You probably weren’t sitting around wondering what my office looks like, but here it is.
As you can see, despite being here for 7 years, I haven’t put much effort into office decorating. I do, however, have one guiding philosophy, which goes something like this: home : animals :: office : plants. I have lots of plants, some of which you can’t even see here. Also, I dream of a day when we get to use Macs.
In the window photo, you can see my “red hood” cat calendar, which is for personal (not work) use. (The only work calendar I use is our production calendar, which lists stuff like copy due date and when we have to be done with final pages and the like. Other than that, most days would read something like: Edit stuff.) This calendar is freaking awesome and comes with stickers. All the month and week pages are blank, with spaces for you to write in the months and days. This takes forever, and by the time you’re done, you feel like you’ve invested a lot of effort in setting up this calendar so by god you’re going to use it. This worked for me, which is really saying something because I’m mostly a disorganized buffoon. While we’re at it, I’m completely incapable of using iCal or any other computer-based calendar, despite their environmental friendliness, because I feel like I can’t visualize concepts like time unless they’re printed on paper. Is that an ADHD thing or am I weird and/or old?
If you want to order one for 2013, I recommend you do it soon because they come from Korea and take a while to arrive. The calendars come in “Choo Choo Diary Season” (cat) and “LaLaLaDOG” (self-explanatory). As always, this isn’t a sponsored post and I’m sorry to put more shit on the internet talking about stuff. I just really enjoy my little Korean animal calendars, which also contain many pages of amazing artwork.
Aside from low pay, the downside of working for a relatively small nonprofit organization is that occasionally you get stuck with a job you don’t want. An example of this is kitchen duty. Kitchen duty should be no big deal. You run and empty the dishwasher, maybe clean up a few stray crumbs on the table, and take home and wash the towels (nobody does this ever). In reality, kitchen duty makes you realize you work with people who were raised by wolves. You end up dealing with crusty and/or slimy dishes left in the sink, fossilized lipstick on coffee cups, boxes of crumbs left behind by the people who took the last donut but didn’t have the heart to dispose of the empty boxes, people who (bless their hearts) try to recycle salad and napkins, and aborted moonshine-making projects in the refrigerator.
That said, kitchen duty is 1,000 times more pleasant than the other job I don’t want, which goes something like this.
I’m staff liaison for a committee, the members of which have an average age of 102. Once a year, I summon them from the surrounding countryside so we may enjoy lunch at 10 a.m. (just kidding, I’m firmly opposed to eating lunch at old people o’clock) and bestow honors on various people living (and probably old) and dead.
I always hate everything about doing this.
This year, someone was nominated for something by someone who really, really, really wants said person to get the something for which he was nominated. A letter-writing campaign resulted and I received no less than 872 phone calls promising future written correspondence, emails containing letters as pdf attachments, lengthy emails, one-sentence emails, one-sentence emails with relevant names misspelled, letters sent via U.S. mail, faxes, telegrams, smoke signals, messages written with lipstick on the bathroom mirror, singing telegrams performed by underdressed monkeys, and song dedications delivered by Casey Kasem. This would be no big deal but for the fact that in theory I should keep track of these missives and organize the information in an easy-to-digest format for 102-year-olds while expending as little effort as possible. Oh and there’s also the fact that the person nominated is the only person nominated and even without the vast outpouring of support would in fact obtain the thing for which he was nominated.
Then there are the people who don’t understand how to RSVP. I’ve received one response from someone clearly stating that he will be at the meeting. The rest have all been like this:
I’ll try to be there.
I’ll try to be there if there’s room. (Note: The meeting is not being held in a closet or teeny tiny room.)
I’ll be there if I can blow off the other thing I have scheduled for the same time.
I’ll be there unless something better comes up, which, let’s be honest, it probably will.
I think I’ll probably be there, maybe. Later: I’m not coming. Later: Okay, I’ll be there after all. I bet you can’t wait!
I like pie.
…. (That’s the person who doesn’t respond at all but shows up anyway.)
I mean, is it that hard to commit to either attending the meeting or not attending the meeting? I’d rather you just not respond at all. Seriously, how much food do I order for myself, one dude, and 89 people who will maybe kinda try to be there? (Answer: A lot. Pizza is what gets us through these ordeals.) And we can’t blame this behavior on kids these days, because these people are all, well, older than I am.
