I keep waiting for Ashton Kutcher to appear and guffaw, “Jus’ keeeeeddings! You’ze not hiredz! You’ze firedz!”

Though that’s not what Mr. Demi Moore sounds like really, is it? Forget I mentioned that slightly dated pop culture reference because I am no longer in the loop of Cool Things, and I have absolutely no shame in admitting that.

The tunes currently rotating in my automobile music box are spandex sporting Erasure. Oh stop judging, you know you love it.

[ This Is The Point. Sort Of. ]

As far as the job?
It seems I’ve found muh callings.

Thinking about how we’ve clicked reminds me of those Childhood Saturday Morning Quadrupled Stack o’ Golden Perfect Pancakes mom would make:
1. Slathered in the mapley yum syrup
2. Sliced into perfect little squares
3. Buried in copious amounts of drippy buttery butter

Oh pancakes, I miss ye so.

On the outside?
Calm.
Composed.
Demure.

I am Jackie O.
Totally Gwynnie P.

BUT (!)
On the inside?

If you can’t even turn ON the computer without the password within the training manual you fully intended to bring with you on The First Day but totally forgot to because you were so excited that you rushed out the door and due to sheepishness opted for black pants instead of the skirty illustrations of giddiness pictured in the post down under?

The above graphic pretty much describes the synapses firing.
What if they come in and I haven’t even turned on the computer yet?!

Thank the Lord The Mister answered the phone sleepily and relayed all mandatory info.

Post spontaneous combustion?  All was golden.

[ This Is What Happens When The Mister Works All Day. ]

All groceries put in their respective homes.
All laundry folded and tidily snuggled away.
Aaaaaaaaand I get New Job Jitters for tomorrow so I decide I want to figure out what to wear and it turns into a little game of dress up and I have entirely too much fun and hey stop judging me I just lost 28 lbs that’s a marginal accomplishment of sorts. No?

Hard for me to look at my mug (hence X’s on 4 and 6).
Kind of like hearing your voice on someone else’s answering machine.

Seacrest LindeBlog out!

Dear Reader,
I’ve got to be completely honest with you.
Given that last day of Olde Jobbe is Friday?
I have utterly and undeniably checked out.

Like, if you went to the library, and asked for a copy of Me? Madame Librarian would tippity type onto her little wee mini keyboard, adjust her reading glasses, and mutter, “Checked out.”

Like, if you went to Blockbuster, and asked one of the employees if they could look in the Drop Box to see if there was any slight chance someone had turned Me in that day because all of the copies of Me on the shelf were gone? Said employee would pilfer apathetically through the DVD return box, shake their their head, and mumble, “Checked out.”

Like, if you went to a hotel and asked the concierge if The Room of Job Discontent was still occupied by Me because you needed to ask me a question? He’d look at you, die a little inside, and sniffle, “Checked out.”

Because it is literally taking every ounce of my soul, every teenincy fiber of my being… to care about this place anymore. (Sweet freedom fries, that is awesome.)

Seacrest LindeBlog OUT!

Upon returning home from The First Day training at the new job, I opened the door to a smiling and giddy husband-to-be.

Holding this:

Flowers = Excellence

Awwwww!!

The day went so ridiculously perfect that my tum-tum fills with dread having to finish my two weeks at old job.