The part-time job is what makes being a part-time housewife full-time. I've worked a buttload of different part-time jobs in this past year. I thought I was over and done with the wonderful world of minimum wage when I landed my first job out of college, but boy was I wrong. I met a lot of cool people (Mrs. B) and learned a lot about myself through these different situations, so I definitely do not regret my time spent as the lowest scrub on the totem pole. Let's review.
PT Job #1: Barista. What do you think of when you think "Barista"? Hip? Cool? Caffeinated? For me, I thought, "Ooh, good bennies." You see, I was not officially Mrs. Chaney when I started my baristaship and I needed to pay for my baby-preventers somehow.
The good: First and foremost, I met Mrs. B. I also got all the free coffee and tea I could stomach during my 4 hour shift. My brain also got a workout as Mrs. B and I became the fastest baristas on the block making the tastiest lattes your mouth had ever experienced.
The bad: The shift started at 4:15. IN THE MORNING. That's right. I would get off work BEFORE I would normally wake up on a normal day. And since the economy decided to fall face down in the dirt, we got all the newbs (read: incompetent souls who wouldn't known an upside-down caramel macchiato if it hit them in the face) from the stores that closed. Top this off with a new manager who thought she was the queen of all the coffee beans. Spare me.
The ugly: I, on more than one occasion, spilled an entire venti cup of coffee all over Mrs. B. ALL OVER. Screw it I'm still laughing.
PT Job #2. Chocolatier. What's better than free coffee? Free CHOCOLATE! A new snooty chocolate store opened in the nearby mall so I applied. After all, I did spend a summer in Switzerland so I know what good chocolate is.
The good: I said it once, I'll say it again. FREE CHOCOLATE. All you could eat. All you could fit in your grubby little hands. All you could physically stomach. This one time, I knew the investor was coming in about a half hour, so I ate about 10 pieces of rich Belgian chocolates in about 30 seconds in the back room. Hey, even though it was free, I didn't want anyone to think I was abusing the privilage and/or that I was a little piggy.
The bad: It was a brand new franchise. We're talking brand new managers, brand new international investors, brand new everything. Never again will I work for a start-up company (I promised myself the same thing after I was appointed manager of an entire state region of one tutoring company...should have seen it coming if they trusted a college student to run their business). I would spend HOURS standing at the threshold of the door pleaded people to try a sample of "fresh Belgian chocolates flown fresh from Belgium every 2 weeks. Only I would get "Belgian" and "Belgium" mixed up so it sounded more like "Wouldya like ta try a fresh Belglah chocolate flown in fresh from Belgam every 2 weeks."
The ugly: Everyone with whom I worked with has since been fired or quit. I lasted three shifts before they switched to mandatory block schedules, all of which conflicted with availability.
PT Job #3: Toddler Teacher Aide. Whenever I tell people I work with toddlers, they recoil in obvious disgust. Even the director spent the entire interview warning us what we were up against.
The good: Well obvious, toddlers are frickin' adorable. And I get to play ALL DAY! Originally, the majority of my shift was spent supervising nap time. NAP TIME! And added bonus was the staff parking permit I would get at the college I attend. Hooray for free and close parking!
The bad: You know how the tables and floors are magically always clean when you walk into a preschool room? Yeah, there's a person that does that. And that person is ME. 2 year olds...not that neat and tidy, especially when it comes to food. There's mashed peas on the floor, milk in their hair, apple juice poured into their milky cereal...and yes milk DOES curdle when you mix it with apple juice--not pretty. Here's something else people don't realize about toddlers: they don't know how to control their drippy noses! As adults, when you feel a little liquid start to come down, you inhale it back in. Not so much for toddlers. This one time, this kid had a cheerio stuck to their face simply because of a drippy nose. Delish.
The ugly: poopy diaper smell. All day long. I win.
So the part-time job search has come full circle due to California budget cuts and the lack of flexibility in my part-time student schedule (you would think a preschool housed on a community college with primarily student employees would be more lenient when it comes to scheduling. Yeah? No.). Here I am, combing through the questionable ads on Criagslist trying to earn enough money to buy myself something pretty once in a blue moon. Here's what I been considering, and their inevitable pitfalls:
-Ross, TJMaxx, or equivalent: they'd might as well pay me in dresses because that's where my entire paycheck would go towards
-Serving tables: I'M SCARED. I've never done this before and I don't think I could handle it (I also thought the same thing about waking up in the middle of the night to barista and working with 2-year-olds)
-Target: I've applied to this stupid store at least 6 times since I was in high school and they NEVER call me back!
