Oh, what a day.

Since I've had a child, I've realized something of the utmost importance:

What used to take me 15 minutes, now takes an hour and a half.

Allow me to elaborate. This morning my husband called. He's on a business trip in Las Vegas and needs me to overnight him a few things that he left behind. No big deal, normally. I decide to make an event out of it. Pack the baby up; head to the grocery store; grab a card and some valentine's candy to include in the package; oh, and walk to the store and the post office in an effort to increase my cardio. Clearly, I've thought of everything and am the world's greatest, most thoughtful partner. Check.

We arrive at the Post Office, proud and smiling.

Except, today is Martin Luther King, Jr. Day. The Post Office is, in fact, closed. Excellent.

Trying to make the best of it, Kate and I head home for a quick lunch--and to investigate UPS and Fed Ex locations that are open nearby. We gobble up our food, gather up our gear, shlep our stuff to the Fed Ex place, and bring along a stuffed animal for Kate. As now it's 12:45 pm (15 minutes away from Kate's nap).

Against all odds, we get to the Fed Ex store and the child has not fallen asleep in the car. A victory! We pack up our supplies for Daddy. We make friends with the store clerk. I'm about to pat myself on the back for being the best mother (and wife) on the planet and I realize I've forgotten my phone... which has Chris' address at the hotel, among other important information that's necessary for mailing the package. Sigh.

We settle down, hold back tears, and manage to get back to the car to begin our journey home--knowing that we'll immediately turn around to go back to the store. This wouldn't be so annoying, except for the fact that we live in a condo complex with underground parking... meaning I cannot just leave Kate in the carseat while I run in and grab the phone. I have to unbuckle her, put her on my hip, run up two flights of stairs, unlock the door, find the phone, fill out the Fed Ex label, run down two flights of stairs, buckle Kate back up, and drive back to the Fed Ex store... only to unbuckle her and start the process over again.

But, long story short, we did it. My child was exhausted, shoeless, and meowing at the other customers in the store. And yet, the package got mailed (even though the clerk forgot to put the card in the box... but that was the least of our concerns).

Package mailed. Baby asleep at 2 pm. I've just decided we're eating out tonight.

Something incredibly awkward

Last night we had our hospital tour. In all honesty, it was awesome. I'm so happy with our hospital choice; the tour actually got me really excited for the big day. I had such a great time that I think some of the other people in our class were a little annoyed by me, because I had--easily--the best experience of anyone else. Allow me to explain.

The same woman who taught the breastfeeding class (who I mentioned in yesterday's post) was giving the tour. She recognized me and Chris right away and even had me answer questions/act as her assistant as the tour wore on. Clearly, I was established as the teacher's pet--which, normally doesn't bother me. But I'm so intimidated in mom circles, that I couldn't help but feel like all the other moms were shooting daggers my way.

Eventually, we got off the elevator at the Labor & Delivery floor, and the entire class was in the waiting area. Our tour guide was sharing some logistics and explaining what we were about to see. Well, who should walk through the door but MY obstetrician! It was awesome. She came right over, said hello to me and Chris, rubbed my belly... I mean, the woman all but gave me a hug. Chris and I looked at each other, and immediately, we were put at ease.

Shortly thereafter, we walked through the hallway and into the waiting room. We were about to enter one of the delivery rooms (all of which are private, by the way) and therefore, we passed by the nurse's station. Well, who should we see at the desk but my friend Julie--a labor and delivery nurse at the hospital. Neither of us thought to check her schedule, confirm when/if she'd be there, or even alert each other to the possibility that we could run into one another. This time, there was more squealing, more hugging, and more hushed conversation as the tour guide said, "Well, you just know everyone, don't you?"

But all of this is not the reason why I'm writing today.
Here you be: As part of the tour, our guide mentioned the possibility of listening to soothing music while you're laboring and delivering as a means of relaxation. Both Chris and I had heard of this, but we never really considered it until being in the room, looking at the bed, and imagining ourselves going through the miracle of birth.

So, onto the awkward. I'm assuming that labor will take me a while. And I'm assuming that if I bring CDs, I'm probably going to get annoyed with one person's voice for all that time. Make a playlist on your iPod, you say? Well, yes. We thought of that. But how long do you plan for? What if it runs out? Do you just repeat? Will I get annoyed with the fact that I might not be surprised at what comes next? For these reasons, I'm thinking Pandora might be a nice option. But here's where it gets uncomfortable. I'm listening to one of my created stations right now. It's easily my favorite--lots of airy female vocalists and even-tempo songs. I listen to this at work regularly, as it relaxes me and helps me focus. HOWEVER (and this is a big however), many--if not all--of the songs feel or sound like break up songs. Like sad bastard break up songs.

