Category Archives: Career

May 10, 2013 · 2:55 pm

Falling Asleep at the Burnt Out Class

falling asleep

I love school! If I won lotto tomorrow, I would just plan to take classes for the rest of my life, whether or not I could earn a degree for it. I don’t care if it’s on auto repair or astrophysics or how to put up an astrological horoscope, if there’s learning involved, sign me up.

Unfortunately, my work schedule during the tv season virtually prohibits the commitment to a regular class schedule. In 2008 I went back to school taking online classes from Clarion University in Pennsylvania, and even though I was working at the time, in 2010 I earned my Master’s degree in Library Science.

It nearly killed me.

I felt like I fell off the face of the earth for two years as I concentrated solely on work, school, and kids – unfortunately in that order. It’s a learning experience I’ll never get from a classroom – even an online classroom. And it’s one I don’t wish to ever repeat.

Now I save my learning fix for hiatus and then search for classes like a dog with a bone. I finished up my last stage fix for Once Upon a Time on Monday night. Only 26 hours later I began a 12-week series of seminars for small business owners which takes place downtown for three hours every Tuesday and Thursday night.

Do I own a small business? No. But if I start one up, I’ll know what to do.

My medical insurance plan offers several workshops throughout the year on everything from nutrition to stress management to CPR so I signed up for three upcoming classes.

I was especially looking forward to Wednesday evening’s “On Empty and Burnt Out” which asked: Feeling as if you are running on empty? … Learn a new approach to your busy life – one in which you will be able to repair mentally, physically, psychologically and emotionally.

For anyone who knows me, I thrive on being productive, and I get a real rush when I have a sense of accomplishment. Unfortunately this rush was causing incidences of embarrassing short-term memory loss, occasional crying fits and the feeling like someone should just shoot me in the head.

Not something I would advocate, even if I do have a blog called Very VERY Busy Mom.

Frankly, I was hoping they would give me some tools to enable me to multitask more efficiently, offer advice so I don’t feel like such a flake if I have to let something go, and ways to make my sleep more productive so I could get by on 4 hours instead of 6.

Instead, the other potentially burnt out attendees and I were greeted with the advice we didn’t want to hear:

  • Get 8-9 hours of sleep each night
  • Remove all sodas, processed foods and refined sugar from your diet
  • Choose one day a week to slow down and perhaps make it a day of pampering
  • Exercise by walking or running 20-30 minutes each day, practicing yoga 3-5 times each week, and lifting weights 10 minutes each day

This is another great reason why I would like to win lotto. If I had time to do all this, I wouldn’t need to take a class called “On Empty and Burnt Out.” As much as I was excited to attend this class and enjoyed learning the information, I was having an extremely serious problem that was holding me back.

I kept dozing off.

The instructor wasn’t boring. She wasn’t repeating herself. She was knowledgeable and passed along information that would be incredibly beneficial to enriching my life.

I was just tired. Beat to my bones. And I was kicking myself that I made myself too busy that afternoon to grab a Monster Energy Drink, and the seminar didn’t have a coffee pot in sight. As I fought to pay attention to the lecturer, I performed wake up tricks like pinching my ears, pressing the web between my thumb and forefinger, tightening my Kegels and flexing my hamstrings – all to no avail.

I probably came across looking seriously ADHD.

It wasn’t until the next morning, after my first full 8 hours of sleep in weeks, that the lesson of the “On Empty and Burnt Out” class hit home.

Whether I’m working beaucoup hours or not, my tendency is to fill up every waking minute with something. The trick is, now that I’m on hiatus, it’s the perfect time to try to put these habits into place. Perhaps I should try sleeping for 8-9 hours, cutting out the things I shouldn’t be consuming, exercising every day, and taking a day to relax.

If I can do that, maybe then my short-term memory won’t be so shot to hell that I forget to do sleep, eat right, exercise and relax in the first place.

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Filed under Anxiety, Career, Family, Humor, Kids, Learning, Multitasking, Parenting

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May 2, 2013 · 11:34 am

Will Work for Paycheck

Will Work for PaycheckOn Tuesday night I uploaded my edited dialogue for the final episode of season 2’s Once Upon a Time, and other than covering the dub stage for a few more days whenever they need some alts cut, I am now on summer hiatus.

I’ll get a few weeks of work editing the TNT show Perception and my summer will be chock full of volunteer commitments for my kids’ schools, the Colfax World Fair, Neighborhood Council Valley Village, Toluca Baseball, Cub Scout Pack 311, Patch, our annual block party, and anything else I can raise my hand to participate in (yes – I ended with a preposition. Go ahead and call the Grammar Police).

I am extremely lucky to have a job to return to when Once Upon a Time resumes in the fall, but tough economic times being what they are, I can’t sit back and wait out the summer without a paycheck. Even if every family meal is a cup of Ramen and the oranges from our backyard tree, we’ll still be spiraling down into a huge debt pit if I don’t land some kind of salary.

