'bus boy, bartender, ladies of the night, grease monkey, ex-junkie, winner of the fight'

I'm not sure which, if any of those, job titles might be on The Husband Formerly Known as Unemployed's new business cards (though, since the strongest thing he drinks is skim milk, it's probably safe to scratch 'bartender'), but I am very happy to say that today, said husband is, at this moment, four minutes into his brand new job!

Let's pause for a row of exclamation points, shall we?

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Phone call for an interview came late Monday night. Two interviews took place Tuesday. Job offer came late Tuesday night. New job starts today (seven weeks to the moment he lost his last one, but who's counting, asked the girl whose been counting for seven weeks...)

Is it a great job? Don't know yet.
Is the pay comparable to what he had been making? Will be.
Can I get used to him being home every night? Time will tell.
Do we have dental insurance? No.
Will I without question develop a mouth full of cavities because I'm actually supposed to be at the dentist at this very moment but had to cancel said appointment and of course I have been stress eating some Snickers? Probably.

BUT WHATEVER! The important thing here is JOB!

And coming up with a new blog nickname for my husband.

(I'm not particularly fond of Khaki Pants and Sensible Shoes Wearing Man, but that would be fitting today)(also don't love Carrying His Lunch in a Cooler Guy)

Thanks for all your good thoughts and well wishes. Honestly, if I can be greedy, I'd ask for them to stay in your rotation because now we're 10 minutes into his new job and it's still too early to tell if it will be soul sucking.

But even if it is...well, we'll deal with that it if happens. For now hooray!

EXCLAMATION POINT!!!!!!!

'ha ha ha bless your soul'

Yesterday at the bookstore, I helped a gentleman who wished to purchase two copies of the Guinness Book of World Records. Before he placed his purchase on the counter, he informed me he'd be paying with cash and I assured him that would be a delight. Then he informed me he wanted me to keep his purchases because he had to use the rest room. I had no way of knowing if that, too, would be a delight, but I let him know his books were safe with me until his return.

Several minutes later, he made that return. As I handed him his bag, our hands briefly touched, our eyes met and locked, and I knew in an instant, I'd found my soul mate.

Not really. If you know the meet cute story of my husband and I, you already know he and I met years ago at a Barnes and Noble, so I'm now off limits to random dudes purchasing world record books.

Our hands did brush against each others,though, and while I didn't fall in love, of course, I did wonder if he'd washed those paws upon completing any and all bathroom duties he'd been away doing, which, if you recall from two paragraphs ago, was for several minutes. It was when we pulled away from each other, though, when the fun began.

"I am a very famous engineer," the man informed me.

"Oh?" I responded.

"Yes," he continued. "When I was a child, I drew the space shuttle on a launch pad and NASA used my designs as part of the space program."

"Oh?" I responded, but truth is, I was thinking "Uh oh..."

"Yes," he continued. "Also, I created a variety of different bar code systems, including ones used for different security companies, the government, and as well as by McDonald's for their Happy Meals."

"Sounds like you've led an incredibly diverse life," I said, noticing now that the man was outfitted in some type of jumpsuit made from what appeared to be reinforced blue tissue paper, which may have explained why it took him so long in the bathroom...and that's the explanation I'm going with because I've been made aware of OTHER things that have taken place in the men's room at the bookstore and I care not to think that this man might have been involved in such business because, let me remind you, our hands touched for an uncomfortable number of minutes.

"Somewhere out there, there's a trust that's been established in my name, and when I find it, I know there will be enough money contained within to wipe out the entire national debt," my guest continued.

"Well, when you find that trust, maybe you'd want to come back here and find me and maybe give me some of that money!" I said with a chuckle.

He just looked at me like I was crazy.

frustrated, incorporated

So where were we?

I hope you're somewhere far more fun and lucrative than I am at the moment. Still. I could blame my lack of writing here on the usual things. Kids have kept me busy. Insomnia's been rocking my nights. Work's been crazy. I mean, life, right?? Sheesh!

Truth is, though, I just didn't feel right coming here and boring you. If this were the old days of blogging when people had music players installed to subject (which is just another word for 'share') readers to their favorite tunes when clicking over to their site (though let it be known I never, ever did this!)(and which, oh, honey, if you're still doing that, you have to stop, yes, you absolutely do), you'd arrive here to an orchestra of sad trombones. Sad trombones and maybe a GIF of that Nazi whose face melts off at the end of "Raiders of the Lost Ark," which, by the way, I'm giving you because it's the right thing to do. Consider it the first step I can make in paying forward all the good things that have come our way in the past five weeks (Happy trombone!).

(also? no more parenthetical remarks for the rest of this post!)

