December 2nd, 2004; 24 weeks, 4 days
All right, so I'm off the couch. I've moved past shock and am now firmly in my 'anger' phase. (A big shout out to Kubler-Ross) So now I’ve hired a lawyer who came highly recommended by the subway ad I read while returning from my prenatal yoga class, and the plan is to slap those morons with the biggest wrongful termination suit since Omorosa got kicked off The Apprentice.
And I’ve been taking deep, cleansing breaths between bouts of cursing and trying to figure out what I’m going to do for money as I enter this new chapter in my life……after all, this is an opportunity, not a setback!
Note to self: pick up a Learning Annex catalogue.
Question to research: how does one become an Olympic judge? Because this is something I could really see myself doing. I’d have a lot of time off, travel to exotic locales and meet male gymnasts. Surely some of them are straight….I would have to hide these peccadilloes from my Dear Husband, but aren’t indiscretions that take place on the other side of the international dateline considered free passes?
I rather enjoyed watching the trampoline-based events in this last Olympics and remembered wondering at the time how one became accredited to judge a ‘sport’ that didn’t actually exist. The judges all sat there, taking notes according to what one supposes were the ‘rules’ of the apparatus, but since the trampoline, unlike, say, the marathon, cannot trace its roots back to an ancient Greek practice, who can really say what they were doing. And if the field of applicants for trampolining judges is full, maybe I could get in on the forefront of some new exhibition sport…maybe freeze tag or nucumb. Or maybe Monkey-in-the-Middle, which I was always very good at, could be renamed the Synchronized 12-yard Dash or something.
There did seem to be a good many events added to that Olympics by virtue of their being made into synchronized competitions. Ask Trevor to petition the Olympic Committee to include Synchronized Beach Volleyball in their next foray…I could sell commemorative t-shirts and make a fortune. And if you’ll permit me a further mommy-brain digression, did anybody find watching beach volleyball rather like watching a David Hasselhoff-less version of Baywatch? Who designed those uniforms? You can’t tell me sand didn’t get under there with all the lunging and diving into sand those girls did. Trust me; a pregnant woman knows what she’s talking about when it comes to chafing.
December 5, 2004, 24 weeks 5 days
After a temporary, though short-lived, period of exultation following my untimely dismissal from my full-time job, reality struck me swiftly and hard. (Olympic judging? What was I, insane? Oh wait: stage 3 is denial, right? Maybe I'm just getting better.) While it was fun to ponder the various career options open to me, I am forced to face the painful fact that I am unemployed, 6 months pregnant and dangerously hormonal. These facts, coupled with the unfortunate truth that I have to take potty breaks roughly every 14 minutes, renders me something other than the ideal new-hire
So I’d like to make a radical suggestion. One of you should hire me. I’m smart, as you know from reading my column, I’m strong, as evidenced by the way I dispatched that belly-rubber in the Pathmark, and I’m able to learn from my mistakes. I can now freely admit that I may have over-reacted in both my violent treatment of the afore-mentioned belly-rubber and in my somewhat excessive maternity leave request to my previous employers.
No comments:
Post a Comment