Naturally I’ll be trying to line up some more editing gigs, but if that doesn’t pan out, I figured I’d use my blog to get the word out that I have many other talents that would be worthy of some sort of living wage. So just in case one of my loyal or stumbled upon readers might also be a potential employer, here as some suggestions:

Manual Labor

Last summer at the Colfax World Fair Silent Auction, I donated a gift certificate good for 3 hours of weed pulling. I had no idea what it would be worth, so for the dollar value I put down “priceless.” No, there was nothing kinky involved like me wearing only Saran Wrap or a push up bikini top with rotating tassels. I am a very VERY hard worker, and I seldom take breaks. I can also dig ditches, carry heavy items long distances, and if you have to relocate and don’t want to pay for movers who might break or take your goodies, I’m your gal. Call me the Human Pack Mule. Back in 1860, I’d be known as Little Mom on the Prairie.Human Pack Mule

Peeling Stuff

When we were kids, a few days after a good, hearty sunburn, my siblings and I would lie down on the floor in front of the tv and peel each others’ backs. We’d have contests over who could peel the largest strip, always followed by an chorus of “Oooh”s and “Awww”s. I also enjoyed pouring Elmer’s Glue on my palm and peeling it after it dried, and I still get a kick over a deep facial peel. I’ll pick at hangnails until I’m bleeding, then still keep picking anyway. Whether it’s stripping paint, wallpaper, or floor wax, I’ve got a strange fetish for peeling.  Heck, I might even pay you to let me do it for you.

Picking Dandelions

Some people like to stop and smell the roses. Me? I like to stop and pick the dandelions. Every last one of them. I’ll only let my son make a wish and blow out a parachute ball over a large asphalt parking lot because I can’t bear the thought of those thousands of tiny seeds taking root all over the neighborhood. I obsessively pick dandelions with the fervor of a Saint wiping out pagan pestilence. If the day grows dark, I’ll be out on the lawn finishing by flashlight. Want to rid your yard of a sea of yellow? We’ll negotiate my day rate.

Assembly Line Work

When I was 13, I worked in my stepfather’s irrigation pipe manufacturing plant making nipples and flex risers (I’ll explain more in a later blog). Although it’s not as bad as working in a Bangladesh garment factory, it’s a repetitive motion marathon, and I don’t mind. Give me a paycheck that will pay my mortgage, and I’ll be happy to fabricate a thousand widgets a day. I’d like it even more if I could do it in front of the tv watching all those episodes of The Good Wife I missed this season because I was busy working on my own tv show.

Things You Want Done When You Think Other People Are Looking – Or Not

Do you only push your emptied shopping cart back to the rack when you see a cute girl or guy watching you and you want them to think you’re a good citizen? Do you drop a quarter in the basket of the solicitor outside of Rite Aid if you want everyone around you to think you’re thoughtful, generous, and kind when you’re really thinking the bum should go out and get a real job? Let me follow you around and be that Good Samaritan for you so you don’t have to. Or, I can handle the flip side. Do you want to do something not-so-respectable and hope no one is watching? Let me be your whipping boy, or rather gal. I will pick your nose for you and pretend you just have a persistent itch inside your nostril. I’d prefer to use a Kleenex for the job, but pay me enough and I can drill for oil up there.

Keeping a Secret

Do you envy those sober alcoholics who have a sponsor they can tell anything to? Do you wish you were a Catholic so you could clear your conscience with a priest in a confessional? You can whisper your juicy little indiscretions you feel guilty over to me, and I promise to stay mum about it. I won’t even judge you, unless you want me to and are willing to pay a little extra. Wild horses won’t drag it out of me – as long as I actually know it’s a secret. But you have to tell me in advance that the bash you’re throwing for your wife is actually a surprise party because I like to talk… a lot.

Fantasizing

I can spend all day doing it for myself, and it’s one of my favorite pastimes. Too busy with your own job to fantasize how you’ll win your lotto winnings or if you could go back in time and tell the cheerleaders that the handsome quarterback they have a crush on instead of you will be coming out of the closet his senior year of college? I’ll invent some amazing stories starring you, and recount them all at your leisure. You can pay me hourly or by the fantasy. Let’s talk.

Any takers? Send me a reply in the comments below.

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Filed under Career, Debt, Financial Insecurity, Humor, Volunteering

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January 30, 2013 · 4:45 pm

How Do You Feed 50,000 Visitors?

188868068It’s time to stock up on lemonade and homemade muffins because as of around noon yesterday, I have had 50,000 visitors.

It’s a good thing I have a lemon tree.

To a website like The Huffington Post or The Onion, 50,000 is small potatoes, but for my little mommy-turned-humor blog this is a miraculous feat. I am fortunate to know a boatload of people, but I doubt I’m acquainted more than a couple thousand.

I didn't quite capture the exact 50,000 mark.

I didn’t quite capture the exact 50,000 mark.

But 50,000? Who are these people?

How did they find Very VERY Busy Mom?

What lures them to my site? It’s probably not my new posts, since I’ve I only written three new ones this month – a record low. Yet somehow my viewership keeps going up.

If you stretched all my readers end to end on their backs, with stinky feet touching greasy heads (or pedicured toes grazing coifed up-dos, depending on my demographic) that line would reach an astounding 52 miles!

I doubt my readers would be particularly gung ho to venture out on that experiment. Still, it sounds like a bunch!

Granted, this 50,000 total doesn’t include individual people but rather daily visits. So if my husband, my mom and I were the only ones logging on, it would collectively take us nearly 47 years to reach that number.

