Strike One....

Long story short, I'm not moving to Louisiana.

I got the call yesterday. He wanted to let me know in person, instead of letting a form letter break the news. Get this -- they hired from within. They advertised nationally, brought in candidates at great expense, then hired someone who has been there 18 years. So, how committed are they to innovative change? Apparently, not much.

That's not me being bitter, though! That's from their own people, who told me they know the person being hired for the job and doubt she's has the stuff to handle the job. I feel bad for them, if that's true. They're good people and deserve better.

He did say that I was "very impressive" and "very competitve," and it was a hard decision. Sounded like I was the less economical choice, actually. He asked if I'd be open to "future opportunities" with them. I said sure, why not. I can always give them a listen.

So, I have interviews #2 and #3 next week. If it's meant to be, we'll find out. Otherwise, I'm not so miserable where I am.

TTFN!
Blogget

Big ol' jet airliner....

During five days in March, I'll fly three different airlines and have two job interviews. The phone interview moved me to Round Two -- a face-to-face interview, just two days after another interview.

The interview I had last week went really well. Now, we wait. They are due to make a decision the week before these other two interviews happen. So, if an offer is going to come my way, I need them to drag their feet by a week or two!

Here's the breakdown:
Position #1: At a more prestigious university, potentially the greatest pay (but realistically, comparable to Position #2's salary), cost of living virtualy the same, comfortable winters (little to no snow), sweltering summers. The position oversees an team within a department, focused on my area of expertise. I know many people there. Everyone I met was friendly. Larger city, lovely area with lots of trees and water. This department definitely "courted" me, with a nice hotel, nice meals, and tours of the city.

Position #2: Small college in a small town. Great pay (comparable to #1), but higher cost of living. Desert envisonment, but with frigid winters (sometimes -18) and comfortable summers. The position oversees an entire division, with my area of expertise being only one component. This one has The Title, and is in administration. So far, the people I've dealt with have bordered on rude, and indifferent, at best. They've done some things that didn't make sense -- like scheduling me for a 12:00 lunch and a 1:00 flight out. However, they are arranging for a real estate agent to show me around town. I'm staying at the Holiday Inn Express.

Position #3: Small college in a small town, but a little larger than #2's site. Beautiful area, in the mountains. High cost of living, offering the lowest pay of the three. It would be a $10,000-$20,000 improvement over my current salary (while the others are $30,000 over my current salary) -- without figuring the cost of living difference. That would make their best offer amount to a $10,000 improvement. Can I move so far away for that? The climate is cold and snowy in the winters (but not -18!) and comfortable in the summer. The position would be to pretty much tell them what they should be doing. They've been floundering with this program for three years and now recognize the need for an expert to direct them. I'm staying at the Doubletree Hotel.

Best case scenario is that I get three offers. Worst case is that I get none. I wasn't looking to move, so that's okay. I don't have to take any of them, but would like to! I guess we wait until March and see what's what. Dang, I hate waiting!

In the meantime, I play the guessing game and decide how I would rank all the options. Then, how I would sell it to my kids. And how I'd tell my ex that we're going far away.....not that he hasn't done that himself before, but that's another issue.

TTYL!
Blogget

It's a Grand Slam!

And application number three has now weighed wanted to set up a phone interview for Monday -- which is when I'm on the first interview in Lousiana. So, we're setting up an alternate time. This one is in Colorado, but a prettier area than the other one. The town is a little bigger, so there are better medical options, too. The pay is less, though.

But I'm ahead of myself. No one has made an offer. I'm completely suited for each position, but I don't know the competition, either. So, we'll see.....

I still have the swollen cheek, but not as bad. Hurts like fire, though. I have a "procedure" for it, the day after my interview in Louisiana. Yippee! (is the sarcasm coming through?) What timing this all had!

More later.....

:o) Blogget

The Second Pitch

So, I make a habit of checking my junk email before deleting the folder. It's a pain, but it keeps dreadful things from happening....like missing an important email. Like I would have today.

"Dear Blogget, our search committee would like to set up an interview with you...."

Yesterday, I was on about Louisiana. Today, I'm on about Colorado. Alamosa, Colorado. A smaller college there would like to see me about a job.

I sent out three applications. One went to Louisiana and two to Colorado. Now, I need to hear from the third college and I'll have a grand slam!

I've been to Colorado a lot, but not to Alamosa. I looked up some information about them today. Currently, it is a balmy -18°F there. The average high in winter is 14°F. July and August are the only frost-free months. No more First Freeze contests on the evening news! The summers sound fantastic, though. Average is 65°F. Gotta love that!

