Overachieving Earthquake Rates 4.0 on Richter Scale

This week was up and down. Not all bad! I mean, I saw George at the library, which was cool. We talked about National Book Award nominees. He likes Louise Erdrich (WHO LIVES IN MINNESOTA), I figure Junot Diaz has it in the bag. (Dude's got a Pulitzer and a MacArthur.) I got the last punch in my card at Capitol Grounds, so my next large coffee is free. Ben bought a car! I resisted the urge to tell him to get innie the Audi. And, on the day an earthquake started in Maine and shook its way down New England, we drove the opposite direction. 

We drove up to Plattsburg, NY. It's just on the other side of Lake Champlain, which sounds like no big deal until you realize that Lake Champlain is basically the sixth Great Lake and you either have to drive around the entire stupid state of Vermont or take the ferry. Upside? The sandbar leading to the ferry is crazy scenic. All the leaves were golden yellow. Crossing Lake Champlain is scenic too. On the way home, we cracked open the sun roof and tried to find constellations. But it also cost us $13 each way. I offered to hide in the back, thereby saving us the $3 passenger fee, but we had filled the car with things from Target.

Just a stone's throw away! Across state lines!

Oh, did you not know that? That the closest Target used to be "one block from work" and is now across state lines, $26 in ferry fees away. But we got a crock pot for $20. Also, I think I may have paid sales tax on some new tights and long john shirt, which is totally foreign to me. Oh, and work was so cold last week I bought a long john shirt to wear under my work clothes.

If work had only been freezing or only been horrific, I wouldn't have wanted to pull my hair out quite so acutely. My co-workers are pretty cool, but the job itself is a fucking joke. Did I seriously go to college to sell old clothes to rural biddies? Did I learn French just so I can tell a Canadian (WHO CLEARLY ALSO SPEAKS ENGLISH) that <<ces chaussures sont mignons>>? Non! It just feels like an enormous waste of my potential.

An opportunity has come up, though. I'm applying for a new job in Burlington. I feel bad maybe leaving this job after only a few months, but I also bust my ass there for nothing. I am the only one working six days a week "part time" i.e. sans benefits. I'm paid so poorly that it takes three weeks to make enough to pay the rent. I considered applying for food stamps this week. Our crazy ass landlord threatened to evict us, and frankly, we're kind of over Montpelier.

Burlington might be a better fit. Everyone our age in Montpelier is either spawning or resentful that they never got out of this town. There are more jobs for Ben in Burlington. It's closer to New York's Target, and a full hour closer to Montreal. It's only a 45 min bus ride if I need to come back to Montpelier. This new job would be a better stepping stone to the job I'm applying for that would start this summer. It would actually be on the path to something I want to do with my freaking life and not standing around, sorting khaki pants by shade.

We went to this gorgeous reservoir in Waterbury today. (They don't have real lakes in central Vermont. Only "reservoirs." Also, we drove Ben and Jerry's HQ.) It was cloudy and we had the place to ourselves. The mountains were shrouded in mist and it was pretty damn gorgeous. That's why we moved here. Because Minnesota doesn't have foggy mountains. It's time to start doing things with my life that make me as happy as sitting on the wet grass did today. Getting the hell out of here may be the first step. Getting back to a real city, getting a job I don't loathe every minute of, getting out of this madhouse.

We accidentally dropped the camera in said reservoir, but here's a less autumn-y perfect photo. 

We'll see if this week is as shaky. There's another debate on Monday, I mentor a kid on Thursday, and I have a free coffee coming my way. Plus, my mom just posted this picture to Facebook.

My family is so redheaded, even one of the cats is a ginger. 

They're so big now! Here's a picture from August, when they were small enough to bother the dog on her pillow.

Poor Sassy. The kitties took over her bed!  Now she can only sleep on the couch or the love seat or the bench by the front door or the bed or the guest bed or any of the heated floors or... 

Like A Boss: Ten Thoughts Thus Far This Week

Everything my boss knows about Minnesota she learned from Prairie Home Companion. She also thinks all Minnesotans know each other.

As the IT person, I got to explain to her today that her photos wouldn't transfer from the camera to the laptop if she plugged the USB cable into the ethernet port. ("Oh, that's where the Internet goes!")

Yesterday was Leif Ericson Day. She has never heard of Leif Ericson.

She bought three stamps off me and had to google the price of stamps.

When I told her I was assigned to tutor a second grader on Thursdays, she asked if I couldn't switch it to Wednesdays because her son is coming to town.

Words I've been called in to spell this week: medieval, renaissance, velour. (Caveat: I asked a co-worker if "lacey" was correct. It turns out that "lacey" and "lacy" both are, but the first one looks wrong.)

My task this week (besides helping customers, putting stuff away, and selling selling selling!) is to optimize the web site for better google results. She took a workshop but remembers nothing.

She complains about how expensive Montpelier is, then prices our products absurdly high. (Seriously, a zip-up hoodie is $64 for no reason, but a brand new tags-still-on J. Crew cashmere-cotton blend sweater is half that. Guess which one Ben is getting for Christmas.)

She feels badly about feeding her dog meat from the grocery store instead of from the co-op, even though the co-op barely carries meat because it's run by vegetarian hippies.

At least thrice daily, I get to hear how great and successful her son is. If my mother does this, I apologize right now to all her colleagues.

Getting Dressed is Hard

I'm not very good at dressing myself. When I worked at the bookstore, I pretty much just rotated a series of v-neck tee shirts with skirts. In the café, it was even easier. I literally have two black polos, two button downs, two v-necks, and two long sleeve black tees. I dress myself like a cartoon character.

I shit thee not, I'm seriously working on a flow chart so I remember what looks good together. 

This system was all well and good until I got a fashion-y job. It's dumb. The owner wears Birkenstocks and the same purple linen shirt every day; the customers typically want sweaters and jeans. And yet, we the sales girls are expected to be dressed to the nines just to sell a rain slicker to somebody's nana. Most of the ladies I work with are very chic and good at dressing themselves, but me? Not so much. I compensate by wearing cute tights and alternating same two dresses/three skirt combos.

This girl is coping my style, and pairing it with a cute hat. 

In addition to being the worst dresser at work, I'm also the fattest. Don't get me wrong, I run all the time and eat my vegetables, but everyone else I work with weighs 100 pounds. Which means they fit in these tiny vintage dresses we post to the Etsy store (http://www.etsy.com/shop/stateandmainvintage)  and I do not. At first this kind of bummed me out. Everyone else got to play dress up, why not me? Turns out my skills lie elsewhere.

This is one of our dresses. The model is 5'1". 

Somehow I have become the IT go-to person. This is less a reflection of my web development skills and social networking prowess and more because everyone else is a Luddite. I can tell myself that my English degree was worth it because I'm technically being paid to write, even if it's just photo captions and product descriptions. I know people doing worse for less. Hell, I almost wrote for a furniture catalog, where it not for the hellish and unnecessary commute.

Maybe J. Peterman, someday. 

Last week I got to email a guy back with incredibly specific measurements of a tuxedo. Intense attention to detail is my wheelhouse! With bonus data entry! I reformatted the newsletter. When we needed a song as an mp3 and not a WMA, it was I who came to the rescue. (Seriously, I think my boss was going to try to suck the music out of a YouTube video.)

Whenever I get down on myself for not being pretty/skinny/well-dressed enough for this job, I can re-assure myself that at least I got brains. And I type faster than any of those bitches.