By then I’ll most likely be either dead, too senile to write a blog, or too dim to log on at all. However by 2060, there probably won’t be blogs but rather mini-mind readings.

Hopefully you’ll just think of me and laugh. The way you do now anyway.

But if you’re not my husband, my mom, or someone who has a vested interest in my happiness (which leaves just my husband and my mom) why do you log on to Very VERY Busy Mom?

Some readers come when I announce a new post on Facebook. Half of me wants to hug and kiss these people for taking a moment out of their day to read what I have to say. The other half of me pities them, hoping that they’ll get a life that includes something more productive than trolling on Facebook.

Other readers are friends and acquaintances who receive an email from me announcing that I have a new post. I often assume that these people have given me my very own folder in their inbox. This folder is called “Spam.”

Another 318 people have signed up for automatic emails whenever I post a new blog. I wish I could buy a gift for everyone who’s done this, but they are all a mystery to me. For all I know, it could be one stalker with 318 different email addresses: iheartveryverybusymom@gmail.com; veryverybusymomismysexslave@yahoo.com; veryverybusymomstalker@nystateprison.com; etc.

Sometimes Google sends viewers my way. The most popular search terms involve Once Upon a Time. As the show’s dialogue editor, I spend 50 or more hours cutting each episode – more hours than I spend doing anything else including sleep – so I occasionally tend to write blogs about the show. Some of my favorite search terms are “once upon a time lesbian” (110 queries), “once upon a time lesbian kiss,” and “regina mills sexy.” I hope these webs surfers are not too disappointed when they land on my blog rather than something extra juicy.

Here are some other search terms my readers like to use:

“shingles face”

“school toilet”

“colon cleanse”

“sleepover party”

“too much poop”

“work at home mum makes $10,397/month part-time”

“is 50 shades of grey nasty”

“my husband loves me too much”

“sexy rubber gloves”

“trough sink at Costco”

“busy mom porn”

I have no idea who’s googling “busy mom porn,” and how they ended up on my website, but it kind of creeps me out.

Although there’s a “mom” in the title of “Very VERY Busy Mom,” there’s not one search term for “coupons,” “recipes,” “crafts,” or “cleaning.” Probably because I’ve never written about them. Well… maybe cleaning, or rather the lack thereof. Hence the “too much poop” search term.

If you’re reading my blog this very minute and it’s Wednesday, January 30, 2013, you are approximately my 50,235th viewer.

If it’s the year 2020, you’re either #6,547,289,136 or you’ve reached something called “Page Not Found.”

Will I put up a McDonald’s sign? “6,547,289,136 Viewers Served!”

What will I feed them all?

Apparently a few more Once Upon a Time predictions and something I can prepare with sexy rubber gloves.

I appreciate you stopping by Very VERY Busy Mom today. Have a muffin and some lemonade on your way out. I’m off to plant a second lemon tree.

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December 31, 2012 · 12:31 am

My New Year’s Resolution this Year: No More Resolutions!

No New Year's ResolutionsThere is one topic of conversation today that dominates all others: New Year’s resolutions.

Correction. For this year only, everyone’s talking about surviving the Fiscal Cliff. However, a close second is the aforementioned New Year’s resolutions.

This year I’m boycotting.

Every year on January 1st I vow to eat healthier and to exercise more. It’s one of those blood oath vows that I am 100% certain will stick. My goal is to lose 20 lbs., which is stupidly unrealistic because in order to maintain 110 lbs., I would have to live on a diet of diluted vegetable broth and run a half marathon on a daily basis. Frankly, I could care less how much I weigh as long as I lose this jiggly abdomen I’ve acquired this year and have arms strong enough to paint a ceiling without taking a break every five minutes.

I’m not going to call it a resolution. But I’m definitely doing more planks and eating less popcorn.

I also think I’m going to get more organized. It actually is a necessity because the clutter is clogging up the good stuff I can’t find. I keep meaning to make the transition from paper Day Planner to Google Calendar so the rest of the family can see what I’ve planned for them without having to decipher my chicken scratch.

Every year I hope that the coming year will be the one that gets us out of debt. This year I’m more realistic. Short of winning lotto, that’s not going to happen anytime soon. I just plan to keep what I’m doing – paying my bills on time, juggling balance transfer deals, and only buying what I absolutely need. There are a lot of folks who are too poor to even accomplish that goal, so I absolutely feel like one of the fortunate ones. Of course I still wouldn’t turn down that lotto win.

Maybe I’ll eat healthier, exercise more, get organized, and pay off some debt in 2013, but I’m not going to make a deal with the devil to do it. If I fail, I’m not going to kick myself, single-handedly devour an entire Boston cream pie, toss out my Thighmaster, haphazardly throw the contents of my entire garage into a rent-a-dumpster or run through the mall like a banshee throwing my Visa card at everything in sight.

It’s the resolution relapse that bites you in the butt every time.

When exploring a list of the most popular New Year’s resolutions, I realize that there’s a bunch that I already do. I’ve never smoked, I already quit drinking, I tell my kids and husband everyday that I love them, I volunteer, I recycle, and I already went back to school. I’d like to learn more Spanish than “¿dónde está el baño?” and “con queso por favor,” but if I don’t master the language this year, I can at least practice rolling my “R’s.”

