or annoyed by this revelation. But I remember giving the driver permission to enter, and watching the enormous truck wind along the driveway and disappear.

All of a sudden I was transported to my mom's old suburban. The one she used to drive when I was in 8th grade. It was teal with grey interior.

Sitting in the front seat was my uncle Henry, who passed away when I was fourteen. I couldn't see who was driving. This is all I remember:

"Oh my god! What are you doing here?"
"I got some time to come back."
"What are you going to do?"
"I'd really like to see Aunt Betty."

Then the driver dropped me off outside my grandmother's house, who died in October of last year. Uncle Henry and Mom's teal suburban slowly drove away, and so I decided to enter the house. When I walked into her living room--there she was, clear as day.

"Oma?"
"Yes, schott. [This is a dutch term of endearment.] Have a seat."

I don't remember her exact words, but she proceeded to tell me that she'd been in Hell for 5 minutes. But she was out and really enjoying heaven.

Then I woke up.

I scare myself sometimes.

a New Year, a New Post

Alas and alack, I have some updates. Sorry for the delay.

As most of you know, America is in a Recession. That's Recession with a capitol 'R', meaning an actual Recession. This is not to be confused with recession, meaning a scare tactic used by people in politics to frighten their constituents into voting for/against said person/opponent.

I started to feel the first grumblings of this Recession when I was laid off at the end of June. At my new company (where I feel pieces of my soul die a little each day), we've already had two rounds of layoffs in the last 6 months. The latest occurred on January 19, 2009.

Yes, that was not only the day before Obama's historic inauguration, it was also Martin Luther King, Jr. Day--a holiday--and a Monday, to boot.

The worst part was that the HR manager didn't begin laying people off until around 10:30 am, which meant the unsuspecting souls (and roughly 10% of our office) who were let go, did between 2 and 3 hours of work before they were escorted out of the building. Escorted out of the building.

I didn't even know anything was going on until a friend of mine sent me a message on gchat:

"Are you still with the company?!" she wrote.
"WHAT? Yes--I think so. Are you? Are people getting laid off right now???" I replied.
"Yes! And Yes!" she typed.

This is how our company communicates important pieces of information.

To use a word from my former company's CEO, it's an "organic" way to do things. I don't know what organic means to you, but to me it means delicious fruit and vegetables that contain no preservatives. Synonym: natural. When used in the context of business, I think it means that higher ups would rather have people gossip and speculate than talk frankly with their staff.

Keep in mind, when I asked my boss what was going on she replied, "It's a layoff. You just have to get through it."

Which, of course, left me wondering if I was one of the people who'd be let go in the next hour.

To me, there is nothing natural about this type of behavior. Maybe it's because the big wigs are afraid of people going aggro. But if it were up to me, after I laid off 10% of my office, I would do everything I could to ensure the peace of mind of my remaining employees.

But, just like Michael Scott on last night's episode of The Office, I would have a really hard time handing over the client list of Prince Paper, too.

I guess Corporate America and I just don't see eye to eye. And in the wake of a staggering number of people on unemployment, I wonder who does.