Bad Meowance

For many extenuating circumstances I have an office with a private bathroom. At work. I mean, I also have aprivate bathroom at home; but, that’s more common. At work, I understand how this is an uncommon luxury that I am afforded. Every day I am thankful for this. Having my own bathroom in my own office. To celebrate this I spend a lot of time in my private bathroom. Some of my blog posts… may… or may not be written whilst enjoying this luxury.

During this time, I like to sing. By this I mean, since I’m alone on my own time, and there is all the tile around the acoustics are amazing. So why not sing? Well, there is anendless amount or reasons NOT to sing. My song book is limited, along with my talent. The only song I really know is Lady GaGa’s Bad Romance. It is not because I particularly enjoy Lady GaGa; in fact I can’t stand her. The only reason why I sing Bad Romance is thanks to my Ex. Yes, it was a “bad romance” but, mostly because upon the release of this song, he spend countless hours attempting to teach himself the tune on our living room piano. For hours at a time…. Hours upon hours.

 I don’t know the words to this song any more than anyone knows the words to The Battle Hymn of The Republic.This doesn’t bother, nor stop me as I prefer to meow. Like a cat. Not sure how the choice was made. Like the meowing is more musical or fitting to the song than say…. barking, or hooting like an owl. Sitting in my bathroom. Meowing.Bad Romance. At full volume.

This morning, the person who has the office next door, asked a concerning question in our Morning Meeting. “Is there a cat in the office?” the replies around the table were a conclusive “No,why?” She continued that she distinctively heard a cat crying for help. “Like it was trapped somewhere.” I wanted to probe with questions like “Did it sound in tune?” “Did this meowing sound like a pop tune you enjoy?” But, I remained silent.

The office staff is now on the lookout for a trapped cat. Possibly dying by its death rattle. But, definitely in need of serious help.  

Job

Have I mentioned that I have a new job? In late July I pretty much hit a wall in my job. The busy restaurant management company drove me over the edge and, as I felt my mid-life crisis was starting early, it was time for me to run away. I had the luxury to stepping away being finically secure enough to take time to explore. This led be to talking most of August off. Sleeping in late, long workouts at the gym, hiking up in the mountains every day, the whole gainfully unemployed game. It was strange; having all this free time to just relax and rethink my career choices. I have been a Human Resources Manager most of my adult career, or for what seems like an eternity. During my down time, mostly hiking about Boulder, Colorado, I thought about my next career, what I really wanted. And, even with the bad taste left in my mouth of the last HR job, in mid-August I was recruited for another Human Resources gig. Yet the feel of the role was completely different. 

During the initial phone interview I really bonded to what would be my future boss. It was also just the change I needed, a corporate position with short and long term care facilities. Teams of educated doctors and nurses in the role of caring for people in need. A far universe away from attempting to maintain dignity around Bartenders and ego-driven Chefs. Goodbye high end dining, hello medical field. 

So far it’s like being on vacation every day. The work is very hard, don’t get me wrong, but I went from Bar Managers dropping bags of cocaine in the kitchen, to verifying medical degrees. It’s early days, but I feel like I have a purpose again. So, maybe the mid-life crisis can be averted for a couple more years. 

Rise and Shine

Starting this week I changed my work schedule to 5:00a.m. My coworkers and friends believe that I have gone insane, yet I am enjoying the change. It gives me three full hours by myself in the office. I can drink my Dunkin’ Doughnuts, Hazelnut coffee without fear of others usurping the office coffee maker, and I get most of my day completed before the normal day actually begins. 

Part of the decision was also based around the 24hour Fitness located down the street from my employment in lovely, downtown Boulder, CO.  It may be crazy that I am getting to work three hours early, just so that I can hit the gym at three instead of during the busy time of five, but it changes my workout tremendously. No longer do I have to modify my routine due to lack of access to a flat bench,

Just look at that clown! 

as are typically taken up by guys discussing next quarter's finical outlook on their creepy Samsung Galaxy phones, as they sport completely dry, $50 sweat absorbing tech shirts. Typically. Now I can camp on a flat bench, searching for songs on my iPhone, to my little sleepy heart’s content. 

