A Mossy Rock Means Questions Underneath.

03Apr10

Ahhhhhh… Hello, lovely blog. It’s nice to see you again. I hope you remember me; it certainly has been a while.

So, that must mean a lot has happened during my hiatus?
Ummmm… Sadly, nope.

Here are things that I have failed to do in the month since my last post:

• Get a job
• Lose a single pound
• Learn a new language
• Find a place to get a decent Greek salad
• Finish a drawing that I promised to my BFF’s husband
• Buy The Man a birthday gift
• Think of a topic on which to compose a new post for this blog

Needless to say, I haven’t been as productive as I probably should have been. But, that doesn’t mean that I haven’t been busy. And, I promise, I’ve thought about this silly blog a zillion times– but, could never seem to think of anything to write about. (See, I told you I am no writer).

Today is really no different. I don’t have any specific, entertaining subject going through my mind. But, the blog-neglect has reached an unacceptable point. I have officially passed the point of a piece-of-shit-blog-partner. So, this is it… I have a couple of hours of alone time while The Kid and The Man have ventured out to the cinema. My silence stops here. And in its place: Nonsensical-stream-of-conscious-like babble.

(Is that really any different than my other posts? Likely, not).

I am happy to report that my little Bella pup is as amazing as ever. Having my crying son tell her previous owners to shove it was probably one of the best decisions I’ve made in a pretty long time. I absolutely LOVE her. It’s really kind of scary. Just this week, she had surgery so that she can never be a mommy and I have been nursing her back to health.  Oh, and in addition to having her woman parts snatched out of her tummy, she had to have four baby teeth yanked from her gums, thanks to a cruel joke played by the corresponding adult teeth that decided to grow in right behind their normal places. So, my poor baby has been a wreck– from the rooter to the tooter. She can’t run, or jump, or climb the (3 flights of) stairs in our house, or chew her food. Poor kid. I’ve been carrying her around and feeding her squishy baby food, a painstaking routine that has to go on for a full two weeks, or else risk her intestines falling out onto the floor. (Which I thought was just something the vet told all the puppy parents to scare them until I saw a golden retriever rushed into the office by her owner– who was balancing her guts on some sort of dinner plate. Yum).

Not having a job has still been weighing heavy on my heart. I really, really need to be engaged in something professional. School alone is just not cutting it. My classes this term have been too easy, not nearly the kind of mental challenge that I need– especially at this point in my life. My mind has been filled with all kinds of psychotic thoughts… Having to live on the street (because I would NEVER go back to live with my mother), applying to sell cell phones at a kiosk in the mall (though now I’m even doubting my ability to even get that job), working alongside of The Man in his business…. Oh, God. I’ve really hit new lows in the past month.

Which brings me to a recent conversation that I had with my BFF, Mimi. We were lamenting about how things have been going in our lives lately. It seems that both of us are missing something pretty big in our respective existences and said vacancies are wreaking havoc on our mental states. After fantasizing about taking advantage of a great honeymoon travel package to a fabulous resort together (posing to be newly weds for an all-inclusive package at great deal– is that such a bad thing? I mean, c’mon… times are tough!), we started talking about jobs that we could do from home to make some good money.

Not far into our conversation, we seemed to hit the work-from-home jackpot. No, not one of those data entry or survey-completing scams– I mean something pretty large and in charge.

Phone sex vixens!
Yea, sure, why not?
Seriously, stop laughing. This could be it.

There’d be no actual cheating on our significant others, no chance of acquiring some disgusting disease, no need to invest in a new wardrobe of kinky gear (which actually might be a tax write off, though), no need to touch any truck drivers’ hairy backs (or nether regions)… Hell, we wouldn’t even have to get dressed or leave the house. Laundry wouldn’t stack up. Dinner wouldn’t be late. The job just screams, “multi-task!”

But, then I got to thinking… There had to be a hole in the donut.
There had to be a downside to chatting up sweaty, hot-and-bothered guys playing Dungeons and Dragons as they wipe the Cheeto dust from their chubby fingers across their dirty wife beaters in their mothers’ basements.

Every employee has a manager, right? So then, would our sexy calls monitored for quality assurance? Would we receive feedback about our strengths and weaknesses– like at least in a bi-annual performance review-like fashion? Those session would have the chance of being just a bit awkward. Is it possible to be sexually harassed while doing this job? Certainly, while receiving instruction, coaching, and feedback from your boss, the lines would be pretty blurry at best. Would we have to mention the caller’s name a certain number of times? Would we have a quota? How might our call stats be analyzed? Could we put callers on hold? What if my dog barks in the background? Or my doorbell rings? Since just about anything is considered “sexy” by someone somewhere, is it even possible to get fired? Can we answer and carry on each call in a different fake accent?

So, needless to say, there are still many rocks to be overturned.
Or maybe I’ve just spent far too many of my years in corporate America.

I need some answers.

Love,
Gigi
xxx

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Tags: apologies, ideas, Phone sex vixens, unemployed, work from home