new job: days one and two

Ok, I'm sorry I've been remiss in posting about my job, or for that matter, anything. So here you go.

The last couple of days have been really draining, and I don't know if that is because I got used to a couple of weeks of sleeping in and shopping 'til I dropped, or if it is from information overload. Probably both.

Taking the bus has gone pretty well, although inevitably someone who sits near/next to me smells, or their lunch stinks, or they are sitting too close and getting in my personal space. The thing about driving that is nice vs. the bus is that you have some time in private to come down after your day--you can sing along to the radio or your favorite cd, open the window, cry if you want/need. The thing about the bus is that you don't have to pay attention and you can pop in your mp3 player and read a book. But there is a lot of lurching and the aforementioned smell. But, it is free vs. a lot of money for a parking garage and it does keep me on a schedule, which for those of you who know me, is very important.

Work itself: I've met a gajillion people, very few of whom I remember unless I've had a specific meeting with them or training. So far I have had 3 meetings today. Next week will be a flurry of more meetings. Yesterday I got an extensive tour of the building: I've retained how to get out and back in for lunch and where the fridge and the bathrooms are. There doesn't appear to be an active coffeemaker. Disappointing. I may have to figure something out. Or I may buy coffee each morning. Not enough caffeine has made me fuzzy, which is not what I need while in heavy training.

Mostly what I've been learning is how to docket stuff, how to stamp stuff, how to just not remember enough of what I've been shown to feel at all confident with what I'm doing. I hate this new job feeling of not knowing what I'm doing. But from what I've been told this will be how I feel for at least the next six months to a year. So I need to get over it and just deal.

Sociologically the office is interesting. I can't go into much detail about the politics because I don't want anyone to stumble across this and me lose my job. So unfortunately there will probably be little office blogging--we'll see.

Right at this very moment I feel very drained. I think mostly it is the feeling of uncertainty I was talking about earlier--just keeping my head above the water I'm treading. They've been really great about not giving me a ton of stuff to do, but not being able to finish all I've been given was frustrating. But I didn't want to screw anything up worse than I may have already done in the one piece of work I docketed after my trainer/supervisor went home.

Anyway.

It's good to be home.

pampered within an inch of my life

In the past two days I've had my hair cut, my eyebrows waxed, my body massaged, my toes pedicured and my fingers manicured. I am a shining city on the hill. I'm just about as relaxed as possible for someone who is heading into a three day weekend before starting a new job. Which is really damned relaxed.

I don't believe in God or Fate or anything like that, but JUST IN CASE, now would not be the time to fuck with me, Providence. I'm putting you on warning.

my communist friend

Aunt Flo, or as I like to call her, my "red"or communist friend, is in town. She only comes to visit me four times a year, and frankly I could do with even fewer visits from her. I take a wonderful birth control called Seasonale, which I love for this reason. But what I don't love is that when my commie bitch of a friend comes, she's pissed. And she wreaks havoc from my head to, well, not quite to my toes, but.

Not the best time to go shopping for new pants for my new job, but there it is.

Not much to report from the weekend, just a lot of fun with Mr. Bump, hangin', shoppin', and doing stuff around the house. In four days we managed to pressure-wash the deck, shave the Ru-ster, sweep and mop all the floors, make a batch of these cookies (mmm) and a back of chicken stock in the pressure cooker (cuts the time down to a quarter of the original six to eight hours). We bought this faucet (below retail!) for our kitchen, after looking around for it everywhere and finally driving out near the airport for a glimpse of one on display and actually working. We went on the crazy-ass search for a coffee pot, and ended up empty handed. I believe I will be buying this one, but I haven't yet.

Aside from glutting ourselves on commercialism and baking/cooking, we managed to go out for breakfast, make a couple of kick ass breakfasts ourselves, and enjoy our deck once we had pressure washed it to a perfect shine. (Ok, we got the pee smell off from Ru.)

But the uninvited communist guest slayed me on Monday and I spent the day in the big easy chair (I know it's ugly but it is so comfy) with the heating pad on my belly. That's right, I took a sick day during my vacation. Sometimes it becomes necessary to watch four episodes of The Gilmore Girls, eat Chocolate-Chunk Oatmeal Cookies with Dried Cherries, and have a good long chat with your red friend.

p.s.