But can I tolerate an average temperature of 14°? I suppose I'll find out how much I like it soon enough!

Stay Warm!

--- Blogget

When is it time to go?

I'm sooooo not getting anything of consequence done today. Well, work-related, that is.

Louisiana has come knocking. They're the ones who approached me about the job at the conference. I've been back and forth with them today, making travel arrangements. They are paying airfare, car rental, hotel, and meals for me to go visit them for a day-long interview. I'm going shopping for interview outfits, to make me look the part of She Who Knows What She's Talking About. I mean, I *do* know what I'm talking about....I just have to make sure I look not only like an Expert, but also like the Expert They Want!

I just have to lose this chipmunk cheek in a few days. No, I don't mean hitting the gym! I've managed to come down with stones in my salivary gland. OUCH! Hydrocodone pills and lemon drops are my friends lately. Such bad timing. Go away, go away, go away....

So, I've found a nice realtor to show me around Baton Rouge for a day. The housing market looks doable for us. I just don't know anything about the city. What's where? What areas are family-friendly? And I'll say this flat-out, even though it isn't politically correct.... what areas of the city are *white* family-friendly?

I mean, let's be honest here. Some parts of a city that size are not receptive to those in the fairer spectrum of skin color. I need to know which schools are safest for my kids, who are about as fair-skinned and naive as they come. This move would be a MAJOR change for us. All things must be positive. If my kids end up threatened, not accepted because they are the wrong color, this will be a huge mistake for them.

Don't get me wrong here. I know some of you out there are saying, "Yeah, Blogget, we read between the lines here. You want a white neighborhood. You racist." Not so. I'm anything but a racist. I don't care what "race" the neighborhood is. My criteria are:

I want a safe neighborhood.
I want a house that isn't going to need a lot of upkeep (in other words, no money pits!).
I want schools that challenge my kids academically and prepare them for college, but also give them the extracurricular outlets they need.

I need to get to know Baton Rouge and how my family would fit into it. I might not be offered the job, but I like to be prepared. If you know anything about Baton Rouge, drop me a line!

And speaking of safe neighborhoods....my current one is becoming less so. I was out of town recently and my mother drove my car. I have two remotes for locking/unlocking. On cold mornings, I start the car with one key and depfrost the windows, but I lock it with the other key. No sense leaving a running, unlocked car in the driveway.

My mother doesn't think this way.

She left it unlocked and went back in the house for a moment. In that time, three things disappeared from my car. My sunglasses clip, the auxillary device cord, and -- this one hurts -- my motion-sensitive C3PO. He hollers things like "We're doomed!" when you accelerate and such. Nine different phrases. Absolutely hysterical. The theives ripped him off the dashboard Velcro and made off with my little 3PO, too. My mother feels awful. I'm lucky to have a car at all, I suppose.

They left behind my Minnie Mouse antenna ball, fluffy stuffed tiger, and bright green mirror nice. BF says that means it was a techie-dork guy who doesn't have a girlfriend.

This morning, I found a lottery ticket carefully folded and placed on our trailer in the driveway. Someone wants us to know they were there. Creepy.

Maybe it *is* time to move....

Neglect

I'm a bad, bad blogger. I've been neglectful. There's no other word for it. So, I'll make one big post to cover the latest news.

The Mississippi trip

Graceland was surprisingly interesting. I've never been a big Elvis fan, but I recognize the man's talent and contribution to the music world. His life was complicated, his death tragic. His home is a testament to that. I was surprised how accessible it appears. The wall around it isn't formidable. You can see most of the estate from the street. The meditation garden where he is buried was something he built as a place of peace, I'm sure never intending for it to be his final resting place I took the photo at the right in the meditation garden, with a lovely little light anomaly to the right of the Christ's arm.

I heard a few people comment on how "tacky" much of the decor was. To me, it epitomizes the 1970s. That decade defined tacky. The decor they are talking about is representative of the times. I mean, he died in 1977, when that style was in full swing. Lighten up on the King!

We also visited another home of the famous. Rowan Oak was the home of writer William Faulkner, until his death in 1962. It's beautiful and fascinating. You can still see where he wrote the plotline for his Nobel Prize-winning A Fable...on the wall. See?


Rowan Oak is in Oxford, MS, which is a lovely college town. We spent a lot of time at the town square, where I met this helpful employee of the Square Books store.

She didn't think I really needed more CDs. She also told me the most disappointing news -- I'd missed the chance to meet Paula Dean at the same store, just the previous evening. Dang.