I hope to adapt to the change of getting up at 3:30a.m. soon. Dear God, I certainly hope so. All the omnipotent power beheld within Dunkin’ doughnuts ground coffee, with its Hazelnuty fumes is the only thing getting me through this week.  

I’m a Delinquent

Seeing it’s been so hazy due to the entire Rocky Mountain range bursting into flames (like me after four beers...or me in a furniture store...or me in a 4x4 parts store) the smoke from this years “burn-fest” has wafted down to Boulder.  This has driven my OCD of having a perfectly clean windshield/windscreen into high gear. 

Yesterday, leaving work, I began my endless ritual of grabbing a perfectly folded micro-fiber cloth and my aerosol can of window cleaner from my trunk to polish my car’s glass. As I sprayed a white zig-zag of foaming cleaner across my glass I heard a scream.

“Stop that!!! I’m calling the police!!” Somebody stop him!!”

I turned to see a woman desperately dialing on her phone. Mid-fifties, wearing age inappropriate workout pants. Never saying a word, yet giving her a sideways Suzanne Sugarbaker glance; I began to wipe the cleaner from my windshield. 

“Oh... I thought you were tagging...vandalizing that car...”

She turned to her phone and began explaining to the 911 operator her about her failings as a dutiful citizen. Then she just wandered away into the smoke, the bedazzled word ‘Juicy’ disappearing into the mist. 

Only in Boulder, CO. would someone thing the “tagging” is perpetrated by a gentleman in Eddie Bauer. 

The Freude of it All

I am required today to write performance reviews for two of my new employees. Instead of that, I’m suddenly compelled to blog and to watch YouTube videos.  It’s not like writing performance reviews are difficult; the hard part is completing the review in positive terms and steering away from any schadenfreude involved in the process of grading someone’s performance. It almost seems if we didn’t have schadenfreude, we wouldn’t have any freude at all.

At one point I narrated that one of my subordinates had overly tweezed eyebrows. Well, first I said “plucked” then I remembered a drag queen telling me once, “You pluck a chicken. You tweeze an eyebrow.” So I thought that my revision was actually helpful.

Maybe instead of writing reviews I could just perform them utilizing sock puppets. I could set up a little stage and glue googly eyes onto some socks… But then I’d have to buy felt and make little hats… And by the time I re-wrote the script I could of just completed the writing portion of the review.

Sometimes being an adult is hard.  

Boulder, My Boulder

My career path has taken me to a new position in scenic and perplexing Boulder, Colorado. Right at the base of Colorado’s Rocky Mountains, it is the home to the University of Colorado, the JonBenet Ramsey murder house, and where Mindy McConnell harbored an illegal alien for five years, I admit this city has me scratching my head.

Now as college towns go, Boulder is pretty much the same as Austin, Texas. Sans the humidity, and the self-righteous inclination of being Texan that all Texas cities embrace.  Boulder possesses the same left-leaning green, outdoorsy, dare I say it “hippy” sensibilities. This is mixed with the extreme wealth of massive corporate headquarters, and the university with it’s drunk kids (wearing pajama pants at one in the afternoon) sprinkled with Prius driving university professors. This makes me want to experience the Prius section of the local Toyota showroom. A sea of tweed jackets adorned with elbow patches. “I’m sorry sir, city law mandates that all cars must be sold with bike racks, it’s what they come with.” The haggard salesperson would say. “Well. I see.” Says the tweed jacket. “I am from a place where this isn’t a requirement and we don’t end our sentences in prepositions.”

I will come right out and say that I love Austin, Texas. With my past interactions with Boulder, I am pretty much the right candidate for its unique quirkiness. The most expensive item of clothing I own are my Solomon trail running shoes, at any point in my life I’d rather be on my mountain bike, and I too spend my days wandering around the town in a red hunting hat.

What I’m scratching my head about this week is the empowered bicyclists and perderites. Sorry, not empowered. Jerkish. As a bicyclist and pedestrian myself, I love the separated bike lanes and protected lights to help keep everyone safe, yet there seems to be a level of dogmatic hatred of cars that is embraced in this environment. Maybe it's due to the sadness of having to finally cut off their yellow wristband? I have not received so many dirty looks, fist shakes, or “fuck you’s” since my days in the Mormon Church. Bicyclists hate cars in Boulder. I just smile and nod, knowing that my Solomon trail running shoes are way more expensive then theirs, and I'll never have to cut off a cheap symbolic wristband of a fallen idol. 

