I wouldn't believe it if I wasn't living it.
Someone, and I am not in any way joking when I say it was NOT me, decided I wasn't happy in my current employment status and needed to start drafting again.
(Not instead of my current employment but in addition to. Naturally.)
My newest employer is none other than Stingy's husband, Buster, who is an architect.
I attended an event for Stingy's daughter earlier this month and during the chatting session, Buster said he would like to hire me. I said I was pretty busy with Aunt Richie and Stingy - as he very well knew since he'd come home from work and I was still in the house entering donations or whatever - and I'd have to see. I also talked down my skills with the 3D modeling and it's been 5 years since I was in the profession.
Still, by the end of the week I was out in the field measuring for as-built drawings. I really don't know how these things happen to me. I really don't.
So for the last few weeks I have been crazy out of my mind working for EVERYONE in that family and Tarzan's parents are here this weekend - just back from a year in the Orient - and I'm so exhausted it doesn't even bother me that I didn't clean the house before they arrived.
The insanity is out of control.
This is me; I can't believe I thought I was busy last month.
Saturday, June 29, 2013
Wednesday, June 26, 2013
5:00 AM
What is special about five o'clock in the morning?
I'll tell you.
It is the hour in which anyone who has anything to say to me, decides to say it.
Not in emergency type ways - not, "the sky is falling!" or "we just won the lottery!" kind of way - but in a non-essential, it can most definitely wait a few hours until Jane has propped her eyelids open kind of way.
Three times in the last week I have been woken up - and expected to say intelligent things! - in the 5am hour.
This is not easy for me. Perhaps it is the architectural experience or just natural inclinations, but I am not an early morning person.
Way late into the night? Sure! Call me, text me at 11pm, no sweat.
It matters not how much sleep I have had the night before; go to bed at 10pm, 11pm, 2am even, but please do not try and rouse me before 8am.
I know, if I had kids I am sure it would be different. Either that or my children would learn quickly how to pour themselves some cereal and turn on the cartoons.
This is me not coherent that early.
I'll tell you.
It is the hour in which anyone who has anything to say to me, decides to say it.
Not in emergency type ways - not, "the sky is falling!" or "we just won the lottery!" kind of way - but in a non-essential, it can most definitely wait a few hours until Jane has propped her eyelids open kind of way.
Three times in the last week I have been woken up - and expected to say intelligent things! - in the 5am hour.
This is not easy for me. Perhaps it is the architectural experience or just natural inclinations, but I am not an early morning person.
Way late into the night? Sure! Call me, text me at 11pm, no sweat.
It matters not how much sleep I have had the night before; go to bed at 10pm, 11pm, 2am even, but please do not try and rouse me before 8am.
I know, if I had kids I am sure it would be different. Either that or my children would learn quickly how to pour themselves some cereal and turn on the cartoons.
This is me not coherent that early.
Sunday, June 23, 2013
Post Script
I knew there was one more thing!
I forgot to mention that last Sunday, after all the auto insanity, and the weekend with the missionaries and dinner and work and all of that, I was getting in my car after church, to take a friend home...
And the passenger side mirror was gone from the door. Not the whole thing, wires weren't hanging out or anything. In fact, the mechanism that turns the mirror were quite visible, and when I used the knob inside, I could see it turning the nonexistent reflective surface. No, just the mirror surface had been popped off.
And again - because Chrysler makes such fancy cars - they couldn't just replace the individual piece, they had to order and replace the entire apparatus. So that was two more days in the shop.
This is me with really low mileage this month.
I forgot to mention that last Sunday, after all the auto insanity, and the weekend with the missionaries and dinner and work and all of that, I was getting in my car after church, to take a friend home...
And the passenger side mirror was gone from the door. Not the whole thing, wires weren't hanging out or anything. In fact, the mechanism that turns the mirror were quite visible, and when I used the knob inside, I could see it turning the nonexistent reflective surface. No, just the mirror surface had been popped off.
And again - because Chrysler makes such fancy cars - they couldn't just replace the individual piece, they had to order and replace the entire apparatus. So that was two more days in the shop.
This is me with really low mileage this month.
Thursday, June 20, 2013
Mother Of The Ward
Speaking of missionaries as we were, I remembered that I had neglected to tell you about my first week as The Bishop's Wife when one of the newest dudes came to ask me if I knew anyone who could hem pants. Being the control freak and know-it-all that I am, I started talking about inseams and shoes and cuffs and everything when all the poor kid wanted was someone to tack up the hem he ripped out when biking.
