Coming Soon to a Theater Near You:

Ms. StrainedConscious: The Movie!

I was telling my gentleman caller about my day on the construction site - or perhaps he read about it on the blog? - and he mooted the idea of action figures that I could market on my blog. Which got me to thinking about what, exactly, each action figure would be.

Construction-Site Ms. StrainedConsciousness: Accessories include work boots and a roll of construction drawings. Fill a reservoir in her head with salty water, and watch as she grows increasingly damp and starts to smell like stale sweat. Pull a string in her back, and she says things like "They're dropping that concrete from too high," "Who left that piece of metal there? I could have killed myself!" and "God, I need a beer."

Migraine Ms. StrainedConsciousness: Comes with a bed. Accessories include bottles of pills and a book, along with an extra pillow to put over her head. Pulla string in her back, and she says things like "Ungh," "Blargh," and "Damn, my head hurts. When will the agony end? Doctors are useless."

Couch-Hunter Ms StrainedConsciousness: Comes with a Minivan and Sidekick SuperMom. Accessories include a purse, good walking shoes, and a 32 oz. styrofoam cup of iced tea from Chik-Fil-A (oh! Marketing tie-ins!). Pull a string in her back and she says things like "$160 per yard for velvet? Seriously?" and "Have you ever seen a more hideous couch?" and "Why do all stores sell sofas in muddy fabrics? I guess that's middle America for you!"

Opera Ms. StrainedConsciousness: Comes with Date Night Gentleman Caller (he'll get a nickname eventually). Accessories include stiletto heels and a clutch. Pull a string in her back and she says things like "Oh my God it's f-f-f-f-freezing outside! Why did I wear such a short skirt?" and "Now I remember why I don't wear stilettos anymore. My feet are killing me!"

Now, with the marketing tie-ins out of the way, we can get started on a script, right? Right?

Bangarang! Peter Pan Would Love This Place!

My current project involves designing what we refer to as "The Treehouse" for a gentleman in his 60s who is tired of sharing a home office and a gym with his wife.

Their current home office alone is larger than my apartment, and contains its own secret "home office within an office" for him behind a secret door in a bookcase.

I'm not making this up.

The fact that his wife's numerous charitable activities require her to spread her papers out across their home office, however, along with the fact that she also uses the room for gift-wrapping lends it a less than calming air for his considerable investment needs, and so he wants his own little piece of space in which to play with his money.

I'm designing it.

It's not a true treehouse per se because it doesn't rely on (living) trees for its structural support, but it is situated so that the bulk of the structure will be in the canopy of the trees that grow along the creek that runs through the couples' backyard. They have what is arguably one of the most beautifully situated lots in Dallas. I got to wander around it for 30 minutes taking pictures a few weeks ago, and I really didn't want to leave, what with the water rushing over the rocks in the babbling brook, and the birds cooing in the trees overhead, as I strolled in the dappled sunlight. Then a sneezing fit overcame me, and hey-o, time to go!

It's a really fun project to work on, and it isn't completely overwhelming, either. I've picked out the plumbing fixtures (that I want, anyway. The client hasn't seen them, yet), and lighting fixtures, and the structural guys are getting drawings together for a pricing set. I have a meeting with an HVAC consultant Tuesday, although I'll be the one doing the drawings for the HVAC system, because we don't have it in the budget for an outside consultant to do all the drawings. I'll also be doing all the electrical plans and lighting plans. I'm glad I got in some practice with my last project! Start off small and work your way up, right?

Now we just need to Shang-hai the clients into, you know, actually coming into the office for a meeting and we'll be good to go.

I really hope they like the faucet I've picked out. It's a stunner. I guess I should choose a couple of back-ups just in case, though.

Lying Abed All Day

That's what I did Sunday afternoon and all day Monday. There is a definite correlation between weather changes and my migraines, I've discovered.

I've also discovered that migraine medicine doesn't do a damned thing about it. Neat.

The upshot of all of this is that I spent two days on migraine medicine - and missed work on one day - and spent most of today in a fog, trying to figure out what I was supposed to be doing. Had I tried this, yet? Oh. Yeah. I had. Would this work? No. No, not at all. There went two hours. I had, as our receptionist calls it, a migraine hangover.

I prefer alcohol hangovers, I think, particularly because they're fewer and farther between than my migraines, these days.

Tonight is similar to Sunday afternoon and all of Monday - I'm lying in bed. I should be happy about that, though! Right? Right?

I will admit, working from bed is infinitely preferable to work in my decidedly non-ergonomic office chair at work, but at home, there's no one to run out to 7-11 because we all got a hankering for Slurpees.

