Program Manager

As everyone in the free world knows, Monday I start my new job. New company. New culture. New responsibilities. Things are changing - not just for me but for my whole family.
So what is the job? Well, I'm going to be the program manager for the Scarborough Specialized Job Search Program. Its provided by my employer - and funded through the government of Canada. We will work with people who are either new to Canada or who have literacy issues. Its a 4 week intensive job search course. Or so they tell me. I don't really know anything for sure - seeing as I don't start until Monday.
Scarborough is on the outskirts of Toronto for those of you not in the know. The area I'm working in is stuffed to capacity with immigrant families. Its not the safest neighbourhood after dark - mental note to self - and is colourful and super populated. I can't wait!
It really is a tremendous opportunity, I think, to do some really good feel good give yourself a big hug kind of work for my fellow man/woman. Its also a HUGE challenge and I can only image what kinds of barriers we will come up against.
Its also the first time I've managed an office or other people in about 4 years. Which is kind of scary. Not that I'm worried - cause you all know how I LOVE to be in charge - but its still a challenge to be new to a company and new to an office and come in and just TAKE OVER.
A stupid yet HUGE challenge for me is the business formal dress code. I have fatted myself out of even my fattest of fat pants. This is not good. Everything I wear has to have a blazer with it - so I suppose I can cover up a multitude of flab with a jacket.
My husband wanted me to buy a girdle - ostensibly to "rein it all in". Screw that - I'm just going to let it all hang out - FIGURATIVELY of course. I am sure that pantyhose will be discomfort enough for all concerned!
And, Yes. I like to be in charge. I start this routine off by being physcially intimidating. I'm already pretty huge and 5'10" but I like to wear high high heels and tower over everyone - it makes people think you are the boss. Biggest person = highest rank: Amazonian Rules.
I will also keep to myself. Because as much as I like people to like me - hey, these people are strangers and I won't know who to trust for a while. Its that "I'm not here to make friends" mentality.
Dan suggested that I could be whomever I want to be in this new and strange place. Speak with an accent or create a whole life or background for myself from fiction - not from fact. And I guess, in a sense, I'm planning on doing just that. I will be aloof and focused. And for anyone that knows me - that's not who I am at all. Okay, maybe a little.
Routines change for the kids - the school - the sitter. We all get up HOURS earlier then we are currently. We have to have cook ahead - preprepared super mom meals. The kids need to get to bed earlier and SO DO I. So, if you are expecting to talk to me on MSN at 3am - lets hope I have to let you down. I don't want to insomniac my way through this job on diet pepsi and red bull.
So - wish me luck. Of course, I'll tell you all about it! I hope there isn't a Smallville fan there that makes me watch it everyday at lunch...or someone who refuses to wear shoes....or someone who shows her boobs to people at her desk...I've already done that!