Oh, and by the way, Mr. Garbageman? If you give me shit about the 35 gallon (rather than 32 gallon, asterisk, underline underline) garbage can that I just purchased from the Big Kmart (all the way over on Broadway, I might add), I will follow you home and leave notes on your garbage can. And you can bet that I won't be using the asterisk or the underline in my note. It'll be curse words and promises of karmic retribution.

dear garbageman

Dear Mr. Garbageman:

I received your note on my garbage can on Tuesday morning, and first, let me say that the vivid yellow color made me see this note just as easily as the one you left for me last Tuesday morning! What a welcome bit of color in the morning before I've had coffee! Second, thank you so very much for providing me the explanation of my transgression in both English and Spanish. It is so much easier to understand what the hell you're talking about in another language. At least, it didn't make any sense in English.

Let me explain, Mr. Garbageman, why I am writing to you. I bet you're beginning to wonder! For the past five years, I have lived at this address. I have diligently (ok, Mr. Bump has diligently) wheeled our trash can or cans (we have two!) out in front of our garage door in the alley. And for five years, one of your compatriots has just as diligently removed our trash and left our cans. Sometimes our trash is scattered down the alley. Sometimes our overturned trash can has rolled down the alley by the wind! But we always knew that you did your best, just as we had done our best to provide our trash to you in as clean and as dignified a manner as we could.

And now, suddenly, in the last two weeks, our steady week in, week out relationship has soured. What is our crime? What have we done to turn you against us so? Oh, yes. According to your canary-yellow note, our trash can is larger than 32 gallons. The shame! The horror! Our secret has been discovered. We have a 45 gallon trash can (we have two!).

My response to your asterisk and underline around the "32 gallon" trash can on your form is three fold.

• First, I want you to know that these trash cans were a housewarming gift, from my mother-in-law. Do you have a mother-in-law, Mr. Garbageman? I know we have not previously been acquainted to this level of intimacy, but perhaps now is the time to get to know each other better. If you are going to make demands on my trash can, then perhaps we should. Anyway, as a gift--one of our first housewarming gifts, I might add--from my mother-in-law, I cannot possibly part with my garbage cans. She would be crushed if she saw that I had replaced them with a smaller, 32 gallon model. You don't want me to crush my mother-in-law like a used soda can, do you Mr. Garbageman?
• Second, how does one go about getting rid of a trash can? It is barely used! I can't put it out for you to pick up, because it isn't "32 gallon" (asterisk, underline, underline). How do you give away a trash can? While it is barely used, it is used, and a trash can is one of those things that you can't really give away (like used underwear).
  
• Third, because apparently your rampage regarding the "32 gallon" (asterisk, underline, underline) trash can is not limited to my household, THERE ARE NO 32 GALLON TRASH CANS TO BE FOUND! Not at Home Depot, not at Lowes, not at various Targets. I have not checked WalMart because, as we all know Mr. Garbageman, WalMart is operated by the devil himself. I have not yet checked Ace Hardware because I have been busy. But I'm sure there are none there either because, pardon me for saying this, but you are turning into a 32 gallon Nazi!

I know. That Nazi comment was probably a bit over the line. You're more like a 32 gallon fascisti. Oh, there I go again! I'm sorry, but I just don't see how we were all good and fine for five years, and suddenly you want me to find a new trash can and throw the old one out like garbage! I'm just not that kind of person, Mr. Garbageman. Look, I'm sure we can come to some kind of detante about the garbage can thing. How about I don't fill it all the way up, and you stop sending my trash can (in all its beautiful 45 gallon glory) notes home from school? Or I could cut off a bit at the top until it is shaved down to 32 gallons? How about I just write 32 gallons (asterisk, underline, underline) on my 45 gallon gal and we just "wink wink, nudge nudge" go with that?

