When I quit my heinous 60+hrs/wk sales job last July, I told myself I would only take a job that required 40hrs per week MAX.  A punch in at 9, out at 5, no one giving you the evil eye if you left before 6:30 or calling you on the weekend with a thousand problems kind of job.  I put my foot down.  !  My personal life is MY OWN, gosh durnit, and I’ll be damned if any company tries to drain my soul away.  So there.

About a month later an old coworker, who had moved into an executive role at a sister company, called and said Oh GinaRose, I have this coordinator job that’s stricly 9-5, no OT, is totally brainless and is only a 4 month contract.  PERFECT!  I showed up, coordinated, left at 5:30 every day, and didn’t waste one extra second at home thinking about work.

But my teensy HR department started noticing that I had some free time, and some other skills (I got SKILZ, ya’ll), and so I started helping out the managers and the VP on some projects.  All well and good, because I was still leaving at 5:30.

Well apparently word got around that I could coordinate projects like a mother (SKILZ) and so another VP asked if he could pull me away from HR for 3 weeks for “just a little project”.  Word to the wise: your version of “just a little project” may be a little different than said VP’s.  Holy mother of pearl.  Last week I put in over 45hrs, and that’s only because they capped my OT and made me leave early Friday.  This week, probably going to be 50+.

Goodbye, getting home before 7:30pm and dinner before 9.  Goodbye not thinking about work after 5:30.  Goodbye days where I only truly “worked” for a few hours, and spent the rest of the day catching up on all of my favorites in the bloggy universe!

I’m glad this project is ending next week.  I don’t know how much more of this work nonsense I can take!


No more of this.

Or this…

Or this (probably good for Josh’s shoulder, actually)

Definitely none of this water

But at least we’re going to have this tomorrow!

Gatlinburg TN Cabin

Having a job you hate can be like wearing shackles that only allow your arms and legs to move 3ft apart.

You show up every day  and go through the necessary motions: paperwork, meetings, phone calls.  But never anything too big or exciting, because you can only move 3ft apart.

You go home at night and on the weekends, and you may have an enjoyable time.  You might laugh with your friends and play with your babies and embrace your spouse, and you may almost forget that those shackles are there.  But you’ll never laugh too loud or play too silly or embrace too passionately, because you can only move 3ft apart.

Eventually you begin to forget what it’s like beyond 3ft.  You can hardly remember what you would even DO with more than 3ft apart.  You can’t quite put your finger on how or when those shackles got there – they certainly weren’t there on your first day.  And so 3ft apart becomes normal.   Laughing that loud and playing that silly and embracing that strongly become distant memories – a past life that you know you lived, though the memories are deep in the foggy corners of your mind.

And then one day, if you’re lucky, you’ll leave.  Your last day will come and someone will turn the key to those rusty shackles and pull them off, and you’ll rub your wrist and shake out your legs and feel happy.  But also a little nervous.  Because those shackles – those God forsaken shackles – have been defining your life for what feels like forever.

And so, for awhile, you will continue to live 3ft apart, even though you’re free to move as you please.  You’ll laugh just that loud, play just that silly, embrace just that passionately.  But no more.

Then, a little further down the road, something will catch you off guard.  You may be having a glass of wine with old friends or a beautiful day with your babies or an especially touching moment with your partner and you’ll start laughing a little louder.  Playing a little sillier.  Loving a little deeper.  And you’ll realize at that moment that you’re beyond 3ft.  You’re beyond what any shackle could ever hope to restrain you to, and the relief and joy that rush through you will cause tears to sting your eyes.  You’ll shake your head in wonder over how you missed it – how you managed to ignore the chains holding you back from all the good life has to offer.

And it will be great.  Beyond 3ft.


Late last week I stomped my feet and waved my arms in the air and was all OMG BIATCH QUIT USING 47 COMMAS IN ONE SENTENCE!   And then my amazing husband proofread for spelling errors, and I stepped off my soapbox and went on my merry way.  

Please allow me to hop back up on my snazzy little soapbox for a moment.   


I just received the following e-mail:  

Thanks but it was a user error i typed my name and password which was my name a couple of different ways and i got through i will try to get some of the classes done today but i do work tomorrow and then i will try to finish what i need to do and then… I wait for N*** to call or will he let me know what I need to do 


Um, I’ll tell you what you need to do.  You need to go back to the 3rd grade and learn how to WRITE A PROPER SENTENCE.   

Because I’m in HR, I am privy to the fact that you are 34 years old.  According to my not-so-stellar math skills (still better than your writing skills!  BAM!), that puts you approximately 26 YEARS behind in your writing skills.   

With the exception of the 5 periods randomly tossed into this giant sentence (and by the way, it’s called an ellipsis and you only need 3) there is absolutely no punctuation.  Not even a period to signify that it’s over, which leads me to believe that he’s still rambling on somewhere.  