Going down with the ship

The other night I fell asleep in the bath tub - no big deal really - I've been falling asleep in the bathtub for years. But it occurred to me after this nap, that its not a particularly safe thing to do.
I can remember back in the early 1980s when I had my first job at A&W there were two shifts you could work: 9am to 6pm or 6pm until 3am. The best weekends were when you had Friday closing, Saturday closing and Sunday day shift! Tonnes of hours and a full day's sleep on Saturday. And hey, I was working at A&W so it wasn't like I had a social life to worry about.
After these shifts I came home coated in the horrific stench of fried meat and bacon. Sometimes in a shift I had fried 10 pounds of bacon...it does wonders for your skin!
Anyway, on a closing shift, I would come home to a sleeping house. I didn't usually want to watch TV or talk to anyone - but I was usually too keyed up to sleep. I would take a bath. In the middle of the night, in total silence, I would take a bath.
I would go over the evening in my head. Replaying the conversations I'd had with the super nerdy greasy A&W dudes that I totally adored I would think of all the things I should have said but didn't. I would devise all sorts of plans to become my most beautiful me and woo the boys so everyone would love me for me - and not just because of the faint smell of maple bacon I always had.
I would float in the semi darkness of the bath tub - scented with my mother's bath beads - green and red and full of smelly oil. And in the total silence - tired from prepping burgers and making coney fries I would fall into a deep sleep.
And what woke me up? Often it was when the water turned cold - I'd have been asleep for hours - and I'd start shivering in the water - and it would wake me up.
Other times, I would wake up when my ears hit the water. The only sound I could hear was splashing - in my ears - and this was enough to wake me up.
As time went on and I moved from my parent's house to apartment after apartment, I always had a great bath tub for my night time baths.
One of the best bath tubs was in my apartment in London. Sure, the apartment had some problems in that my upstairs neighbour was a prostitute that worked from home and my back door neighbour was a recently released convicted murderer, but the bathroom rocked. It was in the basement - a seriously scary late night stumble down some seriously scary stairs. You couldn't stand totally upright in the bathroom but, what did I care, I sat down to pee. And it was a gorgeous old claw foot tub. Amazing for bathing - and once I caulked up the drainage valves, amazing for sleeping.
The only other claw foot tub I had was in the apartment on Maitland - that was 100+ years old. It was a great apartment until the roof over the tub collapsed because our upstairs neighbour, Bongo Jesus, had a problem shutting off this taps.
When we bought this place I wanted the super sunken tub - not whirlpool. Whirlpools make noise and are very distracting for sleep. Again, once I caulked up the drainage valves on the tub, I was in business. A dose of bath salts - a bath bomb or some bubbles and I can sleep like a baby....
But now, in addition to waking up when my ears hit the water or when the water goes cold, I also wake myself up snoring....you know you're getting old when.... But a nice hot - blazing hot scented bath - that is the way to sleep.
I'm sure one day, the bath will be my undoing - I will fail to wake up - I will go under and not come up. If that's true - I want that in my obituary....she went down with the ship!

on death and dying....

I have a confession to make today. Nothing earth shattering I'm afraid. Nor is it a deep seated confession of sexual perversion.....nor that I am really a man...nothing as cool as that.
I read the obituaries in the newspaper - every day. Sometimes I even read them on line. I have a consumptive interest in the death and life stories of other people. I figure if they took the time and trouble to live their life, the least I can do is read about it.
I started reading them back home - in Stratford - where the entire daily newspaper is less than 20 pages long most days. Usually there are half a dozen dead people - some days more or less. And, best of all, sometimes they run the obit for multiple days.
Sure, the obituary gives you all the facts - where they lived, how old they were when they died and where and when the funeral crap will be. It even tells you where you can make donations in memory of the deceased - which can sometimes give you an idea of what killed them. B
But to me, the important bit is the listing of family. Married to, predeceased by, meeting his parents in the great beyond...that's the information that lets you piece together the important bits of someone's life. That's what tells you what makes the man.
Its in the family list that you can find out all of the bits and pieces of a person's history that they may leave out if they were to tell you themselves. Like the child that they had that died at birth and the brothers and sisters they are estranged from - even the divorces and remarriages. If you were to have met the person while they lived it is likely they would never have told you so much about themselves - all the juicy bits and pieces.
If you are very very very lucky, you find obituaries in the newspaper that tell you about how that person lived. What they did for a living, where they worked, what their hobbies were, charities they worked with and things and people that were important to them. That is like discovering a gorgeous novel!
Always, the gold star for obits is a photo. An old photo is the pinnacle of newspaper obituaries. Not only do you create a history for the person - you can picture the actual person as well. Excellent.
Okay, well not really excellent - cause the person is still dead. My husband thinks its sick that I read them. But, hello, what the hell are they in the paper for?
I want people to read mine. I'm asking you right now, one of you write me a fantastic obituary (preferably AFTER I die) and the rest of you read it. Someone find a picture that doesn't make me look fat. Photoshop it if you have to.
Lisa recently wrote a blog asking how she would be remembered after she died (my suggestions are in the comments) and hypothesized that maybe it doesn't really matter how we are remembered after we die - cause, you know, we're dead. But, it matters to me to remember people.
Today in my troll through the star obits (2 full pages and lots of photos - yay!) I found someone I used to know. Someone I used to work with who beat me out for a Supervisory position once that I really really wanted. She got the job. She also got cancer, suffered for 10 years, and left a husband and child behind and died at 54. Given the choice, I'd rather be unemployed.
I called Wayne to tell him - Jennifer died - and he already knew. Oh no, he said, you're reading the obituaries again. I am. And I'm remembering Jennifer and thanking my lucky stars just to be here.

