Tuesday, November 22, 2005

Adventures In Temping: Part Deux



So a few weeks ago I threw up at my temp job.

Normally I would not write about such a distasteful subject. (Vomiting, not my temp job). I was not raised in a household where talk of bodily functions was the norm. I do not enjoy bathroom humor. I have a British grandmother. I am often referred to as "proper" or "refined".
But, you guys, I seriously hurled.

When my family was in Utah for my brother's wedding, half of them came down with what I have chosen to call The Great and Terrible Death Flu of 2005. Even my honeymooning brother did not escape its wrath. And those who did were stricken soon after returning to their various homes. Only Steve and I and a few blessed others were spared.

Or so we thought.

A week after the wedding, I arose and drove to work as usual, feeling as fine as one could feel when one is working a job that one does not particularly care for because one would much rather be doing pretty much anything other than what one is being paid not nearly enough to do.

About noon, I started feeling a little queasy. About 12:30, my head was pounding and my stomach churning. About 12:45, I suddenly knew that I was in BIG TROUBLE. I bolted from the desk, racing to the bathroom as fast as my high heels could carry me. I flung open the handicapped stall door (I figured I qualified), and let's just say I made it in the nick of time.

Minutes later, leaning against the handicapped rail, I pondered the fact that I could not remember the last time I had had to avail myself of the facilities in that manner. I could remember having the flu as a kid, but it had been years since I had experienced that particular physical manifestation of illness. I hoped the same amount of years would pass before I experienced it encore.

Returning to my desk, feeling MUCH better, I realized that no one had witnessed my dash to the WC. Feeling grateful that my experience had been a solitary one, and knowing it would be a major hassle to find a mid-day replacement, I decided to try martyr on for size, and returned to work. For about 15 minutes, until I was forced to revisit the handicapped stall, and admit defeat.

Emerging from the ladies, I found my boss, and told her I had to leave. She eyed me suspiciously. "You were just fine an hour ago." I whimpered. She acquiesced.

I called Steve on the way home, and he told me he'd have a bucket ready. Later that night, as I became better acquainted with said bucket, he asked if there was anything he could do.

"Could you hold my hair?"

He did. He held my hair with one hand, and held an orange with the other. He ate the orange while he was holding my hair. I guess we've determined who will be on Future Children Vomit Clean-Up Patrol.

Wednesday, November 16, 2005

To Steve, On His 33rd Birthday


Your name is Steven, but we call you Stu
In August of '03, I married you
You cheer me up when I feel blue
You love our nieces, and our nephews, too



You program computers like a mad crazy foo'
Even though you're 33, you laugh at jokes about poo
You wash my car so that it looks brand new
You have big hair, but it can look GQ



You're super smart, and you're good lookin', too



You're the sweetest boy that I ever knew

Happy Birthday, my Stuvey! I LOVE YOU!

Thursday, November 03, 2005

Being A Woman

Last week I made a potentially life-changing discovery.

In Utah for my brother's wedding, the relatives nestled all snug in their beds, I found my night-owl self scanning the bookshelves of my parents' home in search of some eventide entertainment. Running my hand over the familiar titles, I came upon a white, gold-lettered volume I'd never seen before. Curious, I pulled it from the shelf. The Joy of Being A Woman: Guidance for Meaningful Living by Outstanding LDS Women. I was intrigued. My life could certainly be more Meaningful, and I'm always in need of Guidance. Who better to help me with these things than Outstanding LDS Women? I opened it in anxious anticipation. Published in 1972. Best wishes for a happy marriage! This had been a gift to my parents on their wedding day! What words of wisdom would it hold for me? I scanned the pages. Here was a chapter on making your husband happy. I definitely want to do that! With eagerness I read:

Strive to keep your voice soft. If you have become more accepting and peaceable in nature, you will find that you have less to say. Men find whining, piercing, nasal, screeching, raspy, shrill or rough aggressive qualities very annoying in a woman's voice.

I searched my soul. When I was getting over that cold last week, my voice had been raspy! Steve told me he thought it was cute, but had he actually found it very annoying? He could have been lying! And did I strive to keep my voice soft? No, not by a long shot. Sometimes I even yelled to Steve from the other room when his music was loud! This was not looking good. I decided that I would try to cultivate a soft voice when next I talked to him. He had flown home earlier that evening, so the following morning I dialed his cell.

"Good morning, Em!"

"Good morning."

"What? I can't hear you."

"Good morning, honey. How are you?"

"What?"

"How are you?"

"I must have bad reception. I'll call you back."

As I pondered the results of my efforts, I realized the book was right: when I kept my voice soft, I did have less to say! The conversation with my husband would usually have lasted at least ten minutes, but with my new soft voice, it had lasted mere seconds! This book held such promise. Over breakfast, I read on:

The solution I suggest to you for overcoming your problems in marriage is to submit to your husband in everything. Ask his advice on things, without even thinking what you would like first, and accept it. (You may slip back from time to time, but let him know that it isn't permanent and that you are still dedicated). . . When something bothers him, change it immediately. If he expresses a wish, make it the first thing on your list . . . Your single and most compelling desire is to obey and please him 100%. As you do this you'll never have to worry about yourself again.

Wow. I really had some work to do. Why, just last week, Steve had said that he wished he owned a jet, and I had merely agreed with him that that would be really cool. Had I made it the first thing on my list? Not even close! Well, I could remedy that right away. I hopped online, pulled out my credit cards, and put a down payment on a Dassault Falcon 900. What else . . . At church a few weeks ago he mentioned that a woman in the ward really bothered him, and what had I done about it? Nothing! I resolved that as soon as I returned home, I would find some way to get rid of her.

It is going to be so wonderful to never have to worry about myself again.