Commitments: Puppies and Writing....

Today was my Friday, as far as work is concerned. It's nice to have a 'bonus' day off, even if I am using valuable PTO hours.

Still, I think, sometimes, it's ok to squander time off. If we don't, we forget the value of a stolen day, here and there.

For me, tomorrow, I get to pick up my puppy. Tonight is my 'last' night of being a responsibility-free Monkeypants. From here on out, I have a puppy to look after.

I admit, I'm now getting terrified. I'm used to being unattached, able to hop on a plane to L.A., Las Vegas, Washington D.C. when I feel like it. Now, I'm going to have to think about it, make sure I've arranged for puppy-care and consider another being within the equation of my life.

Oh, who am I kidding...it's time. It might not be a husband, it may definitely not be a child but a puppy is a good first step. I've enjoyed my life thus far: I've been able to explore new places, take a running leap into the great unknown and just float in the oblivion of not having any commitments.

Yet there comes a time when maybe it's time to rethink the world I've known. Maybe floating in that oblivion isn't so good when you're my age. Maybe it is time to prove that I can, in fact, commit to something and decide that it's time to settle down, at least with something.

If I can settle with a puppy, it's a good start. It's all about the little things...right?

Puppy aside, I'm glad it's the weekend. I'm going to my very first writing conference this weekend. I'm not even being dragged. A friend and fellow writer asked if I was interested and, when I contemplated for a moment, I decided I was.

For me, this is another milestone. Until now, I've been a little afraid of writer's workshops, conferences and gatherings. I've had a fair amount of 'friendly criticism' that has masqueraded as unhelpful complaining. I've been in a few writer's groups and learned that sometimes, when your ideals are different, there's just no way to get a 'literary' writer to understand that sometimes people just write so people can enjoy what they read. For me, that's always been a slight problem. I'm not condemning literary writers at all. I just think they're a little full-of-it. They get so bogged down with making their work 'mean' something that they forget that a writer's job is to entertain, to lift someone out of their everyday life and make them forget it for a while.

It might be that I'm saying this because I've realized I'll never be a 'literary' writer. I've tried. I end up using flowery phrases, long words, dialogue that means nothing. When I'm done, I feel like I've cheated on myself because I haven't produced anything but an empty story that doesn't feel like it's finished.

Yet, these are often the books that win the awards and the critical acclaim of the press. They're rarely the books that make the bestseller lists but that doesn't seem to matter. Instead, they serve as a way to measure if you're 'literary'. If you haven't read it, well, then, you're not worth much, are you? It won the Pulitzer!

Yet, to be honest, I've read a few of those novels and... they bore me to tears. The one that comes to mind is "The Shipping News". It's by E. Annie Proulx. I read it a few years ago, before the movie with Kevin Spacey came out. I hated it. I felt so stupid when I turned the last page. Here was a novel that had won amazing critical acclaim, had won a Pulitzer, was supposed to be amazing...and I hated it. It was dull. It was boring. The characters were whiny and pathetic. I know they were supposed to be 'gritty' and 'realistic' but in my world, I just despised them. I kept waiting for something exciting to happen. It never did. It was just the story of a sad-sack of a man who managed to find a semblance of a life.

I felt like I was missing something. Truth-be-told, I often feel that way with novels that win acclaim. Take, for example, the novel I just finished reading: The Magicians by Lev Grossman. I'd read several reviews that called it a 'grown up Harry-Potter'.

Well, in truth, it was. It was about a drip of a boy named Quentin who is miserable with the everydayness of his life. He finds his way to a college for magic and he passes the entrance exam with flying colours. He's still miserable. He goes to the college and learns magic, albeit a much less fun and far more scientific version of magic than in, say, Harry Potter. He's still miserable. He finishes magic school and nearly drinks himself to death. He's still miserable. When he finds a way, through a friend, into the fictional world he's always dreamed of entering...he's still miserable.

