Interjections Show Excitement or Emotion Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah... YEA!

Breaking News: I, Oh Frappe, have an interview at. . .

wait for it. . .

just wait. . .

this is really good. . .

pinky swear. . .

H

A

R

V

A

R

D

Yes, that Harvard.
I am beside myself with excitement and emotion.

Just Wishing & Hoping & Thinking & Praying

I guess it's safe to say I'm mildly obsessed with work right now. By "mildly" I mean "totally." And by work I mean some other job than the one I actually have because it is sure to be more lucrative, glamorous, and down right rewarding. So, I've complied the following list of well-I'll-be-ain't-that-the-darndest-thing jobs. And because I want to savor the dirty shenanigans I imagine these "professions" entail, I'm only including the job titles. Ready, set, GO:

Muppet stunt coordinator

Laughter therapist

Master sniffer

Taffy Puller

Chicken sexer

Wrinkle Chaser

Cowpuncher

Brain picker

Fantasy broker

Queen producer

Upsetter

Hooker Inspector

Rubbish Auditor

For the record, any job that involves muppets instantly earns my seal of approval. Brains? Not so much.

Clean out Vivienne Westwood in My Galliano Gown

I'm not one for writing multiple posts in a single day. But I almost passed out reading this.
Kid, you're making me look bad.

I'm a Loser Baby so Why Don't You Kill Me

It's official. I am pathetic.

The very first job that catches my eye this morning highlights all that is wrong with my life. I was blind but now I see. And, frankly, I want to be blind again.

WANTED: Admin Assistant for Publishing Co - 35k

That is an annual salary of $35,000 to start which is only $6000 less than what I earn. Correction: I mean earned prior to the total screw that shall not be named. $35,000. To. Start.

I have a Master's Degree. I have YEARS of experience. And I am barely making more money than an assistant? Seriously?

I suppose I should thank Craigslist for my opening eyes. But I really just want to punch it instead.

My Man Wants To Potty All The Time

Imagine my horror to come home and find my husband reading this on the Internet. The man had NOTHING better to do then read an article about a potty training boot camp!?! Oh how the mighty have fallen.

But just so he doesn't feel like I'm a disinterested, know-it-all, I read the article too. Low and behold, I find this is yet another missed career opportunity. It seems the Potty Whisper charges $250 for a session which means if she works with ten toddlers a week she pulls in a cool $2500. Well done, Potty Whisper, well done. I have GOT to figure out how to put my natural talents to work and get a gig like this.

Are You There God? It's Me Black Frappe.

Dear Supreme Ruler of the Universe,

Stop messing me. Oh don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about. I was in line at the grocery store and I saw what you did.

It's not enough to make me take a crippling pay cut, to force my husband out of a job, to hike up gas prices up so high we won't even be able to drive down the street, to cause the economy to nose drive. No. You have to rub my nose in the opportunity that isn't knock, knock, knocking on my door too?

I mean I can't find a freelance gig to save my life. Not even a little something to help us squeak by. But Harlequin von Trashy Sex Scribe gets to publish Shattered by the CEO (dun dun dun).

Shattered! By the CEO!!! This is, perhaps, the worst book title I've ever, EVER read. And someone, the author or maybe the editor, was paid to come up with this title. Paid actual money. Meanwhile, I get one last chance to pick up this steamy page turner before I buy my loaf of bread, aspirin, and eggs--along with the additional bonus of feeling like an utter reject because no one will give or my effing MA in writing a second glance.

Yes. I am officially broken.

Sincerely yours,

Black Frappe

P.S. Tonight I burn my diploma.

By The Time I Get To Ohio

As I wait for THE perfect job to magically land in my lap, I figure I can work on Plan B: win the lottery. Except Plan B is a cruel mistress. Oh how she tempts me with rich promises but hot DAMN she only leaves me full of regret. I'm talking to you Mega Millions. I seriously could have used that dollar for something else.

And despite my charitable deeds, positive thinking, and good luck charms, karma continues to hate me. Karma just loves Ohio. And Georgia. And Texas. And Jersey.

I'm moving.

Put Me in Coach

Let us ponder the human improvement process otherwise know as life-coaching. . . .

Seriously, I can’t even believe this is a real job. People actually PAY other people to do this:

“You hire a coach to achieve your personal, spiritual, family and business Coachable Goals, much more effectively, more efficiently, more completely, with more fun, and in less time than any other human improvement process . Life coaches assist you to: overcome obstacles and fears, focus on solutions, have someone to bounce ideas off, no matter how silly they may seem, discover truths about you, and how you can improve, accomplish more than you thought possible, and achieve balance in your personal, work and family lives. Your coach will UNLEASH YOU, to become the person you always wanted to be and were capable of becoming.”

So life-coaching is therapy. Without the couch. And the pharmaceutical benefits. I’m guessing it’s not covered under my HMO either.

