Day 125 - The Evalution of the Mind through the Viewing of Cinematic Offerings

I rented Nine.

I'm watching Aliens instead.



Analyze away.

Day 122 - If I Had a Hammer

Do not make things hard when they can be simple.

BEHOLD! The beauty of double stick tape. Up yours, screws! I need not hardware!

Day 121 - People. I See People.

I talk to people all day long.

I e-mail, Tweet, phone, text, IM, Facebook and (my new talent) mind read.

So while I'm far from a self-imposed Antarctica-style isolation, at times I have to admit that my operate-from-homebase style leaves me a little deficient in vitamin face-to-face. Hence (man, I have been waiting for an opportunity to use "hence" for a looooooonnnnnnggg time now), when I am in group meetings (as in today's Austin American Marketing Association luncheon), I tend to act a little like an over-caffeinated Richard Simmons.

In a three-second span:

"What'syournameareyouexcitedtobehereI'mexcitedtobehereohthere'sRobindoyouknowher?Whatdidyou say?Oh!That'sshiny!"

Something to work on, for sure.

The real news: I got to dress up in big-girl clothes today (as opposed to clothes with elastic bands that double for work out duds or pjs) AND I still fit into them. GOOOOAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLL!

Day 119 - Pros and Cons

The good news: I've picked up some contracting work.
The bad news: It's 10 pm and I'm just now closing up some loose ends.

The good news: Paycheck.
The bad news: I'm sorta getting addicted to work again. And enjoying it.
The good news (reminder): Money, money, money, money. Moooonney. (Guess what song that is from. It'll take you two seconds.) 

The good news: I'm expanding my work experience.
The bad news: Working again, eh? How does that go now? Wait, wait - don't tell me. I'll figure it out.

The good news: I'm working from home.
The bad news: Showers are optional and I've been known to abuse this.

The good news: I'm on the agency side, which means I am learning a lot.
The bad news: I'm on the agency side, which means I now know that I was kind of a jerk to agencies I worked with in the past.

Belated apologies.

Day 118 - 37 Years and Counting

Birthday partial disclosure (courtesy of ol' Southern lady customs. It's true - they are harder to kill than tree roaches):

• Yes, it's my birthday. I'm one year older than I was last year.
  
• I'm only as old as I feel.
• A lady doesn't tell. 

Well folks, I'm not a lady (but I'm all woman.) Today I turned 37. And PS: It feels fabulous to break out of the age closet.

Somehow, along the way of life, it became bad taste to ask someone their age. And even worse taste to answer truthfully. People (oh, let's be honest, mostly women) were told to shut it, stay sly and avoid - at all costs - the age question. (Enter the coy dragon. Bruce Lee ain't got nothing on this.)

So why all the hubbub? Why the silent treatment? Why is there the distinct refusal to proudly fly your age flag?

Aside from vanity (hello Hollywood and 99% of the population - me included), the only answer I have is the fact that this notion of hiding is so ingrained that sometimes folks aren't sure how to react when you just tell them the truth. 

For example:

• Conversation 1:
• Colleague: How old are you today?
• Me: What? [In my defense, old habits are hard to shake.]
• Colleague: How old are you?
• Me: 37.
• Colleague: 37? Wow - I'm going to be 37 this year. [Then later:] I have one kid. We're working on another before my lady parts dry up.

• Conversation 2:
• Setting: Conference call, three people - one looking for personalized information to write down as part of a presentation.
• Person 1: Happy birthday, Melanie. How old are you today?
• Me: 37
• Person 2: Let's do degrees instead.
• Me: 37
• Person 2: Yes, 37 degrees.

I'm 37. And I'm ok with it. Here's a clip that celebrates the number 37. Be warned, if you aren't a Kevin Smith fan (and hence have an idea of what this clip is), you might be offended. Perhaps you should just Google it.

Video clip.

Day 113 - Freakout

I originally hail from the land of Houston, where tree roaches are often big enough to saddle up and ride to work. After a certain amount of time (in my estimation, usually 3 years), newly settled inhabitants get over initial freak-outs and condition themselves to a roach reaction I call "Hey and spray." (Hey, there's another one. Where's the Raid?) 

Having crested this tidal wave of horror-movie-sized invaders, I cockily thought nothing could phase me. Austin is a paradise in comparison to Houston. No influxes of flying tree roaches (they like to jump in people's hair),  just representation from the upper crust such as butterflies, dragon flies and birds.

But much like the empire, Austin struck back. I saw a scorpion* traipsing across my bedroom floor. 

Despite the smaller size (about as long as my dainty, dainty palm), my fight-or-flight instincts crushed in. If a bystander had been, er, bystanding, then he/she would have seen me:

1. Gasp
2. Freeze, then slowly shake from side to side
3. Stare, then cringe
4. Scan the room for objects of war
5. Frown guiltily and look for a cup or bowl or vessel to trap it in (so I could release it into the wilds)
6. Shake hands out of indecisiveness
7. Go ape-crap crazy on the poor thing with a slipper

Later, while telling this story to my good friend Julie, she informed me that the little ones can hardly sting and are pretty much harmless. You don't even feel it. Yes, I am more of a monster than the scorpion itself.

But to round out this story with a Brady Bunch moral, the experience reminded me of my initial reaction to unemployment. I spent roughly 9 months worrying about unemployment - from the moment my company's acquisition was announced (May 2009) to the acquisition close (July 2009) to the time I knew I would be laid off (January 21, 2010 if you're keeping count.) How many hunks of hair fell out during that time? How many panic attacks did I have? And come to find out that, much like my friendly scorpion, there wasn't much sting to the actual sting.*

* Sure it wasn't ideal. But what I imagined was far, far worse. 

Big Thank You - The 405 Club

If you are unemployed, there are a variety of treasures you can troll for information. But none are quite as informative or collaborative or stocked with as much expertise as the 405 Club. (Their name is a nod to the weekly amount of an unemployment check. Yes, we unemployeds live the good life. Gimmie my $405!)

They were kind enough to publish an interview with me about this blog, in which I rambled incoherently about life as the newest version of H1N1.

If you are unemployed, worried about being unemployed or interested in hiring folks or helping out, go visit their site. Now.