Many people put travel among their list of New Year’s resolutions. I don’t, because it would cancel out the previous paying-off-debt goal.

Some aim for a better job. I actually like my job, and my boss pays me well, but I could use some extra hours in the off-season. I can aim for that, but I’m not going to call it a resolution. It’s more like making some phone calls to see if there’s any freelance work to be had.

Wait. I already do that.

Another typical resolution is to learn something new.  If I had the time, I’d do that more often, but I figure that I’ll have plenty of time for that in the old folks’ home.

A resolution that’s popping up more these days is vowing to manage stress. I could use a little more of that one, but since my bad bout of shingles last year, I’ve really been trying to get enough sleep and not get freaked out by the things I can’t control. So I guess I’ve been sticking to that last year’s resolution. Done.

Here’s what I really want to do in 2013:

I want to write more Facebook comments.

I want to accept that other parents won’t become more courteous drivers just because I roll my eyes at them when they double park at school pick up.

I want to watch more Jon Stewart.

I want to quit obsessing over gas prices.

I want to take a bath one day.

I want to find a better hiding place to store my son’s coloring pages than the recycling bin.

I want to dye my hair before my roots are an inch long.

I want to beat my kids in a game of Apples to Apples.

I don’t want any of my blogs to be stinkers.

Sometimes I just want to do nothing.

I’m hoping to do all these things in 2013. I’m just not going to call them resolutions.

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Filed under Anxiety, Career, Debt, Family, Financial Insecurity, Holidays, Humor, Husband, Illness, Kids, Parenting

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December 7, 2012 · 4:33 pm

As One “Dirty Job” Ends, Another One Begins

Poopy toiletAfter eight fun-filled yet horribly repulsive seasons, the Discovery Channel series Dirty Jobs has been canceled. Crawling through garbage, vomit, sewage, yucky muck, wiggly insects, or as host Mike Rowe describes in his Huffington Post farewell article, “feces from every species,” Rowe has taken pride and humor in profiling every crappy job that will make you eternally grateful for your crappy job.Dirty Jobs With Mike Rowe

This week, I had my own crappy job, but fortunately it had nothing to do with my show Once Upon a Time (I’m the dialogue editor).

At this point I advise any readers who are easily repulsed (yes – that means you, Gayle), to quickly click the “X” above this page and tune in another day. On the other hand, you probably already did that the second you saw the photo of the huge bubbling caldron of poop soup in my toilet, so by now I’m just speaking to the wind.

Super Colon CleanseI suppose that it’s fitting that I should work on a show that features magic in every episode, because I myself take a magical pill every day. Rather than turn me into a princess or a toad or something truly spectacular, this magical pill does exactly the opposite – it turns me completely regular.

By regular, I mean regular bowel movements.

The magical pill is called Super Colon Cleanse, and I buy it from the apothecary known as Trader Joe’s. Super Colon Cleanse silhouettesThe front of the bottle features silhouettes of a healthy man and woman standing in relaxed, carefree poses. The image is reminiscent of a classic James Bond main title sequence, which might be incredibly sexy if the couple wasn’t placed right next to the drawing of a large colon. imagesHowever, their casual stances do seem to be indicative of the effectiveness of their product. This is not a pose that screams: “Get out of my way! I need to get to the bathroom NOW!”Super Colon Cleanse colon

The magical ingredient in Super Colon Cleanse is psyllium, a dietary fiber that makes all who ingest it able to properly and regularly eliminate harmful toxins and waste products, or in layman’s terms, it makes me have a really good poop at the same time every morning.

Usually there is a perfect Circle of Life analogy to Super Colon Cleanse. Water is poured over the Plantago plant… which makes the psyllium seed… which is poured into capsules… which are poured into me… which turns into waste that gets poured into the toilet… which pours into water treatment plants… which cleanse the water enough to pour it back onto the plant.

Yesterday the Psyllium Circle of Life took a sudden halt at the toilet stage.

I sat down on my abode at my normally scheduled time, unclogged my own personal pipes, and pushed down the handle to flush my contribution to the next set of pipes. However, instead of spinning in the proper clockwise downward direction toward the 3-inch toilet hole, my deposit merely spun without disappearing, as if my bowl was set on the slow speed of bottomless Cuisinart.

I tried again. Within that split second of releasing the flush handle, I prayed to the porcelain gods not to make that muck overflow onto my bare feet.

The gods heard me. So instead of mopping up a feces-filled floor, I’ll have to drop a few bucks into the Salvation Army bucket next time I go to the market.

I always keep my end of a bargain.

I nabbed the plunger and started heaving and hoeing, plunging and purging, as I counted “1 – 2 – 3 – 4…” all the way to 25.  I did another set of 25. And another.

Defeated, I set the plunger aside and went back to work. Also, I opened the window because the stench was stifling. I know men like to think that their sh*t don’t stink, but I’m honest enough to admit that my morning constitutional can knock a buzzard off a gut wagon.

About 15 minutes later I went in to give it another try. “1 – 2 – 3 – 4…” Three sets of 25. I was starting to feel it in my triceps.

By this time, anything that may have been even slightly solid had now been completely liquefied. The toilet resembled a big bowl of tasty overcooked black bean soup – without the tasty.

