Well, I do. Just not all of it good.
I'll get the unpleasant out of the way first. You may recall that I have a new job that I absolutely love at a place that I absolutely love. I have yet to miss a day of work, even when deathly ill. I have yet to wake up with that "Oh, Shit" feeling I used to get when I was working at The Place That Cannot Be Named V 1.0. I have an office. I have a great team. I have a wonderful job and I love, love, love it. I kept telling raphaela that I was so blissfully happy but I was waiting for the other shoe to drop.
It's been dropping for a few months now. After I signed on, this insurance company decided that it was no longer writing new homeowner's policies in Florida (Our insurance market is a bloody mess right now. Seriously bad.) and that they were canceling entire lines of business.
This means less claims and this means less need for claimspeople. I am a newly hired claims supervisor. Some places consider lower level management about as useful as a third nipple or Brad Pitt.
The first round of layoffs was yesterday. I still have my job because no insurance company is crazy enough to lay off adjusters in Florida right before hurricane season. But if we don't get any storms... I figure I'm good until November. After that... who knows?
It's actually pretty good--knowing a lot of this in advance. Most places don't give you warning before they cut you loose. It's given me a chance to tighten expenses. I won't be going to Chicago this year (I'll have already seen my homegirls up there next weekend) but I'll still go to Writercon in Atlanta since I can drive and split a hotel room. I'm still going to Vegas next week, and to New York in June, but maybe I should just give my WFC membership to telaryn and stay home in November.
And enough of that depressing shit, before I depress myself further. ::sigh::
So my Rational Sister and her two little ones are coming over in a few to have dinner and dye eggs. I love doing that with the kids. I'm making chicken paprikas for dinner. I'm trying to make it low cal by using 2% evaporated milk to make the cream sauce and I picked up some soy flour to use in making the spaetzle.
Problem is, I tasted the soy flour earlier. I went down to visit with Rational Sister earlier and took the makings to make the Hazelnut scones tinne made a few weeks ago (Since I went and spent the $12 on the freaking hazelnut meal and remembered when I got home that the freaking oven element in our 1951 Westinghouse stove burned out and I. Have. No. Oven. Until. The. Vintage. Appliance. Place. In. Georgia. Can. Find. One. GRRR.) So I made them down there and replaced a bit of the regular flour with soy flour.
Soy Flour is what evil tastes like. If evil had a taste, that would be it. Because those soy beans were decidedly not happy about being ground up into psuedo flour and want to wreak their revenge in any way possible. It makes Baby Jesus' taste buds cry.
I don't think I can bring myself to put the soy in my spaetzle to cut the carbs. I think if I did so, my husband's dead Hungarian Nan would rise from the grave (On Easter, even. Natch.) and beat the shit out of me.
That would be after his mother (who is also coming tonight) insulted me for fucking up the spaetzle.
As a side note, I've never been able to make spaetzle to her satisfaction. She always tells me it's tough or it's underdone or it's overdone or salty or bland or chewy or something.
I've been married to her son for almost 17 years and I've yet to pass spaetzle making 101. Ah, well. Maybe I'll just put the soy in to piss her off. Give her something else to complain about besides the fact that I'm just using egg whites to make it.
But I digress.
So I've got the kids coming over and I'm very hot on making everyone happy and being a mondo great hostess. It's a failing of mine. supersloane got to see this so very close up with me a few weeks ago when she was down and I was stressing that SHE WASN'T HAVING ENOUGH FUN, DAMNIT!!!
A perfect example of how my mind works: O got a Tamogatchi a few weeks ago. She keeps this thing with her all the time, but she's forbidden to take it to school.
So she leaves it on today and doesn't pause it. I'm home and I hear it beeping from the other room.
I go in, and it's got a stinky digital poopie in there. It takes me a good ten minutes but I figure out how to clean the poop up. Then I see that it's not smiling. It's not happy. I investigate further, find that it is both hungry and unhappy. I then feed it till it can't move. Now it is only unhappy. I proceed to play games with it and praise it endlessly so that a pixelated rat can be happy. Because I can't stand the fact that the damned thing is unhappy.
I'm so fucked in the head.
Well, egg making was fun. My 2 1/2 yr old niece was over and I had picked up not only egg dye but glitter pens, puffy paint, sequins, small acrylic rhinestones and glue. I also had picked up a bag of googly eyes.
My niece proceeded to cover an egg with about 27 sets of googly eyes. It looked like an Easter egg from Beyond the Pit. If she'd used the pipe cleaners the way I told her to, It could have been Cthulu's Easter egg.
I'm glad she took it with her though, I find it very difficult to eat something that can watch me from any direction.
We had some blinging eggs, though. Sequins shaped like flowers with smaller sequins in the center. Glitter willy nilly. It was fun. The kids had a good time with it too. If I can figure out how to post up a video clip, I might do so.
Of course, those eggs will be impossible to hide. They're practically covered in big neon letters that flash off and on saying "HERE I AM!!!"
This brings to mind that Walmart had some very special plastic hiding eggs in their holiday department last week. Camouflage. Camouflage Easter eggs.
How cruel is that? I mean, you can put those puppies out in the yard and drink Mimosas and Bloody Marys while the kids hunt for HOURS.
"Mom! I can't find any eggs!"
"Keep looking. They're out there. *Hic*. Pour me another one, will you dear?"
"But MOM! I don't see them."
"Be a man and stop whining, Billy. Jeez, you sound just like your father. Fucking LOSER."
"Mom! It's getting dark. Can we stop looking NOW?"
"*hick* No. Keep looking."
Of course, I think it's the funniest damn thing ever.
Almost as funny as those Always Maxi-Pad commercials that talk around the entire fact that you're hemmoraging to fucking death. That's okay because the pads are pleasantly scented and have channels.
And then it says, "Have a happy period!" while showing what looks to be a pinball bouncing around the pad, following the gore channels in perky little circles.
Obviously a man wrote this ad campaign. If I ever meet the man who came up with the slogan "Have a happy period" I will kick him in the balls repeatedly, over and over until his testicles retreat up into his abdominal cavity. Then I will continue to kick him until they transform into ovaries so that he too can have "happy periods". Then I will tell him how lucky he is to have such a great product that doesn't make his crotch smell like a charnal house and yet has channels to direct the gore to the middle of the pad. Much like the floor in a slaughterhouse. But I digress.
Bottom line. I will hurt him. I will hurt him BAD. I will make him cry like Orlando Bloom in a bad Viggo/Orli fanfic.
"Have a happy period", my ass.