You get the idea. Halfway through the book, I began to wonder why on earth Quentin was the main character. He was a complete drip. I hated him. I kept waiting for him to have the moment of greatness that revealed the reason why he was the main character. It never happened. His girlfriend ends up saving him and dying in the process. Sadly, she's no more interesting than he is.

So you get where I stand, right? Sometimes the books that become the darlings of the literary world aren't necessarily the books that the public like to read. This is why Stephanie Meyer, Dan Brown and Nicholas Sparks have fan clubs.

As much as I hate to want to join their ranks, I have to admit, I'd rather be a Stephen King or Stephanie Meyer than an E. Annie Proulx or a Lev Grossman. Yes their books might win accolades but they're not going to be popular with readers because they're boring.

So, as I approach the writer's conference this weekend, I admit I do so with apprehension. I'm not used to being around fellow writers. I'm used to being a lone wolf, arrogant in my ability to remain apart from the pack.

Really, though, I think my loneness comes from fear. What if the pack hates me, thinks I'm a hack and laughs me out of the room? I used to worry about that.

These days, I'm not so worried. The fact is, I write. I write a lot. It's not such a bad thing to find others that do so. Maybe it's good to have a 'pack.'

I'm willing to give it a go at least. It's a commitment of another sort. At least this one can't necessarily pee on my floor or bite me. It's probably not as cute either, though. It's a toss up, isn't it?

It's almost puppy-time. Wish me luck!

Thanks, as always, for reading.

Happy Friday!

The Fear of Virtual becoming Actual...At Least When it Comes to Puppies...

As far as work is concerned, tomorrow is my "Friday." I'm taking the actual Friday off so I can go and pick up Sookie, my future-puppy. Once I pick up Sookie, I will no longer be able to refer to her as future-puppy. Instead, she will become actual-puppy.

I'm nervous about 'actual-puppy'. Actual puppy means...I have a real puppy. I'm responsible for another little life. It's strange how nervous I actually am about the whole thing. I've never been a single-mother to a pet before. I've only ever had family pets, never one of my own.

Well, actually, that might be a fib. I did have a small fish tank once. I managed to accidentally kill 27 goldfish, guppies and neons within the space of three weeks. In addition, I also killed two frogs.

In my defense, the frogs and several of the fish weren't my fault. My fish tank came as a kit and the heater was faulty. I set it according to the directions but it malfunctioned and, essentially, boiled the water in the fish tank. I felt rather bad about that. I still feel rather bad about it, actually.

The rest of the fish, well, I might have overfed some of them. After that, I have no idea. When I first started my fish collection, I named them after Andrew Lloyd Webber musical characters. Yes, as stated MANY times in this blog, I was a nerd. I still am a nerd, thank you very much, (although my Andrew Lloyd Webber obsession has faded to a fond nostalgia except when it comes to Joseph and the Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat which I still love. And, at any given time, Jesus Christ Superstar still resonates with me.) Anyways, after the first dozen...or two...fish died, I stopped naming them.

I realized I was not a good fish-mama.

Since then, I've shied away from pets. I always like dogs more than cats although for some unknown reason, other people's cats seem to like me. Well, maybe except for my good friend's cat, Godzilla, who does not like me at all. This might be because I tend to tease her. In my defense, she's not the friendliest sort of cat. Even so, she does deign to sit on my head in the night while I'm sleeping, whenever I go to visit so I suppose that's some sort of peace agreement.

Yet, as for pets of my own, I've been a petless wonder for many a year. I had planned on Sausage coming to live with me but, as aforementioned, that never came to pass and the slight guilt of it will probably never leave me. He was just too old, too set in his ways and too Sausage-like to adapt to new circumstances.

So, you can see why I'm a little nervous about my future-puppy who is soon to become actual-puppy. I'm sure she'll be cute but, well, puppies aren't just cute. They're like babies who need love, attention and good parenting. What if I'm not a good pet parent? I've checked my garden for holes in the fence and possible escape routes. I found one under a gate which, when Sookie grows won't be a problem but, in her puppy-sized world might as well be an open door to the world. I plan on fixing that but I'm afraid I've missed something. Under my tool shed there's a bunny nest. I know this because I frequently leave carrot tops and parsley for the rabbit in my garden and he, inevitably, comes out in the evenings and sits in front of my tool shed, eating his dinner. Dachshunds hunt bunnies. The gap under my tool shed might be enough that Sookie might go under it to hunt for bunnies.