Much simpler.
I took them, and I did my best. I'm not a professional like my mother but I think I managed to secure the edge AND I did it so the stitches aren't seen on the outside of the pant leg. I hope Mother would be proud.
This is me hoping it holds for 22 more months.
Much simpler.
I took them, and I did my best. I'm not a professional like my mother but I think I managed to secure the edge AND I did it so the stitches aren't seen on the outside of the pant leg. I hope Mother would be proud.
This is me hoping it holds for 22 more months.
Wednesday, June 19, 2013
Feeding The Horde
Another 'blessing' of being the bishop's wife is the opportunity to meet and feed the missionaries of the ward. Since I love to cook and they are very enthusiastic, I don't mind, really.
Most of the time.
But there are times when I wonder at the wisdom of letting the little punks out of their cages so early in life.
Our ward boundaries are very large and we have four pairs of missionaries to manage it all. If we feed each companionship once a week, that's the whole month and then we start over.
This last weekend, events conspired against us - well, me - and I wasn't going to be home in time for dinner. So Tarzan ordered in, met the missionaries (plus some random stranger off the street they invited without telling us!! Whole other post right there) fed them, excused them and dashed off to a meeting.
When I finally got home, this is the scene that met me in the dining room:
The microwave had seem better days and there were other surprises left in the restroom too, but this is a family blog.
This is me and that's why men are supposed to get married.
Most of the time.
But there are times when I wonder at the wisdom of letting the little punks out of their cages so early in life.
Our ward boundaries are very large and we have four pairs of missionaries to manage it all. If we feed each companionship once a week, that's the whole month and then we start over.
This last weekend, events conspired against us - well, me - and I wasn't going to be home in time for dinner. So Tarzan ordered in, met the missionaries (plus some random stranger off the street they invited without telling us!! Whole other post right there) fed them, excused them and dashed off to a meeting.
When I finally got home, this is the scene that met me in the dining room:
This is me and that's why men are supposed to get married.
Sunday, June 16, 2013
Bishop-ing - Part 1
There are many blessings that come from being married to a Bishop.
One, people give you A LOT of food. I don't know if it's a bribe, a representation of their sustaining him, a desire for recognition, or they're just nice and have a direct focus for their service. In any case, I might not have to cook as much over the next seven years if this keeps up.
Two, any setting apart of myself can be done at home and with little fanfare, not taking up valuable time at church. As was the case when I was released from being Relief Society President and - same day - called to be in the Primary. 1st counselor as opposed to President and let me tell you, it is a marvelous thing. I LOVE being the support staff, the help meet, the back up singer, the nurse. I've never liked being in charge and so this is great. (First time in eight years I haven't had to be at all the early morning meetings.) It's amazing. But on the day I was released another sister was called to be Relief Society President and I walked her through the basics, handed over all the books (Also the first time in eight years my church bag held only my scriptures.) and explained the lessons, activities already lined up, and the procedures for food orders and stuff.
In the kerfluffle, I was not set apart for my calling.
Tarzan and I remembered it later that night and so we hopped back in our Sunday clothes so he could do it in the living room:
Twice we've done it this way. Once for Primary counselor, once for music chairperson (I was doing that already, just not officially I guess.)
Both times, full suit and tie. No socks.
As far as the work itself, Tarzan is a different sort of Bishop. Maybe it's because I see him all the time and not just when he's "bishop-ing," maybe because he's not concerned with the politics, the PC way of speaking, just about getting the job done, and when done correctly, there is a lot of work to do, maybe because he persists in doing it without socks:
He is doing well, people like him and the ward is growing, so we can't complain.
This is me living with the Bishop.
One, people give you A LOT of food. I don't know if it's a bribe, a representation of their sustaining him, a desire for recognition, or they're just nice and have a direct focus for their service. In any case, I might not have to cook as much over the next seven years if this keeps up.
Two, any setting apart of myself can be done at home and with little fanfare, not taking up valuable time at church. As was the case when I was released from being Relief Society President and - same day - called to be in the Primary. 1st counselor as opposed to President and let me tell you, it is a marvelous thing. I LOVE being the support staff, the help meet, the back up singer, the nurse. I've never liked being in charge and so this is great. (First time in eight years I haven't had to be at all the early morning meetings.) It's amazing. But on the day I was released another sister was called to be Relief Society President and I walked her through the basics, handed over all the books (Also the first time in eight years my church bag held only my scriptures.) and explained the lessons, activities already lined up, and the procedures for food orders and stuff.
