To the One... (again)

To the one who hand-stuffs blue cheese olives for my martinis when he can't find them at the grocery store (and when our wedding reception venue falls through seven days before our wedding)...

To the one who now cuts the grass wearing shoes instead of flip-flops because he knows how much I worry he's going to chop his toes off...

To the one who wakes up with a smile EVERY morning (and does a morning dance that makes me laugh when I'm in a bad mood), even after a bad night's sleep when his neck, back, and head hurt...

To the one who brings flowers when he picks me up from the airport at all hours of the night...

To the one who argues with me about why "a little bit of peanut butter" isn't bad for Baron...

To the one who ALWAYS puts others first...

To the one who smiles when his bachelor fishing trip gets ruined by 90 foot seas and doesn't get mad when opening day of snapper season is deemed more important than his wedding day...

To the one who will go with me to see girly movies (and fall asleep and then swear he didn't)...

To the one who has my back, no matter what...

To the one who does the cooking (and a damn fine job at it too!)...

To the one who loves to sing because it "makes him happy"...

To the one who is so tough, but has the sweetest heart that is bigger than the universe...

To the one who I am lucky enough to have the honor of marrying in exactly seven days...  I love you and can't wait to become your wife - no matter where it is, or who is there - HAPPY BIRTHDAY to my perfect one!!!

xoxo

What I've been doing...

Long story short, CRAFTS.  Crafts out the ass.  Lane is about to divorce me before we even get married.  Here is a teensy glimpse into some wedding projects.  And yes, I made ALL of this stuff.  It looks kinda random and sparse, but I have a vision.  Bear with me people.

bouquets and boutineers for my peeps - rolled paper flowers and kusudama flowers

 

a.k.a. time consuming.

handmade pinwheels favors/decorations/send off thingies

I made lots of these on New Years Eve, so if yours doesn't spin or is crooked/hot glued together, it may or may not have been made after 5,000 several cocktails.

I am almost embarrased to say how ridiculously easy this was - especially when I know how much people pay for them on ETSY...  seriously thrilled with how it turned out.  I am now just hanging my work clothes on it.  I kid, I kid.

I made these - along with the cornhole boards - for our engagment photos that were taken last Friday (the 13th).  And yep, they're regulation size and weight.  Filled with 16 oz of pinto beans each.  Sidenote:  Baron will eat raw pinto beans that may happen to fall on the floor after escaping your funnel.

More props for the engagement photos

Part of the ceremony decor...  pretty easy too.

 



These what I like to call a little bit of a "repurpose" project.  I say "these"...  in this pic you can't tell that there are actually two.  Duh Katie.



And this is just a pic from a precious bar that we visited over our Christmas "break" in St. Augustine.  They only serve three types of Sangria, wine, and hot chocolate.  It was sorta perfect.

And this is the first "sneak peek" picture from the engagement photo shoot.  Can't even tell that it's 15 degrees outside. 

(p.s. Made the kite too.)

Diary of a Man of War Sting

What an absolutely insane 4 months this has been.  I know I have an incredible amount of catching up to do...  and it was one of my New Year's resolutions to keep up with the blog better.  I forget how fun it is for me to go back and read all this and remember exactly what was going on at that particular moment.  And I KNOW the majority of the posts will be hilarious years from now - you know, when we're rich and pampered and live in a 5,000 square foot Mediterranean influenced waterfront palace of my design, of course.  As Lane says, "nothin' to it but to do it", so here we go.

So to start with, from one of my last posts (4.5 months ago) I mentioned a man of war sting and a kitchen remodel that would be "another post".  Yeah well, this is that post.  Let's start with the piece of shit man of war.

It was a typical end of the summer Wednesday for us.  Our one day off together during the week and the weather was amazing, so fishing we went!  On this particular day we went to Amelia Island State Park because our favorite (Hugenot) was closed for some bird mating season or something.

We'd been out on the beach a while and the fish had just started to bite.  I remember that specifically because Lane had just caught some bait fish and I was stepping into the water to fill up the bucket for them when it happened. 

To anyone that has been stung by a jellyfish...  don't even start.  I've been stung by jellyfish.  Like a million times, in fact.  This is NOT a jellyfish sting.  A jellyfish sting is a pleasant tickle compared to the horror of a man of war sting.  In fact, I would have PAID to have a jellyfish sting me over this insanely gut wrenching, make-me-cry-so-hard-I'm-going-to-vomit type of pain. 

