through these glasses

crazy ironic

I find it ironic that a commenting troll would choose to use as a pseudonym, the name of someone who was tried, found guilty and committed to a sanitarium  on account of being insane.

I've gone against my norm of letting comments stand no matter what they have to say. From here on out, sucky, belligerent comments will be deleted...

in case of emergency

As I was leaving the house Monday morning, I went through the checklist twice. Vendor contracts, centerpiece materials, candles, nametags, logo signage for the front of the podium, laptop, camera, extra memory cards, ipod & cables to connect it to the sound system, change of clothes and makeup to refresh at the end of the day before guests arrive... Everything I needed to have for the next 15 hours of party execution was in the front hall; I was just waiting for a cloudburst to subside so I could load up the car. Yet I couldn't shake the nagging feeling I was forgetting something...

Fast forward to 5pm. With one hour to go before guests arrive, the tables have been dressed & flounced, sound & staging have been checked, programs have been set out, and the mood music has been set to play. I have just enough time to slip into the ladies room to refresh makeup, do my hair and change out of set-up work clothes into formalish work clothes. I realize as I pull my skirt out of its garmet bag what I couldn't quite put my finger on earlier in the day: my bag contains everything I need to change from casual to formal. everything except underwear.

With a cavalier shrug, I resolve to not let it bother me, and thank the powers that be that I've opted for a long skirt instead of a short one. Yet all I can think of as I'm talking with one staff member after another is that I'm commando in the middle of a formal event. Oh the irony that I've been without them all day, yet didn't give a fig as I was wearing pants. Now that I'm focusing on it, and in a skirt, it's all I can think about. I share my funny predicament with a former coworker who is helping out with prep for the evening, hoping to diffuse the angst by naming it.

"You know how I said I felt like I was forgetting something this morning when I left the house?"
"Oh no! What are we missing?"
"Not we, me.... I apparently didn't see the need to pack underwear..."
[pause for a giggle as she digs in her bag]
"I brought two and they're new, you want one?"
"You have extra underwear?"
"Yes."
"Who does that?!"
"I'm guessing you will from now on too..."

She's right. I have an brand new pack from old navy in my emergency car kit now.

monsters, inc.

It's 10:30pm. I'm just finishing work now, and I'm still a day behind. I'm finding that freelancing and migraines can be mutually exclusive. Sure, it's nice when I don't have to use a pto day to crawl into a dark, cold room and pack my head with ice. On the flip-side, it's not-so-nice to be waylaid and know there is no one in the office covering for you while you're down and out. So the 14 precious hours I lost on Saturday made me wish that either a) I was a barbie doll and could pop my head off its socket and swap it out for a non-pounding version or b) I could trade the migraines out for something less debilitating like gout. I had over a thousand wedding photos to sort through to see which to give to the bride (weddings, though some would argue to the contrary, are all about the bride. I don't much care what else was going on as long as she was happy with how it was going. It's not a popularity contest after all, it's a testament to their commitment to each other. Thankfully, the drama surrounding this particular event happened before and after the big day, and only touched me tangentially. The actual celebration was start to finish as perfect as the bride's porcelain skin, and as genuine as the groom's emotion as he said his vows. but I digress...) as proofs, my first project proposal to write, and a set of new account forms for lucky client #2 to mock up by the end of the weekend. two solid days work that I had half of Sunday for. In the end, I picked client #2 to focus on since the bride is off honeymooning, and tried to not beat myself up for losing time to something I can't seem to control (this is made easier by the fact that I didn't have to scold myself for wasting time watching tv or avoiding work by weeding the garden. They, unlike the monster migraine, are not legitimate excuses for missing work.)

So here I sit, wishing it wasn't so late that I have to send my first ever proposal out without having anyone to read my cover letter to over the phone. It's been open on my desktop for almost an hour now...

just. click. send. 

How many times can you read a three page document and three line email over again? (I'm seeing the tootsie pop owl in my head and wishing I could dispense with the slow fretting and bite to the center of it all and just send it off on its merry way already)

just. click. send.

augh! sent. If I remind myself that the practice in putting the proposal together is reward enough, perhaps I won't worry myself up all night thinking of a slightly different way to say 'thank you for the opportunity to bid on your project.'  One that would make them throw money at me...