Lose the Suit

I decided recently that spending my life sitting in a cubical under florescent lights hammering away on resumes is not the life I need.  I have been in the boring, yet safe human resources field for twelve years. Change in my life was clearly needed.

Yesterday I had my first interview for an amazing new job. I adorned my “interview suit” and headed to a local health club for a management position. As I sat down in the waiting room I sized up my competition. Clearly I had been in the corporate world a little too long. It quickly dawned on me that of the ten other interviewees; I was the only one in a suit. Being a health club, the standard dress is polo shirts and khakis. Everyone around me, including the staff conducting the meetings, sported athletic wear.  As we began the interview, I was asked why I wanted to leave a comfortable office job for the chaos of a gym. I tap-danced through my beliefs of always wanting a crazy job with the buzz and excitement. The standard questions you give in an interview, the ones I’m usually asking, were easy to answer. It’s funny and very true that the hardest person to interview is someone who has worked in hiring and recruiting.

Sitting in the Manager’s office in my imported power tie, and after I unintentionally corrected the interviewer’s knowledge of labor law, we both attempted to see if I was not a square peg being forced into a round hole. She asked about my passion for the fitness industry. I did my best to explain that I’m really just a gym guy.  I truly live in gym shorts and tee shirts and I’m most happy out on my bike or at the gym. At the end of the interview I had the overwhelming urge to rip off my tie and shirt and show my hole filled undershirt.

The lesson I learned is to dress the part. Dress for the job you want.

We will see if I get a call back. 

Benjamin Disraeli is on Google +

“Action not always brings happiness; but there is no happiness without action.”

-Benjamin Disraeli.

This is my quote for the day. Earlier in the week I was discussing my blog with my boss, this is when she mentioned that I should write for the company’s blog site. My response, “I write; I never said I was any good.” Fell upon deaf ears.

Now I’m blogging on a weekly basis and getting paid to do so. Since I accepted my Directorship at a private school, I guess I need to learn to blog as an adult. Yet, since my personal blogging has suffered a tad, maybe this will energize my creative flow….

My first topic:

What’s the deal with that Google +? It’s like hello! Where is everybody?

I kid. Google + you’re all-right. Although, maybe I could stop with the quoting of British Prime Ministers.

Thick Neck Steve

The last time I put on a work dress shirt was the end of May 2011.  My work dress code since then has been comic character T-shirts and gym shorts.  Washing and underwear was optional.  Now, I am returning to an office setting for a new job.  My days of working from home are done, and not a minute too soon. The gym shorts will only be good for the gym and the dress shirts will be coming out of the closet. Literally.

Yesterday I pulled every bit of work attire and completely reworked my closet. The dress shoes were under massive layers of Pumas, and I found the suit jackets and white shirts so far back I had to use a machete to get through the Structure polo shirt section. They were just hanging there in plastic dry-cleaning bags, thinking they were never to be worn again.

After trying on the ol’ work wear, I discovered two things: My waist is smaller, which is great, but my neck has gotten much larger in a years time. How the heck does someone lose weight everywhere, yet gain weight in their neck?  So, I’m a thick neck?

I now have an entire wardrobe of dress shirts that cannot be buttoned at the neck. This is kind of important, because I need to sport a tie.  They really need to make a dress shirt with a Sansabelt like option for the neck. Sans-a-collar?  Maybe I just need to go on a crash neck diet. I know that rushing out and getting liposuction in my neck may cost just as much as replacing all of my shirts. Until then, I will be the nicely dressed chap grabbing some lunch with some of the other gals from the typing pool whilst my head turns blue from lack of oxygen. 

Crunchatize Me Cap'n!

I have been craving huge amounts of cereal this week. I’m finding that it doesn’t matter what kind, just cereal. I have ventured to the grocery store several times trying to find the next brightly colored box to get my fix.