-After school tutoring: hey, I'd like to see the Hubz at least for an hour before bedtime
-Yogurt store: I love yogurt. Free yogurt? mmm, that sounds delicious!
I'll keep you posted.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Three months and four days til the big party!
So we are almost at the three month mark and I swear I should be doing something. I guess I should look at it like I must have been good at my city job planning events if this is easy. This weekend was one of the most interesting shopping trips I have ever experienced. Don't you love when people say interesting, code for crappiest. So I went shopping at Nordies Rack to find some good tie deals for my Grandpa. Yeah and that was the highlight. I also found a Hugo Boss suit for my dude. He said his size was a 42R. No way the only Boss suit in the whole place. Sure he wanted a three piece but this was a great deal... suck it up and come try it on. Well we got it because we needed something. Then I had this brilliant idea to check out the mall in case there was something better. Well we certainly were not disappointed. Sure enough the most beautiful three piece suit 40% off at the Boss store. Wow still kinda pricey dude.
Well his momma insisted she buy him a whole new outfit down to the skivvies. I vetoed that junk, no mom purchased chonies on wedding night. Since this suit fit like a glove and he is actually a perfect 40R, we took the other one back to save on tailoring fees and get the one he really wanted (This one came with the free lifetime tailoring). Whelp thanks mom, until... the battle of the bulge pursued. By bulge I mean wallet. Everything is a-OK until someone gives this woman some reality of what things cost and Oh the humanity! An argument right at the counter on the phone. Hello!? I'm in Hugo Boss. Can we spare the embarrassment until after we leave the store. I finally had it and suggested I'd pay the difference for the suit, just tell us what you want to contribute. "Baaawwww rrraaaaawwwww whaaaa whaaa whhaaaaaaaaaaaa." That's what I heard through the phone at the suggestion. Ok then suck it up and pay or get over it.
Five hours later the dog and I passed out on the floor from exhaustion (she was tired from another WW3 with the duck). My mom was like, "Haha you aren't just marrying him!"Do I really have to marry this woman too? She's becoming my Lex Luthor.
Just to throw fun into the mix Miss K for Krazy we'll call her, decided to call her brother to ask what date the wedding is and if there is going to be a shower. It's to complicated to explain but if your reading this you already know. He tells her, future Mrs. B's friends are throwing one and it is said date. "Well I don't want to invite myself, but I need to know what days to ask off from work." "Well", he says. "They just decided a couple of days ago and I'm sure they're going to send out an invite." Ummmm, Miss. K can you for a week stop calling and trying to find some drama to start. Naturally, after that convo I had to tell Mr. B, "You better call your mom, else we're gonna have a duck situation on our hands." Get the call back joke.... I'll wait........... ok. So then there's the call to mom who is pretending to care and not flip out. Underneath the fake happy voice is the dragon about to char dear ol' Mr. B. Still fuming from the no bridal shower deal. "What do you mean it's casual? Jeans are what?" Can't wait to see how that goes down. If they can refrain from drama at the shower, certainly someone else will cause some, like say popping out a kid in the middle of present opening.
Well his momma insisted she buy him a whole new outfit down to the skivvies. I vetoed that junk, no mom purchased chonies on wedding night. Since this suit fit like a glove and he is actually a perfect 40R, we took the other one back to save on tailoring fees and get the one he really wanted (This one came with the free lifetime tailoring). Whelp thanks mom, until... the battle of the bulge pursued. By bulge I mean wallet. Everything is a-OK until someone gives this woman some reality of what things cost and Oh the humanity! An argument right at the counter on the phone. Hello!? I'm in Hugo Boss. Can we spare the embarrassment until after we leave the store. I finally had it and suggested I'd pay the difference for the suit, just tell us what you want to contribute. "Baaawwww rrraaaaawwwww whaaaa whaaa whhaaaaaaaaaaaa." That's what I heard through the phone at the suggestion. Ok then suck it up and pay or get over it.
Five hours later the dog and I passed out on the floor from exhaustion (she was tired from another WW3 with the duck). My mom was like, "Haha you aren't just marrying him!"Do I really have to marry this woman too? She's becoming my Lex Luthor.