And the real bitch of it is that I was in water as deep as the sting goes up on my ankle.  Out of how many BAJILLIONS of miles of shoreline, I stepped directly into this entangling trail of man of war tentacles.  The pain was so intense and so instant, that the second my ankle hit the water, my vision went black and I fell to the ground.  I screamed a blood curdling scream and immediately began to cry hysterically.  It is such an insane feeling and it is very difficult to explain, but I'll give it my best shot...  It feels like a combination of an electric shock (because it literally does jolt your entire body), a milllion needles dipped in lava, annnnnd maybe acid?  And it feels like a net.  Like whatever is hurting you may be all over your entire body and you don't know what to do to get it off.  And it's instant.  It's not like when you cut yourself or something and it takes a few seconds for the pain to really set in.  My foot hit the water, and my ass hit the ground.  Instant.  Yeah.  I think that's as accurate as I can get. 

So as I'm sitting on the beach (still unable to see) grabbing my ankle, Lane is beyond confused because he can't see anything on me, and I'd literally only had one foot in the water.  I think between sobs I managed to say something about "sting" and he looked down at my ankle and furiously started pulling off long, stringy, clear tentacles that had completely swallowed my ankle, and in places had wrapped all the way up my calf.  Is it calf?  Calve?  Neither one look right.  My leg. 

I was crying so hard and the pain wouldn't stop and we were in a panic.  Lane thought that I was about to go into shock, because I literally was sobbing so much that I was close to throwing up.  My whole leg was throbbing (and itching!) and burning and the only thing I could think to do was to rub sand all over it.  And I mean I buffed that bitch down like I was getting ready to apply a new coat of stain.  Word to the wise should you find yourself in this position:  DO NOT RUB SAND ON IT.  We'll get to the exact reason why in just a bit, but long story short, it makes the sting much worse and it is highly unadvisable.  Lane was feverishly Googling remedies... any thing basic (meat tenderizer - which wouldn't you know it, we just didn't happen to have in our beach bag!) or anything acidic (pee, coffee - we had both) is supposed to be the ticket to reducing the pain. 

This is the disgusting concoction that I soaked my leg in for about 2 hours.  Well, long enough to let the pain subside enough to where I could even entertain the idea of moving/standing again.  It is a mixture of melted ice ("they" also do not recommend putting ice on the sting - it's the only thing that really made mine feel better, so what the hell ever), coffee, salt water, and tobacco.  We didn't know what else to do.  Sidenote:  we now have meat tenderizer in the toolbox of Lane's truck.

SO, after an hour or so, I finally stopped crying and could locomote enough to get back in the truck and head home.  That night SUCKED.  My whole leg throbbed and was itchy and just uncomfortable.  Over the next few days as it started to heal (or so I thought), whenever I'd stand for more than a minute or two in the same place, my foot, ankle, and leg all would start to tingle and go numb.  Sometimes I would even get jolts of what felt like electric shock in my toes.  And just for reference of how serious this shit actually is, this happened just over six months ago and my foot and ankle STILL tingle and go numb from time to time.  Apparently - thanks to Google - I now know that the nematocytes in the tentacles can do nerve damage.  Man of wars can even kill people.  I know that most everyone who knows me thinks that I'm a major over-reactor (my parents call me "Bette Davis"), but this one was legit! 

A few days later I thought that I was in the clear.  My leg appeared to be healing up nicely, and although I had a newfound respect (and petrifying fear) of the ocean, I was going to be just fine. 