I am open to any other suggestions you have except those that include the disposal of my currrent trash cans. Please leave me a note in any color other than canary yellow (how 'bout a nice cheerful cerise?) on my 45 gallon trash can, which I will continue to use until you stop taking my trash, and then I will just put my trash bags out in the alley. And we know what kind of "animals" that attracts.

I mean, really. Do you have a mother-in-law?

Best regards,

Mrs. Bump

P.S. There is really no reason for exclamation marks to be included in any kind of literature about garbage. Please, in future notices you attach to my upturned trash can, omit or at least pare down the quantity of exclamation marks. Thank you!

list of things i received today for my new job

Today I went down to fill out/turn in all my paperwork for my new job, to get it out of the way before I actually start. I will be working for the 10th Circuit Court of Appeals, official job title "Case Processor." Great federal benefits. Better pay. 10 paid holidays a year. Two and a half hours later, I am the proud owner of the following:

1. RTD Eco Pass--I'll be riding the bus in style, my friends. I took the most fabulous ID photo, let me tell you. I'm gorgeous. I'll be flashing that eco pass all over town.

2. The Code of Conduct for Judicial Employees--"Canon 5, A Judicial Employee Should Refrain from Inappropriate Political Activity." Oh well, I guess I won't be immolating myself in Bush-protest. Basically I can't endorse any partisan candidate. No bumper stickers or placards in the yard. And I probably shouldn't be blogging about it either, but at least I'm not an employee. Yet.

3. Bomb Threat Checklist, which includes such helpful questions as "When is the bomb going to explode?" "What is your name?" and "What is your address?" The reverse contains a checklist to describe the voice of the person who is calling, including such gems as "If the voice is familiar, who did it sound like?" and "Background sounds: Animal noises?"

4. A flashlight. In case of power outage or bomb as described above in No. 3, I have been issued a flashlight in order to facilitate my exit from the building. I was also given an Occupant Emergency Plan but that is "Confidential" so I will say no more about it.

5. An FAQ which includes answers to such common new employee questions as "When do I get paid?"

6. The Fitness Center Policy and Participation Agreement and Release of Liability. I have to promise to wipe down the machines and re-rack my weights. And to not run screaming if I run into my boss in the shower. Ew. I don't think I'll be showing at the Fitness Center. Ever.

7. And last but certainly not least, a booklet called "The U.S. Constitution and Fascinating Facts About It." Some fascinating facts: George Washington did not go to college. "Of the typographical errors in the Constitution, the misspelling of the word 'Pensylvania' above the signers' names is probably the most glaring." "The word 'democracy' does not appear once in the Constitution." There is a list of all the Supreme Court Justices ever.

8. I also had to take a couple of oaths of office, promising to uphold the Constitution (of which I have recently learned so many fascinating facts), not do anything or support anyone who attempts to undermine the Constitution, and I had to swear that I didn't hold any allegiances to any foreign prince or state. Oh, I wish. Prince William wouldn't give me the time of day. Sigh.

9. My spanky new Court of Appeals ID, which isn't as gorgeous as the Eco Pass, but better than the passport I had to drag in for my proof of citizenship. Eep. Fat face, glasses, short hair. Baaad combination.

10. Various voluminous materials regarding election of life insurance, health insurance, direct deposit, 401K, retirement, etc. Decisions, decisions.

All said and done I think I signed my name about a gajillion times. Or ballpark of gajillion. On my first day I will be able to keep my ID, get my ever important "decal" for my eco pass (gorgeous pic, did I mention?), and get myself fingerprinted by the U.S. Marshalls (who inhabit my new building) for my background check. I can't wait.

. . .

For the last four days I've logged in, pulled up the new post screen, and with the cursor blinking at me I've blinked back, unable to put anything down.

Don't get me wrong, there's been plenty going on. But somewhere in me there seems to be a bottleneck, and I can't get anything out. But I'm going to give it a shot here today and see how it goes.

Here's the update: Wednesday night we went out for a great dinner at The Fourth Story, a restaurant above my favorite bookstore that is moving, and the restaurant is closing at the end of the month. It is the place where Mr. Bump and I had our first date. We've shared a lot of wonderful, meaningful meals there over the years and I'm sad to see it go. But we went, had a great meal, good wine, and good fun with Mr. Brother-in-law Bump and Mrs. Bump (my husband's grandmother), and Mrs. Bump (my MIL).