So now I can’t decide what’s worse: 47 commas, or ZERO punctuation.

I do not claim to be a grammar queen. I’m not perfect, was not an English major, and would probably not be able to perfectly diagram a complex sentence.


There is a woman I work with who consistently overuses comma’s, and OMG it makes me want to pull, her, hair, out.

Why does this bother me? Because punctuation is there for a reason. When there is an exclamation point, my internal voice get excited! A question mark? Little voice goes UP?

And when there is a comma, I, pause. So when, you misuse, or overuse, a comma, I am constantly stopping, and, starting, in my head. And that drives me BONKERS.

Example of said e-mail:

He said he was on the road, today, and was stopping to do the paperwork, however for some reason, all he did was accept the position. I’ve left him another message, so hopefully he can get to it, today.

DUDE. Is that, really, necessary? I’ll answer that one for you: NO. You can have a nice long sentence with no commas at all and have it still be grammatically correct! It’s amazing!

So I got all passive aggressive and responded with this:

I did receive the fax, from him, and everything looked great. However, I have not received the DT results, yet.

It didn’t work:

He took it, yesterday.

It actually IS a little funny, because this woman is one of the slowest speakers I’ve ever had the *pleasure* of listening to. Although if I were going to describe the way she speaks in text, I wouldn’t overuse commas, but instead I would reaallllllyyy drrawww out worrrrrrrrdsssss.

I know I type all crazy on this blog. I use CAPS and exclamation! points! a lot! And I’m all OMG, STFU. And I start sentences with conjunctions. BUT, this is a blog that I write for fun – not the workplace.

So, can we all agree, to make a little, extra, effort, when e-mailing, at work? PLEASE,

***If you like the cartoon at the top as much as I do, click here for more***

I am tired. So tired. Exhausted may be the better word for my fragile state of mind today. Yesterday about did me in.

It started at work (of course!), and while it’s totally pointless to go into all of the mundane and exasperating details that made yesterday a total cluster fuck, I will say this: if anything has gone wrong in your life or job, please blame me. Because according to everyone else at my office, IT’S MY FAULT.

You failed your drug test? My bad! I should have warned you that smoking the J right before you teetee in a cup was a bad idea

Didn’t pass a background check? My fault! It totally slipped my mind to expunge your record

Forgot you had a conference call? I’ll take that one too! I forgot to be the personal secretary to ALL 700 EMPLOYEES

For the record, I have given my team a mascot: Sally the Scapegoat.

Also, our color is red, for all of the blood that pours out when you STAB US IN THE BACK. We’re going to wear our color every Friday….really ramp up the team building over here.

On the drive home I attempted to take some deep breaths to relax (difficult to do when you can’t breathe through your nose…ends up more like panting), and stir up some amazing mental images of giant glasses of wine and huge servings of homemade lasagna. Yum and yum. I get home, have said glass of wine and giant lasagna, and all begins to right itself in the world.

Then, I’m not really sure what happened.

One minute, Josh and I are watching Modern Family, and the next minute we’re in a deep conversation about the state of our finances (which is not exactly ideal), and then I’m crying hysterically and I can’t stop. What the hell?

The thing is, after we bought our house last year, we knew things were going to be tight for awhile, as I imagine is fairly common when you buy your first home. However, at the time we were both in sales jobs and blindly optimistic about what the economy would bring for us in the coming year. We both assumed that things would pick up in our field (we were both in the same), and that we would be making more money in a year’s time.

However. Things got a little sticky around July, when I reached a mental breaking point and up and quit my job. It wasn’t a decision we came to lightly, but in the end we decided that my mental health was more important than the income being provided. I got a new job that makes, surprisingly, a little more money for the amount of work I do, but it’s still not near what we thought I would be making.

Also, nothing in Josh’s world picked up AT ALL. In fact, thing have slowed down even more, which is almost unfathomable because they were moving like an effing slug before. All of this means that things are tight – really, really, REALLY tight. So, yeah. Great luck this year. Excuse me while I wipe up the sarcasm pooling at my feet.

Summary: terrible day at work + hormones + financial stress = uncontrollable tears.

At least my sinuses are so congested that the tears weren’t accompanied by the usual flood of snot. Yay?

Fortunately I have an UH-MAY-ZING husband, who knows just when to switch from the usually pessimistic spouse to the fabulously! optimistic! Spouse. He held my hand and rubbed my back and handed me tissue after tissue. Then he ran a bath and got me a brandy and a zanax (don’t worry, I have a prescription! NOT A DRUGGIE), and offered me the last large piece of deliciously cheesy lasagna. The man truly knows how to make his wife a happy camper – offer drugs, alcohol, and carbohydrates laced with copious amounts of cheese. Works like a charm every time!

Think anyone at work will mind if I have my magic trio for lunch today?