Cut to exactly one week later.  The freakin' ITCHINNNNNNNNNNNG started.  And it wouldn't stop.  I tried Benadryl, Benadryl cream, I tried giving in and just clawing the shit out of my leg.  Nothing would make the itching stop.  It felt like it wasn't even my skin that itched.  It felt like it was about the 2 layer of muscle that was itching and no matter what I did I couldn't get to it.  After several hours of being tortured by poison ivy of the muscle, I concluded that we had a problem.  It was late, so we decided that we'd get up and go to one of those "minute clinic" things in CVS bright and early the next morning.  Well fuck CVS.  We walk up to the pharmacy - I'm clearly in agony - and ask the pharmacist what we should do.  This bitch (clearly annoyed that we are bothering her with our trivial situation) says, "Benadryl or go to the doctor".  And turns and walks away.  UHHHHH EXCUSE ME?!  We just told you that I've been eating Benadryl like M&M's for the last 12 hours and it's not touching the thing.  I understand that you're busy, and I KNOW you're not a doctor, but if you don't want to do the "minute clinic" portion of the job then go somewhere else.  Or CVS, stop advertising it as some big wonderful thing!  I'm really pissed at CVS right now anyway because they recently screwed up some calendars I printed for Christmas at the photo lab, so overall, done with CVS.  Anyway, I digress.  So basically the minute clinic was just a minute of bullshit and wasted time.

I tried to say that I didn't need to go to the doctor and tough it out.  Number one, I didn't want to spend the money on a doctor visit, and number two, I didn't want to spend my and Lane's day off together and the frickin urgent care all day.  We went to eat lunch and by the time we were done I couldn't take it any more.  This is what my leg looked like.  A WEEK later...

Slightly less than ideal.  All of those grody little bumps are where the nematocytes had embedded into my skin - because of the FUCKING SAND that I fiercely scrubbed all over it - and as they started to "heal" and come out of my skin, they all fired off their handy little stinging/itching/nerve damaging things again.  Perfect.  To the urgent care we go. 

Suprisingly, the urgent care place was awesome.  We were in and out in 40 minutes and for less than $100.  The diagonosis?  "Infected Man of War Sting".  Really?  I mean is this even a THING?  Has this even happened to anyone else ever in the history of LIFE, or is this my amazing knack for ridiculous injuries rearing it's ugly tentacles again?  For cryin' out loud.  They gave me two prescriptions - one for the itching, and one antibiotic horse pill - and I had to take them both for ten days. 

doesnt' look like much in the picture, but it felt like swallowing a canned ham

As it started to heal more and more, I wondered, "is this m-effer going to SCAR?"  Well, here we are 6 months later... 

Guess I need to get some Mederma up on this biotch before June...  Oh yeah, that's another thing.  We got engaged on October 15th and we're getting married June 2, 2012.  The engagment story (also a classic) will be another post.  It may be 5 months after the wedding, but it's gonna happen.

Until then, don't forget to pack the meat tenderizer!

It Always Happens On a Friday...

Why oh why oh why is it ALWAYS on Friday?  I'll never understand it.  So rude.

Well, I guess I should have seen it coming, since it was just mere days ago when I went and opened my big. fat. freakin. mouth.  You might remember this post when I discussed at great length how much I absolutely ADORE my new job.  Yeah.  Keep all that in mind for this next part.

For whatever reason - call it a premonission, message from God, women's intuition - I decided last week that I needed to volunteer to help my company out of a jam at our Orlando branch.  Apparently since the designer who trained me for my job in Jacksonville went out on her four month maternity leave (and YES, she deserves every single second of a four month break for how hard she busted her ass up until she was literally 9 months pregnant) everything in Orlando went to hell in a handbasket with a quickness. 

They had designers coming from all over the state to try to cover the massive backlog of buyers piling up in Orlando - but none of the other designers are trained on the system that my builder uses.  It just made sense for me to be the one to go to Orlando to help out, but they were trying not to ask me since I am still pretty much a newbie.  And the only reason I hadn't volunteered initally was because Orlando is NOT my magic kingdom - I pretty much loathe it - and also volunteering would mean that I'd be away from home, and more importantly, away from my boys, two days a week.

But alas, I just randomly got this overwhelming feeling in my gut last week that volunteering to help out was just what I needed to do.  You know those feelings that you get?  Like it's not necessarily something you want to do, but you just know that you need to?  It was that. 

So Lane and I talked and agreed that it wouldn't be ideal, but it would only be for a few months and would be a great chance to step up to the plate for my new company - and it might even be nice to have a little "extra" cash flow to boot! 

The next day I talked to my regional manager and, much to his sheer delight and elation, I volunteered to work in Orlando Monday and Tuesday of every week for the next four months.  I think his exact words when I asked if he'd like me to come down to help out were, "SHIT YEAH!"  So even though I knew it'd be tons of work and long hours and lots of driving, I felt really good about doing it.