“1 – 2 – 3 – 4…”

I performed this 3 sets of 25 workout all morning and into the afternoon. Every hour, the liquid would seemingly disappear, but the moment I flushed, the elixir would return black as ever.

Even though I was gag-ridden by this mountain of muck all morning, all this exercise was making me work up an appetite, so I stopped for lunch, then took a trip to buy a snake.

No, I’m not aware of a useful reptile that will eat through a clogged toilet bowl, but if National Geographic ever finds one, I’ll be first in line to adopt it. I drove to our local hardware store and purchased a “plumber’s snake” – a malleable steel rope that can force its way through curved pipes.

And then I did what any smart woman would do: I waited for my husband to come home from work and let him finish the job.

He did. And after less than a half hour and the eruption of a few curse words, the bowl was clean enough to eat (I just added this line for anyone who by this time isn’t completely grossed out).

However, I can already guess what my husband’s planning to buy me for Christmas:

Room freshener.

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October 1, 2012 · 12:00 am

Cheers to 17 Years Without a Drink

It was 17 years ago today that I boarded an airplane headed for Tucson, Arizona for a month-long retreat.  I was heaving into the barf bag the whole way, but I was certain that the rest and relaxation would be worth the journey.

A few days before, I had viewed the accommodations on a video and was looking forward to hiking, swimming, horses, and sampling the menus from their world-class chef.

The best thing about it? It was absolutely free!

And it would change my life forever.

No, I didn’t win an all-expenses paid vacation. And I wasn’t throwing up in the plane because of motion sickness.

That day, on October 1, 1995, I was praying to the porcelain God (disguised as an air sickness bag), because that Sunday, just like every other day, I was hungover.

And I was not going to a 4-star hotel.

I was going to rehab.

In 1993 I was a newlywed and we knew we wanted kids someday. I’m smart enough to know that pregnant women don’t drink, so I thought it might be time to start cutting down on my nightly wine with dinner.

For an entire year I tried tapering down, but instead it just made me crave it more. So on September 13, 1994, the morning of my 32nd birthday, I made a deal with myself.

Today I won’t have anything to drink.

That night I told myself I was an idiot. Who in their right mind would not want a drink on her birthday? So I had a glass or two or three or more, and decided to try again tomorrow.

I woke up on September 14th and made a new vow.

Today I won’t have anything to drink.

But it turned out to be the birthday of my friend Mauricio, so I took him out for margaritas.

I don’t remember why I didn’t keep my deal on the 15th, but the 16th was a Friday, the 17th was a Saturday, and the 18th was a Sunday, so I obviously had very good reasons to have a beer or a mai tai or a Long Island iced tea (or a fill in the blank with your favorite cocktail) those days. Everyone drinks on the weekend.

I woke up the morning on September 18th and made another promise to myself.

Today I won’t have anything to drink.

And so the days continued. If I had a good day, I deserved to celebrate. If I had a bad day, well damn it, I deserved a drink. One day the dogs didn’t chew up anything, and I thought that was a good reason to have a drink.

Meals held new importance. It wasn’t, “I feel like having tacos,” or “I’m craving sushi.” Instead, it was, “I feel like a margarita. Let’s have Mexican,” or “I want some sake. Let’s do Japanese.”

I’d tell myself I was just going to have one glass. Just one. No matter what. Honest to God. But after one sip I was telling myself I was stupid for thinking that. I’d be craving the second one even as the first sip was greasing my throat.

But I wasn’t an alcoholic. No way. My dad died of alcoholism. Cirrhosis of the liver. He was only 45, but he looked like he was 80. He had no job, no money and no hope. I had a good job. I never drank in the morning. And I never drank on the job.

I called myself a responsible hedonist.

I woke up the morning of September 13, 1995 with the alarm clock screaming at me and my stomach performing cartwheels. I recited the mantra I had been repeating every day for the past year.

Today I won’t have anything to drink.

And I suddenly realized that this was an impossible vow. I was bright, I had everything going for me, and I was the hardest worker I knew, and yet there was something inside of me that was completely powerless over alcohol.

I’d like to say that this was the day I sober. But it wasn’t. I continued to drink for another two weeks, until one day I woke up and I was just done. I was sick of being hungover, I was sick of making the same empty promise every day, and I was pissed at the world.

I’d also like to say that I entered rehab to get sober, but the truth is, I was hoping that they could just teach me how to have two drinks and call it a night. I also wanted a tan. And some good ideas for a screenplay.

As I boarded that plane, in my wildest dreams it never occurred to me that I would never drink again. Sometimes the thought is still too overwhelming.

But for 17 years, one day at a time, I’ve been waking up in the morning and uttering a new vow.

Thank you God for keeping me sober for another day.

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September 26, 2012 · 12:38 am

I Would Make a Really Lousy Hooker

Sensible hooker shoes

There are few activities I loathe more than trying to sell something. Even if it’s a worthwhile product like my son’s upcoming Boys Scouts microwave popcorn fundraiser, the whole selling process makes me feel like a slimy used car salesman. I despise being a bother or a pest and I don’t like trying to convince people to buy something they may not want or need.

The thing I hate selling the most is myself. My Catholic upbringing instilled a certain amount of humility in my veins, so the thought of shouting, ”Look at me! Aren’t I great?” would feel akin to a mortal sin that would cost me three Hail Marys and six Our Fathers in the penance box.