Then there are the people who don’t understand email and their ornery friend email attachments. I sent an email that can be summarized as follows:
3 sentences of text, one of which states “The call-in information is on the agenda”
several clearly labeled attachments, one of which is the agenda.
Without fail, I receive an email like this:
Hi. Could you please send me the call-in information?
One of the attachments is titled “Tabby Nominees.” I receive an email like this:
Are there any tabby nominees? Would you please tell me who the they are?
This or something like it happens 600 times a day during the week before the meeting, while I have, like, other actual work I have to get done. The good news is it’s almost over and I won’t have to think much about it until next year. Oh, and pizza.
_______
I didn’t make anything today but I did a bunch of volunteer work and I think that counts because . . . I’m making the world a better place by doing volunteer work. Okay no, I’m kidding and that’s gross, but I am counting it. It was fun and involved walking around the neighborhood with Ben, Soren, and Peaches and assessing the health of baby trees that were planted this spring. Soren is getting good at this. After we got home, I asked him if he was going to help me look at more trees tomorrow. He said “Yeah!!” and ran to the back door, opened it, and pointed to the tree in the back yard. “There’s one!”
Earlier this evening, I made (another) necklace. Soren did, too. He loves necklaces and beads and I always start out telling him not to touch anything, but after a while I figure why not. (I should skip the “don’t touch nothin’”1 phase altogether, because what’s the point and it makes him (rightly) believe I’ll give in if he’s persistent.) I had no idea he could put a bunch of beads on a string, but he can.
My necklace was inspired by these little berries (we refer to them as “tree things,” because “berries” are something you eat and we don’t want anyone getting any ideas about eating things that grow in the yard and aren’t food, although even that has to be confusing because we grow food to eat in the yard, too) Soren picks from a bush in the yard. I’m not sure about it, but I’ll post a picture soon.
*****
Our garden is a little behind schedule, if gardens have schedules. Nothing we started from seeds indoors worked (I’m never doing this again — from now on, we’re either getting plants or directly sowing seeds in the ground; you never get anywhere starting seeds indoors when you have 100 cats). We have some peppers that are close to ready, one yellow squash (sadly, the zucchini plant we bought isn’t a zucchini plant at all — we’re not sure what it is, maybe acorn squash), and the occasional cherry tomato (although I’m not really a tomato person, I love leetle tomatoes named for fruit: cherry, pear, grape). The non-problem problem is that Soren also loves leetle tomatoes named for fruit.
We’re working on educating him that it’s never, ever a good idea to pick baby green tomatoes before they’re ready. He tried this a few times. Despite being told they’re not ready, he’d pluck a baby green tomato from the plant, look at it, and then pop it into his mouth, where it would stay for a while before reappearing and being tossed into the garden. Now he presses his nose against the figurative window of the garden, waiting for the tomatoes to be ready. Every day, he goes out to see if any “matoes” are ready. If they’re “kinda orange,” he says “Matoes ready?!” No, not yet. They have to be red. The other day there were two red cherry tomatoes on the plant, right next to each other. “Matoes ready!!” They sure might be, but you have to wait for daddy. (Ben is more of a tomato person than I am.) The second Ben got home it was all “Matoes ready! Matoes ready!” Later, Ben picked the two tomatoes and they cheersed and ate them.
I suspected gardens teach kids good things, and I guess for once I was right. Responsibility (Soren helps water and is learning “good plant/bad plant,” which is a precursor to effective weeding), patience (oh man that’s a hard one with toddlers), and an appreciation for fresh produce. It’s kind of cool.
_______ Note
1. Without fail, “Don’t touch nothin’” makes me think of one of the greatest songs of all time. As does “You a cutie still,” which comes up in life more than you’d think. I’m songy lately, aren’t I?
Today was one of my work from home days. I sat at our little kitchen island with my work laptop (ugh, Windows) and a printed manuscript of an article about litigating disputes involving the medical marijuana industry. Soren really, really, really wanted my wireless mouse.
Soren: Mama (sometimes it’s mommy and sometimes it’s mama; my natural inclination is to prefer mommy, but as long as he never calls me ma, it’s all good) what’r'ya doooin?
Me: I’m doing some work.
Soren: Are you done yet?
Me: Not yet.
Soren (trying to grab the mouse): My turn.
Me: Not yet.