I would like to randomly make the not-entirely-unrelated observation that Mrs. Robinson is the best receptionist ever.

(Creative Commons sharealike image courtesy of Wikimedia user Guen de Wang who has the coolest name of any of my contributors so far and whose photo can be found at http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:7-11_Slurpee_Medium.JPG)

Let the Interviews Begin

Our receptionist, Lola, gave notice Friday while I was on holiday. By "gave notice" I mean "informed us she's moving to Amarillo to join her boyfriend" and by "on holiday" I mean "recovering from an epic attack of claustrophobia despite a veritable mountain of Xanax ingested a full hour beforehand."

We had two interviews today with potential receptionists to replace Lola. The first was one of Lola's friends, two years younger than I am - way to go, Oldsmobile, asking illegal questions - and TINY. I can't imagine her reading the riot act to a call center representative because Oldsmobile's wife's phone isn't working, but I'm sure she has other qualities that are lovely. Like being tiny. She was perky, at least.

The second interviewee was a downright matronly woman who seems like a real go-getter, very professional, and with a nice pleasant voice. She also seems like she might be more thick-skinned, because Oldsmobile can get kind of cranky.

Okay, he gets really cranky.

He's 186 years old, what do you expect? If you'd lived through the American Civil War and survived World Wars I & II, you'd probably be pretty cranky, too.

We might interview a couple of other candidates, because we really don't want to jump the gun and hire someone who won't be the best person for the position. At present, though, we're split on who to hire: Oldsmobile likes the young bubbly candidate, and everyone else prefers the staid old maid. Who knows how this is going to end?

I certainly don't.

Get Back to Work!

I realized today just how tired I am. In college, I used to party hearty and go to class the next day, no problem. These days, it's not so easy. I have no idea how people my age manage to go out on weeknights and then go to work the next day: I can't even tear it up on Saturday and be ready to go to work on Monday for crying out loud.

I think that makes me officially old.

I spent most of the day detailing our clients' pool cabana and being amazed by the fact that the general contractor magically found $700,000 of cost he'd accidentally placed in his estimate of the building cost. Of course, he only found the $700,000 miscalculation after the project manager called him to ask how the heck the price went up by $100/S.F. in three months and to demand that he look over the numbers again. Amazing what a little impatience can do for your clients' bottom line.

The cabana is going to be a neat little building, not nearly as large as I'd initially imagined, but still a nice little place to use the loo and to store pool toys. So it's a big fancy port-o-potty, I guess, but with expensive tile and an outdoor shower.

Maybe they'll rent it out to me as a vacation spot?

WOW!

I can't believe I only have 8 more posts until I hit the 150 mark! Time flies when you're unemployed, re-employed, and then incredibly busy with your burgeoning social life.

Following the lovely TSA Convention, my week gained speed, as I helped my beloved Mum celebrate her birthday, then visited my best friend from high school, who is in town with the most adorable little blond baby known to mankind. As I pointed out to her, however, with a mom as beautiful as she is and a father as handsome her husband, it would have been impossible not to have a beautiful baby!

I spent every standing moment today wondering if I was appropriately dressed. A few months ago, I bought a grey knit dress that hits about mid-thigh. I wore it to work today with opaque black tights and a grey and black striped scarf and black equestrian boots. Ahem. Because I'm such a horse lover.

Right.

As the day went on, the dress started clinging to things that I hadn't previously noticed it clinging to, particularly my derrier. Fortunately, I spend most of my days sitting down in my corner cubicle, watching cars fly past on the freeway and being thankful that I don't drive a tractor trailer for a living, because people cut you off all the time. The few times I stood up to walk to the loo or to raid the candy dish on the front desk (Krackel bars! Yum!), I felt a bit self-conscious. The skirt is longer than one I used to wear to my old and much more staid office, but it just...

It clings.

Maybe I need to invest in a good girdle to keep that from happening again?

Because everyone knows that a girl in a girdle is hot.

TSA Convention Report

I only went to the TSA convention on Saturday - that's Texas Society of Architects, in case you forgot.

It was incredibly boring.

The two seminars to which I managed to make it were vaguely amusing at best, and stultifyingly boring at worst. The first seminar was full, so I was forced to seat myself on the floor at the back of the not-so-grand meeting room at the George R. Brown Convention Center. I was wearing a skirt, you see, so there was some definite awkwardness in lowering myself. Once down, I realized that it would be very difficult for me to get back up again. Hmmm...