I suppose this is normal, right? The inevitable "what if.." panic that sets in with every new responsibility. I can't even imagine what it must be like to have a child. I only have the virtual, future-puppy of my imagination and I'm already flummoxed.

What if she doesn't like me? What if she finds a magic hole that helps her escape? What if I'm a bad pet owner?

I know, I know...I should probably hold off stressing until future-puppy actually becomes actual-puppy.

Yet time is running out and I'm very nervous. It's natural...right?

Happy Thursday!

Animal Rescue People Aren't People-Persons

It has come to my attention that people who work for animal rescue organizations are, in many cases, a little, uh, odd.

They're not people-persons (or is it people-people?). I suppose if you are passionate about animals and spend your day with them, it's probably a little harder to relate to people. Nevertheless, as a neophyte pet-adopter, I was a little alarmed after my first interaction with one. My second has be slighly baffled and bewildered.

However, thanks to the wisdom of my good friend, Ms. P, who has some great experience in rescuing dogs, I'm learning that it's not something to take personally, she has dealt with the same thing.

My first experience was with a lady who I contacted through petfinder.com. She had two female puppies for rescue, and one male. I asked her about the female and she said the one in the picture was already being adopted but I could have the other one. I sent in my adoption application, clearly stating that though I'd listed a vet, I have never had a pet and thus had never visited the vet. Instead, I would be using this vet for my future animal care.

The next day, I get an email saying that she has, in fact, given my puppy away to another person who decided she wanted both a boy and a girl. I suppose it's nice to send a brother and sister off together but it did irk me a little that one of those was supposed to be my puppy. Then she offered me the male that she had left. I politely declined. For obvious reasons, I am a little hesitant to get a male puppy, particularly this soon. I have, however, been wanting a little girl for a long time. I told her that while I appreciated the offer, I was going to pass on the male puppy because after losing Sausage, I wasn't ready for a male.

Well, rather than just say, "ok," she sent me back a rather snippy email. She was annoyed that she'd called the vet and the vet's office had 'never heard of me.' Well, when I state on the application that I've never been to the vet, you'd think she could have figured that out without the phone call. Then, to top it off, she scolded me for not wanting a male and told me that it shouldn't matter the sex of the dog, they all need homes.

I respect that. Except I have good reasons for not wanting a male dog at present. I thought about writing her an angry response but realized it would do no good. Clearly, she was someone who couldn't relate to humans and their reasoning as much as she could feel compassion for animals. It's not her fault, I suppose.

My next experience was a little more bizarre. There's a Dachshund Rescue of Ohio who are featured quite heavily on petfinder.com. I found a little dog who seemed perfect, she was a one-year old, housebroken, no kids, sweet personality. I applied for her.

I got an acknowledgement of my application and they told me how sweet the dog was. I figured "oh, ok! She still needs a home, yay!"

Well, the thing with the Dachshund Rescue of Ohio is that they don't have a shelter. All of their dogs are in 'foster' homes. So I can't just go visit and pick one out.

I finally got a call about the dog four days after I sent in my application. The lady was...odd. First of all, not a great conversationalist. Second of all, not good with people. The first thing she asked was if I had another dog. Since I had quite clearly indicated on my application that I did not, in fact, have another dog, I was a little surprised. When I restated that I didn't, I was told bluntly that the dog I had applied for couldn't be mine. She was not 'only dog' material. I accepted this. I was surprised that this information wasn't on the petfinder.com profile, but so be it.

Well, just telling me that was not good enough for this lady. She proceeded to take ten minutes to lecture me on dachshunds and how they like to have other dachshunds around. The dog I had applied for, for example, already had a best-friend-in-the-whole-wide-world and that it would be heartbreaking to seperate them. However, the best-friend-in-the-whole-wide-world was NOT up for adoption.