Truth be told, I’m generally a likeable person. Whatever I do, I do it with enthusiasm. And I’m a very hard worker. But I would feel really uncomfortable if I was forced to go around town tooting my own horn about it.

This is why I would make a really lousy hooker.

Of course, if I happened to land a job in the world’s oldest profession, I would try to be the best damn hooker I could be. I could see myself on a street corner, wearing sensible Payless Shoes heels and a Victoria’s Secret pushup bra, striving to look attractive in a crowd of other gals with taller platforms and manufactured breasts that don’t need help standing at attention. Rather than promote myself, I would silently hope my potential customers would inherently sense that I was generally likeable, enthusiastic, and a hard worker and pick me for my good company.

I bring up this hooker analogy because this is the way I felt the past couple of weeks. I had to sell myself in a recent election, and I was wishing I had Heidi Fleiss doing the hawking for me.

I’ve been serving on the board of Neighborhood Council Valley Village for about a year and a half in a Homeowner’s seat, and now I was running for the Education seat. I’m a hard worker, I’m dedicated to education, and I enjoy volunteering in my community. Most people who meet me seem to like me. Either that or they’re faking it really well.

I thought I’d be a good fit.

And I probably would have been if I had run unopposed. But a lovely woman who actually works in education threw her hat into the ring, so now I was expected to campaign.

Six of seven incumbents including myself were running for re-election, and we called ourselves The Slate of 6. The others are knowledgeable, extremely dedicated and completely deserving of another term in office.These candidates knocked on doors, shook hands, introduced themselves and delivered handbills promoting The Slate of 6.

The thought of trolling door to door like a persistent Jehovah’s Witness was terrifying. Also, I happened to be swamped with work. So instead, I created daily Facebook posts telling everyone to save the date and vote for The Slate of 6. After a while, I felt like The Slate of 6 was a recorded loop over a bullhorn, and I got that slimy used car salesman feeling whenever I ran into a Facebook friend.

In the mornings after drop off, I passed out flyers outside our local elementary school where I know about half the parents. I planned my speech and rehearsed it over and over:

“Hi. I’m running for the Education seat of Neighborhood Council Valley Village, and I hope you’ll come out to vote for The Slate of 6 on September 20th.”

The school bell rang, the children entered their classrooms, and throng of parents approached the gate. I was ready to run interception.

“Hi. I’m running…”

That’s about as far as I could get. Because they were the ones who were running.

Frankly, I hate it when anyone tries to shove a flyer into my face, so why shouldn’t anyone else hate it as well? Plus, they were on their way to start their busy day. If it was me, I’d be racing off too.

I was so uncomfortable, I felt like a tortoise not only hiding in its shell, but crawling into a catatonic ball within that shell. I ended up shyly handing out the handbills with my head down, not making eye contact, and praying that I wouldn’t be shunned at PTA meetings for the next five years.

Most parents took the flyers but didn’t have time for my pitch. Those who knew me were quite polite and many others were actually encouraging.

But the whole ordeal was excruciating.

Over four days I ended up passing out 300 handbills, and unlike street vendors hawking outside the Sports Arena, not a single flyer ended up as trash on the ground. I was encouraged.

Election day finally arrived. The campaigning from the entire Slate paid off and The Slate of 6 won by a landslide!

Today, I’m happy to be back working with a team of dedicated community supporters on an organization I have grown to love. Thank God these board members already know that I am generally likeable, enthusiastic, and a hard worker, so I don’t have to sell myself to them.

And now I can breathe a sigh of relief that I can change my Facebook message to something else that makes me equally uncomfortable:

Promoting this blog.

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September 11, 2012 · 1:30 pm

The Ill Timing of the Ill Child

Nothing can cramp the status quo day of a working parent more than a sick kid. I wake up in the morning eager to greet the world and earn my much-needed paycheck when my little angel stumbles into the kitchen.

“Mommy, I don’t feel good.”

The Virgo in me wants to immediately correct his grammar.

Well, Sweetie. You don’t feel well.

But because he don’t feel good, I hold my tongue and touch his forehead.

Damn. It’s warm. But I tell myself otherwise. It’s not a fever. Perhaps he was just too bundled up while he slept.

He coughs.

Ditto damn. I try to ignore it. He’s almost 6. Maybe his voice is changing.

Then I hear the gag. I try to pretend I didn’t notice it. I instinctively jump out of the way as he vomits all over my jammies.

Crap. I guess he really is sick.

Some working parents earn a salary and can take time off work. Others get an ample amount of sick pay and can take a day off with pay, then take the second day off after they catch the nasty bug from their bedridden babe.

The unlucky working parents who don’t get compensation or time off have a lot of choices, but they’re all between a rock and that place that’s even harder than the rock: stay home with the kid and miss work, pay, and possibly jeopardize their jobs; sneak their sick child into work and risk contaminating the whole office; pump the sick kid full of medicine and send them to school with fingers and toes crossed; or let their little Typhoid Mary stay home from school alone, risking dire consequences and the possible wrath of a Child Services intervention.

Unlike most working parents, I have one big advantage.