If you're ever in a town called Tunica, in Mississippi, be sure to visit the ladies of Ann-Tiques on Main Street. They are a force of southern hospitality and that shop is packed with treasures! Thanks for the books, ladies! (1251 Place is next door, but they are too expensive on everything but football scores.) And yes, it really is Main Street USA there, complete with a gazebo and a Piggly Wiggly. But beware of Johnny Law (see right) or he might use that one bullet he's allowed to carry.

I also learned all about the Delta blues at the museum by the same name in Clarksdale, MS, and a Morgan Freeman's blues club called Ground Zero. Dang, that's a great place. Great music, too. Pick up some genuine soul food at Hick's restaurant before you go, though.

This trip was an education in more ways than one. Yeah, there was a conference at the center of it and I loved that, too. There's a couple of men I enjoy flirting around with each year, and I got to spend some time with them. One of them had the good sense to wear Guinness shirts and drink Newcastle. Whata guy.

Oh yeah, and I learned alot of good professional type stuff, too. Being a conference and all. I was even approached about a job. See, someone out there thinks I'm a bad ass at my job. They want me to be a bad ass for their university. We'll see if they have a bad ass paycheck to make me move far away from what's been home for nearly 30 years. So stay tuned.

Okay, there's some news. I'll update more later.

--- Blogget

Back from the land of the Delta Blues

I'll write more on my most recent trip later, when I get pictures posted. I've lost a few because of corrupted files on my media card, so I'm working on that problem.

However, I had one particular observation that has nagged at me since getting home. First, though, you gotta understand that I'm not a gambler by nature. I echo the sentiments of one of my fellow travelers on this trip. She stood at several locations inside the casinos and said, " I don't understand! Why would anyone bet on that?" She's not a gambler, either.

The place where we stayed was part of a casino resort. To get to our hotel (one of three larger hotels on the property), you took an exit off the higheay and drove a looooonnnggg time. Past golf courses and undeveloped land. This place wanted to be sure that going elsewhere wasn't so easy.

They also didn't want you to stay in your room. No desk. Internet was $11 a day. No business center, either in the hotel or the adjoining conference center. Gambling terminals were strategically placed, but no computers to be seen anywhere. The only restaurants were tucked deep inside the big casino.

Going through the casino to get to dinner, you couldn't help but feel the party atmosphere. People laughing, cheering, sipping on cocktails, and having a good time. We'd walk past an empty table and the dealer (or whoever presided) sounded almost like a carney trying to draw you to the game with, "Oh, ladies, ladies, ladies!" You knew most of the guests were losing money, but they seem to have come with the assumption that it was all part of the fun.

Another night, another dinner, another casino. They trucked us to a difference casino complex, but this one sits along the highway. The difference to me was startling. No party atmosphere. I've heard the phrase "smell of desperation" before, but never experienced it. The phrase doesn't do justice to the horror of it. Many of the people sitting at the slots looked like they lived there, in the same clothes, all the time. They looked at you with these haunted eyes, defeated and desperate. There was no fun in their game-playing.

Scared the hell out of me. No, I'm not a gambler. And after that experience, I doubt I ever could be. I won't forget those eyes anytime soon.

This might make me sound terrible....

I consider myself to be a fairly tolerant, non-judgemental kind of person to know. Wait, let me qualify that. I have very clear ideas of what I like and dislike for myself and those most close to me. However, I won't turn my back on someone or not socialize with someone just because they chose that path. Make sense?

For instance, I don't believe in getting tattoos. For me. But I don't care if someone else has one. I don't like "my" men to have earrings. I find that very unattractive But I don't care if a guy I'm not interested in has an earring. Or two. I have gay friends, straight friends, old friends, young friends, pretty friends, ugly friends, smart friends, dim friends, and friends of various religions. I generally just let people be as they are.

So, BF tells me that there's a couple he knows who wants to hang out with us. That's cool by me. This girl likes to talk about her sex life a little too much, but I can tolerate that occasionally. I've not met her botfriend, though. BF says he's a little "out there," so I'm warned.

I finally meet the guy and....goodness gracious me, that fella has more hardware in his face than an astromech droid. I found myself almost unable to focus on what he was saying. I was so absolutely repelled by it that the subsequent humming in my head blocked out normal thought.

Which explains why, when I looked at his girlfriend, I couldn't stop thoughts of, "You have sex with THAT?!" Unfathomable.

Yeah, yeah, I know....different strokes and all. I just was completely unprepared for the profound revulsion I felt. That's never happened to me before. Especially over something that I considered as trivial as physical appearance.

So, it delivered no small amount of guilt, too. Am I really so narrow-minded, at the core of it all? I never considered myself as such and would rather not do so now!

V-I-C-T-O-R-Y!