It's weird to listen to sad bastard music while you're giving birth, right? I mean, I've never done this before. I don't know. But I'm assuming that's not the "dream" introduction to the world that you'd like to give your daughter: "Hello, little one! Welcome to the world. This place is pain-filled--sometimes horribly so--and hard to navigate. But some bitchin' art usually comes out of it." Or the memory you'd like to share with her when she's old enough to hear the story of her birth: "So, lovely. You were born. And I'll never forget it. Sara Bareilles was singing 'Gravity,' and the words--
'You're neither friend nor foe,
though I can't seem to let you go,
the one thing that I still know,
is that you're keeping me down...'
have very special meaning for me."

Don't think I'll be winning any "Mother of Year" trophies with that one.

So, I find myself at a loss. Music? No music? Different music? Length of music? Medium of music?
Whatever advice you'd like to share is appreciated. I promise. No judgements.

Mom-dumb

As in, sometimes I feel like a mom and sometimes I feel really dumb. Most of the time, these two categories are directly linked. Take today for example. I'll be 34 weeks pregnant tomorrow (oh, by the way, I'm pregnant. Like, really pregnant) and for some reason, I got it into my brain that my baby isn't moving enough. Why? Well, I'll tell you why. The internet. As much as I love this highway of information, it's also littered with mis-information or VERY BAD information. Which leaves mothers-to-be anxious, worried, and overwrought. Or maybe that's just me.

All this to say, I kind of freaked out. To which my husband said, "Um, Jessie? The baby's kind of running out of room in there. She's probably just hanging out."
Common sense is so amazing!
Why don't I have any of it?

Not long after that, my dad's voice came rushing to my mind: "Jessie, when things start to go wrong in pregnancy, they start to go really wrong. There's blood. There's pain. It's not pretty. Don't spin yourself out of control."

But like a dradel on 'roids, that's exactly what I did. I scoured the internet, looking for other people who were suffering the same trauma. It turns out, there are some *really* stupid people out there. And to be honest, stupid people frighten me. Which then makes the terror worse... because then I start to fear that I'm actually one of the stupid ones. (Are you getting tired of reading this? I'm sort of getting tired of writing like this. I hope I mellow out soon. But what can you expect from a girl who hasn't had a drink in 8 months!?!?)

Which brings me to my next point: birthing class. We went to a class last night and talked mostly about breastfeeding. The teacher was cute, and asked us who was craving sushi? Beer? Any kind of hard liquor?

Literally, I was the only person in the entire room that raised her hand. And I raised it each time. Sushi? Hell yeah. Beer? Definitely. Hard liquor? Yes, my 4th of July was sorely lacking--thank you very much. But I mean, come on. Seriously? The judgement from other moms is *insane*. The teacher even commented: "I love this woman. At least she's honest."

So, to all of the other moms in that damn breastfeeding class--I'm calling you out. In fact, I'm willing to put money on the fact that our husbands will run into each other at the same sushi place when I force mine to get me a spicy tuna roll and eel hand roll the SECOND the doctor clears me. Oh, and a saki. For the road.

But there are also moms (and women in general) who make life easier to bear; who help shoulder burdens; who free you from needless anxiety and worry; who encourage you to write because they know you love it, even though you think you don't have anything to say. They call you when they know you're overwhelmed. They email you back RIGHT away when you're nervous. They never make you feel stupid. They remind you that you've never done this before and it's going to be ok. It's going to be gnarly. But totally awesome and ok. Thank God for them.

Ran-diddly-andom

It's funny. Good writing makes me want to write.

I've stumbled on a few blogs recently that I really enjoy. Both of them are written by women who have such compelling and different voices... yet, there's something similar that I can't quite nail down. Perhaps the fact that they're both extremely talented is enough of a connection. But it's more than that. Neither of them are pretentious or self-glorifying, which I think people in the "blogosphere" can so easily be. For lack of a better phrase, they're so clearly them. Which, truth be told, is a bit awkward for me to say--considering I don't actually know either of them.

But. Here they are: Kelle Hampton and Sarah Markley.

Check them out. Enjoy their voices. Be inspired.

2 out of 3 ain't bad... right?