Friday morning I was in a great mood.  Things had been rocking right along at the design center in Jacksonville and my schedule was managable enough to work two days in Orlando and three days in Jacksonville with no problems.  Lane and I were going out of town that afternoon for a friend's wedding in ATL, so we were excited about that.  And also it was "Spirit Day" at work - which basically meant we were getting a free lunch from the place of my choosing!  Nice. 

After our morning branch meeting, my boss and I got on a conference call with the regional manager in Orlando to confirm the plans for the upcoming week.  I'd be driving down earrrrly Monday morning and working all day - through design center preview ending at 7 p.m. - and then working there all day Tuesday and driving back Tuesday night.  Good deal. 

I was clicking right along reporting my files from the two design center appointments on Thursday, and trying to finish up some other paperwork so I could scoot out early and we could get on the road to Atlanta, when I saw the voicemail light blinking on my phone.  I picked it up and punched in my code and kept on clicking through my paperwork.  And then I stopped.  And replayed the message. 

It was from the administrative lady at my builder's office.  I can't even remember the exact words, but this is kinda how it went.  "umm Katie...  something something...  really hope this isn't the first that you're hearing of this...  blah blah blah...  but as of yesteday we closed our doors in Jacksonville....  something else and blah....  we're going to finish out the homes under contract and that's it...  blah ba de blup....  you won't be able to reach me going forward...  yadda yadda...  best of luck to you.  click." 

Ummm.  WHAT?  I'm sorry - I could have sworn that you just said that the very builder that is the one single solitary reason that I was HIRED for this amazing job which I absolutely adore is no longer building in Jacksonville.  See it kinda SOUNDS LIKE what you're saying is that even though we just finished a brand new model home in one of the nicest communities in Jacksonville, plowed through forty interviews to hire a new designer (a.k.a. ME!), hired two new sales agents, and built a brand new design center, that all of that is irrelevant and we're now just gonna go ahead and throw in the towel.  Close the doors.  We're done.

Only the shitty part is that it's not just what it "sounds like".  That's what it IS.  No one saw it coming.  Not even my boss knew, hence his utter confusion when I burst into his office asking if I still had a job.  And thankfully, for the time being anyway, I do. 

Not too long after I got the "voicemail heard 'round the world" - which I saved just in case I need to remember how it feels to get gut kicked - my regional manager called me and literally said:  "Katie don't freak!"  It was a very nice gesture, to which I immediately replied, "K 'cause I'm kinda FREAKIN."  And then he told me that he had a plan and not to worry and that Orlando would keep me busy until the end of the year and "you never know what will change in the Jacksonville design center in that amount of time."  And that is true.  I don't.  And OH how I love uncertainty.

Just a brief recap...  in the last four years I have been divorced, I have moved three times, and (including this one) had four different jobs.  Don't get me wrong - all of these things have absolutely been what's right for MY life, and have gotten me to a place where I am happier than I've ever been in both personal and work aspects.  But I'm kinda OVER uncertainty.  I thought this was "the job".  I love it.  I love the people I work with, I love my office, I love the work.  I just love it.  And I literally felt like I was being dumped when I got that voicemail.  Like someone had just ripped my heart out and punted it across the design center. 

It was all I could do to hold it together the rest of the day.  We still had our "spirit lunch".  Wasn't feeling very spiritful.  And one of the hardest things was that, other than my boss, no one else that I work with knew what had happened, and every one kept asking what was wrong and trying to cheer me up - which as any woman knows, only makes the overwhelming urge to cry even more impossible to resist.

So now I am in a hotel in Orlando - thanking my lucky stars that I volunteered to work here before it was the only thing left for me to do.  The first time they saw me today, everyone at the builder's office looked at me with that pitiful head-tilty half frowny half smiley "we're so sorry for you" face.  I'd much prefer they just look at me and scream "DEAD MAN WALKIN'!"  At least it'd be funny.

I have been reassured by our account executive and the regional manager that I have nothing to worry about and that "I'm fine", but just the fact that they even have to say that to me makes me feel less than fine.

BUT, I choose to remain optimisitc.  As you may remember from the last post, there is a new builder coming into the showroom and I just know that at the end of these next four months they will be keeping me busier than a one legged man in an ass kicking contest.  (Fingers majorly crossed!)  There is another builder that has a deal on the table to come into the showroom too.  And HEY - I just so happen to know of a big beautiful (and very recently vacated) showroom space that they could fill! 