Lookie what I have in my office:



The Fishbowl Wars are over! No more threats of window markers and taped up photos of blinds. No more idiots tapping on the glass or Nosey Nellies watching us work.

We are triumphant!

"A little less conversation, a little more action please...."

And with that, my business trip next week gets more interesting.

No, it's not what you think. I'm not getting "a little more action please." I am going to see the King. Yessirree, this rock chick is headed to Graceland.

I'm headed to Mississippi by way of Memphis, with 5 colleagues. For one of them, it'll be her third "pilgrimage" to Elvis's home. For another, it's her first and she plans to do it up right! The rest of us are along for the ride.

So, the place has gotten lousy with merchandising and licensing agreements gone bananas (fried? in a sandwich?). I go prepared to embrace the tourist within. Maybe I can find Elvis guitar picks for my son. Maybe some kitchy purse for my daughter, made out of blue suede. My mom's birthday is coming, so I see Elvis-isms in her future, too. I'll just spread the tourist joy to everyone!

I have to admit, I look forward to seeing Elvis's final resting place. There's something almost alluring to me about gravesites. If I ever make it to Hollywood for a vacation, you can bet I'll be on each one of those creepy graveyard tours. If I couldn't meet these people in life, then it's something to stand where they have finally found peace. Well....what peace you can find with kitchy tourists coming to see where you eternally slumber.... Sorry, but I'll be one of them!

Now, I also have every intention of heading out with one colleague for the Civil Rights Tour or Blues Music Tour. Somehow, I think the level of kitch in those experiences will pale in comparison to the King's licensing machine.

Wish me luck!

I'm officially insane

Yep, I got the notification just the other day. I'm officially a doctoral student. Walden University. Ph.D. of Education, specializing in Educational Technology. Woo Hoo!

No money. No sleep. For years. But at the end, I'm Dr. Blogget.

Yeah, I like that.

My addition to the wealth of memories

Today is a day of remembrance. All day, everywhere we turn, we see the images and hear the stories of that day, five years ago. This little blog will be no different. For me, it's important to remember and to make a record.

I know what I was doing exactly five years ago, right at this time. I was finally tucking in my children, emotionally exhausted and feeling a little shell-shocked from the day. That's how days that change the world feel.

My son was on the cusp of a milestone - his tenth birthday. September 12th, 2001. We had a big birthday party planned for the following Saturday. As I tucked him in, he said the most astounding thing I'd ever heard from a little boy.

"Mommy, I was thinking. Can we change my birthday? This isn't a time for people to be thinking of me."

I hugged him with all the pride I could have for this wonderful child. His tenth birthday. It would only happen once. But even he felt the magnitude of the day's events. He would wait while the world mourned. And he never complained. Later, I bought a book to keep for him: "September 12, 2001: The Day We Knew Everything Would Be All Right."

I called his friends' mothers and postponed everything a week. Everyone understood, and we had a great party the next week.

On his actual birthday, we had a family celebration. In the midst of the festivities, I didn't notice that the restaurant's televisions were playing the horrible pictures again. My little daughter, just 6, pulled at my sleeve. Her eyes transfixed on the screen, she quietly asked, "It's not happening again, is it?" I held her and let her know it wasn't a new attack. We were safe, and I moved her to a seat away from the television.

September 11, 2001 was dominated by shock, sadness, and overwhelming resentment for me. I know it sounds petty and selfish, in the face of much greater loss, but I resented the loss of that part of my children's innocence. I resented explaining to a 6-year-old little girl what "terrorist" and "hijacking" meant, and how some people have such hate that they cease caring about living, breathing beings.

I hated the moment when my children asked me, "Were there kids on those planes?" And the looks on their little faces when I had to say, "Yes." "And mommies and daddies?" they said. "Yes," I said. The resentment was not for their questions, but for those who made the questions possible.

I didn't allow the television on until we had talked about the images they would inevitably see. I knew I couldn't hide it forever. This had changed their world forever. If I didn't talk about it, someone else would.

In the aftermath, I noticed the polarity in the reactions. Among the people in my sphere, the men wanted to rush to war, to exact revenge. The women wanted to gather their loved ones close and stay behind the bolted doors of home. We all lost a bit of innocence, I suppose.

In the midst, though, was the beacon that was my son. Love and hope for another, better day survived in his heart. Thank God for small favors.

Should I be upset?

Or, should I be as upset as I am?

I've been at my job for three and a half years. In that time, I've not only performed my basic editor duties smashingly, but I've also taken on a lot more. I've finished a Master's degree in distance education. I have a particular expertise in online delivery of distance learning. I've overseen a major migration from one platform to a new, cutting-edge one. That included some temporary supervisory duties, even. I've become a researcher in our field, too, representing our organization and presenting several sessions at national and international conferences.

