Have you ever felt inadequate at work? Woefully, impossibly inadequate, so much that  you wonder what the bloody hell they were thinking when the hired you?  If so, I right there with you. 

I’ve felt like this off and on since I started my new job.  More so than any other job I’ve had.  Is this a sign that I’ve finally found my match?

So I made a reference a few days ago about an upcoming business trip to France.  Lucky, lucky me! I get to spend the end of next week (and the weekend!!) in Paris before I head south to one of our warehouses out in the middle of nowhere.  So, aside from the obligatory Rick Steves’ Paris book out on loan to me from my neighbor, I’m taking suggestions of must-see locations and/or hole in the wall rare finds.  I believe we’re staying on the Champs Elysées near the Arc de Triomphe.

When I was making reservations for this trip, I got to wondering if everything I’ve heard about Paris is  true.  In addition to taking loads of pictures, I thought it would be fun to report back to you all MythBusters style:

Mythbusters:  French Edition!

Let’s see how these hold up… 

1. The French are rude
2. French people hate Americans
3. French people stink
4. French women don’t shave
5. Visiting France is too expensive
6. All French people smoke cigarettes
7. You must speak fluent French to visit
8. French toilets are disgusting

I’m pretty sure that there will be NOTHING scientific about this, but I can’t wait to find out!!

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Proof positive that I’m as dorky as you thought I was.

I’m back.  I can’t swear to it, since my ambition was bigger than my time when I started this blog, but I’ll do my best.  After a few gentle (and one not-so-gentle) urgings from some friends, I think we’ll give this another shot.  Because, you see, a TON has happened in the last four months.

Here’s a recap so we’re all up to speed:

May - While I was in London, I got “the call” from my boss. ”Eh, are you still interested in leading your own team of  nosey people who everyone just LOVES to have come check out if they’re doing their damn jobs?” he asks. (I’m an auditor.  People LOVE ME.) “Uh, sure.” I reply. (Not normally a girl of few words, this was all I could come up with as I had no idea this call was coming)

June - Frantic travel mixed with pretending I know what to do with a new team in Albuquerque, NM.  Good times.

July - I get an email via LinkedIn.com from a recruiter at a tech company in Seattle.  “Have I got a job for you!”, he says.  “Yeah, right,” I reply.  “You only have to travel 15% of the time,” he taunts.  “OK.  I’m in.”  Well, it was more like 20 emails, three phone interviews, and an insane in-person interview involving five hours, six people and no bathroom breaks.  I’m a camel.

August -Wrapping up the job-negotiating stuff while trying to keep it all in “the Vault” (my version of keeping my trap shut), I now have to give my two weeks notice.  That was a new one for me.  As “the company” is the only place I’ve worked since graduating from college, I’ve never had the absolute pleasure of saying “see-ya” before.  Interesting. I was on travel to “lovely” New Jersey at the time, and my last two weeks consisted of hanging out with as many of my work friends as possible, including trips to Atlantic City, Philly, and a teaser of a day in New York City at a Yankees game.  (Yes the job did have its perks!)  It was hard saying goodbye to my co-workers.  They are some amazing people.

Whew.  That was exhausting.  That brings us to now. I’ll save that fun for a few new posts.  Think new job, new puppy, new boy, new life.  Good stuff.

I’ve lost my voice.  Maybe I lost it on the plane.  More likely I misplaced it somewhere in the packing frenzy that took place the night before I left.  Will someone please FedEx it over here so I quit sounding like a wounded seal?

I woke up Monday morning and discovered my loss.  Not surprising since I had woken up Sunday with a sore throat, sat for 11 hours in germ infested airplanes and then proceeded to be left out in the lovely English weather (much like Seattle, only the overcast skies are MUCH more oppressive.  Not sure how.  They just are.) in front of the Avis desk riding herd on all of our luggage while my co-workers took their sweet time programming the GPS (we call it Jane).  So my first day at work, meet and greet day, I pretty much just prayed that everyone could understand my broken American English.

This morning however, my sound of thirteen year old boy going through puberty had been replaced by a more refined Demi Moore type raspyness accompanied by a cough that sounds like aforementioned wounded seal.  Sigh.

Other than that, we’re having a wonderful time.  We rented two cars, and two preferred drivers have emerged out of our group of six.  Unfortunately, I’m one of them.  It seems the general consensus is that if I can drive a fire truck, surely I can handle driving a Mercedes C-class around several multi-lane roundabouts with all of my controls on the opposite (including my seat) side of what I’m used to.  Brilliant.  Oh, and when  you get off the roundabout, please try not to drive into oncoming traffic.  Simple.  I would like to apologise in advance for all past and future years I have shaved off the lives of the residents of Bedfordshire.  Seriously.

(Actually, I’ve been secretly having alot of fun with the driving thing, and am getting the hang of it.  No use telling my co-workers that.  Ruins the fun.)

More on all of that later though.  Time to go out to dinner with the group.  Not sure what’s on the agenda.  Last night was an amazing little wine bar/restaurant in Milton Keynes.  Maybe my voice is hiding somewhere in a pint.  I’m off to check.

Saturday I’m taking off again for work.  This time to the UK.  We’ll be about an hour north of London in Ampthill which I believe is a town in Bedfordshire.  I’m very excited about this trip, especially since two of my favorite people (AmericanMum and her husband) have been contemplating moving to England for a while now.  Hearing and reading about their experiences has made me long to have a few myself.  Although we’ll be attempting to complete a month’s worth of work in 9 days, we will have a weekend in between to play.  Any suggestions? 

Oh, the joys of Telecommuting!  Every Monday and Friday when I’m not on assignment are what my friend Chris in Philly calls Pajama Days.  Pajama Days consist of the following:  Wake up, stumble into the living room, log into work, and proceed to IM various coworkers while calling into a stupid amount of teleconference meetings throughout the day. 

Unfortunately, this rarely allows for the basics…you know, like showers and food.  How does that happen?  Do these people really occupy so much of my time that I can’t even brush my teeth until 2:30 PST?  I’m about ready to start blocking out 30 minutes on my Outlook Calendar for personal hygiene.   

Sad.

This has been the most bizarre week ever.  Well, not EVER, but it’s definitely up there.  Here’s the recipe:

Take an airplane landing from hell.  Add in one mid-week “team bonding” drink drunk-fest (combine one 1/2 price wine night with a Great Create-A-Shot Contest).  Mix well.  Toss in a generous helping of  hangover, and another installment of “The only job offer ever arranged by Instant Message”.  Add in about 10 bottles of water and a Gatorade.  You know, to re-hydrate.

Marinate the above in a gallon of Office Drama with a pinch of Big Boss Sets You Up to Throw Your Lead Under A Bus (you can find it in most senior management offices), but only after you throw in a whisper of Wanna Go to the UK Next Month?  Refrigerate for long enough to miss your flight home.

Bake at 350 for five days in a three hour time difference.  Voila!  There you have it.  The only job I know of that is a grown-up version (heh) of every [fond] memory I have of WAZZU.

 I’m just sayin’.