Do you see why I was confused?

After this, she offered me an older girl who was an only dog but, I was then told "she shouldn't be an only dog and I really should have another dog first." Then she told me about a puppy she had but she didn't say I was a good candidate and, when I asked, she changed the subject.

I was very polite during the whole thing. I finally told her that she'd been very helpful and that she had helped me decide that a puppy was the best option.

Then I got ANOTHER lecture on puppies and how I should NEVER buy a puppy from anyone because there are so many puppy mills out there and that's why there are so many dachshunds that end up being rescued.

But, here's the thing. I was offering to give a good home to a dachshund dog that, supposedly, needed one. I'd be a good owner, I think. I have a large yard (albeit with yappy dogs next door) but it's fenced in and ready for a dog. I'm also planning on spoiling it rotten, though being a good petowner and trying to train it responsibly.

Yet I was told that, for all intents and purposes, was not going to be able to rescue one of their dogs. I know I could go to the shelter and rescue a mutt but I really, really want a dachshund. I can't help it. I think most people feel an affinity for a certain type of dog and, for me, it's dachshunds. They're the only dog that make me stop and want to squeal when I see one.

So, yes, while I think the concept of puppy mills is atrocious and should be outlawed, my feeling is that all dogs need a good home. I'm going to give a puppy a good home. I'm not going to a puppy mill but even if I accidentally did because I didn't know any better, would it be better to give one of those dogs a secure place to live? Wouldn't I, in essence, be rescuing one of those?

I'm not going to a puppy mill. The puppy I found, I found from another adoption site. I'm just saying that regardless of where puppies come from, they need homes. It's like saying to a young child, "we can't adopt you because you come from a really, really crappy place." You don't do that. It shouldn't matter. I know by consenting to getting a puppy from a puppy mill, you're supporting them but if those dogs aren't rescued, what happens to them? They exist. They don't just go away.

It just befuddles me that I couldn't rescue a dog even though I really, really wanted to do so. What befuddles me more is that both times, I was told off by the rescue people when, in actuality, I was trying to do a good thing.

It probably wouldn't have been so bad the second time except I felt like I was being scolded and made to feel like a school girl who had done something naughty.

Nevertheless, I learned something from my experience. I'm hoping my puppy, whom I'm planning on naming Sookie Stackhouse Monkeypants (only I'd use my real last name because, surprisingly enough, my last name isn't actually Monkeypants. I know...you're shocked), will find me to be a nice pet owner.

As long as she doesn't mind being called Sookie.

Happy Wednesday.

The Yappy Sounds of Spring....

Today was a real spring day. Even though the calendar, technically, still declares it winter, it might be hard to tell mother nature that. When I came out of work, it was a balmy 63 degrees. I didn't need my coat.

It was strange driving home and still being overly warm because I'd dressed for the weather this morning when it was only 34 degrees. It was even stranger to see the mounds of snow still piled high in the car parks where it was frantically shoveled to make way for traffic. The snow piles are really just ice-piles, dirty snow cones of leftover winter detris. Yet on a warm evening, they seemed almost alien.

The snow in my back garden has finally melted. I went outside tonight to try to inspect the fence to make sure that if my puppy comes to live with me, she'll have no escape routes. I also wanted to see how many daffodils, crocuses, tulips and hyacinths were starting to push their way upwards out of the earth.

I made it outside for about five minutes. I was driven inside by my neighbour's dogs. I've now lived here since August and still the blasted things bark as though they've never seen me before. I'd take it personally but I know they bark at anything that moves. I know this because they're often outside at 6 a.m., barking loudly at a sound they heard on the street. Given that they're barking less than 15 feet from my bedroom window, you can imagine how happy this makes me.

I'm not sure what to do. Tonight, my neighbour was actually outside, grilling while the dogs were barking. It wasn't The Dog Whisperer but it was his wife. She shouted at them, once. They ignored her. She made a show of trying to get them to quiet but it became obvious that they weren't going to listen.