Long story short, we're awesome!

Ha.

Ha ha ha ha ha ha (::gasps for air::)(that technically doesn't count in my earlier disclaimer) hahahahahahahahahahahahaha!

It's five weeks in and I think we're slipping a bit from optimism to straight up worry, and maybe it's too early for that, but no, I think not. There's been some interviews, some odd jobs, and a hearing on unemployment benefits that were contested by Needs A Job Man's former employer. We're waiting on a positive outcome on that matter.

I've been doing some side gigs for our church that involves writing and designing pamphlets and flyers. My only restraints are I can't curse, natch, and I must do all the work in Word, so sky really is the f'n limit there! Additionally, I put on my sad kitty eyes and approached the managers at the bookstore about working some additional hours since this is our only true source of income at the moment. That's worked out for the past two weeks, then comes to a screeching halt next week when I will cash a paycheck that, if I stretch, might reach 10 hours. Believe me when I say it's hard to jot your work schedule down through a cloudy film of tears.

I can't believe this can go on forever, of course. However, I also can't believe I'd come home every afternoon of late to find Needs A Job Man plopped on the couch watching "Dr. Oz," but that's happening. The only good thing about that is, well, for one, at least it's not "Dr. Phil," and two, when I join him, he's able to fill me in on the good man of medicine's idea for some weird spice of supplement that will help rid me of my stress-induced belly fat, to which I say how dare you make reference to my belly fat!

For the record, I don't have stress-induced belly fat. I laugh in the face of stress! I shall have none of you, I say! I shall also have none of this money in my checking account as I pay this month's bills! Begone cash! Join stress in the Great Not Having!

OK, the truth is I've recently discovered that going on the Job Loss Weight Loss (that's mine, don't steal it) Program is really doing wonders for my physique. Another few months of this and I predict I'll finally look like Kelly Ripa, which is all I've ever really wanted.

Well, that and a hundred million dollars, one to two more babies, and, yes, a job for my husband, if for no other reason than he needs a new blog nickname.

And because I want cash to come back. I miss you, cash (::sighs wistfully::)

(oh, come on! did you really think I wasn't going to go without another parenthetical remark?!)

anonymous

Thank you.

Thank you, anonymous.

I honestly don't know if you are out there, living somewhere in the world beyond my computer screen, but if you are, thank you. Your encouraging words for me, carefully crafted so as not to give anything about yourself away to me no matter low long I wracked my brain, are words I'm tucking into my bag and carrying with me to retrieve and review when the day forces me to. The kindness you shared with me and my family is overwhelming and appreciated. So very appreciated.

So, thank you, anonymous. If it was you and you are out there, please know I'm grateful.

i believe it was kanye west who said, 'N-n-now that that don't kill me can only make me stronger'

So here we are, just over a week into Unemployment Beard Watch 2012, and it's coming in quite nicely. Oh, not MINE! Mine is still a bit sparse, but last night I did pluck a white hair from my jawline that was so long I briefly considered spinning it into a cozy blanket we could huddle under should our heat get turned off because we couldn't pay the bill.

Oh, I kid, of course. I refuse to believe things will get that bad. Mostly because I don't know how to crochet. Thank heaven for our mild winter so far!

(I wish I was kidding about that hair, though. Seriously, it was so freakishly long, I figure if we don't have work by November, I could pick up a part-time gig as a mall Santa)

Just before our world exploded last week, I was preparing to write a 'woe is me, nothing made me happy this week, wah wah wah' post. Boo hoo, I was diagnosed with my very first bladder infection. Oh, yeah? Well your baby boy turned 10, too. Double digits. How's that make you feel? Pretty sad, huh? Well guess what? BOOM! Let's get fired (clap, clap, clapclapclap!)! That's a kick in the gonads, gut, and teeth, but you better duck because, whoops! No insurance!

We're still in the process of figuring things out. The hours remaining for the lying bastards He Who Shall Not Be Called Tool Man Any Longer once worked for to contest his unemployment benefits are waning. We're waiting on a DHS appointment for assistance, and options are being explored. In the meantime, the garage I once loathed because it harbored box after box of crap from his employer is being cleaned out (we seriously celebrated finding 23 pennies on the floor, but not nearly as much as we did a few days later when Unemployed Man plucked a dollar from the snow at church Sunday. God provides!)

I'm looking for a second job, and hope to take on a short term writing job with our church. Neither option is going to make us financially comfortable during this transition period, but we're doing everything we can think of.