Just to throw fun into the mix Miss K for Krazy we'll call her, decided to call her brother to ask what date the wedding is and if there is going to be a shower. It's to complicated to explain but if your reading this you already know. He tells her, future Mrs. B's friends are throwing one and it is said date. "Well I don't want to invite myself, but I need to know what days to ask off from work." "Well", he says. "They just decided a couple of days ago and I'm sure they're going to send out an invite." Ummmm, Miss. K can you for a week stop calling and trying to find some drama to start. Naturally, after that convo I had to tell Mr. B, "You better call your mom, else we're gonna have a duck situation on our hands." Get the call back joke.... I'll wait........... ok. So then there's the call to mom who is pretending to care and not flip out. Underneath the fake happy voice is the dragon about to char dear ol' Mr. B. Still fuming from the no bridal shower deal. "What do you mean it's casual? Jeans are what?" Can't wait to see how that goes down. If they can refrain from drama at the shower, certainly someone else will cause some, like say popping out a kid in the middle of present opening.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Apartment Hunting
Ugh. Just looking at those two little words bring a wave of nausea. I hate moving. I really do. I think it's because I don't like facing the junk hole that is my house. But on the other hand, something inside me craves for a change...even if that change means a commute that is only 1 mile closer to work. So starts the crazed search for a new nesting place.
When I get an idea in my head, it's all I can think about. I spend hours online on several different search engines trying to find the perfect apartment that will just fit our measly budget. Amenities requested: washer/dryer in unit, patio for smuggled-in dog, first floor so I don't break my back carrying in groceries from TJs, preferably with central air (though not necessary). You'd be surprised how few and far between these apartments are, at least without having to sell my extra kidney to pay the rent.
The last few times I had looked for apartments, I religiously used one search engine that promised $100 rewards if I leased one of their beautiful apartments. I mapped out on Google maps where every apartment was and dedicated a single page to each location to take meticulous notes. Two weeks before, I would call each and every leasing agent to make sure they knew when we were coming.
I didn't do that this time. On a whim, I told my husband, "We're going hunting. Apartment hunting." He was so sick of this junk hole, too, that he quickly agreed. We drove down to the apartment complex about half a mile down the road, only to find out that none of their apartments have washer/dryer hookups. NOPE check that off the list. Too bad, since the leasing agent was actually pretty nice.
By the time we finished with failure number one, Future Mrs. B was ready to join in our hunt. All three of us waltzed into the next location with high hopes: a nice two bedroom for me and the hubz and a nearby one bedroom for the soon to be newlyweds Mr. and Mrs. B. We made pleasantries with the leasing agent (or should I say boy 3 years our younger with too much gel in his hair and fake work laugh). He congratulated Mrs. B on her wedding while I held her hand and replied, "Thanks" (even though Hubz and Gel boy didn't understand nor appreciated my joke). He proceeded to show us overpriced apartments with underwhelming square footage. NOPE check that off the list. He didn't even ask us for our information when we sat down: looks like he lost that lead.
Next up we met Sally* (name changed for her protection). Now, Sally was the most helpful leasing agent I have ever met in my entire life. You see, I used to work in sales. I know the consultative sales process backwards and forwards and Sally had all the steps down to a T. Even when she realized that we may very well not be able to live in her apartments, she told us about 3 other locations that might better suit our needs. I wanted to hug her.
After leaving the effin Taj Mahal of beautiful apartments, Mrs. B and I decided to show Hubz some of the more affordable townhomes on the...other side of town. And boy was it on the other side of the town. Gone were the winding walkways and Target within walking distance. Replace those with a busy 4 lane street and/or a public zoo. Yes. A zoo (which sounds neat until you actually get there). After we were forced to leave one location due to the leasing office being completely closed (and after driving through the full renovations that were happening), we went on to the next failure.
We should have saw the red-flags as they were happening: 1) we had to stand around for 10 minutes while the entire staff finished up an hour and a half long meeting, 2) when they finally did open the doors, they didn't pull up an extra chair for Hubz (so he spent the entire awkward 10 minutes while she scrutinized our IDs hovering around), 3) we had to talk over the power washer and nearly got sprayed by them, 4) the 2 bed 1.5 bath boasted an area where you and the hubz can poo at the SAME TIME in the SAME ROOM, 5) the upstairs closet was already 4 feet off the ground, and 6) the "manager" got miffed that we weren't filling out applications (chyeah right) and yelled at me when I asked about their 'look and lease' special. Even though I did like their huge dirt patios and low rental prices, Future Mrs. B and Hubz said NO.
By this point, I was pretty disheartened. Looking at all the pretty model homes with all the furniture just so made me come home to my junk hole and go, "Ugh-ew." I started to think about what was really important. Location? Our favorite apartment was a mile down the road. Bedrooms? The second bedroom would be kind of small for the computer and TV--and also what would I do with the living room?
Then I got a crazy idea. What if we stayed in this junk hole and made it into a model apartment! Yeah! Hey, moving costs like...$300, right? We'd be saving around $200 in rent since all the apartments were gastronomically more than what we're paying now. We'd have to buy new furniture anyway if we were moving. Why not just cut our losses and invest in some nice pieces! Hallelujah by George I think I've got it!