Thursday I worked pretty hard trying to finish things up for work. Mr. Bump and I took a walk, made dinner, and talked about what we might do with some of the time off from work we're both taking next week. We went to bed at a reasonable hour after reading in bed.

Friday was my last day at work.

I woke up early and, of course, couldn't get back to sleep. So on my last day of work I was atypically early. I went by Einstein's and got bagels for the office and the largest coffee they had for me. I certainly needed it. I didn't do an unusual amount of work but I kept trying. My boss came in late, there was a certain amount of chaos at foot, and we seemed to not complete very much. I went to lunch with the associate and my best friend at the office, Kim G, and generally tried very hard not to think about the afternoon ahead. My boss brought in her boys, who I have watched grow in her and then continue to grow. Jonah is nearly three, and such a bright-eyed, tow headed devil. He gave me a hug and a kiss goodbye in a rare moment of un-shyness. Ben is just five months so he's happy for me to just hold him and kiss his head and swing him around until he giggles. My boss' mother brought the boys in, so I got to see her one last time, too. There was a cake (spice cake with chocolate frosting, my favorite) and a card that everyone had signed. There was a gift certificate to the nearby mall. There were hugs and kisses from all the partners, all the attorneys I had worked for and with for six years. I was wished luck and told to visit. I didn't end up getting everything wrapped up until shortly before five, so my boss managed to leave before I did. It was probably for the best, because she broke down. I made her promise to come for dinner and to have me over to her new house. She hugged me hard and ran out crying. I did my last few bits of mail, gathered up all my junk, and allowed the staff to walk me out to my car (everyone had to carry something) in state. Again I got another round of hugs and kisses. I know the promises to meet for lunch will happen. I know I will see them again. I managed to get all the way onto the highway before the tears started to fall. I'm very proud of myself.

It felt final and clean. I had accomplished all I wanted to, I had dispatched all my duties. I was moving on. The tears were finished with before I got home. I threw some clothes blindly in a bag to hie myself up to Loveland for the weekend. I've tried to stop talking about it but I feel like I'm purging the last bits of that place out of me.

Saturday morning we went down to Longmont to Lucille's Creole Cafe for beignets and pain perdu and rice pancakes and Mr. Bump's favorite chai. We did a little antiquing, some napping, and a big fat chinese dinner at Canton Palace.

I have the delicious prospect of two weeks of hanging out, getting healthy and looking forward ahead of me. And being able to blog every day. Hopefully I'll keep having something interesting to say.

happy birthday mr. bump

Today is Mr. Bump's birthday. Happy happy birthday Mr. Bump! I'm so glad your mama had you. Otherwise I would be a spinster who watches too much tv and has too many cats. You've saved me from a house that when people walk into they say, "How many cats do you have?" even before they see any actual cats. Thanks for that, MIL.

In other news I've got two more days in the asylum, and then I'm lucky enough to have wrangled two beautiful unpaid weeks of vacation. I'm sleeping in, I'm working out, I'm spa-ing. I'm getting my hair cut and my eyebrows waxed. I'm beautifying. I'm going to movies in the middle of the day. Just try and stop me. I'd like to see you try.

people! people. people?**

What's a girl got to do to get a Hello Kitty toaster for her birthday? I ask you. There are people out there that this is aimed at (Mr. Bump) and the rest of you can just enjoy the marital tension. He's the only one I expect a gift from. Ain't it purty? The toast actually has Hello Kitty on it. Imagine me, in my strawberry patch pajamas, eating my Hello Kitty toast. Can you see it? I can.

Actually, I would also take one of these, which is my new favorite thing I want. I know it looks like a sundress, but it is actually an apron. Mr. Bump says I'd get stuff all over my "shelf" because it is so low cut, but god, isn't it cute? Cuter than cute?

Don't get me wrong, I still maintain my advocacy of a pair of diamond platinum stud earrings, that's always on the list for each holiday. But since Mr. Bump HATES the diamond juggernaut, I look for cute and fun things that aren't created on the blood of slaves and traded in an artifically inflated market instead.