Oh and get this:

“Life coaches, and business coaches charge all over the map for their services. It has been reported that the average life coach (including over 60% who are rookie coaches) charges $187 per hour. You can reduce your costs by purchasing a bundle of sessions with your coach. Even with bundled session discounts, the prices for one on one individual telephone life coaching will run between $300 US to $1,000 US for three (3) to five (5) coaching sessions per period. Specialized executive and corporate coaching will approach $2,000 US per period for up to 8 coaching sessions and 24/7 hour on call availability.”

One hundred eighty seven dollars. AN HOUR. Which is $388,960 a year. This is the part where I gently weep over a poorly-written manuscript.

Maybe I should get a life coach to help me become a life coach. Then I could get paid to tell people things like:

“Oh boo-hoo”
“That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“You know what your problem is, don’t you”
“Get over it”
“Shut up.”

Yeah. Best. Life coach. Ever

Swallow It Down

This wee post is dedicated to my husband who sniggers like a twelve-year-old boy whenever this poorly-named product is advertised on t.v.

Aciphex. Say it with me: ASS ee fekks. It just rolls off the tongue, right? ER. . .eh. . .esh. Not so much. It is, in my opinion, an abomination. Now I know our friends in the pharmaceutical industry thought it best to keep the name simple. Put "acid" and "reflux" together and TAH-dah!! ASSeffects was born.

Brilliant. I probably would have called it Redicaflux.

Tick, Tick, Boom

My husband officially lost his job last night. Sweetmotherofunemploment this sucks.

Tell Me Why I Don't Like Geldof

I have a penchant for picking names. Baby names, pet names, company names, names for story characters, names for products. I think I could earn some serious cash by promoting myself as a name guru. And as a serious name guru I will admit to having issues with certain celebrities and the liberties they take when naming their utterly defenseless young. Take this man for instance:

Mr. Boomtown Rats himself and his ill-named progeny Fifi Trixibelle, Peaches Honeyblossom, and Pixie Frou-Frou (Sorry, I won't hate on little Tiger Lily due to a teenage crush on Michael Hutchence).

Now, I'm all for originality BUT these names are batshitcrazy. And I suspect the crazy is the reason behind this sad bit of news:

"Police are expected to speak to Bob Geldof's daughter later this week after she was filmed allegedly buying cocaine. Peaches Geldof, 19, was exposed in a national newspaper over the weekend after she was secretly filmed during a suspected drug deal."

Yeah. I think we all know why Peaches is buying drugs. Nice work Bob.

I'm going to start calling her Penelope and see if it helps. AND while I'm at it I might as well rename some other poorly-named celebrity children as a public service. I'll give Jermajesty Jackson a simple name. Something more old fashion cuz she has enough problems with that family of hers. I think "Jocelyn" will do. And Pilot Inspektor will be "Pryor Lee" cuz his dad IS funny (despite his terrible taste in names). Elijah Bob Patricius Guggi Q (Seriously Bono, "Q"? Really?) has it easy. There's is nothing wrong with Elijah. But the rest has to go.

See how easy it is to give a child a name that won't embarrass them? A name that can easily be yelled out at the park without shattering any eardrum within a ten mile radius.

Let me know if you want me to name your baby. The kid may thank you one day.

Taste buds

See all the amazing things I would buy for you to give to other people without giving me a lick of credit. Funky ring, funkier necklace, mod cuckoo clock. But Wait. There's more: Superhero capes, apple jackets, and a stuffed bunny with a 'stache AND a monocle! You're impressed. Right?

I'm dedicating this months blogging to work. That is work I'd rather be doing. In the privacy of my own home. If possible. Even though I like my job (aside from the are-you-freakin'-kidding-me pay cut) I'm craving something different. And since I feel under appreciated at work it seems like the right time to consider other job opportunities. I need a job that taps into my creative side, is something that I like to do, and allows for some flexibility. Like, perhaps, shopping. OH don't look at me that way. People get paid to shop for other people. ALL THE TIME. I love to buy gifts. I adore spending money. Especially if it isn't mine. And I happen to have spectacular taste. The proof is right here. You can't deny it.

Rocky Road Part II

(later. . .)

Did I say I wasn't going to enjoy a free ice cream cone? As if.

Rocky Road

Today is free cone day at Ben & Jerry's. Under normal circumstances this would cheer me up. BUT, my husband just called to tell me that he did not get the job he's been interviewing for all freakin' month. Oh cruel fate, why. WHY?

Now I HAVE to go to B&J and I probably won't even enjoy it. I know I shouldn't partake of the cone with its evil lactose enzymes. There will be consequences for such indulgences. Trust me.

And yet, I have no choice because I can't drink my sorrows away. I mean I'd rather have a gassy baby then a drunk one.

