Patience is a virtue, doncha know. Yeah, well it sure as heck isn't my strong suit. I still haven't heard back about the audition and it's killing me. I had dreams about it all night, and even today (I took part of the day off) while napping. I know I didn't get the gig, but until I've actually heard that, my creepy head just keeps going, "what if?" Stupid creepy head.
I'm dying to e-mail the personnel manager, but Mr. Zigkvetch told me not to, and he has a ton more experience. But I freaking hate being patient. HATE.
Will-power is also not my strong suit, so eventually, I betcha I write the e-mail anyway. And then eat my weight in hummous and veggie chips. (Just kidding.)
Standing up to people is not my strong suit either. I tend to get used a lot. I'll fight to the death just about, if I think someone else is getting the shaft, but I really need to stand up for myself more. I'm tired of being various peoples' bitch. Stupid golden child bigshot engineer at work, I'm looking at you.
Taking risks isn't my strong suit. I know I need to get my resume together and start looking for a new job. Or get my official state teaching certification. But I'm terrified of leaving a good job (even if I don't like it) at a good company with good benefits and compensation. I'm starting to think that staying is slowly killing me, however, so something needs to change. I'm trying to change my attitude first- give it one more go. We'll see.
Throwing others under a bus (not literally of course, although I can't imagine I'd be any good at doing that either) is not my strong suit. I see others doing it, almost with glee, and wonder how they can live with themselves.
Ooh- my e-mail just dinged-- maybe it's about the audition! Hold on!
BAH. More work crap. Everything is a matter of life or death with these people. And let me assure you that I don't work for FEMA, Red Cross, a hospital, or any life or death-dealing entity.
Now where was I? Oh yes... I'm also not good at math, keeping things tidy and uncluttered, and not being scared to death by spiders. Which reminds me of a close encounter with the eight-legged kind I had a few weeks ago.
I ran in from work, having to well, um, powder my nose rather urgently. I ran straight to the bathroom and while I was...er, powdering my nose, I looked down, and next to the cat box was a big ass spider. A really, really big ass spider. A really, really effing huge big ass spider. I blanched. I also knew there was no way in heck that I was going to be able to squish this thing without passing out. And, brave warrior that I am, I wanted to protect my new kitten, and yelled at her to stay back as if we were precariously between a pissed off mama bear and her cub. Which of course, only made her want to come on in that much more. "Look at that! The funny human thing is yelling at me, and she's all white! She must want to play! Whoo-hoo! Here I come funny human thing!"
So, I quickly finished powdering my nose and, gulping down the glass-shattering scream that was begging to escape my lungs, leapt over the beast, and into the kitchen for the super duper bug spray. I came back to the bathroom and from the doorway, with the girliest of girly squeals of terror, sprayed the behemoth, which of course, ran for the hills. I sprayed and sprayed. It finally curled up into a ball against the wall. I stopped spraying, and the sneaky bastard leapt up and kept running. I screamed and sprayed again and slammed the door shut.
I shook and shook. I scooped up the cat (sweet little thing- she has no idea how valiantly I saved her little furry life) and she laid down on me, purring back at my ridiculously beating heart.
Veronica called and I talked to her for awhile and she calmed me down a bit. At least until she started telling me about effing cave spiders, or what she likes to call "sprickets" half spider/half cricket. I'm not gonna lie- the description of them made me die a little inside. At least we don't have those. A more suspicious person would deduce that she shared this fact with me as part of a diabolical plan to ensure that I'd never visit her. Of course, I know V isn't diabolical. Either way though, it worked. I told her that I would not be visiting her anytime soon (if by that I mean, EVER), but not to take it personally.
So, Mr. Zigkvetch got home while I was still on the phone with V, and while she giggled at me on her end of the phone line, and without my even saying hello, I immediately told him to get his butt in there to see if the spider was still kicking around. He went in and came thisclose to doing a Fred-Flinstone-stepping-on-a-banana-peel slip because of all the bug spray on the floor. The gargantua was dead, but even Mr. Z had to admit it was gosh darn big. (Mr. Z claims that I may, at times, possibly overstate, slightly, the size of spiders who invade our home. Lies, I tell you!) We figure the poor thing died of drowning before the poison could even take effect.
It took me an hour to clean the bathroom up. The fumes were delightful. Whee!
And yes, I'm a little terrified to go back into the bathroom. I don't want any ghost of a pissed off spider to come jumping out at me growling. Or any of his minions to attack me when I least expect it, seeking swift revenge.
Restraint from rambling on and on in blog entries? Also, not one of my strong suits.