So get right on that birthday present, Mr. Bump! If you have Mr. Bump's email you can email him with your opinions and choices. If you don't, I'm not going to expose his identity. Give me a break! I'm angling for birthday presents here! I'm not going to piss him off.

**Isn't it funny how a word looks funny when you type it several times?

prom redux

This weekend was good. After all the drama and tears of the week we felt it best to just get the hell out of Dodge, so we headed up to Loveland, even though my MIL is in Jersey. We saw my parents and their new house, which is coming along nicely. It is house-shaped with siding and brick on the front and drywall and paint on the walls on the inside. (the last time we saw it none of this had occurred yet, so for us it was really cool to see.) My mother is so excited that she's a little beside herself with joy. She called me the other day just to tell me her new phone number.

We also went out for dinner for our birthdays--Mr. Bump's is May 10th, mine is May 14th--over the weekend.

As I have mentioned in another post, it seems to be prom season here. It seems a strange reminder of a former version of myself when every restaurant I go to (even Walrus' Ice Cream Parlour) is filled with geeky, awkward glasses-faced and acne strewn boys, not to mention girls in strapless gowns, hair teased and sprayed into a gravity-defying still lifes, corsages strapped to their wrists like enormous perfumed time pieces, gnawing on a wads of gum like holsteins on cud. I think about that time in my own life, the specialness of it, the uncertainty, the feeling of everything new, first time and shiny. Where staying out until dawn is like playing beat the clock, like winning some game or graduating to a new adult life. Where your heart beats against the tangle of that big hair coming down, makeup smeared against some boy, legs wound together. And all that trying. All that potential energy, just waiting to happen.

On Saturday night I wanted to wear my jeans under my dress, rather than just the knee length dress. I wanted to dress down the outfit, rather than up. (BTW, it was cool, it looked good.) Mr. Bump wanted me to wear it without the jeans, and since he looked so nice and he asked so nice, I went with dress without jeans. But grudgingly. My mother had dressed up but at the last minute run out in her tennis shoes to shut the animals in for the night. She was in such a hurry that after that she forgot to take off her socks and tennis shoes and slip back into her flats. A younger version of me would have been so mortified by this error, but when she discovered it (as she stepped out of the car to go in to the restaurant), we all just laughed and headed on in. My father flirted (as he always does) with the young woman who filled our water and cleared our plates, and again, this would have sent the teenage me into paroxysms of embarrassement. But now I just try to make a joke, release her from his grasp so she could move on, and engage him in other conversation. Later at the ice cream parlour we watched a little blue eyed, curly-headed boy lose it after his ice cream disappeared (whether in his mouth or on the floor it was never determined). I didn't grimace at the thought of someday having to comfort someone for a similar slight. (Don't get me wrong, I don't exactly want to yet, either.)

Today I'm (almost) 32, I have a grown up job, I'm making grown-up money, I have a grown-up mortgage. I hardly ever chew gum, and never like a ruminant. There are moments, evenings, occasions that are special, but so much of everything is still uncertain. These days beating the clock has more to do with fertility than curfew. But lucky me, my heart still beats hard against my very own boy, my Mr. Bump. I am so grateful to be past all that trying. I would not change places with those shiny gum-chewing girls for anything. In much the same way as I felt back then, I can't wait to see what happens next.

new day, new gamut of emotions

Today was the day they interviewed people for my job. I started out strong but by the time I had to escape for some book-browsing at lunch I was in tears. Even if you don't want the job anymore, it somehow hurts to watch someone else interview for it. Apparently, it hurts a lot. And when they like someone, the knife seems to twist. But at the same time I want someone to do the job well, and get along with everyone else, so I don't know what I want, really.

I feel like I've made such a mess of this whole thing. My boss' feelings are hurt, my feelings are hurt. Neither one of us seems to understand why the other one can't be more grown-up. I don't understand why she can't give me another week of vacation and she doesn't understand why I won't stay out of loyalty and why I won't give her more than two weeks notice. And I HATE that we're going to be parting under these circumstances. I suppose eventually I'll be the bigger person (weighing nearly twice what she does, it is easy) and try to mend fences. But part of me rages with the indignity of it all.