In the kerfluffle, I was not set apart for my calling.
Tarzan and I remembered it later that night and so we hopped back in our Sunday clothes so he could do it in the living room:
Twice we've done it this way. Once for Primary counselor, once for music chairperson (I was doing that already, just not officially I guess.)
Both times, full suit and tie. No socks.
As far as the work itself, Tarzan is a different sort of Bishop. Maybe it's because I see him all the time and not just when he's "bishop-ing," maybe because he's not concerned with the politics, the PC way of speaking, just about getting the job done, and when done correctly, there is a lot of work to do, maybe because he persists in doing it without socks:
He is doing well, people like him and the ward is growing, so we can't complain.
This is me living with the Bishop.
Sunday, June 09, 2013
Factoid Part II
This is in answer to a question from a post back in March.
To refresh your memories - and mine - I mentioned that roasting avocado pits smell EXACTLY like moth balls.
The way in which I know that is a funny story. (Aren't they always?)
My baby brother LBO was in town - for spring break - and he, ATL and I were making dinner.
Whatever we were eating required avocados and we were pitting them. One was a little harder to get out than the others and when it finally let go, it flew across the room and disappeared. We looked everywhere, under the counters, the fridge, the stove, behind appliances on the counter, in the dining room in case it rolled.
It was gone.
When I opened the oven to retrieve dinner the pit fell into the oven - it had been in the tiny gap between the door and the cooktop on our stove - and rolled all the way to the back. It was very hot in the oven so I left it for later.
That was my mistake.
I completely forgot about the pit until a few days later when I turned the oven on again and the unmistakable odor of mothballs pervaded the kitchen. We couldn't figure out where it was coming from. We took out the trash, washed the can, mopped the floor, threw out some potatoes. Anything that was in the vicinity of the smell.
Again, when retrieving dinner, I rediscovered the pit in the back of the oven and it all came together.
I did not wait so long to get it out this time and we have been mothball smell free ever since.
This is me and that's how I know.
To refresh your memories - and mine - I mentioned that roasting avocado pits smell EXACTLY like moth balls.
The way in which I know that is a funny story. (Aren't they always?)
My baby brother LBO was in town - for spring break - and he, ATL and I were making dinner.
Whatever we were eating required avocados and we were pitting them. One was a little harder to get out than the others and when it finally let go, it flew across the room and disappeared. We looked everywhere, under the counters, the fridge, the stove, behind appliances on the counter, in the dining room in case it rolled.
It was gone.
When I opened the oven to retrieve dinner the pit fell into the oven - it had been in the tiny gap between the door and the cooktop on our stove - and rolled all the way to the back. It was very hot in the oven so I left it for later.
That was my mistake.
I completely forgot about the pit until a few days later when I turned the oven on again and the unmistakable odor of mothballs pervaded the kitchen. We couldn't figure out where it was coming from. We took out the trash, washed the can, mopped the floor, threw out some potatoes. Anything that was in the vicinity of the smell.
Again, when retrieving dinner, I rediscovered the pit in the back of the oven and it all came together.
I did not wait so long to get it out this time and we have been mothball smell free ever since.
This is me and that's how I know.
Saturday, June 08, 2013
Three-peat!
And it's Jane with another epic car story. FTW!
Seriously, this has not been a good month for my car.
Not long after the key experience at the beach I was driving my car as usual and the electrical light came on the dashboard. I have been having some trouble with the sensors in my car recently; had to get one cleaned and another one replaced, so I called the auto shop - we are on REALLY good terms with them - to see how serious they thought it was.
Verdict was, it shouldn't damage the car provided I drive it to them right away and not take the freeway.
Fair enough.
I was on my way to work when it happened, so I finished what I had scheduled for the day - no driving of the car involved - and headed over to the mechanic. Now I do work on the other side of town from the mechanic. 15 +/- miles. I drove carefully but as I kept going I noticed that electrical components of the car were shutting down. First the radio turned itself off, then the lights on the dash got dimmer.
At this point I know, I KNOW! I should have pulled the car over to the side of the road. I really should have.
But I was so close to the last turn before the long, straight piece of road that runs by the car shop.
