Happy Honeymooning!

In the last week, I've had two friends get engaged. Not to each other, in case you're curious.

Our former co-worker Hayley got engaged to her beau, Nate, and my good friend, former speechie, and annual Oscar contest coordinator, Amy is marrying her man-friend Jeff.

The funny thing is that both happy couples were at our wedding. In fact, I'm pretty sure that they were the only two unmarried couples at our wedding. And in both cases, it was the first time we'd met the future grooms.

How cool is that? Of course, Cory and I would like to take complete responsibility for their successful relationships. By the way, our one-year anniversary is coming up in less than three weeks. No, we don't have any big plans. I can't take time off at work yet, so we'll just be our boring married selves.

Finding a Loophole

So, the IT policy at my new job prohibits us from looking at social websites while on the clock. MySpace, Facebook, YouTube... they're all off-limits. And while most companies have a similar policy, our workplace actually monitors web usage. At least somewhat.

I can live without MySpace... or Facebook... or YouTube. Really. I can. However, I don't have to, since one of my job responsibilities has been to create a MySpace page for our workplace.

It's still in the birthing process, but if you want to check it out, go for it.

March Madness

Sunday was a little strange for me-- Cory and I watched the March Madness selection show, and I realized that I didn't really know much about college basketball this year. Other than a couple of conference tournament games this weekend, I really haven't watched anyone play since mid-December. I mean, I can usually make some pretty educated guesses when I fill out my bracket, but this year, I'll be that annoying person in your office who chooses their teams by picking the one with the best mascot (and if that's my primary criterion, the Western Kentucky Hilltopper will at least make it to the final four).

Here's the other weird thing. For the first time in a decade, I won't be able to watch the majority of the first-round games. In the past, I've either been on spring break (fantastic timing), worked at a TV station where watching college hoops all day was my job, had a schedule that gave me Thursdays and Fridays off, or a combination of all of the above. This year, not so much. I won't be able to call Cory and tell him (mid-workday) about the awesome finish to every game.

I'm not sure I'm going to make it. And no, I can't take a personal day. I just need to come to terms with it... I'm a "normal" person. And normal people miss the first round of the tournament all the time.

Sigh.

Showing my Age

It started quietly enough. I couldn't tell one boy-band from another. MTV started to suck. Then I had co-workers who had never heard the term "latchkey kid." Let's face it. I'm old.

Saturday, the final nail dropped. Wait... that's the wrong metaphor. The shoe dropped. whatever.

I found a gray hair. (Or is it a grey hair? What's the difference, anyway?)

In the past, I've thought I've found gray hairs, but after plucking them out and holding them up to the light, I've realized that they were just blonder than others.

This one was gray. It was coarse, much thicker than my blond hair, and about an inch and a half long, which means it probably sprouted right around the time I lost my job. And if it truly is stress-induced, I'm guessing it probably has friends that I haven't found yet.

My frustration must have been palpable. I got carded twice this weekend. And to that clueless bouncer and way-too-nice waitress, Thank You. At this point, I'll take what I can get.

Payday!

My first payday at the new job almost didn't happen.

I arrived at work, and one of my co-workers and I wandered over to the accounting department in search of our paychecks. And there wasn't a check for me. To make it worse, the payroll manager wasn't going to be in until the afternoon.

So I sent her a friendly little email, reminding her that my first day of work was February 18th and that I only had $19 in my checking account.

When I got to work, she looked on the HR report, and there I was, with my hire date and my first pay date all correct. So, she digs a little deeper. And discovers that my annual salary is listed as zero.

Oops.

She fixed it, cut me a manual check, and had it in my hands by 2:00 pm. I just deposited it into the ol' bank account. And I've staved off a lifetime of abject poverty for another two weeks.

Whew.

Only in Florida

A few months ago, I introduced you to "Nub City." Today, it's time to drive the blog up the highway to "Gibtown." Much like Detroit is where old NHL defensemen go to die, Gibsonton is where circus freaks go to die.

Part of the that book I'm reading right now ("Smashed, Squashed, Splattered, Chewed, Chunked, and Spewed" by Lance Carbuncle) takes place in Gibsonton-- and I was kind of excited about the possibility of going to The "Giant's Place Restaurant." Unfortunately, it closed last year. The freak show is becoming a thing of the past. As the article says,

Years ago, Hall employed Fat Men and Tattooed Ladies. But those days are over. Today, it is not unusual for people to be obese, or have their bodies covered with permanent ink.

Maybe some day I'll take a trip to Gibtown, anyway.