Picture Perfect, Not a Perfect Picture

Income + Me = New Dress. I couldn't help it. It's beeeautiful. I have always wanted a dress like this one. Creamy, lacy perfection.

These pictures don't really do it justice, but I can't really photograph myself. So the dress hangs on a hanger, in the only place to hang a hanger: a curtain rod. The backlit effect hides the color and also makes the dress look scandalously see-through. Which it isn't. Really.

I love my new dress. *happy sigh* An awesome start to the weekend.

And this weekend will only get better: tomorrow I'm going to get serious and place an order for scrapbooking stuff with 2 Peas in a Bucket. So stoked. I'll take a picture of my loot when it gets here with my new iPhone. (yeah, I'm getting that this weekend too!)




(Haha, rereading this post, I realize that I sound like an extreme materialist. I really don't buy things this often. Really. Really, really)

Tested, Passed

I passed a ridiculous test today at work. The test known as "how-calm-and-professional-can-you-be-when-faced-with-a-big-black-man-who-is-insisting-you-let-him-in-the-secure-office."

Yes, that's what it's really called.

No, not really.

It doesn't really have a name. Aside from... a mean and nasty trick to play on the new girl. Or, in shorter terms: a practical joke.

The background: I am not allowed to let anyone through the locked doors without an escort. I am only allowed to call someone to escort them if they have an appointment. Once I have confirmed an appointment, I can issue them a badge so they can get through the locked doors with their designated escort. This is a very, very strict rule. No breaky-breaky this rule.

What happened: A big man came in. Not like a fat man, but a big and tall black man.
Him: Who can I speak to about selling girl scout cookies?
Me: I don't know...
Him: Well, don't you work here?
Me: (well, yeah, duh) Yes, I do.
Him: I think I have a name... Andrea?
Me: Let me call her... (dial)
Me: There's a gentleman out here to see you about girl scout cookies.
Andrea: We only buy cookies from our employees.
Me: Ok, I'll let him know. (she hangs up)
I explain to him that she will not be coming out. People are only issued badges when they have appointments. He was very, very insistent. He kept telling me to call her again and tell her his name. After a couple of minutes, he was really starting to kinda freak me out. He wouldn't leave. He sounded like a crazy person, going on and on about selling girl scout cookies. What middle aged gentleman sells girl scout cookies. And won't leave when you tell him the lady won't see him.

At this juncture, Andrea comes out and starts laughing. Like bent over, knee slapping laughing. "Oh, Irv" she says. She realized after she hung up that it must be him. Apparently he comes in every couple of weeks, but since I'm new, I didn't know him. Apparently he also has quite the sense of humor. Hence, he decided it would be fun to see what would happen.

They both laughed, I turned bright red, issued him a badge, and they left. When they came back, he told me that I was quite the little gatekeeper and that they should keep me. Andrea supported this and said that she could tell me that it was all a test and that I passed.

Or we could all be honest and admit that Irv enjoyed playing a joke on the new receptionist. And it certainly added a few minutes of fun to my otherwise non-colorful day.

I also learned that I can tell people no. Over and over and over again.

Head Over Heels

I'm in love. I'm in love with scrapbooking. I want to do more. I want to create beautiful pages to which I paste family photos. It's a great way to use some of my many, many photographs. I love to photograph. When I'm rich (yeah, that's not going to happen), I want to buy a really nice camera. At the moment, I have the nicest point-and-shoot that money can buy... and it takes good pictures. With scrapbooking, I hope to take an image I love and devote a whole page to it and the story behind it.

Like my dear friend who was a beautiful bride...

 

Or my second date with my "big brother" .... (not as weird as it sounds)

Or my Italian Mama posing for summertime pictures...

 I am SO excited about this. It's ridiculous.

The Ties That Bind

Four years in one place. Many, many friends. Good times. Not so good times. Daily Mass, daily class, daily arguments, daily hugs, daily life with four hundred people. Every day, day in and day out, same people, same routine. I loved it. There were moments I hated it too, but I always loved it.

