MFA Mama

once more into the Soulless Corporate Megalith, dear friends

   Today I'm a brand ambassador again, and I would kind of rather have a boil implant than go and spend six hours at a Soulless Corporate Megalith store, but a) it's money and b) I said I would do this for Temp Agency #1, and they are what saves our ass any time I don't have a Real Job. So here I am at the MFA County Public Library printing out my timesheet and other essential documents, and off I'll go in a moment when the printing kiosk is free.

   Yeah, some bloggers get to go to Mom 2.0 or BlogHer as a brand ambassador, and I get to go to a Soulless Corporate Megalith superstore. Any A-listers want to trade? Anyone? Bueller? No? Ah well.

   I kind of think the old guy at the next computer over is looking at pr0n. At the library. Our tax dollars at work, kids!

   Before I sign off and go (wo)man a product table for 600 years hours, I wanted to ask y'all for some advice. I haven't worked in an office setting in a while, and I'm a little afraid I'll be rusty on Monday. So what tips do you have for me (other than don't microwave leftover fish in the break room--HIIII M!) on how to ingratiate myself to my new employer and/or win at life?

   Ooo! Printer! Later.

 

trivia

Factoid of the day: energy-saving lightbulbs make blood look neon orange. This information brought to you by a minor scrape, an energy-efficient bathroom, and ten minutes' panicked Googling.

GOOD NEWS!

*   I have a job!

*   The job is through Temp Agency #1, non-physically demanding, full-time, pays pretty well, and starts Monday. No idea on duration yet, but at the very least this should help us get our feet back under us and let me secure individual health insurance once more. Yay!

*   I have to cultivate a "professional appearance" over the weekend on a shoestring budget, which will involve doing my roots, spending some time at Goodwill shopping for business-y clothes that fit, and probably lots of wailing and gnashing of teeth.

*   Happy Friday! 

*   How are all of YOU? 

my anaconda don't want none...

...UNLESS YOU'VE GOT BUNS, HON!

   Everyone in the comments of the previous post and on Twitter agrees:

Figure One: Smart lady!

   "They're all wrong!" Hotter insisted.

   So I sent him a picture from Kroger:

Figure Two: BUNS.

   "This is the South. Y'all are ignant," he replied. "I WENT TO THE CULINARY INSTITUTE OF AMERICA."

   So yeah, Hotter decided to go down with his ship, and we're having hot dogs for dinner.

P.S. Hotter says he never did like any of us. 

I'm right, you're wrong!

   Enough about how we're all going to die if I don't find a job. Let's talk about something REALLY important. Marinka of Motherhood in NYC has a regular feature on her blog called "I'm right, you're wrong" that I'm totally hijacking borrowing today.

   My recent unemployment has allowed for Hotter and me to spend lots and lots of time together. It's great when we're doing things like sleeping in with the dog and all four of her stiff, stabby-clawed legs between us and having sex, but not so much when we're talking about what to make for dinner, because one of us is fundamentally wrong here. You be the judge!

The Dilemma: What do you call those bread-things you put your hotdog inside?

The disagreers: MFA Mama, a.k.a. The Voice of Reason, and Hotter, a.k.a. Mr. I Went To Culinary School But Still Don't Know What Those Bread-things Are Called.

The positions:

1. We are out of hot dog rolls, so we can't have hot dogs for dinner because the kids hate it when we use slices of bread.

2. We are out of hot dog buns, so we can't have hot dogs for dinner because the kids hate it when we use slices of bread.

   What say you?

now what?

   I think I've applied for every job within feasible travel radius that I am even remotely qualified for. Monster, Snagajob, Craigslist, and the local paper have run out of new ideas for me. I'm still working my ass off for Temp Agency #2, and spoke with Temp Agency #1 today (they found a part-time job I'm qualified for, although I ultimately decided to pass since I need something full-time, either through them or something I find on my own, and this gig would have run mid-May through October...that didn't seem fair to the client since I'd totally bail if I got a full-time offer during that time...I do however have another one-off gig I'm working for them this coming Saturday).

   I'm a little worried about what to wear to job interviews. I've lost twenty-two pounds in the past couple of months so everything is baggy (including my bras--I may be reduced to stuffing for the interview next week), and my roots are pretty heinous but I don't want to spend the money on a box of hair color. Or should I? I don't even know if they'll notice that. 