The presentation had just started when I entered the room, and after 30 seconds, I knew it was going to be an utter snooze-fest. Fortunately, the gentleman seated next to me on the floor had a piece of paper handy, so we were able to play several games of tic-tac-toe before the discomfort caused by sitting on unpadded carpet tiles overcame my tushie's stamina and I was forced to - awkwardly - raise myself up and flee through a back door. I sought the warmth of a cup of tea at the Starbucks a floor below and sat myself down in a slightly more comfortable than the floor metal chair. Apparently, the George R. Brown Convention Center only wants its patrons sitting in not-so-grand meeting rooms, and nowhere else. I emailed a friend sitting in the Starbucks - by far the longest email ever typed on an iPhone, I really think it's a world record - and was eventually forced to flee the area by a young man with the worst table manners I've ever encountered.

I COULD HEAR HIM CHEWING FROM FIFTEEN FEET AWAY. Since audible mastication is pet-peeve numero uno, I obviously didn't last long. The World's Longest Email might have been lengthier if not for the loud luncher's arrival.

The next seminar was more interesting, but still nothing to write home about. Alas, there were no tic-tac-toe partners, so I was stuck all by my lonesome. Sure, there was a large and offensively odiferous man sitting next to me, but I wouldn't have wanted to play Hangman with him even if he'd been so creative as to offer the chance.

The high point of the conference actually came after the conference was technically sort of over. I got to tour the Cordell house in Houston, which is constructed from shipping containers. The main house was interesting, but what really fascinated me was the small guest house nearby, which was still under construction. I spent more time in it than I did in the main house. It was also a pleasant experience because people kept seeing my name tag and that I work for Oldsmobile, and they kept saying things like, "Oh, wow! You work for Oldsmobile? He's so talented!" to which I would respond, "Yes, I'm very lucky."

Aside from getting greasy chorizo juice on my pristine white blouse, courtesy of the taco truck, it was a wonderful morning.

Um, Hello?

I think the firm for which I work is possibly one of the most laid-back offices on earth. No, we don't have a ball-pit or a nap room, but pretty much anything goes. Feel ill? Call in sick: sick days don't count against you. At all. If you're sick, you're sick, so don't spread your germs, just stay home.

I did not stay home. In fact, I worked all day. I was, for a while, once again, the only person in the office. Typically, I lock the door when I'm alone in there, but today, I forgot to do so, and as I sat in my cubicle - the farthest spot in the office from the front door - I heard a tentative female "Hello?" I called out "Lola?" thinking that the receptionist had returned. I thought incorrectly. It was a tile distributor's representative and her trusty (male) sidekick, and they had come to update our sample books.

Granted, she had to ask the name of the firm, because she wasn't 100% certain we were an architecture firm when she wandered in... She just figured that we were because - you know - there's a lot of architecture firms in the building. Small firms. That have only one newbie employee manning the whole office for a stretch of two or three hours.

Not that I mind. Being alone means I get to listen to whatever music I want - today was 60s lounge music day, for me - and I can stand at the window and watch the cars drive past for five minute stretches without interruption or being asked what I'm looking at. I can also dance on my way back to my cubicle to the fancy 60s lounge music complete with James Bond sound bytes and laugh out loud when I catch my reflection in the window of the plate glass.

It can also be eerie. Like when you're alone and the tile rep shows up. She was funny, though, and laughed when I joked about keeping the door locked when alone in the office in case suspicious people masquerading as tile reps decided to come case the joint.

Huh, she laughed at my joke... Maybe we should use her company's tile...

(Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons user Wamito, used under the Creative Commons Sharealike/Attribution license. Image may be found at http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Sardana_Ceramic_Tiles.JPG)

Abject Apologies

I would like to apologize most sincerely for failing to write an entry last night. I was distracted, you see, by a gingerman with a yen to play trivia games - not trivial games, mind you - at a bar, and really, how can a girl resist?

As a result of last night's shenanigans, I earned the nickname "Betel Nuts." No, it's not a sick reference to inappropriate acts committed with Beteljuice, but the name of a nut chewed by residents of the Middle East and the Subcontinent that has a stimulant effect - I believe it's a mild narcotic. Betel Nuts happened to be the answer to the question: Name the stimulant nut that, when chewed, will cause you to hawk red loogies.

I knew the answer. I was the only person in the bar who knew the answer. I feel smart, now.

I will be making a repeat appearance at the same bar next week.

That's "play," now on to work.

I've spent the past few days drafting interior elevations of the bathroom that's going into the house I'm working on. Yes, DAYS on this bathroom, changing joint lines in the limestone wall surface, adjusting reveals in the wood paneling on the bathroom walls (!), thickening walls so medicine cabinets can be tucked discreetly behind mirrors in the wall.