I work from home, so if my kids are too sick to school, I put them back to bed, turn on the tv, and plan on taking a few more breaks playing nursemaid – serving soup and medicine, and sucking up to lots of whining. I can stay home and cuddle with them because although they’re sick, what really makes them feel better is to just have their Mommy. I fantasize about wearing a surgical mask and latex gloves and protecting myself with a 10 mil full body bubble, but since I don’t wear protection when I’m hugging and kissing their sweaty foreheads, or wiping their green snot, or double-wiping their diarrhea butts (thankfully the girls are older and I make them do that themselves) there’s a chance that all those abnormal bodily fluids pouring from my kids’ orifices today are going to be leaking from mine tomorrow.

I don’t think childless adults can possibly comprehend the sheer panic that goes into the instantaneous schedule juggling that goes into effect when your child suddenly takes ill. Any plans you might have – work, social or otherwise – must immediately be cancelled. The problem is, it’s hard to find the time to cancel those commitments because your child has a bowl resting in his lap while you race for the pediatrician’s office before the small window of drop-in hours closes. The minivan careens through early morning rush hour traffic with the parent voice-dialing her iPhone, and in between business calls she shouts in the direction of the back seat at her ill little imp:

“Aim for the bowl! Aim for the… DAMN!”

And as Brando himself would pine:

“The horror! The horror!”

You can spend 200 bucks on an auto detail, but that putrid puke stench is never going to completely come out of your carpet.

Jake at the pediatrician’s office not looking all that sick.

Last Friday, Jake woke up crying. He said his throat hurt – so bad in fact that he couldn’t even eat Cookie Crisp cereal, so I knew it must be bad. I tried to take his temperature, but our thermometer is a little off, so what I have to do is take my own temperature and assume it’s normal, then take his and add or subtract. I was 95.1˚ which would normally mean that I was already dead from hypothermia, and Jake was 98.4˚ which would in Goldilocks terms seems just about right, but by making me 98.7˚, Jake was actually 102˚ which means that he officially had a fever. This combined with the sore throat could possibly mean strep throat, which apparently is incredibly painful and therefore would explain Jake’s tears.

Call me Sherlock Holmes. That was exactly the doctor’s diagnosis.

After the pediatrician visit, a trip to the pharmacy for an antibiotic, 2 oz. of cough medicine and 1-1/2 oz. of Children’s Advil, Jake was happily clutching his favorite blanket and looking forward to an entire day watching SpongeBob.

And after walking about 30 feet away, I went back to work.

Thank you God for my work-from home job, for walk-in hours for pediatricians, for children’s liquid antibiotics that taste like bubble gum, for Otter Pops, for fluffy blankets that are machine washable, and for husbands who will eventually come home from their jobs and take over nursing duties.

But thank God mostly to Nickelodeon for SpongeBob. Now I can get some work done.

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September 3, 2012 · 10:35 pm

Heigh Ho! Heigh Ho! It’s Off to Work on “Once Upon a Time” I Go!

Just as the 7 Dwarfs have returned to their menial labor mining precious fairy dust, my factory job as the dialogue editor for the ABC drama Once Upon a Time resumed this week. It’s been a long 4-month hiatus, and although I’ve enjoyed being a full-time unemployed mom to my two little beauties and the beast (their roles interchange depending on the day and the deed), I’m anxious to put on my big girl underpants again and start earning a regular paycheck.

I’m also excited to find out what has become of Storybrooke now that the Evil Queen’s spell is broken. After 22 episodes of the present day townspeople forgetting that they are actually fairy tale characters, last spring’s finale led us to believe that they have suddenly remembered. Will it be like the Dallas cliffhanger in the late 1980’s when poster girl Victoria Principal woke up and found that the previous season was just a dream? Will the show steal the standard soap opera formula in which a character suddenly has amnesia – but in reverse?

Last May when the first season ended, I wrote a blog post entitled “20 Predictions for Season 2 of Once Upon a Time.” I edit the show’s dialogue (sound), not dialogue (script), and my work is the second to last creative step before the show airs, so I was not made privy to any second season storylines.  As a humor blogger, I tried to make these prophecies ridiculously unbelievable and included tidbits like:

“Present Day Snow White, Belle, and Cinderella nearly kill each other in a catfight when they are all featured as contestants in Storybrooke’s version of The Bachelor.”

Even though this post was written nearly four months ago, every week I’ve been getting progressively more and more hits. Very VERY Busy Mom is just a simple humor blog with only 269 followers (most of whom are probably friends and family I had to strong-arm), yet I have had nearly 2,000 views of this post. Everyone seems to be Googling to find out what will happen to Snow White, Prince Charming, the Evil Queen, Rumplestiltskin, and their counterparts in present day Storybrooke. I wonder if fans are disappointed when their search engine ends up with my little fluff piece. I also wonder if any of those fans are dim enough to believe that my predictions came from the horse’s mouth. Could they truly be that dense? Would they really believe:

“Leroy (Grumpy) and perpetually-pleasant Sister Astrid (Nova the Fairy) get married and have a slew of bi-polar children.”

Naw. Those would be the viewers who prefer reality shows and turn Snookies into celebrities.

I am a huge fan of Once Upon a Time, so I too have been waiting on pins and needles to see what will happen in the Season 2 opener. And since I actually work on the show, I get to find out about a month before you do.