How much I loved it really hit me this weekend, when my social networks were filled with updates of my friends going back to school. Without me. They'll matriculate and go to class while I go back to work. Work is work. Not bad, not good... a job that gives me money. My old schoolmates will all think and learn and I won't be thinking. I will be "learning"... not to know, but to be able to repeat tasks a multitude of times correctly. No causes, no truth.

It all feels so... empty.

My mother assures me that this is a phase. A transition period. Something that will pass. I hope she's right (she usually is right). That doesn't mean I like it, though. I distinctly dislike it.

(and I know I'm whining. but sometimes, you just really need to whine. especially about the important stuff. and how it's over. forever. please let new important stuff arrive in my life soon!)

Crafty Lady

So I've ventured into the world of scrapping. Not the fighting kind, the picture, glue, paper, sticker kind of scrapping. I may have gone a little crazy with it on my first day. Not one page, but three. Hee hee!! :)

First page: Family pictures from 1994. 

We had a difficult time coordinating these things. Our faces misbehave. I love these pictures :)

 

Second page: Halloween 1994. 

A series of pictures that make me crack up. That hat was way too big for the brother.

 

Third page: Beach Day in November 1996. 

Here in San Diego, we can go to the beach year round.

p.s. - I love this new hobby. I may need to get to the real store and get some real supplies. Not Elmer's glue, hair ribbons, and cocktail umbrellas.

He Speaks!

The Awkward Man is evolving. First, he didn't bring a book to work today. Second, he spoke to me. Unsolicited. TWICE. He is becoming the un-awkward man. Or at least, less awkward than he was at first. No more running away! Yay!

The two occasions, while unsolicited, were rather unusual. The first happened upon the installation of the sun in my office. I could tan by the light of this bulb. After my dark, creepy atmosphere, the new aura that surrounds me is quite startling. Most people visibly started when they walked in. He just sort of looked around and asked if that light was always on. I explained about the invasion of the electricians earlier in the afternoon and he laughed at my new glow. He said it was fascinating. So yes, a new light bulb prompted our conversation.

Our second conversation was prompted by me kneeling on the floor. It's attention grabbing, I guess. They can't see me behind the desk so they look around and then find me on the floor. Well, most people realize I'm kneeling on the floor. He thought I had intentionally lowered my chair so that my chin didn't come up much past the desk. I explained, he sympathized, we discussed the weather, and he left. So yes, unusual work habits prompted our second conversation.

But he speaks. Voluntarily. Huh. 

Bikini-Clad Catholic?

A topic of hot debate: can girls concerned with modesty wear a bikini? Points of concern: the girls' dignity, the boys' eyes and imaginations. But for this Catholic girl, it really has always come down to one thing: they just aren't flattering.

Don't get me wrong, please. It's not that I don't think that girls have dignity and beauty (because they do). It's not that I don't think boys should view girls as lovable, not gawkable (I will personally slug any boy I catch gawking openly). It's not that I don't believe that boys have rather vivid imaginations (I just have to trust the ones I know... and the ones who deny that they're that way... well, I don't know any of them, so my clothing choices are really neither here nor there as far as they're concerned). But those subjects have been hashed and rehashed by people for years. And I mean years. Smart people, dumb people, extreme people (to both sides), girls, guys, Catholics, non-Catholics... people have a bit of an obsession with the modesty thing and I am not going to join on that band wagon. I am not going to approach this from moral grounds. I am going to approach this from my base female nature (by which I mean my instincts, not that I'm gross or a lower being or something).

The simplest reason that I don't want to wear them is that I look ridiculous in them. My Italian heritage has pre-determined too many things about my shape. It is not something I care to expose to the world. I like my tummy covered, thank you. Because it's not all that pretty. Honestly (no offense, ladies), I don't think most girls look fabulous in bikinis either. Sure, there are bikini models in the world. They look stunning and gorgeous. Maybe too gorgeous for masculine imaginations to handle. That said, most of us don't look like them. Right? C'mon.

So maybe, in the end, I am keeping myself covered to help the fellas'. And the gals, too. No one wants to see this.