Thursday, January 11, 2007

How Can It Only Be Thursday?

This is my first full week back at work. After all, I had the whole week of Christmas off and then I was only here Wednesday, Thursday and Friday last week. So this week, although I've enjoyed it, it feels like I haven't had a day off in three years.

It's amazing that I still love my job as much as I do. Every day, I wake up and realize that I'm a whole new Catwoman. That I no longer have very much in common with the 22 year-old me. I still have the 22 year-old me's ability to stick her foot in her mouth and her clumsiness. Because after all, those are the core values that make me Catwoman. Changing these would be like telling the Earth it needs to stop spinning around the sun.

But I know the 22-year old me would hate this job. The 22-year old me would lash out by having a crappy attitude, drinking every night, showing up late and spending most of the day sitting in her cubicle silently rolling her eyes and giving people the finger secretly.

The 31-year old me, on the other hand, thinks this job is just about the closest thing to freaking heaven. No one gives me crap. Like ever. And when they do give me crap, it's so small that I can only laugh at it. The 22-year old me used to not take any tiny ounce of crap. A single molecule of crap and her good attitude was out the window and Godzilla Catwoman would move in forever.

The 31-year old Catwoman leaves between 5 and 5:15 every day (our work hours are 8:30-5:30). Not because she has a bad attitude, but because, except for when she's blogging or reading other people's blogs or gossiping with her coworkers, the 31-year old Catwoman works her ass off and does about two day's worth of work in those good four hours of work. And the 31-year old Catwoman also gets here at about 7:50, simply because she's a mother now and the daycare is willing to feed the Little Man until 8 a.m. and as any mother will tell you, free food and having someone else try to feed your toddler is worth its weight in gold.

The 22-year old me would find this job extremely boring and lacking of excitement. The 31 year-old me loves the fact that anything I do is met with so much praise, that my little email "pat on the back" folder where I put congratulatory emails is so full that I'm now starting to think that I might be the Fergie of this place. And the 31-year old me thinks that being appreciated and getting to do good work is way better than being treated like crap at a job that impresses guys in bars.

And that's another reason the 22 year-old Catwoman would hate the 31 year-old Catwoman. I'm only interested in men who sleep in cribs right now. Men who are just over two-feet tall, poop themselves a few times a day and can blow some seriously kick ass raspberries.

I love the 31-year-old me way better.

Love,

Catwoman.

PS: I still haven't found a solution to downloading my 160 pictures of the Little Man to update his 16-month newsletter, but I have added a couple of pictures that my mother and sister sent me. If you feel like scrolling down five posts to see my drooly favorite dude, well, now you can.

3 comments:

random_mommy said...

i think it's time for you to come up with your own song.... catwomanalicious...

Emma in Canada said...

I wish I had a job where I could read blogs. Hell, I'd be happy having a job where I could sit.

I'm assuming that was your niece...so cute and chubby! Little Man is as adorable as ever.

Catwoman said...

I'd want my song to not have the word "lumps" in it. I have too much cellulite for that.

And Emma, yes, that's my niece. She's got the world's biggest and roundest blue eyes, and her head is so soft and her cheeks are so chubby, I could swallow her whole.