Given that I had a bit of a headache and was not in the mood to try, once again, to bond with the dogs in an attempt to quiet them, I ended up going in. I've tried to bond with the dogs. The closer I get to the fence, they louder they get. One of them snapped at me the last time I tried to befriend them.

I admit, I'm a little worried about getting a puppy. She's going to be very tiny and vulnerable and those dogs are big and loud. It's bad enough that I feel like I can't go outside in my own yard without setting the dogs off. What's going to happen when I let my puppy out?

I have no clue what to do. My coworker did give me a device that supposedly lets off a high-pitched whistle, only audible to dogs, when you hit the button. I tried that the other day. It actually seemed to have an effect. It's not, however, the kind of thing you want you neighbours to see you using. I don't think it harms the dogs but they probably wouldn't approve anyway.

I could rant on about how they need to discipline their dogs, teach them to keep quiet but I'm a realist. I know it won't do any good. They're dogs: They bark. They're going to bark. Short of the dogs actually going away, I don't see a solution here.

For me, when I'm outside, I will put my iPod on and block out the yapping. Yet, for my puppy....what happens then?

I'm going to have to think about that. I tell you though, on a nice spring evening, it would have been really nice to wander around my yard, peacefully taking in the signs of spring. Instead, I was subjected to the bark of three dogs who followed my every move. It did rather kill the mood and kill the sereness of the evening.

Still, there's always tomorrow, I suppose. If not, is it a bad thing to take a hose to the neighbour's dogs?

Just kidding.

For now.

Happy Tuesday!

Spring-y Weekends

It's already Sunday evening. This means that the weekend has flown by, once again and we're facing the beginning of another work week.

It's been a nice weekend. For the first time in many weeks, the sun shone and the temperatures soared above freezing. It felt like Spring was in the air. I'm not about to start acting like it is Spring because this is the midwest and while it may feel balmy out there today, it can just as easily turn into a blizzard in the next few days.

Nevertheless, I did take the time to enjoy the warmer weather a little. Yesterday, I headed down to Findlay Market in Cincinnati. I'd promised my parents some very specific sausages that can only be obtained from Kroeger Meats down at the market. As I've mentioned before, the thing about Findlay Market is not only is it a bad area of Cincinnati, it's also quite impossible to find somewhere to park on nice days.

This weekend, I thought that being that it was, technically, still winter and that the actual outdoor farmer's market wouldn't be going on, it might not be too busy.

Naturally, I was wrong. I admit, I got a spot of road rage after my (no joking) fifth lap around the block to try to find somewhere, anywhere to park. The market itself has a car park attached to it plus two satellite lots. It's nowhere near enough parking. After about 20 minutes of driving around trying to find somewhere to park, I started to get furious. I didn't want to turn around and drive home because it's a good distance from home and would have been a waste not to find anywhere. Instead, I ended up pulling up to the parking lot attendant who was refusing to allow anyone into his lot and I asked him where the heck I could park. He told me to try the other lots and when I said they were full, he said to keep trying. Fortunately, ten minutes later, I happened to go back to his parking lot and find that there were some spaces available. However, by the time I got to the market, I was still furious and frazzled. I did, however, manage to obtain the sausages.

I spent the rest of the day doing a spot of spring cleaning. The problem with the warmer weather and brighter days is that you tend to see how dusty your house actually is. I tried to remedy this but I'm not the world's best duster and so I'm sure I missed quite a few patches.

I also managed to send my book to Amazon for publication on their site. Within a week, people can start buying my book. I think I'm excited. I did worry about the magnitude of what I was doing: It's a little scary. However, as one wise friend reminded me, it's my dream to be a published writer and, at this point, it's only me standing in the way. I admit, it's not quite the dream I had. I always wanted to be one of those authors who was 'discovered' and then took took the literary world by storm.

But who am I kidding? I don't know anyone in the publishing industry so I can't get my foot in the door. It's so rare for unknown writers to get in the door without knowing anyone these days, it just seems like winning the lottery to get your stuff read.