However, I'm still in the same position I started in, at much the same salary.

Two years ago, a new guy was hired to handle some of the red-tape stuff we deal with. He's well-suited for it. He's a retired administrator of a continuing ed program at a junior college in another state. He has handled personnel, contracts, and red tape before.

For my boss, this was a big plus because she hates dealing with people. On the phone. In person. And especially any potentially confrontational situations.

A couple of months ago, she asked me if I objected to him moving into a new position she was creating. After all, I am the most senior of the editors. He would be overseeing the non-electronic courses and faculty, dealing with more of the red tape and people issues she didn't want to handle. I didn't object. That's not where my expertise is. However, she promised to look for advancement opportunities for me.

The other day, she reminds us editors that he's moving into that position now. And she added this:

"I've decided that he'll supervise the editors, too, so you all report to him now."

WTF?! He's my SUPERVISOR now?! This was NOT part of the "Do you object..." conversation! This chaps my hide in a major way.

I see how this happened, though. He is well-suited for the parts of her job that she dislikes. She's just found a way to dump all of the people-dealing on someone else. That's her agenda in this situation.

What gets me is that I've busted my tail for longer than he has, and I've had NO (count 'em - NO) opportunities for advancement. And he's now my supervisor.

But should I be upset? He has decades of experience in this. I didn't want the position; I just didn't expect to get a third boss out of it.

Where are my opportunities? When does my hard work pay off? She has taken care of her own agenda along the way. I don't know that my interests are being kept in mind at all.

What rubs salt in the wound is that the very next day, I'm given even more responsibilities. I now monitor and mentor our online faculty. Also, new online course development is now entirely in my lap. I decide how it's done.

For that, I get a "Gee, thanks for doing that" (like there's a choice). Not a promotion. Not a pay raise. He's already receiving retirement benefits from his old job, his wife works, and they don't have kids to support. I'm a single mom with two kids, not making enough to support them without help. It just doesn't seem fair.

Personally, I think the writing is on the wall. She'll take care of her own convenience. My interests are my own to look out for. Maybe it's time to look around at other opportunities. I do love what I do, but other places do it, too. I don't want to move, but I have other things to consider. And maybe it's time for that doctorate. Oh bring on the torture!

Bathroomisms

** WARNING: Part of this post has an EXTREME GROSS FACTOR. I'll warn you when it's about to hit so that the sensitive among you can avert your eyes. ***

Yes, indeedy, this post has a theme -- bathrooms. A few things happened recently that involved bathrooms, so I decided to go with the flow of synchronicity and mention them all in one post.

So, sit tight (haha) and here goes ;o)

---

Our old office building has a one-seater bathroom. So, if it was occupied, you waited in the hallway for it to be vacant again.

Now, I know everyone knows one of these people -- the kind who just can't find something nice to say. Ever. A complete sourpuss about anything going on. Well, I saw our resident Sourpuss waiting outside the bathroom one day. I try to introduce sunshine into this person's worls as often as possible, hoping it'll get through. She makes it tough sometimes.

Sourpuss: "I'll be so glad when we don't have to stand around in the hall anymore, waiting to pee."

Me (seeing a prime sunshine opportunity): "Won't that be nice? The pictures look great, with all that pretty tile and such. And there will be plenty of stalls for everyone."

Sourpuss: "Yeah, but it won't be private anymore, will it?"

Dang. Clouds over my sunshine again!

---

** WARNING: THIS IS IT! THIS IS THE GROSS FACTOR PART! If you're squeamish, skip to the next break. **

We have a beautiful, brand new bathroom at the new building. I'd post a picture so you can see how beautiful it is, but....that's just creepy. We are so appreciative of this building and the details (like pretty bathrooms) that give us such a wonderful place to work.

Well, most of us are. One of us is just dowright nasty.

I entered the beautiful bathroom the other day. I opened a stall and something caught my eye. The lovely tile wall was smeared with (**WARNING! GROSS FACTOR IMMINENT!**) blood. You could almost make out the handprint of whoever put it there. A could hurl just remembering it.

But the point is -- WTF is WRONG with some people?!?!

---

Switch from the nastiest of nasty to the proper.

Even bathrooms have etiquette. There are unspoken rules of community bathroom behavior. Things like, even if you can see through the gaps by the door, don't look. Knock on doors, don't try to open them. If there's no toilet paper in a stall, warn the woman about to enter it. Don't let you toddler peek under the walls.

And when the bathroom isn't crowded, respect some sort of perimeter of person space.