It was a left hand turn.
If you haven't guessed by now how it goes down, we are way too similar. (See above about pulling the car over)
I was in the left hand turn-only lane and the car shut itself off. No noises, no pops or explosions, just, 'I'm done. kthxbye'
I immediately put my hazard lights on and called AAA - yet again. It's such a nice service to have when you need it - but because it was an electrical problem with the car, the hazard lights DIDN'T WORK.
When the light turned green I looked like some moron on her phone who didn't notice. Oh the honking and the middle fingers I got from people going around me! Going around me on both sides - as in; into oncoming traffic to go around me - and honking and cursing. Did I mention the honking?
To be fair, AAA arrived in 12 minutes. It was not a long time I was stranded in the left, left hand turn-only lane, but in that amount of time, probably 4-5 cycles of the lights, only one person asked me if I was okay. One delivery truck driver yelled at me to turn my hazard lights on. Genius suggestion man! Wish I'd thought of it...
It didn't help that the ticking of the hazard lights in the car - which most certainly were on - were like some kind of a bomb waiting to go off.
In those 12 minutes, one car pulled up and asked if I needed help. I thought it was sweet of him because he got honked at for pausing. I flashed him my AAA card and my phone and mimed a thumbs up. He waved and carried on. I hope something special happens for him because of that small act of service.
Shortly thereafter the tow truck arrived and took me to my mechanic's place. Turned out the alternator was broken. (I know!) They replaced it fairly quickly and we are good.
For now.
This is me hoping there are no more chapters to this tale.
Seriously, this has not been a good month for my car.
Not long after the key experience at the beach I was driving my car as usual and the electrical light came on the dashboard. I have been having some trouble with the sensors in my car recently; had to get one cleaned and another one replaced, so I called the auto shop - we are on REALLY good terms with them - to see how serious they thought it was.
Verdict was, it shouldn't damage the car provided I drive it to them right away and not take the freeway.
Fair enough.
I was on my way to work when it happened, so I finished what I had scheduled for the day - no driving of the car involved - and headed over to the mechanic. Now I do work on the other side of town from the mechanic. 15 +/- miles. I drove carefully but as I kept going I noticed that electrical components of the car were shutting down. First the radio turned itself off, then the lights on the dash got dimmer.
At this point I know, I KNOW! I should have pulled the car over to the side of the road. I really should have.
But I was so close to the last turn before the long, straight piece of road that runs by the car shop.
It was a left hand turn.
If you haven't guessed by now how it goes down, we are way too similar. (See above about pulling the car over)
I was in the left hand turn-only lane and the car shut itself off. No noises, no pops or explosions, just, 'I'm done. kthxbye'
I immediately put my hazard lights on and called AAA - yet again. It's such a nice service to have when you need it - but because it was an electrical problem with the car, the hazard lights DIDN'T WORK.
When the light turned green I looked like some moron on her phone who didn't notice. Oh the honking and the middle fingers I got from people going around me! Going around me on both sides - as in; into oncoming traffic to go around me - and honking and cursing. Did I mention the honking?
To be fair, AAA arrived in 12 minutes. It was not a long time I was stranded in the left, left hand turn-only lane, but in that amount of time, probably 4-5 cycles of the lights, only one person asked me if I was okay. One delivery truck driver yelled at me to turn my hazard lights on. Genius suggestion man! Wish I'd thought of it...
It didn't help that the ticking of the hazard lights in the car - which most certainly were on - were like some kind of a bomb waiting to go off.
In those 12 minutes, one car pulled up and asked if I needed help. I thought it was sweet of him because he got honked at for pausing. I flashed him my AAA card and my phone and mimed a thumbs up. He waved and carried on. I hope something special happens for him because of that small act of service.
Shortly thereafter the tow truck arrived and took me to my mechanic's place. Turned out the alternator was broken. (I know!) They replaced it fairly quickly and we are good.
For now.
This is me hoping there are no more chapters to this tale.
Tuesday, June 04, 2013
Wait, Wait, It Gets Better
You thought THAT was crazy?
It gets better.
Yesterday was Stingy's daughter's birthday party - a private beach party with rented cabanas, 'help' and we should all be so lucky - and it was my 'privilege' to assist in the event.
I got up early, donned my beach attire and trundled off to walk the dog, check on the work stuff, pick up the balloons and the Chinese Chicken Salads and head out to the beach. It was a nice drive up the coast, a good 15 plus miles, tiny secluded turn off to the long winding drive. In a horror movie this is where you'd be yelling at me to turn around and go home.