Now all I need is for Mrs. B to help me clear the junk out. It's okay. She's great that. Right Mrs. B?
When I get an idea in my head, it's all I can think about. I spend hours online on several different search engines trying to find the perfect apartment that will just fit our measly budget. Amenities requested: washer/dryer in unit, patio for smuggled-in dog, first floor so I don't break my back carrying in groceries from TJs, preferably with central air (though not necessary). You'd be surprised how few and far between these apartments are, at least without having to sell my extra kidney to pay the rent.
The last few times I had looked for apartments, I religiously used one search engine that promised $100 rewards if I leased one of their beautiful apartments. I mapped out on Google maps where every apartment was and dedicated a single page to each location to take meticulous notes. Two weeks before, I would call each and every leasing agent to make sure they knew when we were coming.
I didn't do that this time. On a whim, I told my husband, "We're going hunting. Apartment hunting." He was so sick of this junk hole, too, that he quickly agreed. We drove down to the apartment complex about half a mile down the road, only to find out that none of their apartments have washer/dryer hookups. NOPE check that off the list. Too bad, since the leasing agent was actually pretty nice.
By the time we finished with failure number one, Future Mrs. B was ready to join in our hunt. All three of us waltzed into the next location with high hopes: a nice two bedroom for me and the hubz and a nearby one bedroom for the soon to be newlyweds Mr. and Mrs. B. We made pleasantries with the leasing agent (or should I say boy 3 years our younger with too much gel in his hair and fake work laugh). He congratulated Mrs. B on her wedding while I held her hand and replied, "Thanks" (even though Hubz and Gel boy didn't understand nor appreciated my joke). He proceeded to show us overpriced apartments with underwhelming square footage. NOPE check that off the list. He didn't even ask us for our information when we sat down: looks like he lost that lead.
Next up we met Sally* (name changed for her protection). Now, Sally was the most helpful leasing agent I have ever met in my entire life. You see, I used to work in sales. I know the consultative sales process backwards and forwards and Sally had all the steps down to a T. Even when she realized that we may very well not be able to live in her apartments, she told us about 3 other locations that might better suit our needs. I wanted to hug her.
After leaving the effin Taj Mahal of beautiful apartments, Mrs. B and I decided to show Hubz some of the more affordable townhomes on the...other side of town. And boy was it on the other side of the town. Gone were the winding walkways and Target within walking distance. Replace those with a busy 4 lane street and/or a public zoo. Yes. A zoo (which sounds neat until you actually get there). After we were forced to leave one location due to the leasing office being completely closed (and after driving through the full renovations that were happening), we went on to the next failure.
We should have saw the red-flags as they were happening: 1) we had to stand around for 10 minutes while the entire staff finished up an hour and a half long meeting, 2) when they finally did open the doors, they didn't pull up an extra chair for Hubz (so he spent the entire awkward 10 minutes while she scrutinized our IDs hovering around), 3) we had to talk over the power washer and nearly got sprayed by them, 4) the 2 bed 1.5 bath boasted an area where you and the hubz can poo at the SAME TIME in the SAME ROOM, 5) the upstairs closet was already 4 feet off the ground, and 6) the "manager" got miffed that we weren't filling out applications (chyeah right) and yelled at me when I asked about their 'look and lease' special. Even though I did like their huge dirt patios and low rental prices, Future Mrs. B and Hubz said NO.
By this point, I was pretty disheartened. Looking at all the pretty model homes with all the furniture just so made me come home to my junk hole and go, "Ugh-ew." I started to think about what was really important. Location? Our favorite apartment was a mile down the road. Bedrooms? The second bedroom would be kind of small for the computer and TV--and also what would I do with the living room?
Then I got a crazy idea. What if we stayed in this junk hole and made it into a model apartment! Yeah! Hey, moving costs like...$300, right? We'd be saving around $200 in rent since all the apartments were gastronomically more than what we're paying now. We'd have to buy new furniture anyway if we were moving. Why not just cut our losses and invest in some nice pieces! Hallelujah by George I think I've got it!
Now all I need is for Mrs. B to help me clear the junk out. It's okay. She's great that. Right Mrs. B?
Friday, January 16, 2009
The Notorious Mrs. B
So I'm Mrs. B or will be in three months a some change. I was born and bred an OC girl, well the atypical stereotype of one anyway. I am a self made non-millionaire who decided to leave a full time life with 34 vacation days, retirement, and health insurance to pursue my life long dream of being a professional student. After twenty-one years of a career in education (sounds better than being a bum who can't figure out what to do with myself) I have decided to take on another career I said I wanted nothing to do with all throughout college. No not sanitation engineering, being a part-time wife. Yeah stop judging punk, I'd love to say full-time but A) we're not married yet, just living in sin; B) I have to finish what I started, OCD. C) The man is working full-time in law and attempting to get into law school. If I don't do something with myself I'd go postal listening to him mumble about logic and reason, A+B + the second train leaving the station = the square root of SHUT THE HELL UP.
