I DIDN'T GO TO WORK ON MONDAY

 Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

By Friday last week, I was resigned to taking the job that's not a job. I was to be there Monday morning.

On Oct. 12th I had a promising interview for a real job. Following all of my responses to her questions, the interviewer said, PER-fict. After a few questions, she changed that to PER-fict. PER-fict. I was to hear the decision on my employment in 24-48 hours. After hearing nothing for four days, I contacted the recruiter by email and by voice mail message. Crickets.

I continued to apply for jobs and respond to company representatives who had seen my résumé online and wanted to talk to me.

Last week on Wednesday, I had a perfunctory telephone interview, which led to a request for me to take a lengthy assessment. Then came a request for me to view and listen to 30 minutes of information about the job and take part in a 60 minute video interview on Friday afternoon. 

Friday morning, I nearly blew off the interview. I knew they would not hire me. Then I decided, rather reluctantly, that it wouldn't hurt to go through with it, but I made no special efforts. I took a shower at the last minute; my hair was wet and uncombed. I wore a t-shirt and jeans. Instead of sitting at my dining room table with good lighting and an attractive background, I sat in a comfortable chair with my feet up.

At the conclusion of the interview, an offer was made. I accepted. 

It's a real job with real pay and real benefits that begin in the beginning.

In a few weeks, I start work.

I'm pleased and excited and look forward to kicking butt.

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

THANKS, TEXAS

 I intended to write this post about a week ago, but I didn't get to it after the flying hedge clippers attacked my foot, which is much better now although I still can't bend my big toe, but what does it matter? I don't need to bend my big toe.

Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

I often feel embarrassed by Florida. I don't consider myself a Floridian because I wasn't born here and didn't grow up here so I don't have Florida in my blood, but I have lived here since 2009. Therefore, in some way I'm part of Florida. I'm the crazy radical socialist snowflake libtard feminazi side of Florida, and sometimes I think I'm the only one playing that role.

Florida politics make me want to say no, run away, and tell someone. But each time I get the feeling that it can't get worse in Florida, Texas tends to come along to distract the world from my state and its inherent dumbness. We have Ron DeSantis, but they have Greg Abbott. We have Marco Rubio, but they have Ted Cruz. Hahahahaha! Does it get any worse than Ted Cruz?

Recently I rejoiced in Texas drawing attention with headlines that announced 

Texas School Administrator to Teachers: Teach “Opposing” Sides of the Holocaust

Gina Peddy,  executive director for curriculum and instruction for the Carroll Independent school district, made the announcement Oct. 8 at a training meeting for elementary school teachers to assist them in complying with Texas House Bill 3979, signed into law Sept. 1 by Gov. Abbott.

The bill––an important example of legislators deciding what students are taught in place of educators doing so––bans educators from exploring disputed issues in the realms of history, society, and politics. If controversial issues do come up, then teachers are to “explore such issues from diverse and contending perspectives without giving deference to any one perspective.”

Everything we learned in our history classes has an opposing side. The brave colonists fought the tyranny of the British and yada yada yada we have the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution and George Washington and Benjamin Franklin, et al. 

Colonies = Good       England = Bad   

So if the subject should happen to come up, and it shouldn't because it has an opposing side, then the kids must learn 

Colonies = Bad          England = Good

The people of The Great State of Texas are going to love that one.

Slavery is certainly a controversial issue because it will most likely lead to the pesky topic of racism. After Black History Month in February, instead of Women's History Month in March, in Texas it should be Slavery Hall of Fame Month. Who were the greatest plantation owners? 

And those kids had better be taught about good ole President Thomas Jefferson and the many children he had with Sally Hemings, who no doubt loved Massa Jefferson so much that she was delighted to be his sex slave.

Then the teachers can move on to 

George Floyd = Bad   Derek Chauvin = Good

Reading a book about World War II and the brave Allies might be countered with Mein Kampf, in which a woke Hitler explains the need for German expansion and how awful those nasty Jews are.

A subset of World War II is the Holocaust, and the opposing side of the Holocaust is Holocaust denial. Teachers, be ready to hand out those adorable Camp Auschwitz t-shirts along with the book that argues The Diary of Anne Frank is a hoax.

Teaching students the opposing side of the Holocaust is to teach them that Hitler had valid claims and, therefore, prepare their minds to believe that Donald Trump's lies and the lies of Steve Bannon and Alex Jones, et al., are rational, justifiable points.

And that is simply not true.

Good luck, Children of Texas. You're gonna need it.

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

NEXT YOU'LL BE CALLING ME MITCHELL

 Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

I invoked Mitchell in my title because those of us who know and love Mitchell understand he's a wee bit accident prone. 

I had a little accident of my own a few days ago. I was removing some of the lower stems and fronds* from the large philodendron in my backyard because Franklin likes to hide under it when he attempts to stay out all night. I can't go to bed with my man out of the house. At 3 a.m. he'd probably change his mind and want to come in, which would lead to barking that would wake up everyone within 100 miles or so and I'd have to drag my sorry ass out of bed.

**

The big hedge clippers and I tried to cut through an especially sturdy stem and whoosh! The clippers rebelled and jumped out of my hands. If it had been a movie, they would have somersaulted in the air and landed blades down sunk in the ground right next to my feet. I don't know about you, but I don't live in a movie; therefore, the clippers landed with a thud on my right foot. I'm happy to say it was the handles and not the blades.

It hurt like a sonovabitch. I lowered my head and in my mind said terrible, nasty words. I didn't want to react in front of Franklin and Penelope because I knew they would be frightened if I yelled.