Yesterday I stood in the middle of the seemingly endless breakfast food isle. A parade of cereal cartoon mascots mocking me for the staring contest I foolishly instigated with Tony the Tiger. Keeping my gaze fixed on the buff tiger, I pulled out my phone. I dialed my ex boyfriend. I was about to ask him if he remembered that type of cereal I loved to eat back…. eight years ago? Because... that’s a normal thing to phone your ex boyfriend and inquire about.

I lost the staring contest with Tony as it hit me; I needed to listen to my body. It was trying to tell me that I was in serious need of something. I did know it wasn’t a carbohydrate craving. I know how those urges that make me want to be number two in a human centipede with the Krispy Kream conveyor belt feel like. This wasn’t a carb-hole, my body needed something more. Whole grains? Fiber?

After exploring dietary nutrition information, reading about the benefits of fiber, and re-reading my multi-vitamin bottles, it dawned on me. It wasn’t my body that was making me crave whole grains, it was my head. The happiest way to escape stress has always been for me to sit in my underwear, eat Cap’n Crunch, and watch Superman cartoons.With my work and school stress this week, my head was urging me to have some underwear clad cereal time.

After going for a run, finishing a paper on Shakespeare’s, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, and finishing my monthly reports for work, it will be time to unplug and watch some serious amounts of Cartoon Network. Time for me to just relax in my Under Armour with the Cap’n.

Working (or not) From Home

I believe that I need to be wholly done with working from home. No, not that my job is going anywhere, it’s just that I might just have reached the end of my rope with the “home office” thing. When the bosses announced that they were closing the company’s local office and setting everyone up to work from their homes, I applauded the decision. That was June. Now I find myself stir crazy to the point of missing cubicles and noisy office mates.

As an early birthday present I finally bought a web streaming DVD player. At the time of purchase I didn’t calculate how, given my personality, I might never leave the house again. The ability to access Netflix movies and TV shows, gives me the opportunity to watch every DVD on the planet without ever having to walk down the drive and retrieve discs from the mailbox. Other than the gym and Jack in the Box, I might cocoon myself into my own little world.

Since everyone has been speaking of Downton Abbey, I summoned up the first series on the shiny DVD machine. Dear God, it’s amazing. But, I now find that when I’m reformatting spreadsheets and calculating monthly reports, I’m beginning to think about how easy it would be to just walk down the hall, push play and watch another episode. I’ve started to think “I don’t need to go to the gym today. I worked out yesterday.” It’s quite possible that, given my druthers, I just wouldn’t leave the house. Aluminum foil over the windows and keep the streaming crack coming.

Did you know that Dominoes has an app for your iPhone? It’s very handy for shut-ins in need of home bound substance. By evening time, I am just wired enough from the liter of Diet Coke the Dominoes delivery guy brought with the cheesy goodness that anyone trying to formulate social interaction gets hit with a tidal wave of pent up frustration. The frustration that comes from being trapped inside all day wondering if the Younger Countess of Grantham will break the Estate.

Six months of working from home and I thought I had a routine. Work a little, go work out, maybe a run, then an early afternoon of TV before school. I think I need to change it up a little bit. Get more social interaction in my day; because I never realized that a day without face-to-face interaction was going to affect me in a way that was detrimental to... well anyone trying to speak to me.

Stevie B's Big Day

I love a surprise day off from work.


All Federal Holidays for the US are posted, years in advance, for anyone to review. Whole branches of the Government, countless companies, banks, and intuitions plan their schedules off this master list.

Speaking on a conference call today, I proposed a plan for tomorrow. Giggles ensued. A common mistake by me, forgetting days off until I’m reminded. This had prompted my work-mates to start a betting pool. Will Steve forget Veterans Day? Yes. Yes, he will.

Guess I’ll take tomorrow off from work. Go hang out at the coffee shop and write a couple pages on the Protestant Reformation. Nothing quite like a surprise day off to motivate a guy in work on his term paper. I’ll have coffee with Martin Luther. Or.... Maybe it's time for an adventure, screw the Protestants and take my bike out to a nice long trail and see nature. It's a hard choice.