It's kind of tedious and it takes forever to do, but every hour I complete is an hour towards my Intern Development Program requirements. On top of that, I am learning a ton about how buildings fit together: all those little details that you don't learn in architecture school.

That's one of the things that is sort of overwhelming about my job: every little detail requires me to go through the construction drawings of a previous project to fish out the details so I know how my boss likes things done. And, as I said before, the school I went to was a "big picture" school; I've met several people who've all commented on the fact that my fellow graduates tend not to be the construction document people, but are placed straight into design departments.

That's what my alma mater groomed me to do: design, and hand off the Construction Documents to "plebes." That mind-set, although it creates competitive students with above-average design skills, can be detrimental in the workplace, because a psychological divide is set up between the Construction guys and the Design guys. So I'm glad that I'm now at a firm where I'm simultaneously designing and doing construction documents: I don't have to worry about losing my design "edge" but I'm also honing my decidedly dull technical skills.

(Creative Commons Attribution licensed image found at http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Village_People-01.jpg, courtesy of Flickr user Jackie... yeah, follow the links from Wikimedia to her page if you want more info)

I'm a Big Kid, Now!

I was informed this morning that I get to have my own project!

Sort of.

I will be designing the house for some Ranch Hands that must complement the newly designed main house on our clients' property. As Radio pointed out, "Yeah, the ranch manager and his wife will live there. Scary people. No teeth." I laughed. "I'm serious," he replied.

Neat.

So my first solo assignment is a dumbed down version of the big house, with a floor plan the client presented to Oldsmobile with the admonition that he not make it too fancy, because it's only the ranch hands' house. I guess it beats drawing interior elevations of the Master Closet for another project, although I was actually looking forward to detailing all the woodwork in the library.

I signed the application for my lease, today - did I mention I forgot to do that crucial step on the application I turned in Friday? - and tomorrow, I can either fax or drop off a copy in the mailbox of my pay-stub, which will corroborate the claims I made about my salary. The claims are all entirely true, as being accused of fraud and evicted from my apartment hold no attraction for me.

Last night, in typical OCD architect-designer fashion, I built a 3D model of my (hopefully) future apartment in SketchUp and experimented with furniture layouts. With some input from my mom, I think I came up with a floor plan to my liking. Now, I just have to hope that I get the apartment.

I am somewhat concerned, however, because it appears that the apartment I hoped to rent will not be the exact one I will get. It seems that the complex found someone to rent that one, and I will get a different one, currently lived in by another renter. This means I might not get the breathtaking view of Downtown that I coveted. I guess I'll live, but I don't even know which building I'll be in, now, or how close I'll be to the elevator. I think I'll call the leasing agent tomorrow to clarify the details.

Hopefully, I'm mistaken and misinterpreted what the not-my-normal-leasing-agent said, otherwise I might have to redo that 3D model. You know, because the fireplace might be in a different corner...

Busy Busy Bee

This week is hectic, for me. At least, it feels hectic.

Tuesday afternoon, I will be going to a client's home to study the architectural detailing. Her house was built by my employer a couple of years ago, and Oldsmobile considers it to be his "best house." I will be using some of the same details on my current project. I am also supposed to meet with The Boss to discuss the interior architectural details for the project on which I'm working.

Tuesday evening, I am having dinner with some family friends.

Wednesday afternoon, I have a meeting with my current clients, who are by all accounts a family of very tall people. The counters and doors in their houses are all taller than those in average homes for this reason. Apparently, one member of the family cannot walk through a standard 6'8" door without bonking his head. I am intrigued by the giant clients. Yes, that is intended to be a poor rhyme.

Wednesday evening, I intend to scout the locations of some apartments I've found on the Internet. I have a list written up in my purse, just waiting for me to go search them out.

Thursday evening, I am speaking at a charity fundraiser, at which I will be introduced to Brooke Shields. I speak often at events for the charity. As is to be expected, I am now obsessing over what I will wear. Because I am newly re-employed, and because I am trying to save money, I intend to recycle something I already own. I just don't know what I will be recycling, yet. I will also most likely have to change in the bathroom at work before I go, which will be interesting, unless I can get into the unused office space our firm leases to use it for a changing room. I think its blinds are semi-transparent, though.

I always cry when I speak at fundraisers, and I've been an emotional wreck lately, given multiple facts that have recently come to light, so I'll just have to make sure I have a pretty handkerchief with me when I speak. I cut some of the stuff that brings out the waterworks in me (I'm adapting a previously given speech), but I don't really know how to deliver a light-hearted speech about children with cancer and maybe-dying*. The gallows humor I employed to get me through the ordeal of having cancer doesn't play well in front of a crowd that doesn't know me, or my ghastly sense of humor.