I limped to the garage, put away the clippers, and limped toward the house as I realized something wet was coming out of my foot. I had a cut on my big toe. I cleaned and bandaged it. It's healing. My foot is still swollen and very sore. I think my big toe is broken so I taped it to its sister toe and iced it regularly.

I've stayed in place as much as possible this week. I might be able to put on a shoe tomorrow, or at least a sandal.

I'm sorry I'm behind on responding to your kind comments and reading your blog posts. I have catching up to do and will do it as long as I can stay away from flying hedge clippers. For now, though, we're headed to bed.

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

 *I have no idea if they're called stems and fronds but I don't know what else to call them.

**I took this photo in much wetter times. It's dry in the yard now and the weather is beautiful––sunny, blue skies, highs about 80 and lows around 70.

LOOKING UP

 Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

Years ago, Sweet Cheeks got me some shelves for my office supplies (he knew that shelves and a steel front door were the way to this woman's heart). Recently, I piled books on them in addition to the pens and papers and staplers and paper clips. Saturday afternoon I moved the shelves so I could clean up a vast accumulation of dog hair and this happened:

It was too much. I had already been disappointed by the job that isn't a job. The collapse of the shelves frightened Franklin, who hightailed it outside and refused to come in.

It was a nice afternoon and I was in no rush to deal with the reality of repairs and picking up, so Penelope and I joined Franklin outside.

We enjoyed the sun.

Penelope listened to birds overhead.

I looked up at the trees.

When we went inside, I checked my phone and found an email from a recruiter who thought I was a good match for a certain job. She asked some questions; I answered some questions. We made an appointment for an initial phone interview. This job is a real job with better pay and benefits that begin on the first day. I'll let you know what happens. Some other opportunities are also promising and I have not turned down the job that isn't a job. It pays and might lead to a real job with the company.

Because it is autumn, Sweet Cheeks' annual rage against the University of West Virginia's football coach is in full swing (SC grew up in West Virginia and attended WVU). Last Saturday, WVU lost by 4 points at the last minute. SC arrived morose. He cheered up after some affectionate embraces. About midnight he said, Well, I think I'll head home now.

But he didn't leave the recliner in which he rested, and a few minutes later, I heard a gentle snore. Soon he made the move to the chair next to mine and asked for a pillow and blanket. He finished out the night in my bed, where he stayed till 9 a.m. He often talks of not sleeping well at home (he sleeps on the floor, which I do not understand). I am glad when he leaves my home satisfied and well rested.

Yesterday, however, West Virginia lost by a lot. Really a lot, in a game they should have won easily, according to my Sweet Cheeks, and it is all because the football coach does not do what my Sweet Cheeks says he should do, which has something to do with a quarterback. He arrived grumpy. I had started picking up the mess on the floor and much of it was spread across the dining room table. I reneged on my offer to prepare tender chicken with the seasoned rice he loves and requested dinner out. He didn't want to go someplace to wait and stand in line and it would be too much trouble and this and that. I made a reservation online and off we went and were seated immediately. His mood improved.

He dozed off in the recliner when we returned. After he awoke, we had a snack and then enjoyed a gymnastics exhibition in bed. He fell asleep in the bed afterward and stayed asleep till 10 a.m., when he went home happy. 

I was pleased this evening because it was cool enough for Franklin and me to have our first walk in months that exceeded the trip around the block we sometimes make in the heat. I chatted with the parents of a Greyhound and a Shiba Inu while Franklin and the dogs exchanged butt sniffs.

Franklin walked happily and easily and not once did he turn around to request we go home.

Yes, things are looking up.

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

from the inside of a Bark Box

THANK YOU

 Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

Thank you for the support you give me regularly, and especially now, regarding my son. Your comments are kind and they help me a lot.

If I could bake for each and every one of you, I would give you chocolate chip cookies fresh from the oven and still warm, soft and gooey, and I'd pour a big glass of milk for you to enjoy with the cookies.

I am feeling rather sorry for myself. About an hour ago I learned that the job is probably not a real job. Yes, it exists and it pays, but it is not with the company itself, and therefore, is without the company benefits package. To be hired with the company, one must be "good enough" on the job. No promise exists about this happening with a certain time frame. It might be a few months and it might be never.

I guess I'll start looking again tomorrow. I haven't said I won't take the job, so if I don't find a real job with a real company, then I can still take this third-party job to make a few dollars. 

I always try to visit your blog posts a second time to see if you've responded to comments because it's nice to have a conversation. I have just finished my second visit to a number of blogs only to find that my comments are not there. I know I wrote the comments. I know they were published (if you don't moderate comments). So I don't know where they went. Anyfranklin, if you think I'm not visiting your blog, then think again. I'm trying.

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

DO YOU HEAR WHAT I HEAR?

 Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

About 10:55 p.m. Thursday, we heard a BOOM so loud that Penelope flew off the bed as if she'd been thrown like a furry football. I thought the noise might have come from something a neighbor was working on in his garage. I had already heard him and some friends talking in their yard.

But when I looked at our neighborhood Facebook group today, I learned the source of the BOOM. Aliens had invaded and, of course, had landed at Mar-A-Lago because they wanted to see the gold toilets. Then they picked up a psychiatrist because they wanted to know what's wrong with the inhabitant seated on the gold toilet, screaming to have his Twitter account reactivated.

I jest, but it seems plausible, kinda sorta. 

Turns out the sound was a sonic boom from a re-entering SpaceX Dragon capsule. A couple of neighbors got footage of it, and one person who saw it thought it was a meteor that landed with a crash.

So that was the big excitement in the hood, along with much of Florida's coast and into Georgia. 

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug