Debbie Does Drivel

Got a new job.

Feel good.

More.

Soon.

ET AL

Well I think I might be a nice person after all.
I gave notice at my job Monday and felt real bad for leaving them in the lurch and stressing out my manager and making my work friends sad.
I even gave 3 weeks notice because that was the decent thing to do AND I wrote a job description so HR could post the job opening quickly.
I'm so altruistic and stuff!

Good thing I am heading to a non-profit so I can put my altruism to good and proper use.

It all happened so fast: I interviewed last Thursday, then again Friday and by 3PM that day had the job. It's a communications position for a local non-profit serving youth and families and I'd name it here but if they ever googled their name and found this blog I'd just keel.

I feel good about the job, but that pesky worry gene transmitted by my mama has me agonizing over whether I can deliver the goods or not. This is a director position and I can't pretend to be a career woman anymore, I actually have to like, be one.

There's meetings and idea-sharing and initiatives and working together as a team. Yow.

I really really wanted this job. I spent hours tweaking my resume and the cover letter and practicing calming visualizations for successful interviewing and reading up on marketing concepts and selecting neat suits to wear. But when it came down to it: I knew what I was doing and when I relaxed enough to not be a strung-out worrywart, my skill and expertise showed through. Omigosh. The director title has totally gone to my head.
Maybe the non-profit, altrusitic thing will balance that out.

DOES ANYONE ELSE DO THIS...?

Shake your shoes before you put them on to dislodge hiding spiders?

Pull the covers up over your neck at night so vampires can't get you? (Or, when you were a child, draw crosses on the shower door in the steam to discourage vampires from entering the bathroom because all self-respecting 10-year-olds know that vampires come get you in the shower)?

Check your e-mail, then one second later, check it again, because the e-mail could have come in that space between one second before and one second later?

Get visually assaulted by imaginings of all who touched the public restroom faucet handles before you?

Inspect the tissue after you've blown your nose?

I'm bettin' that the only thing you and I have in common is that e-mail thing.

UPDATE

Baby Alexa is now over 6 months old and spends most of her time going "ahhhhhhhh roar ahhhhhh rrrrrrrrrr ahhhhhhhhhh" and "eh eh cough cough ehhhh" and "pffffffff pbbbbbb pfffffffffff pbbbbbbbb (large explosion of spit bubbles here) pffffff pbbbbbbb." She has discovered her voice and puts it to good use. Fake coughs are by far her favorite sound emission and she will always check to be sure we are good and worried about the cough plague that seems to have recently befallen her.

She's pretty goofy, but is periodically prone to giving us turbo serious looks that say: "Look, I think you two have a problem. I prefer my eating routine to be squash, rice cereal, squash, NOT rice cereal, peas, peas as you so barbarically have assumed."

Alex loves her feet and will eat them often, in addition to any teeny molecule she's picked up from the floor, making her mama run often to the Emergency Services CPR leaflet lodged just out of reach between a dollar bill and a Sav-On receipt.

She adores people, especially little people of her own persuasion. They love her too, and we get kids coming up to her all the time. We had a Romeo & Juliet incident a few weeks ago, when Alex and an 11-month-old baby boy engaged in an intense stare affair that made me believe in soulmates. The boy literally cried and stuck his arms out in a futile gesture to make his way back to Alex after he was taken away.

Alex is an independent soul. She knows what she wants, dammit, and that stupid dog thing is not it. Give her back that stupid alien baby rattle. And yes, she means NOW, you idiot dog-giving-to parent.

Her preferred mode of transport is rolling. She won't crawl, not yet, but she can roll like a bun with cinnamon on top. Speaking of which, this baby will eat anything, including the lemon in her dad's ice tea. She's off the charts, size/weight-wise, clocking in at nearly 22 pounds and 29 inches.

She will be a soccer player. Or woman wrestler. My girl's a bruiser. She'll kick you to death if you'd let her. Or maim you by ripping the earring out of your ear lobe.

Yep, her personality is really developing. My sweet giant, toe-eating, heartbreaker spit bubbler. And now I must go investigate her most recent bout of troubling whopping cough. She'll kick me if I don't. Or eat me.

STAR OF THE SHOW

We bought a camcorder Wednesday. It's en route now. I say I bought it because of the baby, but it's for sure I'll be filming myself most of the time.
Finally! My dance routine to Marie Osmond's "Paper Roses" will be immortalized...also the the way I go "I'll do whatever I want to do" just like Napolean Dynamite, who by the way, is how I would act all the time if I lived the thoughts in my head out loud.

Morals: www.focuscamera.com sports great deals on camcorders, etc. and ships fast; "The Sound of Music" CD is better than anything an Osmond put out; and if you've ever worn moon boots (or tried to but your friends stopped you in the nick of time), see Napolean Dynamite

ABERCROMBIE & FITCH: FREE-WHEELIN'

For all intents and purposes, my last real day of work is today. I'll be there Monday, but have exit interviews and clean-up to attend to. Tonight, we go to a happy hour with my co-workers in a "good-bye" type thing. That's nice. My bladder is on its last udder and the lotion's on the floor. The monkey's on the ceiling and a ghost is at the door. Swaying all around to the music of my mind, I'd give it all to you, but I haven't got the time.

MOVING FORWARD

Today I packed it in at my job. I sincerely miss things already, a melancholy feeling that bewilders me, as I had been wanting to leave since I'd begun working there nearly two years ago. I'd made some good friends at the company, people who crept into my cold cold heart and made it cozy warm. Management liked what I was doing there too and the respect and admiration kept me going when the valley was low.

All in all, my now former job groomed me for the job I do now. The confidence placed in me over the past few years made me grow into my own and I thank my old job for that.

That said, there were many things I disliked greatly about the old place. The way the CEO treated his staff ranked highest on the cons list and I am glad to be away from that culture of slavedom and his elitist attitude.

So I start my new job next Tuesday and take this week to bond with baby and do those things I was too tired to do right after she was born: namely endure the professional picture-taking session. Tomorrow I stand in line at Kiddie Kandids so I can perpetuate for all perpetuity my booger bag. That is, if they don't cart me away to Children's Services for allowing her tender baby skin to become scorched after a long day in the sun yesterday. But let's assume they don't, OK? My bedraggled mind is already concocting all kinds of scenarios that might happen to me because things are going so good in my life (except for the excessive weight gain).

My crazy brain started going to town after I found out I got the new job. Then, I got a look at the home in construction we will be moving into in a few months. Suddenly, that niggling neuroses: things are coming together! something ying must happen to balance the yang!

And sure enough: BAM! I side swipe a car. then, I get a big bruise on my thigh and my left eye began to hurt. So I find myself at 3AM, pacing the hallway, cupping my eye and praying to God that he let me retain my sight. I'd already been visited by the macular degeneration fairy and live in mortal fear of a return trip. Well, God spared my eyeball. Now, I hope I can enjoy my life and not feel like I must be punished for the good things that happen to me.