"If you feel like you're going to vomit, that's okay!"

That's what my spinning instructor told the class yesterday when she was making us do some hard, terrible things. Luckily, nobody did vomit, and I frankly wasn't nauseated. But the fact that I was in a class where the instructor expected nausea made me very happy. I know, I'm a freak. But I'm a medium-core freak who likes to pretend she's hardcore. Which means that I like this instructor, even though she makes her class want to vomit. Or maybe I like her because of it.

This morning, however, I felt solidly medium-core because I could barely lift myself out of bed. I've discovered some leg muscles that I didn't even know I had. It seriously hurt to put pants on because it meant that I had to raise each leg to get it into the pant leg. Perhaps I should consider hiring some kind of home health aide to roll me over and dress me until the situation improves. I'm obviously only barely capable of performing these activities myself. The best part is that a home health aide would probably also tell me that it would be okay if I wanted to vomit.

The Torturous Art of the Cover Letter

I've always hated writing cover letters. I think it's hard for me to sell myself on paper like that, and what I really want to say generally isn't something that I can say (For instance: "If you want to know about me, please turn the page to my vitae. Thank you.")

Over the last couple of days, I've been working on a cover letter for a job for which I'm applying. This would be a Real Job. But don't get too excited -- I really don't have much chance of getting it. This is partly because I'm not a Real Professional. And because I don't see myself as a Real Professional, I think it comes across in my letter. Also, again, what I would really like to say is pretty much off limits for the letter. So, in order to get it out of my system, I will post here the cover letter that I wish I could write:

To whom it may concern:

With great anxiety I apply for XX position. Please find attached my curriculum vitae, which includes a list of professional references that you may contact if you would like someone to vouch for my mediocrity. I am, however, a very nice person.

I think I would be a good fit at X because I really need a job. Sallie Mae is breathing down my neck and heat is expensive. Although I hear that you are not a particularly fun place to work, I'm willing to put that aside so long as you pay me well and don't torture me too terribly much. And when I suggest that you pay me "well" please do keep in mind that it is only a suggestion. I am desperate, which means I'm a good bargain. I have also never really made money in my life, so I have virtually nothing to which I could unfavorably compare whatever crappy salary you offer me. I might ask for more, but only because the aforementioned Sallie Mae owns my soul.

If you hire me, you will be pleasantly (?) surprised at my ability to make sarcastic quips during meetings. Depending on your sense of humor, you may or may not find this funny. If you don't, I will make an effort to quiet myself by muttering under my breath to coworkers instead. I will also retire to my office and work on my blog. At the end of the day, I will be happy to leave on time in the name of "personal balance" and go home to immediately put on my pajamas even though it is only 6 PM. I will then watch mindless sitcom reruns on television because I'm so freakin' tired from getting up at 5 to hit the gym that I was really too tired to function at work in the first place. I am excellent in emergency situations, however, because when I am tired and stressed, I tend to cry.

Please do not hesitate to contact me to further discuss my application.

Sincerely,

Helga

Six Months and Counting

Last night and this morning, I wished more than ever to get out of the suburbs and into the city. Why? Last night, I and many other irate yet resigned passengers waited for a commuter train that was 40 minutes late (my train ride itself is only about 5 minutes). The platform is outside, and if you ever read a newspaper or turn on the TV news (or live here), you know that is was slushy and snowy in Boston yesterday. So I was cold. If I lived in the city, I would be taking the subway, which has more frequent trains and (generally) underground platforms. And that would make me much less irate.

I had planned to dig out the car when I got home, since I knew that the snow and ice would freeze rock-solid by morning, but it was dark and I couldn't feel my hands. I went inside and had some wine instead (okay, this helped with the whole irate thing). This morning, after creeping outside at 5 AM to see that the car was indeed frozen solid, I gave up on the idea of going to the gym and got back in bed. But I had to dig out anyway later, and it was quite a chore. I almost couldn't get the car free from the ice drift into which it was locked. So I guess I got a workout anyway. I just couldn't bring myself to spend more time waiting for the stupid train. And plus, I needed to hit the laundromat tonight, which means I needed the car. If I lived in the city, I would have gym that was on a subway line or within walking distance. And I would probably just leave the car frozen. And laundry? Well, when our lease is up, I'm not doing this driving to the laundromat shit again. Because wherever we live next will have to have laundry in the building or at least right around the corner.

We've lived in the suburbs of Massachusetts for 6 months today. Which means we're halfway through our lease and can dream of apartment shopping soon. Well, I guess we've already been dreaming. What it really means is that soon we can start looking.

Also, weather.com says it's supposed to be 67 degrees in Oakland tomorrow. In Boston it's forecast to be 28 and windy. Excuse me while I shed a tear that will quickly freeze to my cheek.

"Natick Recycles"

Or at least that's what is emblazoned on the sides of the recycling bins the town provides. I've often thought that it would be more accurate to say "Natick (sort of) recycles" or, when I'm in a worse mood, "Natick doesn't recycle shit." After all, the trucks only come to pick up the recycling every other week. For most people, this doesn't seem to be an issue, since hardly anyone in Massachusetts recycles anyway (the recycling rate is a paltry 22%). On the off-weeks, I often see garbage bags filled with recyclables. It takes a lot of willpower on my part not to tear these bags open and scream at idiots who seem to think this is okay. And my workplace doesn't have a recycling program for aluminum and plastics. They can only bring themselves to recycle paper, apparently. This. is. ridiculous.

Given all that, you wouldn't think that Natick's recycling bins would be such a commodity that people would need to steal them. But you'd be wrong. Back in October, our first recycling bin was stolen after we forgot to put it away when we went away for the weekend. Since that time, we've used an old laundry basket, which worked fine and allowed us to not have to purchase another bin from the town. And we've faithfully brought it in every Friday night upon returning from work (pick up is Friday morning). But last Friday, there was no basket on the curb to pick up. Apparently, it was stolen too. Nobody has broken into our car. Leaving our building door unlocked doesn't present a problem. Our neighbors routinely set junk out on the curb that nobody will touch (this week: A weight bench). But somebody is stealing our recycling bins? This seems a bit twisted. If you're going to steal something, at least make it worth the effort. I keep looking around by the bushes, thinking that maybe the wind blew it under something, just because I can't believe it. Who the hell steals a recycling bin?

Somebody in my neighborhood, that's who. And I think it would be hilarious if this ended up on the crappy local paper's police blog. Usually it details small thefts from the mall, domestic violence, or DUIs. The best part is that it includes the name and address of the person arrested. Imagine it: "Bunky Schmoe, of 35 Summer Street in Natick, was arrested for recycling bin theft. More than 30 bins were found in his basement." (Please note: This is not a real name or address. I'm not actually making an accusation).

I have a t-shirt that says "Police" on it. Maybe I should start wearing it.