Operation exit plan begins

I have been at my current job for 6 years.  For me, 6 years in one place is a really, really long time.  Prior to this job, I like to think I had a career- a career I was passionate about and proud of.  I worked long hours and at the end of the day I felt fulfilled.  My current job has been tolerable and simply a job.  It gives me extreme flexibility which has been especially beneficial now that I have a little one and I like my boss.  My biggest struggle at this job has been pure boredom, which I justified to myself wasn't a good enough reason to find something else.  I made a promise to myself long ago that I would never stay at a job I hated.  I watched my step-mother go to a desk job for 30 years she was miserable at day after day and I never wanted that life.  And more than anything, I'm reminded time after time that life is short, so don't want to spend the time I've been given on Earth miserable.  I know we all have the power to change our current situation, but sometimes (especially for me) it takes having a current shitty situation to make the change.  Today at work, I was notified of some changes.  I came home and told the Hubby the time had come.  I am going to quit my job.  He gave me a, "Ya, sure ya are" kind of look. Now we aren't exactly in some cush comfortable financial situation.  If I quit my job we definitely would not be shopping at my beloved Whole Foods, but we'd survive on one income until I pulled myself out of the water. But today,  I really did come home thinking I was going to quit, like tomorrow.  How could I let my little girl watch me go to a job I will soon most likely hate?  What kind of role model would I be?  Then it occurred to me, that quitting a day after I found out about a change, before the change even took place, wouldn't exactly be the best example either.  So after a night of contemplation and returning to blogging after a long hiatus, I've come to a better conclusion.
I'm going to start my exit plan. 

Saying Happy Holidays with Poinsettias

The season for poinsettias has arrived.  The red, seasonal plant characterized as a holiday plant as not to offend anyone.  The perfect option to decorate an office full of Christians, Jews, a Hindu and a few other varieties.  

 I took the Bossman's Costco card and headed to pick up some poinsettias for the office.  I'm not a bulk shopper and was not familiar with the strict rituals of shopping at such a store.  Pretty intimidating your first time, I must say.  Before I was allowed entry I had to show the (Bossman's) Costco card complete with his mugshot on the back.  It felt like showing my ID to get into a bar back in the day...back in the days I got carded that is.   Access granted.  I fill up the cart with poinsettias on sale 4 for $20.  I head to the massive check-out lines.  I get up to pay and am required to give the card again.  Shit really?! I hand it over with the I'm suppose to be here too look.  Check-out man hardly seems to pay attention until he starts handing me the card back.  "Is this your husband?" He asks.  "Yes" I answer hesitantly.  

"Mrs. Bhatnagar, make sure your husband puts you on his account.  I shouldn't really even let you leave."  He scorns.  He knew damn well I was not Mrs. Bhatnagar and not just because the credit card I used had my real last name. 

Check-out Nazi finally lets me leave.  I head to the office and carry as many poinsettias in at once as I possibly can trying to minimize my trips to and from the car.  I am wearing all black.  I head into the office and set the plants around the office.  Bossman compliments the new decor and then I catch him giving me one of his concerned looks.  "Uhh, you have, uhhh, on your, uhhh, sweater," He says giving me a somewhat disgusted look.  I look down at my black sweater to find a white, creamy substance drippled on my chest area.  Now, poinsettias as most of us know have a, white sap that oozes out of the red leaves.  By the look on Bossman's face, he was not aware of this characteristic of the plant and was reminded of another similar substance.  My face turned bright red, and I looked down at the creamy, white substance on my shirt and could only imagine what he too couldn't help but think of.  
"It is from carrying the plants in!  Look, the white is from the plants!" I yelled at him as he walked into his office with a smirk on his face, seemingly ignoring my explanation.  

My lesson of the day?  Never carry poinsettias again. 

Pep talk from the BossMan

My boss is a small set Indian man (dot head Indian, not native American), a year younger than I.  We have a complicated relationship.  One day you will find me comparing him to the North Korean government and another, he is more like a brother.  It is very much so a love hate relationship.  I sat in his office attempting to go over work items.  He was in an extra chipper and playful mood, avoiding all work related inquiries.  Here is how our conversation went today.

BossMan:   What is going on with you? 

Me:            Not much, you? 

BossMan:    I mean, you are so happy.  You have a glow to you. 

Me:            A glow?  I got my hair highlighted.  That is it.  

BossMan:   What color was it before?  

Me:            Brown.  Now it is back to blonde.  It was brown all year. 

BossMan:    I don't think that is it.  It is something else.  Really, you have a 

                  special glow.  What are you not telling me?

Me:            What? Nothing.  I am probably just hot from being outside in this 

                  100 degree weather.

He continues starring me down when I figure it out. 

Me:             Are you trying to ask me if I am pregnant? 

He looks at me and smiles. 

BossMan:       Are you? 

Me:               Seriously?! This again?  No.  Is your wife pregnant?  

BossMan:       I don't know.

Me:               Do you think I am getting fat? 

Bossman:      No, I just think you are pregnant.  What are you waiting for?  Time

                    will keep moving along and you will keep getting older.  

Me:               Well, who knows, maybe I am and don't know it yet.  I'll let you 

                    know if I get my period next week.

Now the conversation is over (so I think). I know any mention of a menstrual cycle to a man is a sure way to end a conversation. 

He proceeds to show me a picture of an old lady on the his phone, implying my future. This is third time he has asked me if I was pregnant, only this time he put the pressure on reminding me of my biological clock. 

Thanks for the pep talk BossMan.  Still Baby-less.