Unfortunately I can’t tell you because then I’d have to kill you. Maybe. On the other hand, Once Upon a Time is owned by Disney-ABC, so the Mouse Mafia might actually hunt me down and revoke my Disney Lot walk on pass.

If you believe the previous sentence, you are exactly the dim person I was just talking about.

If I did spill the beans in my blog, or frankly anywhere, I’d probably lose my job. I didn’t have to sign a disclaimer or anything, but I would think it’s both a common courtesy as well as proper business protocol to not be blabbing a television secret, even if it is only to my 269 followers and 2,000 other mystery readers, which would be a far cry from the millions of viewers Once Upon a Time attracts.

I’ve spent the last 18 years working on some truly amazing shows that were both popular and critically acclaimed, primarily ER, The West Wing, and Brothers & Sisters. They were all episodic dramas with continuous storylines, but none of them fueled the intense curiosity of what was going to happen next the way Once Upon a Time does. No one ever came up to me at my child’s Monday morning school assembly begging for a sneak peek into what would happen next week:

“Who’s getting admitted to County General next week? I hope it’s a cool disease! And when’s George Clooney coming back to ER?”

“What will President Bartlet’s next speech be about? What big words will he use? Watching The West Wing is the only way I expand my vocabulary.”

“Is Tommy coming back to Brothers & Sisters or is he away getting acting lessons?”

None of these conversations ever took place. But I must have over 200 people (or possibly every one of my 269 followers) ask me for clues about Once Upon a Time every single week.

“What’s going to happen?”

“WHAT’S GOING TO HAPPEN?”

“WHAT’S GOING TO HAPPEN?”

You’ll just have to wait until the Once Upon a Time premiere on Sunday, September 30th to find out (8:00 pm PST on ABC).

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April 29, 2012 · 12:31 am

Automated Responses for Ridiculous Requests

I’m a little territorial. Although I have had requests from people who wanted to guest blog on very VERY busy mom, I’ve always turned them down. A lot of it has to do with being selfish. It’s my blog, dammit, and I want to cling to it as tightly as the $100,000 bars I refused to trade with my brother and sisters when negotiating Halloween candy.

But a lot of it has to do with ego. Once a week I try to write something funny – so funny in fact that you laugh out loud. I don’t want to cause a pileup on the 405, but if you happen to be in line for coffee at Marie et Cie, I want the people around you to stare, wonder what you’re reading on your iPhone, then say ala When Harry Met Sally “I’ll have what he’s having.” As for a guest blogger, anyone who has ever watched too much stand up comedy knows that even though the writer thinks it’s funny, it ain’t necessarily funny. Your friends don’t want to be the one to get the short straw to tell you, but sometimes comedians just suck.

However I’m about to renigg on my no guest post rule – partly because I just have too much work this week to write something, but mostly because I found someone truly worthy of a guest blog. I have to admit there’s a certain amount of nepotism here.  It comes from my husband Tom, who many of you know from his witty, typo-ridden responses to my blog posts. He’s also father to one of my children – spazzy 5-year old Jake, and stepfather to my daughters Mary and Emily. And even though Tom is usually the one who plays the bad cop in our parenting scenarios, I suspect the girls like him more than they like me.

Tom is the Library Building Officer at UCLA’s Charles E. Young Research Library. He’s the guy everybody calls if there’s a problem. If the elevator is stuck, if the temperature is too cold, if someone is sneaking a cigarette too close to the entrance or if some homeless guy is parking himself all day and watching porn, Tom’s the one who fields the complaints. He also oversees new construction and remodeling, so he’s the bad guy who has to move people out of their cubicles or tell employees: “No, you can’t take a short cut through the yellow caution tape.”

On Friday Tom posted the following update to his Facebook page, and I think it is worthy of posting for my blog:

It has been a long week and I had to be at work 4am yesterday and 5am today. I am a little tired and surly. Sitting at my desk on my lunch break I have decided to work on my customer service procedures. Most of the problems that I received come via e-mail. Therefore, I have come up with some automated responses that I can send out depending on the problem.

  • Wow, that sucks. I hate to be you.
  • Please ignore that problem like everyone else does so I don’t have to do anything.
  • That is an easy problem to solve. Even you can solve it.
  • Your problem may be interesting to you, but I could care less.
  • That problem is far too complicated for me to solve right now. Please send it again next month and maybe then I can deal with it. No promises.
  • I am on my lunch break right now. My new lunch hour is 7:00 am to 4:00 pm. (yes, that is my normal working hours)
  • I can’t be bothered right now. I am trying to beat my 5 year old’s Angry Bird score.
  • I have tried to get that fixed several times. I no longer care. Please adjust accordingly.
  • I know the temperature is not what you would like it to be, but it is wrong everywhere else in the building. Find the spot you like and move your desk there.
  • No I won’t help you move.If you have other suggestions feel free to add them.

The funniest line so far was from his virtual friend Ileata (they’ve never met, but Tom and she play massively multiplayer online role-playing game (MMORPG) Dark Age of Camelot. on Saturdays).  Ileata asked if he works for the DMV.

And like the other person who wears the pants in this family just said, if you have other suggestions feel free to add them… so please give me your comments.

Just don’t send me your complaints or I’ll have to use one of these.

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