Reality sets in

I'm leaving my job. Tomorrow's my last day. It finally seems real to me! I had a lovely going away lunch at work today with scrumptious Cottage Inn pizza and was bestowed with a card filled with lovely writings. My favorite was Marnee's (mostly inside jokes but I'm hoping you can find some humor in it anyway):

Top 10 things to help you be successful at your new job:

10. If you are transporting clients, you better get some barf bags for your car
9. When people arrive to the office after you, don't forget to welcome them to their job
8. Find out who has the pregnancy chair and don't sit in it!
7. Call up Felix to get your Ybarra fix
6. Always have a plan
5. Don't neglect the record
4. Never, under any circumstances, make any jokes about quadriplegics
3. Wait at least 30 days before telling anyone your nicknames
2. Be on time, especially your first day!
1. Don't forget those you "Left Behind" here in Kalamazoo!

Brings back so many memories...like the time when I got to work and Marnee greeted me in the parking lot, throwing her arms wide and proclaiming, "Welcome! Welcome to your job!" And Marnee's insatiable need to always have a plan, no matter what's going on. ("Soooo...what's the plan?") And my constant references to the "record" that I seem to be keeping on myself ("For the record...") And of course, the reference to the fact that I was quite late on my first day of work because my alarm hadn't gone off. Apparently it was so painful a memory that I forgot all about it. Honestly, I'm still not sure I believe that it happened! Then there was our temporary obsession with the Left Behind books, the fact that one of my nicknames is Pork (don't ask), and my favorite foster care worker, John Ybarra, who used to hound me about having his brother Felix put decals on my sweet black Grand Am I used to have. Good times...Marnee always knows how to sum things up. I'm going to miss these people.

Below is my stapler, which I am very grieved to part with. Just call me Milton.

Dent

I have discovered that my engagement ring has created a dent in my finger. I've become one of those people, like my mom, who has worn a ring long enough to have a dent in my finger. ("Those" people? Are we really our own category?)

I have also discovered that my diamond looks best under dim lighting.

Happy 89th, Grandma!

The many results of eating less...

This is a photo of a two-pound catfish. I lost the equivalent of this fish in body fat this past week. I accept your congratulations and well-wishes for further fishes lost. Perhaps next week...a mackerel.

Today I cleaned out my fridge, as three things had come to my attention: 1) There was no room in the fridge; 2) Despite this, there was nothing to eat; 3) All my tupperware had gone missing, and I had suspicions as to its whereabouts.

What did I find? The two nearly-empty half gallons of milk that I was recitant to open. The penne. The whole-wheat spaghetti. The barbeque meatballs. The chicken marinade. And finally...the shredded lettuce. For those of you who are conducting highly complex biological experiments requiring specific variables, it was shredded iceberg contained in a navy blue IKEA Syntes cereal bowl with an elastic-edged Saran Ready-Wrap thing. It had been in my refrigerator for approximately...well...it dates back to pre-engagement Laura's house, so let's say approximately four and a half weeks.

I am a disgusting human being.

Please excuse me while I scavenge through my non-perishable food items for something to eat.

And also...

http://dictionary.reference.com/search?q=flat%20as%20a%20pancake

Junk food aisle explosion!

For the month leading up to my birthday, I swore off many wonderful things, all of which can be found atop this cake. Marnee is the ultimate diet saboteur, and I love her for it.