Soren (trying to grab the mouse and push buttons on the keyboard): Mines.
Me: Don’t touch! You might delete important parts of this article!
Soren: Mama what’r'ya doooin?
Me: I’m doing some work.
Soren: Are you done yet?
Me: No. I wish! Soon.
Soren: Are you done yet?
Me: No. Sorry this is boring, dude. I’ll be done soon.
Soren: You’re doing lots of works!
Me: Yes.
Soren exits the room and returns momentarily with his toy laptop, which he places right next to mine.
Soren: I do lots of works!
Me: That’s awesome. I’m almost done.
Later, he took the manuscript and distributed pages to me, Sadie, and Coltrane. He tried to give some to Peaches, but she was outside. What a slacker being outside when she should be in the house doing lots of works like the rest of us. He likes to dole things out to the dogs — papers, food, whatever. He loves the dogs (and the cats, too, but they don’t interact with him as much yet because let’s be honest, if you’re a cat, a toddler is fucking terrifying, and for good reason).
Sadie thoroughly enjoyed reading about ethical considerations to keep in mind while representing medical marijuana clients. To tell you the truth, it’s probably better to resolve your disputes instead of litigating, because getting a medical marijuana business involved in litigation will lead to nothing but trouble.
Soren’s new school requested family photos to display in his classroom. This is what they got. It’s a little better than the pictures from that time we tried to do our own holiday portraits in the yard and ended up looking like, I don’t know, hill people or time travelers from the 1990s (I believe there was flannel involved).
Have you ever wondered what I do all day on the days I work from home and Soren is here? No? Well, here is a brief summary of today’s major activities. For the record, today was an above-average day in terms of productivity. This is why I’m sharing it with you — so you can revel in my awesomeness (not really).
Breakfast with Soren: We split a banana because there was only one left and each had a bowl of Kashi Cinnamon Harvest (his with milk and mine with soy milk). Biscuit-type cereal is awesome for toddlers. Coffee for me.
Hang out with Soren: We do random fun stuff around the house, including but not limited to getting books off the shelf and putting them in random locations (he’s partial to Plato, Hume, and Kant — either that or he likes the yellow books) and pushing a toy shopping cart around. An episode of Yo Gabba Gabba was watched.
Shovel our sidewalks and the neighbors’ sidewalks (we have an unofficial mutual shoveling agreement). The snow was super light and fluffy, so this ain’t no thang, as they say (no they don’t).
Vacuum. I didn’t mean to do this today but the couch was furry.
Share apple with Soren.
Wash, dry, and assemble diapers; get diapers ready for school tomorrow.
Make filling for calzones (spinach, onion, garlic, basil, mozzarella, ricotta, parmesan, salt, and pepper, with a cheese-only version for Soren, who is offended by spinach and onion in his pizza-like items). Accidentally add 2x as much basil as called for by recipe. (I’m pretty much following the Moosewood recipe for these — that’s the first vegetarian cookbook I ever had, so I find the recipes kind of old school and comforting.)
Lunch date with Soren: He had a quesadilla (tortilla, butter, cheddar) with a side of peas and carrots and I had munches of calzone filling and leftover nachos (I know).
Proofread 5 articles (I’ve already edited these) on the following subjects: single-member LLCs and asset protection, nondischargeable securities judgments in bankruptcy, the admission of blood alcohol reports after Bullcoming v. New Mexico, implied non-infringement and ownership warranties in intellectual property agreements, and insurance coverage for expenses relating to repairing or replacing nondefective construction work that is damaged as a result of repairing work that is defective.
Do a tiny bit of internetting, including but not limited to sending and receiving work-related emails.
Take a 10-minute catnap (me) (the kind of nap where you only know you even fell asleep because you were having some weird-ass dream about a Zappos ad campaign that doesn’t exist) and an awful, stupid-short toddler nap (Soren).
Do communal laundry. Is this a thing? “Communal laundry” is stuff like sheets, blankets, and towels. I generally do communal laundry, Soren’s laundry, and my laundry. Ben does his laundry and the dogs’ laundry.
Get our indoor compost bin. Yay! Soren carries it around the house, discusses the fact that it is white (he pronounces this “wipe”) and green, and puts random things in it.
Make dough for calzones.
Engage in an ongoing mental debate wherein I ponder the costs and benefits of seriously getting up before the crack of ass tomorrow morning to go to the gym.