So, maybe I am achieving my dream in the way that is right for me: There's no good sitting around waiting for someone else to make it happen. If I want it, it's up to me...I don't think there's anything wrong with that.

My Sunday was spent attempting to make Julia Child's Bouef Bourgienon from the recipe in Mastering the Art of French Cooking. I have to say, the woman is a genius. It turned out fabulous. The beef, having simmered in the wine and beef broth for three hours, fell apart in my mouth and the flavour was, literally, a taste explosion. It's worth every minute spent on preparing the ingredients.

I also may have found a puppy. She's a long-haired dachshund puppy and I think she's mine but I've had a couple of near-misses so I'm not wanting to jinx it. I'll keep you posted.

So, all in all, though it flew by, I had a good weekend. It was productive but fun. It involved good food, making a dream come true and the potential a new furry friend in my life. I would say that is was definitely not a wasted weekend at all. While there were moments of laziness, it wasn't overly lazy.

Sometimes those are the best type of weekends.

Happy Monday!

Exploring Castles...

This has been the most peculiar week. I can't say it's been bad, because it hasn't. It's actually been quite...dare I say it...good. Of course, I didn't have to say goodbye to any family pets so that's always a bonus but, even with work....things have been good.

I'm starting to worry that, as I said to my mother tonight, I'm drinking the Kool Aid. Work is starting to be...tolerable even, gulp, ok. I could go further than 'ok' but that would be gushing...for me, anyway.

Today marked the one-year anniversary of our "independence." We were sold by a University and bought by a Trust. It's been a weird year. I've gone through every emotion through raging hatred to hysterical amusement.

As far as my job goes, I've been with our company for a year and a half. I feel like over the past two weeks, I've found my real footing. Because I have trust issues, I worry that it's just an illusion but I'd really like to think it's the start of something good or, at least, better. As a good friend reminded me, when I started my last job at USC, I hated it and went through the seething-hatred-to-pure-enjoyment cycle. When I left, I loved my job. When I'd started, I hated it.

I'm seeing the same cycle here although I hate to admit it. It's possible that it really is a temporary thing but I'd like to believe it means that I've finally figured out where I fit and I'm going to do my darndest to make sure I stay there. It could, of course, mean that I'm terrified of this crappy economy and being out of work but the optimist in me really believes that it's not.

It's odd to be writing this. Less than a month ago, I was mocking my job and my company. I'm still willing to mock, don't get me wrong. I still don't like the Most Optimistic Bathroom in the World or the fact that the popcorn maker is worth more than the value of my pathetic old television. However, I do like the fact that my boss has been talking to me. I like the fact that I've managed to fight inevitable bitterness and emerge on the side of Zen. I like the fact that I can drive eight minutes from home to work in the mornings. I don't like that that I'm on the same timetable as the local school buses but I'm learning to deal with that.

I think the scary thing is it's another sign of that alarming step into adulthood. It doesn't matter so much to me that my job is everything, that I have to be happy in the hours in which I truly earn my paycheck. It's a bonus, definitely but it's not required. I'm learning that what does matter is that I can afford to pay my mortgage and drive home to see my family. What matters is that I get to see my three-year-old niece and be the person who's crazy enough to bash her head on the dining room chairs as I help her explore her "castle" which, to grown ups, translates as underneath the table but, to her, is a kingdom of wonder. I get to see her grow a little taller each time I see her. When I lived in L.A., I'd see her so infrequently that it was as though she'd swallowed some of Jack's Magic Beans and grown from a baby into a giant. These days, I see her often enough that I'm no longer the mythical aunt but a real, physical part of her life. Bashing my head is nothing- despite the pain, exploring her castle is fun.

I like that. I think I'm actually liking knowing that my job isn't my life. My life is about family, friends, getting my book published and the possibility of finding a dog that will love me. It's pretty simple really. Ask me a few years ago and I would have said that I was on a quest to find that job that WAS me, that represented me, that showed the world how fabulous I am.

Jaded as it might sound, I don't need that now. Don't get me wrong, I still crave affirmation and praise, just as most humans do. However, I also know that, mostly, it's internal. If I feel confident and content then....I am.