I guess I just won't wear mascara on my lower lashes so I don't have to worry about it running.

*In case you didn't know, yeah, I had cancer as a teenager.

(Creative Commons Sharealike Licensed Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons user Ed Uthman may be found at http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Chronic_Lymphocytic_Leukemia.jpg)

Friday Happy Hour - The Gingerman

Friday was awesome. I was the first person at the office at 8:30. Oldsmobile showed up at 9, and the receptionist arrived soon after. The first half of the day working on interior elevations for the project I'm working on. Around 10:30, Olds left the office to go have lunch and take a nap. He told me I could leave if I ran out of work to do. I told him that Pacman had provided me with plenty of work, and he said, "Oh, okay," and went home.

I met some friends for lunch - they're all former coworkers - and we had a good time. It was miserably hot walking to the food court, though, and I felt like I was about to pass out by the time I got back to the air conditioned office. Trekking halfway across Downtown Dallas to gobble some Chik-Fil-A is nowhere near being fun when it's 97 degrees Fahrenheit. At least I got a respite by walking the last 1/3 in the shade of the highway underpass.

Around 2:30, after installing Office for Mac, fruitlessly attempting to set up my email using Entourage, and working on the aforementioned interior elevations, Oldsmobile came back to the office. To pick up his NetFlix. At this point, he all but ordered me to go home, and within thirty minutes of his near-command, I found myself emailing a friend to request his company while I imbibed pints of Ace Pear at a pub in Uptown.

The pub is called the Gingerman. My drinking companion is a gingerman. It all worked beautifully.

In fact, the rest of the day went just swimmingly, up until about 10 pm when, after picking my dad up at the airport - from his non-flight to Jordan via Chicago - and ingesting a delicious slab of prime rib courtesy of that wonderful gentleman, I was struck with a smashing headache. At that point, I realized that I had A) released quite a bit of sweat during my walk at lunch and during the outdoor pint-drinking session; B) I had ingested alcohol, which is not exactly re-hydrating; C) I had not compensated adequately for the purged water by drinking more.

You would think I would know better by now...

(Creative Commons licensed image courtesy of Flickr user Aidan-Sally may be found at http://www.flickr.com/photos/sally-aidan/3264829683/)

Another Day...

Another theoretical dollar. I can't wait for June 30, because then I'll be able to see what my paychecks will look like. And once I know for 100% certain the amount of moolah I'll be bringing home each pay period, I can adjust the lovely budget spreadsheet I developed to approximate my expenses, right down to the amount of money I shell out per month on hair products and dry-cleaning.

I love lists and spreadsheets. They make me happy.

Thursday, I broke away from the software tutorials to which my last three days have been devoted and actually did some work. This meant that I had to go pick up my computer from the guys that reformatted the hard drive for me, of course.

Consequently, the first thing I did once I got to work Thursday was to leave. I turned around, went to the seedy computer guys, received the computer from the claws of the tattooed and scantily clad receptionist, and returned to the office to hook it up.

I have never assembled a Mac before. It's incredibly easy. You sit it on a desk, plug X into Y, and Z into - erm - ZZ and then you turn it on. At this point, you realize that you don't have a keyboard, so you take one from the OLD SCHOOL Mac that sits unused and unloved on the end of a table, then you plug in your fancy schmancy new mouse, and you're ready to go!

At this point, you realize that - in the process of reformatting the hard drive - all of the local settings are gone. Also, the Microsoft Office programs are gone, and you can't figure out how to configure your email. And when is the guy that knows how to rectify these situations returning? Monday? Oh, okay. Well, you have your company email on your iPhone, anyways, so that's not really that big of a deal.

In reality, the real work I did Thursday amounted to about two hours of work, if that, because I started working on the new software, realized I didn't know how to do something, had to research to figure out why it wasn't working, yadda yadda yadda, and it was 5:30 and I had to leave to get my hair cut.

In other news: these guys trust me way too much. I will alone in the office with the receptionist tomorrow. No one else will be there, except maybe for Oldsmobile, who sometimes drops by on Fridays, but not often, and only when there's work to do, which there won't be for him tomorrow.

I also met with our rock star lighting designer. I mean that literally. He is in a punk band. And he's in his 40s.

I think I'm going to love this job.

New Job: Day Two

I am blessed beyond belief. Last night, I worked on tutorials for the insane drafting program I'll be using at the new job. I casually mentioned the fact in conversation with Radio, today, and he said, "Why in God's name would you do that? We're paying you to do the tutorials. Relax when you go home."

Consider it done.