I know that no one understands why I'm all worked up about this. Why don't I just move on? Well, I have to say, I don't really know. I guess when you work side by side with someone long enough to see them go from single, to married, to pregnant, to mother, to pregnant again to mother of two, you just get sort of attached. Even though we just work together. I can't really put it into words. She drives me crazy, she's selfish and the world revolves around her. But she's also sweet and funny and while she could be more generous on the vacation time, she was a good boss (mostly). So. There it is. I can't explain it, but there it is.

So far they've yet to find any potential paralegals to fill my shoes. There is some satisfaction in that.

behold the power of the mighty marble cake

I made the marble cake again, because I will never be beaten by a baked good. This time, on the advice of good friend C, tried Baker's Joy (actually knock off product because I couldn't find the real thing) and yay! the cake did not stick. I also only left it in for 35 min. instead of the 45 to 50 it called for. Much better. Huge success.

So I brought it in to work this morning, and labeled it "Lana's 'I'll Miss You' Marble Cake." And the might of the marble cake is not that it is delicious and therefore was devoured (although it is and it was), but rather that something in its beautiful airy sponge lightened my mood, and gave my husband back Happy Wife. He has missed her sorely and therefore he too believes in the might of the marble cake.

Today I have developed that candy coated shell I've been searching for, and I'm all about moving on. I'm picking out a new health plan, I'm deciding how I want my name on my name plate, I'm choosing my email address. I'm scheduling when I'll take my oath of office. (Yeah, that's right, I have to take an oath of office.) I can't tell you where this all came from--its a gray day here with the possibility of rain in the forecast so it isn't the weather--but it has been a long time coming and I'm glad it's here. This is how you should feel when you give your notice. There should be the happiness of the marble cake kind. Not openly weeping your guilt at reception for all the world to see. Like I was yesterday.

I predict next week I will have a serious case of short-timer's disease, but for now, I'm just happy to be moving on. That, my friends, is the power of the mighty marble cake.

candy coating makes it go down easier**

I'm trying to develop a hard shell--much like the coating on an M&M--on the subject of leaving my present job. But it has been a struggle. Because of logistics with my new job, I'm only going to be able to give two weeks notice at my old job. This has, apparently, devastated my boss. I say apparently because she really isn't speaking to me. How is it possible that I can feel like a heel when I've done nothing but give appropriate notice after six years of exemplary service?

You know that movie Mean Girls? I feel like she's one of them. The Mean Girls. If you'd ever met her you'd know that she's got all the attributes: only child of divorced parents; spoiled; blond; blue-eyed All-American girl with the "charmed" life.

But I'm trying to rise above the boss bashing just because that's so last blog.

So I'm going home, curling into a ball, and hoping to wake up a brand new, candy-coated me.

**By the way, I know it is supposed to be "chocolate coating makes it go down easier" but I'm using some license, ok? I can do that and still be a dedicated Princess Bride fan, I promise.

apology to my boss

Dear Miss M:

Apparently, you are under the misconception that I, in searching for and finding another job, have been in some way "out to get you." I'm sorry.

I'm sorry that I stayed your employee for long enough that you've "never had to deal with this before" and therefore you "aren't handling it well."

I'm sorry if I felt that after almost six years of feudal service at your feet I felt like I deserved more than three weeks of what you all term "flex" time, which is really just a cheap ass way of deducting from vacation time anytime any of the staff is sick.

I'm sorry that I ate the crap you give me every day, the inane assignments like, "I know no one else can find this medical provider Dr. Smith, who may or may not still practice in this state and has the most common name outside of the middle east, but can you just 'work your magic'?"

I'm sorry that I got crappy Christmas presents from you that either made me break out or stunk so bad it was obvious you bought them at Big Lots on the cheap and they'd been around long enough to "turn." I'm sorry I spent more in both time and money on Christmas presents for you than you ever did for me. I'm really sorry about that one.

