Vacation? It means nothing.

Just call me a doormat, because I might as well just lay down and let everyone walk all over me.

I have said it before, and I will say it again. I am way too nice when it comes to my job. 

My manager called me at a quarter after ten this morning. Luckily for me, I learned my lesson after day one and started sleeping with my cell phone in the other room just for this exact circumstance. So I didn't get the message until ten minutes until noon. All it said was to call him when I got the chance.

So I called.

I have it on my calendar that you're scheduled to come back Friday, right? 

Yes.

Well, here's the thing...we're really short handed on Thursdays as it is, and I just didn't have time to rearrange the schedules to make up for you being gone...so do you think you can come in tomorrow and just take Friday off instead?

He didn't have the time? I scheduled my vacation in October. That's three freaking months to have Raver switch her day off from Thursday to Friday, and he couldn't manage it? And rather than asking her to do it, his solution is to call me, in the middle of my vacation, to ask me to come back a day early and take another day? 

Like that's not going to fuck with my sleep schedule or anything?

And like it's not Padawan's birthday today? Like we didn't have plans that involved staying out really late and then not worrying about it because we're off the next day? Like my whole life revolves around my job?

And doormat me...what did I do?

I said yes.

Even though I asked him on Christmas Eve before he left if he was sure my taking Thursday off wouldn't be a problem and he said, "We've got it covered, Chanel, enjoy your vacation" and I was absolutely guilt free on every count if I had said no...I still said yes.

At this point I can't tell if I'm just the best and most loyal employee they have or if I'm just a pushover. It could go either way at this point. Hell, it might even be a little of both.

And as happened last time, I'm quite sure that Manager Man will forget to inform JayJay that the days were switched, so I'll probably be getting a call Friday morning asking me where I am since I'm supposed to be back...

Good Lord, I should just take Saturday, too. I could demand it as compensation for a twice interrupted vacation. 

I have just realized I am a little bit crazy.

It is balls freezing cold outside, and I don't see how anyone with any choice would ever open their front door to let that atrocious weather inside. If I had a way of letting my dog relieve her bladder and bowels without having to go outside, I would do it. I just count my blessings that I took my vacation this week and I'm not out in that cold any more than I absolutely have to be, because if I had to walk to work in this weather...I'd just call and wait for someone to come pick me up rather than brave the subarctic weather we're currently enjoying. 

That's right. I'm on my vacation.

And I'm glad. 

Of course, I reminded everyone before I left on Christmas Eve that I was on vacation, and please don't forget and then call me and ask why I'm late. (They did this the last two times I scheduled vacation time, and I like to sleep in on my vacation!) And do you know what they did?

They called me this morning to find out if I was OK because I wasn't at work and I hadn't called.

Damn it. 

If I was as irresponsible and lazy as most of the other employees, then they wouldn't have called me to find out where I was until noon. But no, since I am always on time, and if I think I'm going to be late I give thirty minutes notice before I'm supposed to be there, they just freak out and think I died on my way to work. On the one hand, it's kind of flattering.

On the other hand it's damned annoying to be woken up so early in the morning when I didn't even crawl into bed until three.

Yes, it was a late night for me. I spent from nine in the evening until almost three in the company of a very charming British man by the name of Mr. Darcy. Alright, his real name is Colin Firth, but I was watching the entire BBC miniseries of Pride and Prejudice because Padawan put it in my stocking for me and once I started I couldn't stop. So I watched the whole thing, and the series inspired sweet dreams (although Colin Firth's Mr. Darcy has nothing on the Prior Philip version....) that were sadly ruined by the sound of my phone sounding the alarm this morning.

Because, even though it's been on the calendar since October, Manager Man forgot I was on my vacation. Again.

*sigh*

No rest for the weary...

In any event, I just thought I would let you guys know that I donated some of my things before Christmas because my closet was absolutely stuffed with things I didn't wear anymore or things I bought but really didn't like after I bought them and the return date had passed. I was rather proud of cutting down my boot collection from seven pairs to three. But then...you know...I got seven new pairs of boots...

So now I have ten.

I'm not sure how that really happened. It shrank...and then grew back...and then grew some more.

As for my jeans...I cut those down from forty three pairs to thirty five. And then got four new pairs so it's back up to thirty nine. I feel like I really conquered on that one.

And then two pairs of house slippers...

Alright, look. I have this problem. I like to have lots of pretty things. I really can't help myself. When someone asks me what I want as a gift I say, "jeans" or "boots" or "slippers" or "pretty shirts" and I wind up with more than I should have and it just spirals away until I run out of room and have to donate things. But I can't just get rid of things like it's nothing!

Almost everything I own has a specific memory. And it gets ridiculous.

For instance, I haven't worn bras in well over a year now but I can't throw any of my bras out because of the following reasons:

I was wearing this bra the night I lost my virginity.
I was wearing this bra the night I got my first kiss.

I was wearing this bra when I went on my first date.

I was wearing this bra the night I met Padawan.

The night of my high school graduation.

My first day of college.

My last day of high school.

Blah. Blah. Blah.

I have kept underwear for the same reason even though my butt can't fit in them anymore because I am ten pounds heavier than I was the day I graduated from high school and it all went to my disproportionately large back side. (Not complaining, though. Women pay plastic surgeons thousands of dollars to wind up with a butt like mine. And I got it for free, courtesy of nature.) 

Padawan says I'm going to be a hoarder. 

Not likely since I tend to throw out things that I buy, wear twice, and then hate.

But that's kind of like a waste of money.

I should probably seek psychiatric help, but then holding on to clothes in the least of my problems when you get down to all of my other habits and thoughts that I've written in this blog....

222: The Video Blog

Alrighty, guys. You asked for it. And here it is. You have nobody to blame for this monstrosity but yourselves, and you know it. 

You have the next week to ask.

So it's been a week now, guys, and I tallied up the votes.

The winner is...

The Q&A in which I may or may not answer your questions in my own charming way.

While wearing hot pink...because I liked that part anyway and I have the pinkest of pink dresses.

Although you guys should know Candice's idea only lost by a vote and it would have been funny because I've got a great rant about boots and some places being unable to deliver them on time or even ship them properly...and boots come in pairs. It would have been apropos. 

So. You guys now have the next week to pile on questions, or not. The more questions the longer you will have to listen to me. Think about that in addition to the fact that I the voice of a twelve year old girl. You may ask questions and I may or may not answer them.

But, for the record, you really can't ask anything personal about Padawan. He doesn't mind questions about him, but some things are just off limits. Use your better judgement in determining what that is, and if you ask one that doesn't suit...I may not answer it. A charming refusal, of course. But a not answer, just the same. 

The Voting Begins

It's time for the voting to begin for my 222nd post special: a video blog. And all of you will regret your curiosity in the end, I promise.

The nominees are: 

Candice's "Pairs of Things" where she challenges me to talk ONLY about things that come in pairs. Little does she know I am incapable of staying on one subject for long. Not branching out will be very trying for someone like me, even though my thoughts always do come full circle.

Rev's "The Geek Whisperer" in which I would talk about the trials, tribulations, and even the advantages of living with a professional nerd. Of course, I will have to get Padawan's approval on that one if it wins because he has a very strict sense of privacy.

Nicki suggests that I do a Q and A, where I take your questions and answer them. Or refuse to answer them in a charming way, depending on the question.

The Frisky Virgin sent in an idea about doing character impressions from movies, books, or whatever. She even thinks I could put my own spin on them.

And Scott says he doesn't care what I do, but it has to be done in hot pink.

So...the choice is yours.