I guess it depends on what you're talking about. In this post, I happen to be talking about what I casually refer to as "The Morning Trifecta."

1. Taking a shower
2. Doing my hair
3. Putting on make-up

I almost NEVER accomplish all 3 on any given morning. In fact, if I'm honest, my hair is sorely mistreated. But, I will say, I've gotten quite clever at messy buns and half completed braids. This makes is appear as though I've tried to get my hair to do something... but really, I've spent the extra 15 minutes snoozing. Because apparently, I'd rather sleep than look cute.

Dear Lord.

I don't even have kids and I'm already sacrificing appearance for comfort. The writing on the wall is clear: I will not be one of those moms that's well put together and adorable.

But, I'll be comfortable. The kids will be comfortable. And hopefully, that'll be enough.

Vitamin D-ficient

I have new insurance, so I thought it'd be a good idea to go and have my annual physical. I went to my new doctor in my new HMO and was having quite a pleasant visit. I mean, how pleasant are annual exams usually?

I really liked my doctor and we had some unexpected things in common. I was surprised by how much she was willing to share about herself, and how warmly I responded to her candor.

All was going well.

That is, until she began to leave the room:

"We're going to have the lab check all your levels, and we're going to keep an eye on your Vitamin D. It looks like you don't get a lot of sun."

I was taken aback. Surprised, even. I felt the need to explain myself.

"I know. I'm white. And I do try to stay out of the sun. But I exercise a lot... I just use a hat and sunglasses to shade myself. Because I burn so easy. Because I'm so fair." I said everything so fast, even I knew I sounded desperate. And a little bit dorky.

She looked at her clipboard, flipped a few pages, wrote something down. Then said:

"Oh, well sure. I just think you might be deficient. If you are, it's no big deal. You just have to add a vitamin supplement to your diet."

Well, here I am 7 days later with the lab results in hand: All labs are fine except vitamin d level is low. Recommend 2000 IU of vitamin D3 daily.

Maybe I should be a vampire for Halloween.

Spiritual Discipline of the Latte

I've been meeting with a spiritual director once a month for the last 6 months or so, and I can safely say, it's been pretty fantastic for me. She helps me recognize God in unexpected ways... and I love that. Sometimes I talk myself into semi-neurotic circles of doubt and confusion, and she has a way of helping me recognize God in the midst of chaos and paradox. I think the biggest discovery we've recently made is the idea of God being paradox: Powerful and merciful. Strong and gentle. All knowing and outside of time and personal and intimate.

The thing I struggle with most in my relationship with God is trying to make sense of all the suffering and evil that takes place in the world--and knowing that God could stop and prevent all of it. But doesn't. Why not? I mean, really. AIDS. Darfur. Haiti. Cancer. Rape. Sometimes I'm simply overwhelmed by it.

There's this one scene from Blood Diamond (with Jennifer Connolley and Leonardo DiCaprio) where they're talking about the monstrosities that took place in Africa during Apartheid. And Leo's character says, "I wonder. Will God ever forgive us for what we've done to each other? And then I remember, God left this place a long time ago."

Or maybe you remember that "Dear God" song by XTC. I just heard Sarah McLauchlan do a cover of it on the radio the other day. And the last verse is still ringing in my ears:
You're always letting us humans down
The wars you bring, the babes you drown.
Those lost at sea and never found,
And it's the same the whole world 'round.
The hurt I see helps to compound
That Father, Son, and Holy Ghost
Is just somebody's unholy hoax,
And if you're up there you'd perceive,
That my heart's here upon my sleeve.
If there's one thing I don't believe in...
It's you...
Dear God.

I mean. This stuff breaks my heart. And not because these people don't know Jesus. It kills me because I can see and understand why people believe in this. For me, sometimes the only thing that keeps my faith alive is the vain hope that there has to be something better. There just has to be. This can't be it.

So anyway. The latte.

After meeting with my director this week, she suggested I do a spiritual discipline with my favorite treat: the latte I treat myself with once a week (usually on Fridays). She advised me to take some time and really experience it with all my senses. To let this be my "devotional" or "God time." So, today I decided to do just that. Here's an excerpt from my journal about the experience:

I love feeling the drink roll down my throat and feeling it settle in my stomach. I love the lingering taste it leaves on the back of my throat. It's almost like I taste more of the flavor after it's been swallowed. Maybe God is like that, too. He's in our midst and always present--but it's not until after we think He's already left that we feel his presence more strongly. I still have the taste of coffee on my breath, my tongue, even though it's been a while since I took a sip.