So all hope is not lost.  I refuse.  As long as I have this job that I love I will continue to give it 110%, and more importantly, I will have faith that everything will work out exactly as it's supposed to.  It always does. 

And in a stroke of beautiful irony (which you all know that I love so much!), this is one of the signs in the builder's office here in Orlando. 



damn right.



Our New Fatboy Table!

Or as I affectionately refer to it - "the trough". 

Our last coffee table - bless it's rickety little heart - had to go.  I bought it as a "set" with a side table at a yard sale from neighbors in our last hood for $30.  The side table is still kickin... 

I wish I had "before" pictures.  These things were heinous.  Not like they're any prize now, but before they were light grody stained/scratched wood, the drawer was falling out, both tables wobbled, etc.  It was a hot mess, basically.  So we tightened them up, sanded and stained them, and have been abusing the crap out of them for about a year and a half now.

you can kinda see the old table here - and there may be a little doxie in there too!

The bf and I eat in front of the TV.  We always have.  And in our precious little house we have not one, but two actual tables at which we could dine.  I think we've used them a combined total of six times - two Thanksgivings, two Christmases, once when I got on a rampage about not eating in front of the TV anymore, and once the night that we moved into this house - mainly because there was nowhere else to sit.  So in addition to serving as an ottoman, the wobbly little coffee-table-that-could has served as a dining table for us all this time as well. 

When I bought it, we were just happy to have something to put in front of our sofa, so I hadn't really thought about the table (and how much it kinda sucked) until few weeks ago.  In addition to being tiny, and an awkward fit in front of our L-shaped sofa, it was a drop leaf table, so every time we walked around the sofa, if our leg hit the side of the table, the leaf would flap up and then smack back down on the side.  Not precious.  Especially when it startles Bear-bear awake from his peaceful slumber!  Also, random pieces of it had just started kinda splintering off.  Not good.  Or cute.  It had to go.

How could you ever want to disturb this cutie?!

I thought about just getting an ottoman since Lane (that's the bf for those who don't know) likes to put his feet up so much.  I needed a bargain, so I even considered trying to figure out some ghetto way to make one, but all I could remember was an old co-worker of mine slaving over making an ottoman for freakin' EVER (and she was so proud of it!) and after it had been in her house a grand total of two days, her husband tripped, fell on her masterpiece, and smashed the whole thing to bits.  That just wouldn't do.  Plus I thought that anything fabric would be sucky for us to eat on, and I didn't want leather (or pleather or bicast or vinyl), because we already have a leather chair and ottoman in our living room and I don't like mixing a bunch of different leathers together.  Fabrics, yes.  Leather, no.  So ottoman = no go. 

I put the idea on pause while we did the kitchen remodel (yes, ourselves - that'll be a separate post), but the other day when we were wandering around Sam's waiting for my antibiotic for my man o war sting (FML - again, that'll be a separate post), we saw it.  It was like that moment in Christmas Vacation when Clark Griswold spots their Christmas tree in the forest.  Bells rang, a light shone down - it was magical.  Okay, so I might be exaggerating that part a little.  But really, both of us saw the table at the same time and looked at each other with the same "hmmm - that might be kinda perfect for our derelict lifestyle" look. 

It was a big solid square in the perfect wood finish to match our remaining "antique" side table and our TV stand.  It has a drawer on the front with all these amazing sectioned-off movable divider thingies, and - wait for it.... - the other half was a lift-top.  That's right.  We could actually lift the food closer to our faces as we scarfed it up in front of the TV.  Not to mention that under this lift top was more storage for blankets and my laptop and stuff.  Not only could I bring the food closer to my face, I wouldn't even have to get up to walk the daunting 17 steps to the linen closet to get a blanket.  Perfect?  I think yes. 

in all it's lifty-top glory

sweet, sweet storage space!

Now I know as an interior designer, I should probably shun the very existence of tables such as this.  And I promise that I'll never, EVER own a magazine rack/table/lamp combo... 

Oh my dear God.  The oak and hearts just really set this off, don't you think?!