   Meanwhile back at the ranch, I'm freaking out about the whole "no health insurance" thing. Hotter has Medicare, and the boys are covered by their father's insurance; it's just me with nothing. I've been able to stop taking Nexium without any ill effects as long as I avoid gluten, and I do miss Mirapex, but not enough to pay out of pocket. So it's just Pristiq and Synthroid I'm still on. I can't afford to sign up for an individual plan currently, so everyone cross their fingers that my lungs behave and I don't do any worse than break my stupid toe for the next...however long.

   We have less than $100 to our names, and no end in sight. It's terrifying. A kind friend sent us a box of groceries from Amazon.com, but pretty soon we're going to start running out of things, and I have no idea what we'll do.

   Please post funnies and pick-me-ups in the comments, if you've seen any good ones. I'm trying hard not to succumb to depression right about now and keep telling myself that we've always found a way to manage before, but I'm really worried.

back to the bright side

   Today I am looking on the bright side and saying that while I broke the SHIT out of my middle toe, and also sliced it open, at least the slice runs vertically up the SIDE of the nail and so I am not likely to lose the nail.

   And eating a chocolate cupcake, a powdered donut, a chocolate-chip cookie, and two rugelach from my box of Katz Gluten-Free goodies has helped to dull the pain.

   Onward!

in which WellsFargo kicks us while we're down

   I deposited $300 in cash yesterday, which I withdrew from Hotter's individual account where his disability checks go (why? Because he likes for us to pay $12 in fees every month to withdraw the money from an out-of-state bank at a local ATM, it makes him happy somewhere deep in his soul, to the point that he's willing to fight with me EVERY SINGLE MONTH ABOUT IT), to cover checks I wrote yesterday, and today? Wellsfucking Fargo charged us FOUR overdraft fees, because apparently cash isn't good enough for them and the deposit is still marked as "pending" in their system.
   So I just had the pleasure of breaking down in ugly snotty tears on the phone with Wells Fargo, who initially told me it wasn't their problem, then amended that to "well, how about we refund HALF?" Because hey, great, then Hotter will only reject ONE donor organ and I can maybe feed 1.5 of my kids! I asked them what they were going to do next, come to my house and take my dog? They finally decided to refund three of the four $35 fees, which I guess is good, but when $35 is a third of your total net worth and you don't have any hope of anything coming in any time soon that fucking hurts.
   I hate Wells Fargo. HATE them. I swear, every time I think it can't get any worse, they bend us over and screw us, no lube. And as soon as it stops raining here I'm going to walk to the nearest branch office (yeah, the Beater is...not so good) and close the damn account.
   I...am done. I'm just done. This whole situation is just hopeless. 

Pollyanna

   Last night I was chatting with a friend of mine about how awesome Temp Agency #2 is. "If I keep working jobs for them at the rate I am, it'll be about equal to what I would've gotten from Unemployment," I gushed. "So you guys'll be okay then," she asked, hopefully. "Um. Well. I crunched the numbers when I got the initial letter from Unemployment, and with that plus the child support and Hotter's disability we'll be able to squeak by for a couple of months if need be, as long as nobody except the children eats and nobody except Hotter takes any prescription drugs. And he probably gets enough protein from the gel-coatings of various capsules and tablets to sustain life, so things are looking up," I said. "Um..." she typed. "SHUT UP, it's better than a week ago when we were going to get evicted and NOBODY was going to have any food or prescription drugs! This is a POSITIVE thing."

   Just call me Pollyanna.

yay and boo of the day

YAY: Guess who has two tits and a job interview next week? Okay well technically I have the tits now, but...damn. I ruined it, didn't I?

BOO: Not only did the Hotel California not give me the six hours of PTO I requested a good week before the parting of the ways on my last paycheck, but they also deducted the full cost of two weeks' benefits from my last paycheck...which was dated four days AFTER my last day of employment with them. Fuckers. That kind of took me all the way back down from "Temp Agency #2! Job Interview! WHOO TITS!" to "I'm going to die alone, in a cardboard box under a bridge."

   What are YOUR yays and boos from today?