So, we have two rows of stalls now. I can't recall if it's eight or ten stalls, but there are plenty! I'm in the last one at the end of the row. The rest of the place is empty.

Now, if you were the next person entering the bathroom, which stall would you choose?

Or, more to the point, which stall would you NOT choose?

That's right -- you don't go for the one right next to the occupied one. Someone needs to inform the person who entered the stall right next to me.

Creepy.

(Or maybe it's just me and my chronic territorialism! But that's another blog.....)

Visuals

A couple of pictures of the Fishbowl window, to accompany the last couple of blogs.

I apologize for the quality, or lack thereof. The yellowish lighting is what happens when you snap a photo with your cell phone, in a mustard-brown room with flourescent lighting.

Note that in the second picture, you can see from my window straight into the Fishbowl office across the hall.

The Empire Strikes Back

I've lost a battle in the Fishbowl Wars.

Dang.

We all got an email from the Big BIG Boss today. We have groups touring our building starting tomorrow. So, among many other things, she said our windows had to be paper-, plastic-, and cardboard-free. Our "suite" is full of the plastic-wielding Fishbowl Warriors. Dang.

The Little Boss said we could hold our retreat until tomorrow, before the tours. We settled on a time to retreat in unison. And when to begin the charge again.

Then, the Big BIG Boss saw the Little Boss. And the order came down to retreat immediately.

It was tough on some of the Warriors. One had to leave to compose himself. (Then again, he always has to leave to compose himself.)

So, the battle was lost, but there's still hope for the War. They are still saying the mini-blinds are on the way. Could be propaganda, though. We'll see.

(Dang.)

Things that make you go....dang.

(Wow, two blogs in two days. I'm on a roll!)

A little note, in typical "Blogget Jones" fashion: I'm proud of myself for spending five days out of town, eating out constantly, and not gaining a single pound! I'm even happier to say that I've lost three this week. WooHoo!



--------------------------------------------------------------------------------


My birthday is around the corner. In four days, I'll be 38. My mother seems to think I've reached the point where birthdays should bother me. She keeps saying things like, "You're on the downslide to 40!" WTF?! "Downslide"?! I don't think so.

Heck, they say women don't even hit their sexual peak until their forties. If that isn't something to look forward to, then I sure don't know what is!

However, it has made me think about where I'm headed with the second half of my life. Before I turn out the light at the end of the day, I snuggle into my cozy (if maddeningly empty) bed and take a look around. I see my books, my momentos, the kitchy little gifts from my kids, my pictures, my makeshift curtains, the box of my dog's ashes that still brings a lump to my throat when I see. All the things I surround myself with. And I wonder, what becomes of it all when I'm gone from this earth? Who will care that it was here and why I put it there? It seems so important when we're living it. I imagine being no more and it stings.

I suppose what bothers me is that I tend to be the person that people forget. Example:

They'll say, "We'll call you when we're headed to lunch," and when they see me hours later, they realize they never did. The worst is getting stood up for dates. It's happened twice since I was divorced. One guy turned out to be married and the other was just irresponsible. But why did I deserve the short end, in their estimation?

I work hard at the office to make sure my contribution isn't forgotten. When I work on a project, I make my presence known. I work doubly hard to make a positive impression that people think of when they see the work done. Hopefully, it'll actually pay off someday.

The other thing that bothers me is the realization that much of my life has been lived for other people. The first independent decision I could make was which college to attend. I stayed close to home because my parents could barely handle me going across town, so leaving the city entirely would have turned them to rubble. I got married while in college. When I graduated, I stayed home with my son (a decision I will never regret). We followed my husband's career, even when it took me somewhere against my will.

We came back home when living in the pit he'd dug for us became nearly a life-and-death situation. I eventually made an independent decision to get a divorce -- but only when the situation hurt my kids.

There's a lot I put up with from him for my own sake, and I still occasionally deal with feeling unworthy of positive attention because of it. That was my bad decision to not put my foot down sooner, but I've not stopped since.

Even now, I live where I do and keep my job because it's what's best for my family. I see bigger and better jobs out there in my field, but I don't apply. Moving just isn't a good idea right now, or for a few years to come.

So, I travel when I can and experience other parts of this country. Someday, I'll see Ireland and walk in my ancestors' footsteps. I've slowly taken a little control over my job duties and become the one who does research, attends conferences, and makes those contacts.

But I don't like doing it all alone. I've made a committment to my kids, but it's hard. I want to love again and be loved. I might not be in a hurry for it, but I still dream of it. I'm still lonely without it.