But as a designer I'm also supposed to pay attention to the functionality of a piece and carefully consider how it will fit into the lifestyle of the end user, right?  Right.  SO, let's run down the list...  not an ottoman?  Check.  Perfect for TV eating & (BONUS) perfect for laptop work?  Check.  Fits in front of an L-shaped sofa?  Check.  No leather or fabric?  Check.  Will withstand the full force of a falling adult male?  Check.  I hope.  Have not tested...  yet. 

So basically, it's a winner.  And this is how it looks in real life, as I type.

somewhere in that pile of blankets there is a snoring dachschund

I was going to clean up all the blankets and the coffee cup and laptop and make the picture all cute, but it's Sunday morning and this is what we do!  Plus I just got lazy.  Sounds about right for someone with a trough for a coffee table, huh?

One Lucky Designy Lady!

Sorry for the blog-pause, but I am BUSY. Like insanely busy. So busy, in fact, that I edited a very long e-mail that I sent to my friends for this blog post!  LAZY, but here it is!!!

My new job is amazing. I am not even going to lie and say that I didn't just get lucky as a m-effer with this one.  The bf keeps trying to tell me that I "deserve it" and that I'm "well-qualified" and blah blah, but no. I was L-U-C-K-Y, lucky. I mean, not saying that I don't have any of the skills required to do this job or that I haven't worked hard or have no experience, but I definitely was in the right place at the right time for this job.

At this point I honestly can't remember if I even told you guys about all the b.s. that went down at my last job, so I'll just do a brief recap and if I've already gone over it, then just skip this next part...

It was a big decision to leave the shit crusted slavefest  job at the vet for my last job, because as much as I wanted to get away from the tyrant that was my boss at the vet,  my last job paid less.  Well, it was supposed to be less pay only until "things got rolling"...  Sha right.  

But I took the job because there were certain things that they said that made it sound really great and appealing and like it could be awesome with a little bit of time and work. Well, essentially, NO. LOOOOOOONG story short-ish, it was supposed to be a design program, but it ended up that I was in retail hell.  I was on my feet ALL DAY, had to wear an apron, and was making ZERO money. I mean I literally spent the majority of my day cutting swatches of material for ghetto ass people who had to go home and "think about" a $8.99 decision. FML.  It was really bad. I would get my pay check, pay the bills and put gas in my car and have $8 to last two weeks. This is not an exaggeration, AT ALL.  Although I met and worked with some really great people, I could go on and on about why the actual job sucked, so the bottom line was I had to get the eff out.

I started applying to places like a madwoman. I would make a list, (check it twice) and then put together a resume package with a folder containing a list of professional references, resume, and cover letter for each place and then I had a follow-up list for each package I sent out. The first round I sent out three packages and got two call backs - one interview came out of the deal.  It was at a kitchen design place and I nailed the interview and pretty much had that job in the bag, but the lady who was retiring decided not to at the last second and there was no longer a job available. Devastated.

Then, on the next round of resumes sent out, I got a call back from another design place.

We set up an "interview time", or so I thought... and she asked me if I had a portfolio to bring with me. Of course I told her yes, but really it hadn't been updated since college. So I spent the next WEEK (before our interview) updating my portfolio, which TRUST ME, is no small feat. And guess what?! It takes frickin MONEY to get that shit printed out and get a nice cover for it, and at the time I was on the $8 for two weeks and I may or may not have to put a tank of gas on my credit card (which I have no hope of paying off at any point in the forseeable future) plan. So, dropping $40 to update my portfolio was not in the budget. But I did it.

And I got all ready for this "interview" and took my fresh new portfolio and busted up the one day off that the bf and I had together that week. Yeah. As it turns out, this lady had just taken over the marketing position for this place and was just trying to get the word out about their design firm and some event they were having the next week. NOT an interview, NOT looking to hire a designer, NOT looking at my budget-breaking-week's-worth-of-work portfolio. I was crushed. I got in my car and cried like a baby and I didn't even call the bf (who was waiting patiently at home for me, because, did I mention this was our ONE day off together that week?) on the way home. I just walked in the door and set down my stuff and looked at him and he was like "oh shit" and hugged me. Not a precious day.

So that really took the wind out of my sails and I was getting in the "I'm going to work at that shithole and be broke forever" mode, when I saw this posting for a job as a "part-time" interior designer. I almost and I mean almost didn't even apply, because to be honest it kinda looked like one of those spam job postings. (I now realize that it only looked like that because the company is SO freakin' HUGE!) But anyway, I thought eff it. What have I got to lose? And clicked "submit resume".