Don't get me wrong I love my soon to be husband and can't wait to call him that, just not to his face. I am with the hottest twenty something man west of the South County border. We share our life with Kaos. It's not spelled wrong. That's the name of our eight month old pound puppy. She is the greatest dog to ever live and makes me think that maybe the goal of mom won't be as much fun as adopting another puppy. Ok so by now you've figured out that I'm not the most nurturing woman, we'll I'm working on it. Kaos gets lots of encouragement and I'm incredibly proud of her accomplishment of peeing on command.
Lately, I spend my time sitting in a cubical office space style with the resident Persian guy and a Daniel Craig stalker (no judgment). The job is really difficult especially when the internet connection runs slow. It really makes it difficult to find the right purple shoes to go with my soon-to-be maxed out my credit card to get you wedding dress.
Don't get me wrong I love my soon to be husband and can't wait to call him that, just not to his face. I am with the hottest twenty something man west of the South County border. We share our life with Kaos. It's not spelled wrong. That's the name of our eight month old pound puppy. She is the greatest dog to ever live and makes me think that maybe the goal of mom won't be as much fun as adopting another puppy. Ok so by now you've figured out that I'm not the most nurturing woman, we'll I'm working on it. Kaos gets lots of encouragement and I'm incredibly proud of her accomplishment of peeing on command.
Lately, I spend my time sitting in a cubical office space style with the resident Persian guy and a Daniel Craig stalker (no judgment). The job is really difficult especially when the internet connection runs slow. It really makes it difficult to find the right purple shoes to go with my soon-to-be maxed out my credit card to get you wedding dress.
Meet Mrs. Chaney
Hi. I'm Mrs. Chaney. The only time I've been called Mrs. Chaney was when I had to drop $121 at Goodyear to rotate, balance, and align my tires...only to realize that I have to get all new ones in 6 measly months. My favorite part about being a Chaney? It's the shock factor I get when I drop my last name. You see, I don't look like a Chaney. I look like a Lee, Shin, or Chang.
My life in the OC technically started about 2 years ago, but I don't count that first year since it was in north OC (come on, you don't really believe that it's really Orange County until you hit at least 3 Targets within a 5 mile radius). Immediately, I became spoiled with the green parks with perfectly manicured grass and chain restaurants just minutes away. It got so bad that I would beg my husband to "take me back to Orange County" whenever we would drive through Los Angeles to visit my sister in Pasadena.
I pretty much have it made. My husband has a job doing what most parents would beam about and I have a beautiful red footlong dog illegally living in my apartment (seriously, what's the deal with pet rent?). But there are many things that set me apart from the typical OC housewife: I don't carry a Coach purse for one (as I grin at soon-to-be Mrs. Burke). In fact, I used to be very successful at what I did--until corporate America decided to take a turn for the worse. When I realized what most recent graduates do after their first failed career, I found myself registering for classes for what seemed to be a quick 2-year A.S. program in the field of Allied Health. The 2-year program is slowly starting to become a 3+ year program since it seems as though a million other ex-careerites have had the same idea.
So what does a newlywed who takes a few courses here and there at the local community college actually do? Stay tuned...
My life in the OC technically started about 2 years ago, but I don't count that first year since it was in north OC (come on, you don't really believe that it's really Orange County until you hit at least 3 Targets within a 5 mile radius). Immediately, I became spoiled with the green parks with perfectly manicured grass and chain restaurants just minutes away. It got so bad that I would beg my husband to "take me back to Orange County" whenever we would drive through Los Angeles to visit my sister in Pasadena.
I pretty much have it made. My husband has a job doing what most parents would beam about and I have a beautiful red footlong dog illegally living in my apartment (seriously, what's the deal with pet rent?). But there are many things that set me apart from the typical OC housewife: I don't carry a Coach purse for one (as I grin at soon-to-be Mrs. Burke). In fact, I used to be very successful at what I did--until corporate America decided to take a turn for the worse. When I realized what most recent graduates do after their first failed career, I found myself registering for classes for what seemed to be a quick 2-year A.S. program in the field of Allied Health. The 2-year program is slowly starting to become a 3+ year program since it seems as though a million other ex-careerites have had the same idea.
So what does a newlywed who takes a few courses here and there at the local community college actually do? Stay tuned...
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