I'm sorry that no amount of notice is time enough to you, because you'd rather be in denial about me leaving and carry on with your waltzing into the office at ten, taking a two hour lunch, and leaving at five on the dot.

I'm sorry that you can't bother to exchange pleasantries with me anymore, or really look me in the eye since Friday. I'm sorry that you act like one of those popular girls in high school that has finally squeezed all the help she's going to get out of the poor geeky awkward smart girl and who now will have nothing to do with.

Mostly I'm sorry I've wasted so much time and energy worrying about what you think or feel or want when it is immaterial to the situation: I've given my notice. I'm leaving. Be a grown-up-type boss and deal with it.

weekend recipe: add one dog and stir

My MIL flew out to Jersey for her bi-annual trip on Sunday, which means for the next 10 days we have an extra little black ball of fluff, her dog Rosie and big (as in larger) sister to our little Ruby Slippers. This also means another dog in the bed, which is quite a bit of dog for a queen size bed and myself and Mr. Bump. Somehow I always end up the one without any covers, with one dog in between myself and Mr. Bump and one curled up between my knees preventing me from turning on my side, or in effect, moving at all.

Mostly the girls get along really well, but occasionally if someone gets too close to someone else who is sleeping, there will be snarling and the ensuing butt-sniffing. It seems to be something of a reset button, the butt-sniffing. Sometimes I wish things could be that simple for humans. Possibly not butt-sniffing, but some other kind of reset, like a high-five or somesuch.

Butt-sniffing aside, we also went to a bead show this weekend and looked (or mostly looked) at all the beautiful things you can do with beads. I bought a couple necklaces worth of beads to string--we'll see what happens. Normally they seem to exist in my head and never actually get strung and worn.

Mr. Bump also made some farmhouse cheddar cheese which we'll find out how good it is sometime over a month from now. I also made this, which has been making the food blog rounds. While it tasted very good, it stuck in the pan and was very crumbly. I believe I baked it for too long, even though I only did the minimum amount of time in the oven. It is theoretically low fat, although 6 tablespoons of butter can hardly be considered "low fat" in my book. I will, however, try again and see if I can get it to come out of the bunt in one piece. BTW, if you decide to make this cake, the batter is delicious all on its own.

We also averted a near-disaster making dinner of beer-battered fish and baked chips on Saturday night. The batter was really thick and wasn't sticking to the cornstarch coated tilapia. Mr. Bump didn't want to get his hands in the batter so he was using a food-service glove, which didn't work AT ALL. The glove just wanted to succumb to the batter. Finally I took over and, while I ended up with club hand, we had really beautiful fish (the chips weren't great, but we endeavor to keep trying). We almost dissasembled as a team, however, which was the scary part. After the cake debacle above, I was sure that everything was going to go downhill fast. But Mr. Bump, as always, kept the faith. He was right. (Do you hear that Mr. Bump? That's right, I said it.)

Aside from that crisis of faith, our weekend was pretty sedate. We tried to go out to celebrate on Friday only to discover that all of Conifer had descended for dinner in Golden before the prom. Who goes to dinner at the Macaroni Grill before prom? Who goes someplace called The Yardhouse before prom? We ended up at Tokyo Joe's, which was quick but eh. Not exactly celebratory. But it was offset by the flowers Mr. Bump had waiting for me when I got home from work. Very very sweet, Mr. Bump. You always seem to know just when I need flowers.

Sunday we took Mrs. Bump (the MIL) to the airport, went traipsing around for a birthday present for a coworker, and wore the dogs out on a walk, who thankfully slept on me for the rest of the afternoon. Nothing brings you down for a nap more than two warm dogs snoozing on various parts of your lap.

So it was a good weekend, really, until about 7:00 last night, when my stomach started to hurt. It has now hurt constantly for the last 16 hours, with no resolution, vomiting, or otherwise.

Tell me why?
I don't like Mondays.

Tell me why?
I don't like Mondays.

Tell me why?
I don't like Mondays.

I want to shoot the whole day down.

--Boomtown Rats

Ugh. I want to shoot the whole day down, I tell you.