Hopefully, I'll get my own computer tomorrow so I can connect the fancy-schmancy mouse I bought to it. It's ergonomic and laser guided and comes with a penthouse apartment. Ooooooh. Yes, the company is reimbursing me for the mouse.

It's always interesting to work in a new environment, mostly because of the people watching. There's a woman in the office building who wears tinted glasses, dyes her hair black, and wears her hair in two plaited pigtails. Throw on a black calico skirt and a grey sleeveless T-shirt, and you've got one serious alterna-chick. But wait! There's more! She wears a sunbonnet. I'm talking Little House on the Prairie, here. The bonnet is also black, with lovely white rick-rack trim. I have yet to see the bonnet on her head, as it always hangs by its ribbons down her back. I wonder if she wears it in the office so she can nap without anyone noticing? It's the only reason I can imagine.

For about an hour, today, I flew solo in the office. It was somewhat frightening, on multiple levels. First, I had just learned to transfer incoming calls to my coworkers' voice mail (I taught myself on the fly while Pacman was on the phone). Second, I was ALONE. I was a girl all alone in an office that is in an office building. And that building just lost its biggest tenant, from what I hear.

After an hour, the 200 year old principal - I think we'll call him Oldsmobile - returned to the office, and when I came out of my cubicle to see who it was, we ended up walking around in circles trying to catch up to one another. He told me to lock the office door next time I'm there alone, if I feel safer that way.

I think he could tell I was a little unsettled at being all by myself. Don't wanna be all by MYSELF. ANYMOOOOOOOOOOORE.

Eat your heart out, Celine Dion.

* Just in case any of you are wondering about why I pick the images I use - somebody asked me today - if you click on the image, it will open in its own window. Look at the end of the web-address, and the last words you see, separated by + signs, are the title of the image. There's a little clue for you. Actually. It's a big clue.

The image used is in the public domain, courtesy of the United States Guvmint.

First Day On The Job

Monday was my first day at the new architecture firm. It went incredibly well, which sort of surprised me. It mostly surprised me because I woke up every hour, on the hour, from 2:30 am Monday morning until 6:30 am, at which point I jumped out of bed, ate some cereal - something I don't think I've done since college - and got dressed.

The office opens officially at 9:00 am.

I arrived at the office building 40 minutes early.

And the only reason I wasn't 46 minutes early was because I took a roundabout way of getting to the building, via the Design District. I sat in my car and made a To Do List for a while, played a couple of games on the old iPhone, and finally decided to go in about 8:40, because I just couldn't stand it anymore.

My computer wasn't ready, but one of my coworkers, who I'll call Scooter, from now on - but not to his face - was on vacation, so I sat in his desk and familiarized myself with the project on which I'll be working using his Mac. I will be working with another fellow, who I'll call Pacman (if you can figure out why, I'll be impressed - and no, it's not dirty).

I was somewhat disappointed to learn that I won't be receiving the big fancy Mac; the senior associate at the firm gets that one. I'll be receiving the senior associate's old computer, after it returns from the computer guys that are wiping all the old files off it so I'll be working with a "clean slate." After seeing how HUGE the new Mac is, though, I'm kind of relieved: it's about the size of a 24" flat-screen TV, which is slightly overwhelming when it's 18" from your face. I already miss having two screens, like I did at my old job. I might have to remedy this by - um - imagining I have another one. Like Hades am I spending my hard-earned $$$$ on computer hardware, even if it does mean I can take it with me at a later date! Of course, in 3 months, I might rethink this position, but for right now, I'm keeping things as they are.

I'm about to start working on a couple of tutorials for the Building Information Modeling software we use. I already did one tutorial a month ago, but I just found the other quadrillion that the company posts - oops - so I spent a couple of hours working on those at the office, and I'm going to do some more tonight. It took about 2 hours to do one chapter of the tutorial, so it might turn out to be a long night. Not that I'll do the whole thing, but I do intend to do at least one more chapter before all is said and done.

I think the senior associate needs a nickname, too... I think Radio fits the bill!

Public Domain image may be found at http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Philco_radio_model_PT44_front.jpg)

I Haven't Had This Much Angst...

...since I was a teenager. I am trying to put it aside in order to concentrate on how cute I'll look tomorrow and how happy I will be to wear "work clothes" again.*

In lieu of moaning and groaning about how nervous I am and how certain I am that I'll be a complete and total failure for the rest of my life, I will cover Friday's Happy Hour, since I've been somewhat remiss in covering Happy Hour regularly.