When I love, I do so with everything I have to give. I yearn for someone who can reciprocate that kind of passion. I thought I had that a few years ago, but repeated betrayal put a damper on it. That particular man still wants to marry me....but he also has one eye on what's walking by. That makes me feel wonderful, lemme-tell-ya. I don't want a lifetime of feeling not quite good enough.

Somewhere, there's someone who can be as about me as I am about him. He and I will have great times together! Someday. As I said, I'm not in a hurry. And, hey, I still have that sexual peak to look forward to. There's just gotta be something in that for me!

The last 38 years have gone by too quickly. How much more time do I have to make my mark on this world? I have a story to tell and I'd better get to telling it.

The Cliff's Notes version

So, here's a rundown of recent events. I'll blog as much as I can to get caught up!

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Peter Pan? Where are you?
My kids are growing up. My son is a high school football/baseball player. He's wondering about playig in college. COLLEGE?!?! It occurs to me that in four years, he's gonna be itching to live on his own. He'll go away somewhere, most likely. My daughter, as much as she loves her brother, has just figured out that she'll have her high school years as, in effect, an only child in the house. I really don't think she means to have that cheese grin on her face about it.

She's in Junior High now. I asked her to sort out her closet so we knew what to get for school. When I saw three large trash bags full of clothes she wasnts to get right of, I asked her if all that really didn't fit anymore. "It's not that, Mom. It's just that so much of it was so....5th grade." Oh good gracious. Adolescence, here we come.

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What has 20 years done?
I am happy to say that the Lubbock High School Class of 1986 seems to be a largely successful bunch. However, we've lost seven of our compadres, and that stung. The planning process brought out the ugly side of a lot of people -- those who saw it as a chance to gain power over old classmates. Oh, for Pete's sake. Someone actually managed to turn it into a political process. And get this -- they continue to. They are already jockeying for control of the 25th reunion.

One surprise -- I got a letter of reference from this experience. After working together on the planning, our Class President (now a lawyer) proclaimed that "If you need a CEO of anything, [Blogget} is the one for the job!" Cool. Oh, wait, it was the 80s, so that's...totally awesome!

I saw many people I didn't know I missed, until that night. We'll keep track better through our new Web site and through email conversations that are ongoing as we speak. It was a surprise to see what professions we *really* ended up in, and how much we have in common still. And I love the silly things we talk about now -- like how much it hurts to step on Thomas the Tank Engine with bare feet and how much we've had the tunes from High School Musical drilled into our heads.

Something to remember for the 25th -- this group doesn't need icebreaker games.

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Did we see this coming?
My ex called the other day. Background, for those just tuning in: he was divorced for the second time in November from a lovely troll of a woman. He started dating a nice woman (really, I'm serious!) not long after that. They've told the kids over and over that they aren't talking about marriage, not interested in that any time soon. That's good....my daughter is freaky about him getting married at all. Even to me -- she really does not want us back together. (Whew)

So, he called, as he does nearly every day. Guess what? Yep -- they are getting married. In November. He told me about how he proposed. One of those big, public spectacles. I hate that. Puts the poor woman in a terrible spot. But I digress.... I had to break it to the kids.

My son shrugged and said, "Saw that coming." His dad had looked for rings when he took the kids school shopping. Nice.

My daughter cried for an hour. She knows how the last one worked out. A wicked stepmother and bratty half-sister to compete for Daddy's attention, to boot. Can we blame her for not wanting to risk that again?

THIS is why I promised them I wouldn't marry before they are grown. His life is about flux and chaos. Mine has to be their rock, their security. They have to come home to stability and reliability. Sure, I'd like to have someone to wake up to, but that will wait. No one is going to need me as much as they do, until they have lives of their own.

Some people have asked how *I* am handling the news. It's fine with me. There's no shock or surprise. She's a nice lady and my kids deserve a stepmom who likes them. And this means that the subject of us getting back together won't come up. I've had those awkward conversations, where he says, "I still love you, you know." He disappointed that feeling out of me a long time ago, so what can I say that isn't hurtful? I don't like to be hurtful, but I have to be honest.

They want me at the wedding. Wife #2 is being told to stay away.

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It's War
It's becoming known as the Fishbowl Wars. See, my office moved into brand new, swanky digs this week. It's been a highly anticipated move and I LOVE my new office. The only thing is, there's this window. It's not an outside window...I don't rank one of those. It's a big ol' window into the hallway. Everyone tromping up and down the hall gets to rubberneck at what I'm doing in my office.

The Fishbowl.

As I was unpacking, it dawned on me that I didn't like this at all. Bending over to reach into a box, I realized passersby got a good peek down my shirt. Bending the other way, the window framed my backside. Nope, didn't like it at all.