I always think I should print out the next couple of years of holiday and upload them to my calendars, yet somehow it takes the fun out of the surprise.

Snow Day

We have a snow day today in my neck of the woods. I was actually surprised as the announcement of closing schools and local businesses scrolled across the bottom of the screen on this morning’s news. There seems to only be six inches of snow, back when I was a kid we’d have to march up hill to the school bus in two feet of snow.



My house this morning.



Did I just make a statement about “back when I was a kid”?

Great. Snow bound and apparently I get old and crotchety. It is true; I grew up on a ranch, far outside of a small town. The house sat on a long dirt road and it was quite a march up the hill to the paved state highway and the waiting school bus. We were unceremoniously thrown out of the house and told to make it to the school bus on time, but either way to not come back. My long feathery hair would flap in the snow filled air as I traversed the barren, snow banked tundra. My color changing moon boots crunching in the fresh tire tracks, attempting to be quiet and not alert the coyotes.

Okay, they weren’t coyotes. But, the neighbor’s dogs were really mean and would come knock me down and lick me. Their tongue marks would freeze on my face. So, that was bad.

What I'd be doing right now,
if I didn't have to work.

Now I don’t have to leave the house, as I work from home. This also means, I can continue working as the other half and the dog join the neighbors as they organize a block snowball fight in the middle of the street. This will be followed by a History Channel marathon, tucked under the down comforter cocooned the middle of the bed.

I’ll spend my day coordinating Excel spreadsheets in my office. I guess this is payback for being able to spend most of my days in gym shorts and a pillow made late ‘80s Bobby Brown coiffure instead of adorning my thick neck with a tie and commuting to an office. So, go! Enjoy your snow day. I’ll be here. Alone. All I need is my Excel spreadsheets. My Excel spreadsheets and my office chair. My Excel spreadsheets, my office chair and my world wide internets.

I HEAR LESBIANS

I've noticed that the herd of Lesbians (I've heard of Lesbians)that I work with had started to call me Tony. At first I paid no attention, then assumed it was because “all men look alike.” But after awhile I noticed they would say “Hi tony!” Snicker, snicker.
“OK, why are y’all calling me Tony?”
I was told it’s because every time someone at work asks me how I’m doing I respond,
“I’m Gggggggreat!!!!!!”

Hence, Tony. As in Tony the Tiger. Lesbians are so witty.
Yeah! Hence.


I was asked by the head lesbian if I could help put up “holiday" decorations. Not Christmas, holiday. Happy bunnies and snowmen, we refer to them as Snow people.”

As I stood to hang a gender neutral snow person. I slipped and ended up jumping onto her desk. She asked if I was okay and I responded,
“Sorry, but what do you expect I’ve got this big head and these little arms!
Get it?
Tiny the Dinosaur?
No?
He’s a Dinosaur?
T-rex, with little arms?
A big head?
Raaaaarrow?
Tiny arms........no?

Raaaaaarow.....



I then just quietly walked back to my cube.

Lesbians and the land of Cubicals

So at my job I sit in a sea of cubicles, all day surrounded by Lesbians. Hordes of them, herds of them. Swarming around like politically minded, well dressed wolves. They approach and rattle off stuff like
“Did you see that sub-committee for the legislator just cut funding of the Glenn-Beck finance bill by 4.793495959595% like that’s going to fly.”
“Uh…..yes? I have 19” arms.”

It is kinda nice to be a minority, me being the only male and yet being a Moe. As they discuss Golf I can just space out and start to think of fun things I want to buy, and no one thinks less of me. Today the Alfa, We call her Diana Shore, came to let me know that the “group” is supporting two families for Thanksgiving. I asked
“do you want me to bake a pie?” I guess this shows weakness in the Lesbian community. Because, she let me know that she did not want me to bake anything…. Ever. This must be a Sappho euphemism, I later wrote a sticky note,(Don't talk about pie!)

This is clearly forced volunteerism. They are helping the homeless or “challenged” members of our tribe and I’m coming along, with cans of green beans. So look at me, I’m all civic minded. I’m sure soon I’ll get to blog about putting up the Hanukkah-Kwanza-winter solstices Non-religious holiday decorations.