And now we have come to the part of our day where Ben is home and I have a beer. Ben is watching this video because I guess he’s going to remix this song? How freaking cute are these guys? They’re like 10. Apparently we are Oberhofer fans now. They’re playing at Hi Dive on April 25. Anyone going?
Generally, I’m happy with my employer and the work I do. Still, just like you don’t stop looking at hotties after you get married, you don’t stop looking at job ads just because you like your job. Right? I mean, one day, you might find something absolutely perfect, like:
Opportunity for Fabulous Attorney
Our boutique downtown Denver firm located in a historic mansion is looking to hire an attorney to practice sophisticated bankruptcy law. Must be admitted to practice in the highest court of any state and adept at spending hours talking shit about things that have nothing to do with your job on the internet. Must bill 1,000 hours per year. Compensation = $100k+ and generous wardrobe allowance. We offer an on-site Montessori daycare, a state-of-the-art health club where there are always enough treadmills, and complimentary vegetarian lunches cooked by our chef.
Shockingly, those fabulous opportunities never arise. I have to say it’s pretty freaking bleak out there. I’ve seen an ad for a small Chicago law firm that was offering $10 an hour for an attorney position. I’ve seen countless writing/editing “jobs” that don’t pay. (Protip: If it doesn’t pay, it’s not a job. Duh.) I’ve found people who can’t string a sentence together looking for editors for their “books,” which usually involve some type of metaphysical The Secret jive turkey shit. Also there are quite a few mentally unstable individuals using Craigslist to try to obtain legal representation in their malicious prosecution and/or child support cases from people who may or may not be admitted to practice and won’t charge them “lawyer rates.”
Today I found a pretty good help-wanted ad, if by “good” I mean one that made me think, “Whatchu talkin’ ’bout crazypants?”
We Need An Attorney – Bilingual is Preferred. (Denver)
We need an attorney who is bilingual in Spanish. We are also seeking an attorney who is patient. We need an attorney who is willing to deal with a building firm. We are small and our office is not the spectacular. However, the office is our beginning. If you would like to begin with us, then give us a call. This is only a part time position. Also, we require a drug and alcohol screening. Also, please no overeaters. We would prefer a non – smoker.
Call: 303-***-**** or respond with a resume to Cowgirl*******@hotmail.com
Location: Denver
Compensation: $1000.00 to $2500.00
This is a part-time job.
This is a contract job.
Principals only. Recruiters, please don’t contact this job poster.
Please, no phone calls about this job!
Please do not contact job poster about other services, products or commercial interests.
I decided I should email Cowgirl*******@hotmail.com, using my numerous email accounts, with questions from potential job seekers.
Potential Job Seeker #1:
Hi,
I’m very interested in your “We Need An Attorney” ad. I think I might be qualified, but I have a question. Sometimes when I’m having something really good for dinner, like super-delicious pizza with extra sauce and cheese that’s slightly greasy and oh-so-gooey, I eat too much and then spend the next few hours sitting around on the couch talking about how “I’m so full” or “I’m going to explode” or “I’m never eating again.” Am I unqualified based on this infrequent habit?
Thanks!
Cowgirl:
If this habit is, as you claim, infrequent, you are welcome to apply for the position.
Potential Job Seeker #2:
Are the drug and alcohol screenings required to come back negative? I assume “please no overeaters” means you don’t want potheads. Is recreational cocaine use okay?
Cowgirl:
Yeehaw!
Potential Job Seeker #3:
Is “Also, please no overeaters” a fancy way of saying no fatties?
Cowgirl:
….
Potential Job Seeker #4:
Hi! I’m fucking crazy enough to apply for a job where my future employer has expressed interest in controlling my dietary habits before we even meet. Should I apply for a restraining order now or wait until you come to my house to padlock my refrigerator?
Cowgirl:
We’re not going to padlock your refrigerator. We just don’t want fatties. Sorry if that wasn’t clear from our posting.
Potential Job Seeker #5:
I have a question about the compensation. Is that $1000.00 to $2500.00 per hour?
Cowgirl:
It’s per year.
Potential Job Seeker #6:
I am the spectacular. Will you hire me?
Cowgirl:
Probably.
Just kidding. The ad is real but I didn’t actually email anybody about it. I thought about it, though. These ads pretty much make fun of themselves, but sometimes I want to do it, too.