The Part

I went to a party last night. A party that sucked ass. Hard. And not in a good way. In a very bad very bad way. And I was bored and not amused. Wayne said I was objectionably bored.

I drove around today early waiting for the stores to open when they weren't. I bought meat and felt bad about myself for no reason. Letting down no one. Unfulfilling no promises I had made or not made.

I listened to the radio. I sang along and no one could hear me - or at least I hope they couldn't.

I yelled at my kid today. I said - stop crying or I'll smack you. Cause that makes it all better. And although I knew what I said was wrong, I didn't know what was right to say. It will only get worse - not better. I only make it worse.

I wanted to call you today - yes, you. But I couldn't because of your stupid rules. But more than wanting to call you, I wanted you - yes, you to want to call me. I don't suppose that ever happens, does it?

I imagined my life changing today. Squinting my eyes and praying to be able to visualize a new life a new place and new head and all I got was a headache.

I saw you on MSN today - yes, you - and I wanted to talk - but I didn't. I don't want to be the one to say hey first anymore. I want you to buzz me and then I want the right to be a bitch and ignore you - yes, you. I was hurt for no reason and alone for even less of one.

I felt bad saying that said I love you today - yes, you - and I'm not sure I do. I'm not sure I ever did. I'm not sure I want to.

I emailed you today - yes, you - and deleted it before hitting send. It was too easy. I didn't want to give you an out - give you an in - make it easy. You work this time - not me.

I took a shower today - and in it I had an imaginary conversation with you - yes, you. And you said - of course I miss you - of course we should spend more time together - of course I'm sorry - and I didn't believe you even in an imaginary conversation.

I felt bad today for what I wrote about you - yes, you again - all the mean things I said about you and how I hate you hate you hate you hate you. And although, they are true, every last word, I still feel bad.

I found spots on my leg today and wondered if it was a monster come back to haunt me and eat me from the inside. I showed my husband who said - are you just LOOKING for something to be wrong? And I guess that I am.

I cried a little today. Setting up the computer and I couldn't figure it out and I couldn't make it work. I felt old and useless and stupid and today that was enough to make me cry.

I hid today. From my family in rooms where they weren't. In the car. Just sitting and staring and singing to the radio so I wouldn't have to talk to people and yes, you. I shut myself off here in a blog that spits into the wind.