A coworker and I took the plastic from our chairs and taped it into the windows, creating our own crude version of sheers. Apparently, the interior designer (who I now learned initially thought our offices didn't need blinds like everyone else's) didn't care for our handiwork. She was seen making angry faces and gesturing at our windows, from the hallway.

I hear blinds are on the way. I hope so because, truth be told, I don't much care for the look of plastic, either.

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There's more, but it's past my bedtime. I'll catch up soon. Teaser: Nickelback ROCKS...again.

Love to you all,
Blogget

Things to come....

So much has happened lately....but it's been too busy to blog it! Here's the short version. I'll write a longer version later:

* My kids start new schools today. Junior High and High School. I'm just not ready for that yet!

* My 20-year reunion was last weekend. Wow. Someone said I looked just like I did in high school. Guess who's my new best friend? ::wink::

* I moved into a brand new office space today. Moving is always a trauma, but these digs are pretty swanky!

* I took some vacation time with my son last week. This is the dichotomy part: we visited historical sites that dealt with our own family history. Then, we jammed at a rock concert.

More later!

Blogget Jones

Now, that wasn't so bad, was it?

I survived the dreaded jury duty this morning. Someone advised me to postpone it, but it's kinda like ripping off a bandage. The faster you get it done the better.

You talk to some people there who are in their 40s and say, "This is the first time I've ever been called." Then, there's me. I'm in my late 30s and get called up about once a year. How do they determine who gets the Golden Ticket and who doesn't?

Anyhow, being in the jury room is interesting for a people watcher. I often wonder why people choose to do the things they do. What does it say about them? It starts with the clothing they wear.

Some of the younger fellas had fresh-from-the-laundry-pile (I mean, the one that still needs to go to the washer) t-shirts and baggy jeans. Immediately, the phrase about dressing "appropriately for the dignity and solemnity of the proceedings" popped to mind. But these guys looked fresh from bed, so getting them up at 8:00 Monday morning probably strikes them as a little rude. It did for me, at that age.

The older men wore nice button-down shirts and khakis or jeans. Some more suits and chatted loudly on their cells phones. Rearranging meetings, making sales calls, and so forth to keep their careers rolling while they spent a few hours with the justice system. Well, until the judge came in, of course. We were told he's known to take away cell phones and donate them to Goodwill. Might as well drain these fellas' life's blood as do that to them!

I'm one to talk. I was playing a trivia game on mine. I love trivia. No kidding.

The shirt in front of me told a story. The man had neatly-trimmed hair and moustache. Wore nice boots and jeans, with a golf-style shirt. Inside out. The collar was turned out right, but I stared at the tags for a couple of hours. If he's just look down at his buttons, he'd get a big surprise.

There were old ladies in their summer garden clothes. Professional ladies in their office attire. College girls in their sorority mixer t-shirts and flip-flops. Prim ladies in their coordinated outfits, handbags, and shoes. You could tell the ones who thought ahead by their handbags. Big enough to fit magazines and books? Prepared for the long haul. Small and dainty, with nothing in their manicured hands? Well, by the second hour, they looked distressed indeed.

Then there were the grandmas. I wished to be seated by one of them, but no luck. Not only did they engage the people next to them in conversation, but the entire vicinity was having a delightful time. I think they're vacationing together next year.

The guy next to me didn't talk, but made his displeasure at being there and waiting known by occasional fidgets, grunts, groans, and sighs. Either that, or it was hemorroids.

The women next to me spoke briefly, but I immediately wished she hadn't. I offered her some gum.

Then came the news we'd all been waiting for. They would need 198 jurors today. I did a quick count and some math. We had about 280 in the room. About 70 thought they shouldn't be there. My odds kinda sucked.

We took a break while the judge heard the excuses. I went to the restroom and waited again. The ladies room line was out the door, while men came and went from their own restroom. Why is that? Do men just not go as often? Or as long? Someone ought to do a study.... ;o)

A young woman asked me, "So what now? Do we just wait here until they tell us more?"
Yup. She had a tiny handbag.

Back at my chair among the Faithful, the guy in front of me had gone to the restroom, too. I saw him coming back with a goofy grin on his face and his buttons facing the right way. "I had my shirt on wrong," he whispered to the man beside him and laughed.

The Faithful were assigned and they called roll. "Just say 'Here' when your name is called," they said. A handful of dufuses decided to say "Present!" instead. WTF? Did they know it made them look like dufuses? I wonder how they intended it to come across?

I was called to the jury pool for the 140th District Court, which promptly ended in a plea bargain.

Back to the old grindstone and the usual suspects.

Until next year.