I pulled into the parking lot - there is a restaurant there - and knowing that I would have my hands full of teenagers and presents and balloons and food and relatives all day, I did the smart thing, put my phone in my pocket, unclipped my car key from my key ring and locked my purse and remaining keys in the trunk.
I took the balloons over to the cabanas, tied them in appropriate places and went back to get the salads, which were also in the trunk of my car.
I pulled out the key with the fob for the trunk and realized something horrible.
It was not my car key.
I had saved Tarzan's car key and locked mine in the trunk.
Oh yes. Go Jane.
Having read something vague on the Internet - it doesn't lie right? - I called Tarzan - reception was - naturally - almost non-existent up there in paradise - and asked him to use his key fob to try and unlock my door.
Not even.
I'm not sure if the wind was too high, the reception too poor or the Internet was pulling my leg but it would seem it is not possible to unlock a car over the phone. FYI.
The battery on my phone was draining rapidly - poor reception symptom - so Tarzan called AAA - lovely people - and asked how long it would take to unlock my car seeing as I was way up the coast and though I was early to set up the others would be along shortly and I had two gigantic Chinese Chicken Salads in the trunk.
Turns out, with my fancy car, they can't just pop the trunk open and if they unlocked the door there's no way to get to the trunk - cursed convertible - and the trunk release does not work if the car is off. So they had to call a locksmith to MAKE A NEW KEY which - of course - costs over and above the membership fee to AAA. About as much as I made working at the party that day.
Fortunately for me, the guy was not too far away and arrived in 30 minutes. Of course his call saying he was there did not connect because the isolation of the area. But the staff helped a little and we got my trunk open.
With Stingy and the rest of the help standing by and watching my epic adventure.
If Facebook is to be believed it was a smashing good party, no one died from food poisoning and I now have an extra key to my trunk to stash someplace special in case I need it.
This is me and I am skilled.
It gets better.
Yesterday was Stingy's daughter's birthday party - a private beach party with rented cabanas, 'help' and we should all be so lucky - and it was my 'privilege' to assist in the event.
I got up early, donned my beach attire and trundled off to walk the dog, check on the work stuff, pick up the balloons and the Chinese Chicken Salads and head out to the beach. It was a nice drive up the coast, a good 15 plus miles, tiny secluded turn off to the long winding drive. In a horror movie this is where you'd be yelling at me to turn around and go home.
I pulled into the parking lot - there is a restaurant there - and knowing that I would have my hands full of teenagers and presents and balloons and food and relatives all day, I did the smart thing, put my phone in my pocket, unclipped my car key from my key ring and locked my purse and remaining keys in the trunk.
I took the balloons over to the cabanas, tied them in appropriate places and went back to get the salads, which were also in the trunk of my car.
I pulled out the key with the fob for the trunk and realized something horrible.
It was not my car key.
I had saved Tarzan's car key and locked mine in the trunk.
Oh yes. Go Jane.
Having read something vague on the Internet - it doesn't lie right? - I called Tarzan - reception was - naturally - almost non-existent up there in paradise - and asked him to use his key fob to try and unlock my door.
Not even.
I'm not sure if the wind was too high, the reception too poor or the Internet was pulling my leg but it would seem it is not possible to unlock a car over the phone. FYI.
The battery on my phone was draining rapidly - poor reception symptom - so Tarzan called AAA - lovely people - and asked how long it would take to unlock my car seeing as I was way up the coast and though I was early to set up the others would be along shortly and I had two gigantic Chinese Chicken Salads in the trunk.
Turns out, with my fancy car, they can't just pop the trunk open and if they unlocked the door there's no way to get to the trunk - cursed convertible - and the trunk release does not work if the car is off. So they had to call a locksmith to MAKE A NEW KEY which - of course - costs over and above the membership fee to AAA. About as much as I made working at the party that day.
Fortunately for me, the guy was not too far away and arrived in 30 minutes. Of course his call saying he was there did not connect because the isolation of the area. But the staff helped a little and we got my trunk open.
With Stingy and the rest of the help standing by and watching my epic adventure.
If Facebook is to be believed it was a smashing good party, no one died from food poisoning and I now have an extra key to my trunk to stash someplace special in case I need it.
This is me and I am skilled.
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