The first part of Happy Hour took place at The Opening Bell, a coffee shop cum bar cum sandwich shop cum music lounge in the ground floor of the Mosaic Building in downtown Dallas. It is probably a much better coffee shop/sandwich place than it is a bar, since their beer selection is lacking. They served bottled Guinness, and not the good Extra Stout kind that is meant to be drunk from the bottle, but the Draught variety. And the widget in my bottle was broken, so it wasn't properly aerated. I switched to Shiner Bock, after the first bottle of Guinness proved to be a disaster. I have a hunch not many people go to the place to drink.

If you want to pretend to be classy, you can buy wine by the glass or by the bottle.

After being there for a beer or two, I decided that skipping dinner was not such a grand idea, after all, so I went to buy a brownie or a scone, which is all that I could see. It was at this point that the oh so helpful bearded cashier informed me that they serve sandwiches, too! The sandwich was fresh, made with yummy Romaine lettuce and juicy, flavorful tomatoes (I ordered the turkey and cheddar, in case you're wondering). The croissant was okay, but definitely not the worst I've had.

The reason we went to The Opening Bell - which bills itself as Coffee Music Stocks - was because of the music aspect. A friend of a friend was singing that night. So far as intimate venues go, it's a pretty good one. Sadly, the two female singers sounded almost exactly the same, and both had the same Indie Folk music sound. Even their first names were similar! As with many local/unknown musicians, most of the songs sounded the same.

About halfway through the second performer's set - okay, a sixth of the way through - we all sort of gave up on the "attentive audience" performance we were giving and quickly devolved into a bunch of gaggle of giggling yahoos.

* For the record, I will be wearing a short-sleeved white button-up blouse with an olive drab high-waisted pencil skirt, brown flats, and a wide brown belt. You know, just in case you care.

The image used is in the Public Domain, but was originally published as the cover of Classic Comics in December of 1943. The illustration is by Lilian Chesney. Thanks to Wikimedia Commons contributor Chordboard for scanning it!

Time to Get Crackin' !

I have an incredibly "full plate" these days... and yet I seem to have almost no motivation to tackle the things I need to do. For instance:

1) I need to get to work on the side-business I've got in the works. I know I need to do this. I'm just a wee bit overwhelmed with everything that goes into doing it, so I put it off, then say "I'll do it tomorrow" when that's the same thing I said yesterday. All the job-change anxiety is affecting my ability to concentrate.

2) I need to keep practicing the program I'll be using at my new job. This also has fallen somewhat by the wayside, but seeing as I'll be given some instruction in this once I start work, it's sort of OK. Not really, though.

3) I need to redo my portfolio, retake the GRE, etc... I'm having difficulty getting started with all of these things, however. Part of it is the overwhelming sense of "I have to redo my portfolio, which took me 6 months to put together last time around." Granted, most of the ground work for my portfolio has been accomplished, and it will now be a matter of editing down the text, being more selective with images, and including fewer pages. And reformatting. But that's still a whole lot of work to do. Oy.

In brighter news, I've begun working with an apartment locator in Dallas. She's actually pretty good. It's one of those things where they either move your stuff or they give you money if you sign a lease with one of the properties and put their name on all of the necessary forms. Either way, it sounds good to me.

Last time I moved to Dallas, I wanted a place with character and charm. What I got was an apartment with no insulation, huge heating bills, a communal washer/dryer that never worked, fleas, and flying cockroaches. Oh, and a landlady that didn't respond to my calls about the fleas and flying cockroaches.

Now, I want a place with washer/dryer connections for the full-size washer and dryer I own, lots of insulation, and a location near my new workplace. All of which will cost me more than my previous apartment, but with a much smaller salary. Neat. Fortunately, my apartment locator is being helpful. I have also harnessed the power of the Internet to look at some apartments, which I told her about (she'd left them off the list), and which she is following up on so she can get back to me.

I've honestly got my hopes up about a couple of the places, possibly too high up, in fact. I will blame this on the apartment locator, though, because I can't see how there could possibly be a 1-bedroom 1-bath with den apartment in Downtown for less than $700 per month. But if there is, and if I get to lease it, I will send the apartment locator flowers.

And just in case you're wondering, locator is apparently not included in Blogger's spellcheck function, although locator's is included...

Oops...

I forgot to write a post for Tuesday (Wednesday?). C'est la vie, n'est pas?

And that is the extent of the French I learned in college.

I start my job Monday, and I'M SCARED TO DEATH.

"Why?" you may ask.

1) I haven't worked in over 6 months, now. That's a long time-out from "the real world."