We're also appreciating all the kindness and good thoughts being given to us. If nothing made me happy last week, this week has been overwhelming, starting with the stranger I approached to help at the store last Thursday who insisted I enjoy a free Godiva chocolate bar she'd purchased ("I will take this home and feed it to my family, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory-style!" I cried)(Not really. I did cry, though. Damn, last week was rough.). That sort of kindness has continued this week Friends and family have delivered bags of groceries and dog food to our door, and slipped money into my purse. The words and prayers all of you (welcome, strangers!) offered me mean a lot, too, and I regret not having the emotional stamina to thank you all personally. Please know I do, and if you have more - or, better yet, a job! - I will appreciate them, as well.

I still cry a lot, don't get me wrong, but when I'm done, I look at what our family and friends have stepped in to do and I am determined to pay it back AND pay it forward when we once again can.

I just hope it's soon. I thought I was already strong, but clearly I'm not strong enough because I feel like I'm carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders.

(But at least they'll be warm, thanks to this chin hair shawl...)

'and when you think you've had enough of this life...'

...your husband will walk in the door an hour after you thought he was leaving for a three night work stint and inform you he's been fired.

Fired.

And other words that start with the letter 'F.'

And also no insurance.

Two kids.

One house.

Lots of tears.

It feels like this life never ends.

'let's all get up and dance to a song that was a hit before your mother was born'

When I was growing up, my bedroom was a purple shrine to all things Duran Duran. Every square inch of the four walls was covered with posters purchased from Coach House Gifts and pinups extracted with surgical precision from BOP magazine. I believe it's safe to say every girl who came of age in the 1980s who had a pulse probably lived in a bedroom like mine.

During the course of my obsession, which is, I'm not going to lie, still sort of with me, my mother was forced to listen to 'Rio' more times than should be legal under some sort of UN treaty. Every time she'd enter my room, she'd ask, "Now, which one is Simon?" and "How come three of them have Taylor for a last name, but they're not related?" and I'd answer "My future husband" and "Some weird twist of fate," and then further educate her on these and all other things pop culture, and I was sure I'd done a pretty good job teaching her. Before I moved away, my mother was aware of Madonna and knew that we shouldn't make eye contact any time she passed by my room as Prince's "Darling Nikki" was blaring from the stereo. I was proud of the pop culture student she'd become.

Cut to this week when mom stopped by my house to give me something she'd found in my old bedroom.

That is an old Nike ad I yanked from a magazine and taped to the back of my childhood bedroom door sometime during my late teens, aka 'The Seriously Angsty Years (Prior To Those Presently Being Experienced).' That, my friends, was the last bastion of my old life, preserved for lo these many years and never uncovered until just recently because my mother no longer has the pleasure of living with a teenage daughter who slams her bedroom door shut in bitter defiance to whatever injustice she feels is being handed her.

(That wasn't me, though. I was the eager to please first born good child.)

Anyway, I couldn't figure out why mom was giving this to me. It's just an old ad, I told her. You could have just tossed this. "I was going to," she replied. "But then I turned it over and, well, I know how much you like the Beatles, so I thought I'd bring it by and let you decide what you want to do with it."

This is what's pictured on the other side:

Ladies and gentlemen - THE BEATLES!!

I think the one in the middle is Paul. The haircut is reminiscent, at the very least. I also think I failed my mom in all things pop culture. Although how a woman who should have experienced life during the height of Beatlemania is this confused is beyond me. If I had a guitar, it would probably gently weep. Perhaps this ad was inspired by the Abbey Road album cover.

Regardless of my failings, I loved that woman when she was 64, and I still do now that she's 66. She makes me happy. Also crazy and exhausted and overwhelmed and irritated and delighted, but mostly happy. So do these other things:

• Swimming (if for no other reason than it forces me to shave my legs)
• Finding my INXS Live Baby Live DVD while cleaning and wasting the rest of the afternoon watching it because gah! And swoon! That sea of bodies freaks me out.
• Stumbling across Improv - Ice Starring Styx on TV this weekend. Figure skating to the music of Styx as performed by the remaining member(s) of Styx? Bring me the cheese!
• The kind elderly lady who, when I found a book for her today, said, "Cool. Bless your heart!" I needed that.
• Additionally, the young woman who asked "Where is your erotica?" The word 'erotica' makes me skeevily happy.
• Saving a ton with coupons. I'm not extreme, but I'm damn efficient.
• Speaking of my mom, the way she pronounces 'quesadilla.' She doesn't pronounce it as it should be, but rather she's straight up Napoleon Dynamite-style when she says it, and she doesn't even realize she's wrong! I love it.
• Finally, and without remorse, giving up on The Jersey Shore. No more!
• Finishing 'The Leftovers' by Tom Perrotta. It's not erotica, but it's good.