Puppy Love

I spent part of today bonding with the dog. Cause that's what everybody needs to spend a day doing every once in a while. Getting some love.
This morning when the wind was howling in the open window that I was too cold to get up and close, the dog crawled UNDER the comforter with me. I could hear her saying "although I am covered in fuzz (she doesn't really think of herself as particularly furry), it is considerably colder than it was the other day when the house smelled of meat. I feel the need to warm myself under the thing - I enjoy the thing as we are a similar colour. I understand that as a dog I am colour-blind and shouldn't know this." Then she snuggled up to me and slept until the alarm went off.
Later in the day, as I was making the same bed with the flannel sheets (Good Lord I love the cold!) we played an interesting game of "you can't see me" while she tried to pretend she was invisible and hide under the sheets as I made the bed. Always fun.
In the afternoon, while I was on line in the office, she layed right in the doorway - I assume she does this to protect me, should the cat decide to come in the area and attempt to give me love. Hershey's presence will prevent this. Hershey knows that the cat sleeps all day under my bed - right where she wants her.
When I'm not home, the dog stays in her crate in the living room. Usually I leave either the tv or the radio on for her - don't tell anyone - it seems weird.
It is in those times that I imagine the cat asserts her dominance over the dog. She does this by walking - back and forth - back and forth - in front of the crate the whole time we are gone. In her best prissy kitty voice she says to Hershey "you're in a cage - well, it looks like a cage....I get to walk anywhere I want - anytime I want. Do you know why? Cause they trust me. Its a matter of respect. The humans respect me. Do you know why? Cause I don't eat my own poop. Yep. Do you know why? Cause that's disgusting. You are a disgusting animal in a cage...." and she says this over and over again while Hershey silently weeps "I am not...I am not..."
Hershey only wants to love the cat. Its all she's ever wanted to do. She enivisions them running together in the field near the house - "here Pumpkin - come play with my frisbee!" and Pumpkin rolls up her nose and says "I despise you poop eater>>>harumph".
We drove Ben to karate tonight and Hershey rode in the passenger seat - where she feels she rightfully belongs. She sits primly and watches the cars out the front window. She's not the kind of stick your head out the window to feel nature kind of dog. She's a people watcher dog.
Not that she doesn't have a lot of dog friends. She has Pepper the little poodle we play ball with at the park. The black and white border collie who isn't really a friend but gets her all excited and agitated when he comes around. And the daschund and his brother the cockapoo (they have two daddies) and the little ball of fluff down the street named Charlie, the Rottweiller named Princess and the old Beagle from the park. Lots of doggie friends.
One of my favourite things she does is groom the children! After they get out of the tub or the shower, Hershey tries and tries to lick them dry - tries to comb their hair by licking it - it hard not to let her - she thinks they are her babies...but hey, she eats some gross stuff....
Now as I sit here, Hershey is back at her post, in front of the door. When I stop typing she turns around to look at me to check that I'm okay. I assume if I turn to her she'd come lick me. Just to see if I taste okay. So here's to Hershey. Cause everyonce in a while everyone needs some love from the dog.

Thanksgiving List

Every thanksgiving I think I should have a list of all the things that I am thankful for. I think that it comes from an old episode of some tv show - I want it to be the Brady Bunch, but, I don't think that it was. In this tv show, the family would sit around the table, hold hands and each one would say a little speech about what they were thankful for.
I am more of a list maker than a speech giver. Okay, well, that's strictly not true in that I'm both a list maker and a speech giver. But my obsessive compulsive listmaking is legendary. I rock the comprehensive multi-tasking list like only a woman can.
So, instead of my thanksgiving speech I give you my thanksgiving list 2007 in NO PARTICULAR ORDER:
I am thankful each day that my kids aren't hooligans or wierdos. I am thankful that they think burping and farting is hysterical and that they love cartoons, don't do crack and aren't giving or getting blow jobs behind the school. I think that its so wonderful that they are so incredibly normal.
I am thankful that my friends listen to me when all I have to say is something about nothing. Its a generous thing to do.
I am thankful that people don't think I'm as annoying as I think I am.
I am eternally thankful that I remember little stupid things about the past that I should likely have long forgotten. Like bendy-straws. I remember my grandfather saving up his bendy-straws when he was in the hospital when I was about 10 - and bringing them home to me because I loved them so. I was so excited to get a straw wrapped in paper. I'm thankful I can remember that.
I'm thankful to have my body. No matter how horribly ugly I often think it is. No matter how it betrays me by making my brain feel sick and my stomach turn. No matter how it takes normal things and makes them difficult. Its still all I've got. Perhaps if I was nicer to it and treated it better it would be better to me.
I'm thankful that I get to spill out all the thoughts that are in my head and very rarely does someone tell me how badly I suck.
I'm thankful that I have the time and abilty to think.
I'm thankful for silence. And music. And good movies.
I'm thankful that the dog just likes to sit with me. Sometimes she sits right up against me and just sighs. She loves me.

Its not a comprehensive list. But its a start. Because, quite frankly, if I look at the nowhere place that my life is right now, I just get too scared to be too thankful for too many things in case someone says I have more than my share and takes anything away.