I hope you readers are up to date on all of your catastrophe-type insurances, I am no longer on house arrest.

I got a new job. Out of the house. Consider yourself warned.

I’ve only been searching for another part-time job for, oh, a year and a half now. I can’t tell you how it strokes my ego to have been snatched up as an employee so quickly. Clearly I am valued by our society.

It’s been a very surreal experience so far, this leaving the house and interacting with people.

Oh my god. PEOPLE. They are still out there.

Did you know that PEOPLE still shake hands? Totally true. I started to think we should do like the Japanese and just bow to each other, that would totally prevent the spread of H1N1, but then I remembered Japan has SARS. So I shook peoples’ hands.

Another drawback to working outside the home is not passing gas whenever you feel like it. You have to squeeze your butt cheeks and everything, god. This really fucks up my “if Heather farts at home and no one hears it, does it really make a sound” philosophical debate.

Should I mention the whole getting dressed aspect of working outside the home? Not that I didn’t get dressed before, I did. No working from home in pajamas for me, mostly because my boob would probably fall out of my spaghetti strap gown, and then what would the Fed-Ex man say to that, he isn’t even cute. But now I have to wear dressy pants with appropriate closed-toed shoes that are comfortable to stand in for 5 hours. This means I’m forced to buy Hush Puppies or SAS. I’ve lost my will to live.

(I tried to type “Hush Pussies” instead of “Hush Puppies.” What in the hell is wrong with my subconscious? Please don’t tell my new employer.)

On the upside of this new out-of-home job, though – money. And a flexible schedule that lets me work around school hours. And all of the PEOPLE have been really nice so far. Except for one assistant manager who was kind of stand-offish when he met me. I’m sure he was just dazed by my sexy shoes. Or possibly from my secret test of the “Silent But Violent” flatulence warfare campaign. Seriously, Tom Hanks, Pacific has nothing on me.

When I informed my two children mommy got a new job out of the house, these were their reactions:

Payton: Yippee! Now we can start saving up for a Walt Disney World vacation!

Parker: Oh fucking hell, you better be kidding! You are abandoning your family, you will no longer be there for us! Stay home, woman! Barefoot! And why aren’t you pregnant again?!

I believe my cat is also upset at the change in lifestyle. She keeps sticking her butt in my face as I type this blog, as if I’ve forgotten who she is and must identify her by her ass smell.

I’m not going to tell you the name of my new employer because of Google searches. Instead, I’m going to give you hints and see if you can guess who it is. But please guess in code or invisible ink because Google picks up the words in your comments too.

So let’s see…

I must leave the house and interact with people, sometimes by shaking hands.

I can’t fart on the job.

It’s a large company. Very large. And I will be working within an even larger company that many people love to hate.

I must dress appropriately, including shoes that would make your grandma green with envy.

I make money, as opposed to being paid in cockleshells.

And I’m abandoning my family.

Ten cockleshells awarded to whomever guesses correctly.

This entry was posted on Friday, March 12th, 2010 at 12:01 am and is filed under A Bunch of Nothing. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.