Have you ever been called ugly to your face?

I have. And I'm not even lying.
Today, while purchasing some items for our church's Mexico house-build trip, I had one of the most ridiculous interactions of my life. And I'm not exaggerating. I have a witness. Her name is Laura Agee.

I put my 7 items on the counter, and paid with a credit card. The cashier then asked for my ID, which I fully expected.

Then, something entirely uncalled for happened. She uttered these words:
"Oh... you don't look as beautiful as you do in this picture."

How does one respond to that? I was so taken aback. All I could do was shrug my shoulders and say, "I don't know."

I looked at my friend Laura, eyes as wide as saucers, asking--albeit telepathically--Did she really just say that?!

After the cashier had put my items in a plastic bag, and muttered something about an Avery address label rebate, she said, "I was just kidding."

I smiled and performed a fake laugh, crying on the inside.

Then, she said something even stranger:
"So, your name is Jessica?"

"Yes," I replied. (She's just looked at my identification, and looked up my Staples card in the system. Her verification question to me only moments earlier was, Are you Jessica?) Why, in the name of all that is normal and right in this world, would she ask for my name again?

I've decided that this lady is a lunatic. And therefore, I will not take her insults to heart. Builds character, right?
Sheesh.

What's with today, Today?

Reasons why today is lame:

1. Everyone has commented on my outfit today, most of them have been negative and/or insulting. I wore shorts to work today. And a pink shirt. It's spring. It felt appropriate. However, many of my coworkers--along with people who've popped in the office--have decided it's too cold for such attire. Need I remind you, we are living in San Diego? Or that it's March? Or that it's 65 degrees outside--and around 70 inside? Sheesh.
2. I couldn't, for the life of me, prepare my breakfast in a timely manner. First, I couldn't find the bowls at work. Second, it was hard to open the cereal box. Third, it took FOREVER to cut the strawberries. Fourth, I kept dropping said strawberries. Fifth, I somehow managed to spray strawberry juice onto my khaki shorts. Lovely.
3. I have a stye in my eye. It hurts. It's ugly. And I couldn't put on makeup to cover it up.

Reasons why today is grand:

1. While it took years for my breakfast to finally be ready, it tasted wonderful. We tried a new granola--organic granola with peanuts--and I, for one, will never go back to Flax Plus "original" again.
2. My lunch was superb: leftover sweet potato & leek soup with rice and half of a leftover Rico's California burrito.
3. Chris and I have recently gotten into a rut which is, quite possibly, one of the most joyous ruts I can think of. We have become addicted to Boston Legal, and every night, we race home to watch as many as we possibly can before we fall asleep on the couch. Free library rentals are my favorite.

It's raining, it's pouring, the old man just got a rabies vaccine.

The trouble with getting behind on blogging is that if you wait too long--nothing seems important enough to say. I mean really. It's not like I can have just any old story break the silence now. It's been... far too long. This mode of thinking, however, has continued to feed the procrastination monster that seems to have completely taken over my once able mind. With that said, I hope I haven't built myself up too much. Because this one is a doozy.

But I digress.

I've come out of hiding to alert you about a current epidemic sweeping my office. Swine Flu? No way. The common cold? As if. No, dear reader, I assure you, it's much more terrifying than that.

What has beady eyes, toxic poop, and a devilishly horrifying scurry?

If you guessed mice, congratulations.

Our office manager has had not one, but two, sightings in her office alone. There have been countless others, and now--I'm officially concerned. You see, the office manager and I have a shared wall and ceiling. Meaning, I could be the victim of the next attack.

Yesterday, at approximately 2:47 pm, a mouse literally fell from the ceiling. After landing on a filing cabinet, he launched himself across the room, and dashed behind some picture frames. The disgusting creature was then stalked by our Director of Communications and Facilities Manager, only to have met his fateful end at the hands of Doug, the Mousey Hunter. And that's just the beginning.

Today another rodent was found dead under a desk. And our print shop specialist is convinced he saw a mouse run across the lobby this morning. Earlier this afternoon, I heard a rustling in my office which sent shivers down my spine. What if I come face to face with the vile thing?

I, for one, can't shake the image of the entire species taking root in our ceiling. I have visions of the indoor roof tiles giving way to a gray haze of vermin falling from the sky.

They are everywhere.

Oh god. What was that sound??

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.