arrrrrggggghhhh!!!!!

It's 10:48 pm Central Daylight Time. Do you know where my sanity is?

Some of you know that the temp assignment I'd been working for the past couple of months ended recently. It had nothing to do with my performance, they'd been planning to transfer a worker from a different office to work my shift. In fact my boss and coworkers took me out for lunch on my last day to say goodbye and thank me for all my hard work, which was quite nice... but in any case I'm looking for work again. I have an interview on Tuesday and I've registered with a couple of local agencies, so all is well enough for now.

To that end, I accepted a one-day temp job in Nashville tomorrow (Monday). It's a very simple assignment, just collating and stuffing envelopes, so I decided to be a good doobie and take the job so the agency people know I'm a team player and will offer me more challenging (read: longer and better paying) assignments in the future. Problem is, the staffing associate who I talked to on Friday afternoon said she was going to email me directions to the job site. She didn't. Nor did she tell me the name of the company where I'll be working tomorrow. All she told me was which exit to take of of which interstate, and a vague description of the building's appearance.

"That's not so bad, Chloe!" I hear you say. "Why don't you take a trial run? A little recon trip to see if you can figure out where it is? That way you don't have to rush around trying to find it at the last minute."

Yes, dear reader, that makes perfect sense. So much sense that Rich & I took a drive to downtown Nashville this morning to try to find the place. So far we have it narrowed down to three possible locations within a half-mile of one another. With any luck someone will answer the phone at my agency before 9am tomorrow and help a woman out.

The good part about this assignment is that it's semi-casual dress. I'm not a fan of full business dress, as most of the business attire I own is a.) too small, b.) too tight, c.) polyester, or d.) all of the above. It's getting into the 80's here during the day so polyester makes me even sweatier than usual. Gotta love Sweaty Big Girl Disease.

(Seriously, I wore my usual interview outfit to an agency last week and got so sweaty the staffer I was talking to handed me a kleenex box because I was just dripping with sweat. Embarassing? Just a little!)

So I've got a cute warm-weather office outfit picked out: pale green flowy top with a little medallion design between the boobies, long olive green flowy skirt, and navy blue clogs. "Perfect," I tell myself, "now you just need a pair of bike shorts and you're good to go!" But I don't have any clean bike shorts! And in my case, Sweaty Big Girl Disease coincides with Giant Rubbing Thighs of Death. So I need bike shorts under this skirt, unless I want to wear pantyhose in 80-degree weather and exacerbate the sweat issues or walk around in a straddle position all day. Neither option really appeals to me.

So tonight when I took my shower I brought a pair of bike shorts in with me and washed them, so as not to use a whole washer load of water on one little garment. Took awhile to rinse the Dove Bodywash out of them, but they're clean. I dry off and take said shorts to the dryer, because the dryer can be set for short time periods and I don't feel as guilty about wasting energy. (BTW I'm not taking any chances on air-drying. Tonight's slight dampness may become tomorrow's mildew infestation. Ewwwww.) There I find that Rich did a load of laundry who-knows-how-many days ago and left it sitting in the dryer to wrinkle. Thank God it was mostly socks. So I have to find a basket, take his clothes out and put them somewhere. And I am in no mood for folding. Time to dry the shorts.

However, our dryer exhaust hose is hooked up to a little plastic unit that does jack shiznit to dissipate the heat and humidity from the exhaust. (We got this little plastic thing on the recommendation of our management company's redneck - I mean repairman - who didn't want to drill a hole in the wall to make the dryer exhaust go outside. So now when we do laundry we have to open at least one door and banish the cat to the spare room, because our storm doors don't have screens in them. Neither do most of our windows, despite my request to have them put in. But I digress.)

Rich had been experimenting with elongating the dryer hose and leading it out the back door, in an effort to get rid of all this excess heat and humidity whenever we dry our clothes, but his experiments didn't quite work. He'd left the hose unconnected last time he played around with it, so I tried reconnecting it but it popped right out as soon as I started the dryer. So I had to wake him from a sound sleep and make him reconnect the hose properly. Then he was snippy because I'd woken him up, and I was snippy because I'm a.) nervous about finding the place tomorrow, b.) anxious to make sure my shorts dry fully because mildewy shorts can't be good for the Giant Rubbing Thighs, c.) pissed at him for not reattaching the hose after his Mr. Fix-It games, and d.) PMS-ing like a mo' fo'. So we snapped at each other for a bit. Then he went back to bed. Arrrrggggghhhhhh.....

OK, now it's 11:34 pm, the shorts are dry, and the alarm will be going off in just under 7 hours. Wish me luck! And thanks for listening to my - dare I say it - venting. Hee hee.