That was Thursday night. The guy called me Friday afternoon at about 4 p.m. and said he was sorry it was short notice, but could I be there Monday at 9 a.m.? Hell to the yes. So I get there on Monday and the guy is a precious little puffalump. He reminds me of my dad. He kinda explained the deal to me with the company and what I'd be doing and all of that. Basically I work for this ginormous company - like 16,000+ employees kind of ginormous. They have 9 "companies" within the "company" and one of those is the company for which I now work! 

My place is basically like a retailer to builders & the construction industry - we have blinds, every kind of tile you can think of, carpet, cabinets, countertops, any "finishing" thing that you can put into a house. The rest of the GIANT company is building supplies - like electrical, lumber, nuts, bolts, screws, EVERYTHING. So my company has a multi-builder showroom where homebuyers come and choose everything (down to the freakin grout color) that goes into their home.  My company was hiring because they had just taken on another builder in the showroom and one designer wasn't kickin' it anymore.

SO - omg this is getting so long sorry guys - whatever whatever, I had to do a second interview with the sales and marketing director for the builder that I am working for, and a week after I applied they told me I had the job! Come to find out, they interviewed FORTY people. That's 4-0, forty. And I'll spare you all the details, but basically the stars just aligned and I was the lucky one. They sent me an offer letter and the breakdown was that it was a "part-time position" (whatever - I've worked 40+ hours every week) for a hefty sum more than what I was making at my last job, PLUS a kick ass commission on every homebuyer appointment that I complete.  AND it's not retail and by muthafuckin APPOINTMENT ONLY!!!

I make my own schedule - as in, I have no set time to be there, no set time to leave, no set "lunch time", and I am only working Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday, so the bf & I still have Wednesdays off together.

It's all older guys that I work with and they all think that I am just their little baby doll. My boss could not BE less interested in running the design center, so he pretty much let's me do whatever. I'm like "I'm doing X,Y,Z" and he's like, "K. Do you need help?" It's the best. Plus it's really bomb ass because of the way the company works, you get the best of both "small business" and "corporate" worlds. You get the small, close-knit group feel and the buddy-buddy boss, but the benefits, insurance, retirement, & 401k package of a huge corporation. Needless to say, I heart it.  Plus I have my OWN office and it is so cute. I rearragned all the furniture by myself the first week and when the guys saw it they were like, "DON'T DO THAT KIND OF STUFF BY YOURSELF!!! WE'LL HELP YOU!" Too sweet.

There are a total of three builders currently in the showroom - there is another designer who does two of the builders and as of right this moment,  I do one. The super cool thing with that too is that the builder I work for treats me like an employee as well, so like if they do a company trip I'll go, I can expense things through them, etc., etc. It's like I work for 3 companies really. AND bonus, bonus, bonus - we just signed another builder that's going to be coming into the showroom and I'll be doing their stuff as well!!! It's really exciting because this guy is up and coming and he's actually selling more than one of the builders that's already in the showroom, so it'll be good business for me! Plus, they're new to the whole design center process like me, so we can get started together from the very beginning. It's really exciting.

So 1400 pages later, that's what I've been up to! Oh and we signed our lease for another 18 months (the guy knocked $50 off the rent and agreed to let us do some updating) and we pretty much renovated the whole kitchen. Pics are below.  It was a MAJOR project, but I think it turned out pretty good! Oh and the backsplash tile was left over from a model home that my company did and I got it for the price of NADA!!! Would have been like $20+/sq foot if we'd bought it... SWEET! The landlord is also going to replace the appliances with stainless in the next few months, so that'll be even better.

before - builder oak grody-ness

after - updated contemporary = much better!

Oh and sidenote:  In an effort to not burn any bridges, I went to that continuing education event that the lady who tricked me into the "interview" at the seconde design place invited me to...  I walked in, got a glass of Sangria, and attempted to make small talk with a few of the snooty snotty snobs who were there...  You know these people - they are the ones who you've met fifteen times, but who still act like either A) they don't know who you are or B) that you're not important enough to remember. 