Hot Fudge

Day One Back in the Office

I return to find assorted cards and gifts waiting for me on my desk.
Awwwwww.
I work with some of THE most thoughtful people. I truly do.
So why doesn't this consideration rub off on upper management?
Damn their stone cold hearts.

All in all, the day wasn't quite as hellish as I expected it to be.
And I couldn't stay in a foul mood after reading this:
Your virginity breeds mites, much like a cheese
GOD I've missed my Insult-A-Day desk calendar.

You Scream, I Scream

Reports indicate that stay-at-home moms would earn $131,471 in annual salary if they were actually paid for all the work they do. A six figure salary people!

Right now I am as far away from a six figure salary as you can get. And struggling with the fact that tomorrow I get to return to my job for a reduced salary.

The question is, will my actual workload be reduced? Will I be assigned fewer books or is the expectation that I just have fewer days to complete the work? Hmmmmmmm.

I've recently read a lot about women being pushed out of their jobs rather than opting to stay home, about the work place bias against mothers, about the maternal wall.

I'll take that $131, 471. Large bills please.

I am the Dairy Queen

This how the working mother rolls on her last day of maternity leave:

7:30 AM
Wake up to the sweet sound of toddler tears
Put on DVD so she can take a bath
Get dressed
8:00 AM
Make breakfast--oatmeal for little boy, waffles for big boy
Put in a load of laundry
Nurse baby
Write short children's story for potential freelance gig
8:30 AM
Pry husband out of bed
Get kids dressed
Email children's story (Please God no typos)
9:00 AM
More laundry
Write grocery list
Gather today's banking
9:30-12:00 PM
Get out of the house!
Mani and pedi with a side of latte
Pick up dry-cleaning
12:30 PM
Make lunch
Pump (no, not iron)
1:00 PM
Grocery shopping
1:30 PM
Take kids to park
2:30 PM
Administer TLC to scrapped knee
3:00 PM
Check email (story has potential!)
Finish story and send full draft
Roast pork for dinner
Nurse baby
5:00 PM
Pick up little boy from Pre-K
Bring in bikes off porch before it rains
5:30 PM
Make Dinner
6:30 PM
Bath time
7:00 PM
Nurse baby
Get kids into pajamas
8:00 PM
Put kids to bed
Update LinkedIN profile
Check Myspace
Blog

Multitasking is my bitch.


I can see why I'm not allowed to work from home. I just can't seem to get anything done.

Two Scoops: Less Money, More Problems

I need a game plan. How am I going to pay the mortgage and household utilities, buy groceries (which cost more than ever with the new baby), make the car payment on the new KIA we just bought, afford the ridiculous gas prices to drive said KIA, and keep up with the gazillion other hidden costs it takes to raise a family. On $1900.00 a month? Yes, I "said" $1900.00 a month. Pitiful. I know.

For the moment I'll pretend I can do this. I'm going to try and muster up all the freelance work I can find. I'll pull the boys out of daycare. And this is all I can do. There are too many unknown factors for me to make long term plans. I have no idea how long my husband will be out of work. But I need to brace myself for the worst.

Rereading these paragraphs makes me think about the conversation my boss and I had about my maternity leave. This was in back in January. I told her my plans to work from home and follow the same schedule I had with my youngest son. Perhaps she should have told me then that I couldn't work from home. It would have been helpful to have three months to plan instead of ten days. It would have been the considerate thing to do. Should I assume it was a deliberate move to 1) avoid a confrontation with a pregnant woman and 2) ensure I would actually come back to the office when my leave came to an end? Like I even need to ask. If she pulls the rug out from under me at the last second then I have less time to react.

Dang. That's cold.

Today's Flavor: Thunder Cloud

This inaugural post is brought to you by an anonymous low-paying publishing job and the letters B & S.

Next week, I return to work from a twelve week maternity leave. No big deal. I've done this two other times and am prepared for the highs and low of juggling kids and work. Except, three days ago my boss called me to tell me I can no longer work from home. It seems the demands of my job--all the reading and rereading--simply can't be done anywhere but the office. My boss kindly offered me the unique opportunity stay at home two days a week. For $16,000 a year less than my current salary. REALLY, CAN I PLEASE?!? Because that would be awesome.

I can smell the rancid aroma of mounting debt already.

Cherry On Top
My husband just lost his job and my boss knows this. But she is not one to be swayed by dire circumstances.


Nuts?
Four years ago, when I was pregnant with my youngest son, I was up for a promotion. At the time, I was told I'd be given my new title (and all important raise) when I returned to the office after my maternity leave ended. I came back to the office in June. In July I asked my boss about my promotion since she makes a habit of announcing these fine achievements during our weekly Monday morning meetings. She told me. . .wait for it. .. there JUST wasn't enough money in the budget to promote me. Yeah. Smells like discrimination to me too.


So thank you low-paying publishing job! Next week my husband, three children, and I will be one big, happy family living on 3/5 of my income.