2) I will be taking on responsibilities never before encountered in their fullest.

a) I will be writing specs (the document that tells the contractor what exactly will be used in the house, i.e. type of windows/doors, sinks, etc...). I have a very small amount of experience with specs, but that was several years ago, and I haven't touched them since. Can I do it? Of course. Am I nervous about doing it? You betcha.

b) I will be expected to take on a project of my very own at some point, from start to finish. This will be awesome from the point of view that I'll get Intern Development Hours under the Project Management category, but it's a lot of stuff I've never before encountered.

3) I'm going to be judged. This is a given, no matter where you're working. Your first few weeks/months are spent trying to give a good impression of yourself to your coworkers without coming across as a self-satisfied jerk. It's kind of like a protracted interview, where you have to impress people, but not make them want to throw you through the plate-glass window.

4) I'll be learning new software. I have some experience with the programs, but only because I downloaded a free trial, so I won't be flying blind... just flying without my glasses*.

5) I have limited experience in important areas. Construction Documents (CDs), for instance. At my old job, our Design Development documents were usually pretty darn close to CDs, but not quite there. I did CDs at one of my internships, but it was mostly just picking up other people's mistakes, all spelled out for me. I've never put together a set of CDs by myself, let alone a set of CDs for a single-family residential project. I intend to spend a fair amount of time going through the new employer's old CDs to see what they expect. Of course, I told my interviewers in during my interview (redundant) that my weak point was CDs, so hopefully they'll understand that I'll be going through a significant learning curve.

Hopefully, this will be one of those "Happily Ever After" situations, and I'll catch on really quickly and get a raise in December (keep those fingers crossed, people). But if not... maybe Starbucks will have an opening.

* Okay, I'm legally blind in one eye without my glasses, so I WOULD be flying half-blind.

Fraught Nerves And New Shoes

I bought a pair of shoes to wear Thursday morning with my follow-up salary-negotiation outfit.  It was not a superfluous purchase, because the shoes they replaced are so worn that the shoe repair guy shook his head and made clucking noises and shrugged his shoulders when I asked him if he could fix them.

"No, no.  No fixing of them," he said in his heavy Russian accent.    So now I have a new pair of shoes with heels even higher than their predecessors, which is almost always a good thing.

Wednesday evening, I was supposed to discuss a business strategy with my sister.  I have the idea for a potentially profitable side-business, and I need some help setting it up.  The name is already registered, and all that jazz, but I also have:

1.  No defined business plan

2.  No list of potential clients

3.  No list of trade organizations representing those clients

4.  No clear idea of where to begin.

I do, however, have a ton of receipts from purchases I've made relative to the start up, so I'd better get this thing in gear so I can put them to use on my taxes.

My brilliant older sister - who, you will remember, is also an incredibly gourmet cook - was supposed to talk to me tonight about business strategy.  However, her gourmet life was seriously inconvenienced when her not-so-gourmet refrigerator/freezer died, leaving her with enormous amounts of ruined free range meats and organic vegetables.

Oy.

I spoke to her on the phone, and tried to cheer her up by pointing out that she can now get one of those spiffy refrigerators with French doors that she's been coveting.

This tactic did not work.

I then launched into what I had hoped would be a stirring rendition of Monty Python's "Always Look on the Bright Side of Life" (dee do, di do do do di do).  When my (not-so-stirring) performance failed at brightening her outlook, I gave up.

If Monty Python can't do it, nobody can.

(Creative Commons Licensed Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons)

Drumroll, Please!

BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR-CHING!

I HAVE A JOB.

Yes, folks, that's right: the firm with which I interviewed a couple of weeks ago called today and informed me that they'd like to hire me.  I go in to the office Thursday to discuss salary and the day I'll begin and all that mumbo-jumbo.

I've been doing internal cartwheels since about 5:00 when the younger interviewer (who still isn't exactly young) called to apologize for not calling me sooner and asked me to come in.  So Thursday morning at 10:00, I will be at their offices to talk about the aforementioned details.

Of course, now I want desperately to move back to my old neighborhood.  I've been indulging in apartment looking via Internet since just after I returned from a victory dinner at Patrizio's (almond-crusted trout, mmmmm).  Part of me says, "You'll have a job, you can tough it out for the next 14 months until you go to grad school."  Still, another part of me is screaming, "Run!  Run for your life!  And this time get an apartment with a washer-dryer hookup!"  I'm conflicted, and so am keeping my apartment search low-key and not calling apartment complexes (yet).

In true Ms. StrainedConsciousness fashion, I have figured out what I will wear to the "detail discussion" (almost: not 100% on the shoes) and will drop off some new work-ready pants at the tailor's tomorrow to have the pocket openings permanently sewn shut and the excess pocket material removed.  You know, to prevent unsightly pocket-lines.

Everyone does that, right?