After 15 minutes of being snubbed and walking around by myself, I looked around and had an epiphany.  I didn't HAVE to be there.  I didn't HAVE to be kissing all of those tight asses.  So I finished my Sangria, slammed a crabpuff, threw deuces, and got the hell out of there just as the presentation was starting.  I guarantee you that I had a much better time that night than all of those pretentious punks. 

And guess who has a better job than half those jokers now anyway?!...  Sweet victory.

Shopping. My Personal Hell.

I.  hate.  shopping.  Always have, probably always will.  I don't know if I missed some girl gene that makes you enjoy this horriffic experience or what, but to me, shopping of any kind is an absolute torturous nightmare.  All of my fears were reaffirmed when I made the mistake of returning a recent online purchase directly to the store yesterday.

One of my precious, dearest friends in life was kind enough to send me a $50 gift card to Ann Taylor as a congratulations on my new job.  SO sweet, and SO unexpected - just an absolutely amazing gesture!  And back when I could still partially stand it, that is the one store that I would occasionally brave.  However, despite the shipping charges, I did most of my damage online. 

Anyway, I received this glorious gift and within three hours had spent the entire thing online.  I bought a pair of businessy pants in "sharkskin" grey and a "citronella" colored wrap top thingy.  Could not have been more excited to recieve these beauties in the mail!

When they arrived I practically ran to try them on.  I was shocked and amazed to discover that my optimistic purchase of a size 6 pant actually worked and they fit!  Then I unwrapped the top - if by "citronella" they meant "so bright that you will have to squint your eyes to even consider looking in the general direction of this garment", then yes, it was citronella colored.  But color aside - because I actually started to like it - it was too big.  Which I was really bummed about because it was very cute and had just a tiny touch of cashmere in it, so it was super comfy too. 

I was going to mail it back and just switch out the sizes, but being the impetuous gal that I am, I simply could not wait for snail mail to get the replacement.  So yesterday afternoon I decided to truck it up to the Ann Taylor store to swap my dayglo gear.

Now here's why I hate shopping.  It all starts in the parking lot - finding a space, doing the whole "are you going?  No I'll go..." dance with other cars, and then when you do see a space you can't get to it in time because of all the stupid pedestrians.  So my frustration level is already at about a 2.5 before I even step foot in the store.  Yesterday I finally found a spot and then walked 43 miles to the store in 90 degree heat.  Frustration level 3.25. 

So I go in the store, go straight to the back counter and announce that I need to exchange something.  "OKAY no prob!  I'll be processing this for you while you look around!", says the painfully stylish chick behind the counter, who then goes on to ask me if I know about their "ONE DAY ONLY storewide promotion?!"  Well no, since I don't work here and I just stepped in the door, I sure don't know about your one day only storewide promotion.  I'm still not even sure what the promotion was - she just started to sound like a bunch of bubbly noise after about 45 seconds as she launched into her sales pitch. 

At this point I am starting to ascertain that I will NOT be merely switching out this top for a size down.  I am going to be forcefully bullied into trying on, and consequently purchasing, things that "look so great" on me.  They are going to ask me if I need other sizes, bring me shoes to complement the "outfit", and force me to come out of the comfort of my private dressing room to show them "how it fits".  And that is exactly what happened.  Frustration level bypasses midrange and jumps from a slightly annoyed 3.25 to a panic-induced, sweaty 9.0. 

I finally manage to plow past little miss "do you need another size" and wriggle my way out of the dressing room with my selections balled up in my sweaty hand.  At this point I am not even sure what I've decided on buying.  I just knew that I wasn't escaping with a clean, no out-of-pocket expense getaway, as I'd originally planned, so I'm sure I just picked a few of the least expensive things my oh-so-helpful fashion nazis had tossed in there.

I went in to merely switch a shirt for the exact same shirt, and ended up with a dress and two cami-ish tank kind of things that are apparently a "must have" to wear with suits.  I don't even own a respectable suit.  I'm still not sure what the hell I'm going to do with these things.  And as if all of this wasn't enough, when the girl checked my I.D. at the counter, she looked me right in my flustered face and said, "Oh wow!  You don't look your age at all!"  UMMMM fuck you in your heart, you worthless retail whore.  How the hell old is TWENTY-NINE supposed to look exactly?!  I guess I must have done a hell of a job covering up my crow's feet and liver spots today, huh?!  Frustration level....  one million...  head exploding...

Shipping charges be damned - online shopping it is.