Which is why I'm going to choose to accept the past week's contentment at work for what it is: A good thing. It may pass, it might last. Yet, for now, I'll take it, simple as that. If it doesn't work out...well, I can still explore castles and write books.

Happy Friday

Breaking Stuff for a Living...

This week is going by quickly and I didn't even mean for that to happen. Work is still just work but it's less sinister than it has been in the past. Today, we lost our network for a good portion of the morning. Since it was an unpredictable outage- out for a minute, back for about five and then out for ten minutes- I didn't get to make a sweater vest for my bobblehead. I did, however, get to play catch with my little stress ball, grumble to my coworker across the way and do a little surfing on my phone.

While having a network outage means some fun, unproductive time at work, tomorrow might be a bad time for it. I have my first product demo in quite a while. While it might sound overly optimistic, I'm taking it as a sign that my boss doesn't feel like I'm a complete idiot. A few months ago, he would have found a way to avoid letting me do the demo. This week, he actually asked me to do it.

I admit, I'm still shocked about that. More than anything, I'm shocked at how happy I am that my boss DID ask me to do it.

Of course, now I have to deal with the fact that I now have to do a product demo to an invisible audience on the other side of the phone line who probably will have no idea what I'm talking about as I talk in terms that are familiar to me but foreign to them.

Yet, I'll find a way to get them to understand. One of the skills I'd like to think I've cultivated over time is the ability to speak both 'techie' and 'user'. This translates as being able to listen to software developers and technicians, comprehend what they're saying and then be able to translate it to someone who gets nervous when you say the word 'software'.

Of course, it doesn't always work that way. Tomorrow, for example, my purpose is primarily to demonstrate our product and what it does. It's a product built for users. My audience is going to be very technical. Thus, I'm going to have to go backwards and find a way to make it sound like a) I know what I'm talking about and b) to get them to understand what the software is supposed to do.

That's an interesting juxtaposition. I've learned that while software developers are usually extremely intelligent, they often forget that the end result of all their programming is that some user, some day is going to sit down at a computer, use the mouse and try to use their software. When it doesn't work the way they want or, at least, expect, that's not good.

Thus, it's my job to pretend I'm one of those users, to user our software in the most creative ways possible and try to break it so that if it does break, we can fix it before anyone who matters finds out it was ever broken to begin with.

I'm becoming the 'go to' Monkeypants for breaking software. Yesterday, one of my coworkers came to me, her face perplexed, convinced things were misaligned with the universe because the software she'd worked on for months was working the way it was supposed to when she'd been convinced it was broken.

You have to understand with some of our 'newer' software products, when it works the way it's supposed to, we treat that as a bug and do everything we can to prove that it is, in fact, broken because it IS working the way it's supposed to work.

You can laugh but, sadly, it's all true, my friends. When something is supposed to be broken but works anyway, that's when the developers come to me and say, "I need you to try and break this."

And, it is for this purpose, I recieve a paycheck. I'm really good at breaking software. I'm really good at hitting the wrong button at the wrong time and making software explode. It's a gift, trust me.

I'm not being arrogant, even though it seems like it. It's just one of those quirks in life I seem to have been born with. If it's going to break, give it to Captain Monkeypants. She'll find a way. Earlier in life, it was more literal: vases, bowls, plates, mortar and pestles....you name it, I could break it.

Nowadays, it's also virtual, hence the fact that I've found a livelihood in software. Just set me free on it, and I'll find a way to break it, if it can be broken.

Of course, I won't pretend I receive a parade in my honour if I do manage to break the software. More often or not, I get a loud, slightly inappropriate-for-the-workplace response. Often, I get silence and then a long, slowly-drawn out serious of fixes that require testing at every turn. If I break it again, the silences get louder.

Usually, I try not to break it again. If I do, it's more job security. If I don't, I grumble but give the thumbs up and they move on to the next bug. And then they ask me to break it...which I often do.

It's a strange job I have but....sometimes, it's fun. Sometimes.

Happy Wednesday.