Once again... nothing has happened. For this reason, I am taking a hiatus. Mostly because I have absolutely nothing to say. For that reason, I am looking for another job. The maddness has to stop.
It's May 27, 2005. I need to get out of here.
Friday, May 27, 2005
Tuesday, May 24, 2005
Thursday, May 19, 2005
I think someone just ran into a wall.
There was a wail of commotion, a flitter-fluster-patter of sprinting feet down the hallway, a few more voices echoing emergency, then a resounding thud, and a piece of paper gently floating down to the floor right outside my cubical.
And now, silence.
I'm not going out there. That would just be stupid.
There was a wail of commotion, a flitter-fluster-patter of sprinting feet down the hallway, a few more voices echoing emergency, then a resounding thud, and a piece of paper gently floating down to the floor right outside my cubical.
And now, silence.
I'm not going out there. That would just be stupid.
Wednesday, May 18, 2005
OMG.
Oh. My. God.
I just made a horrible, horrible mistake.
I asked the "Kay" woman what a particular meeting was about in the conference room, and found out it was about HMOs, then she proceeded to give me a rundown of her entire medical history, with a few choice quotes (i.e. "there's nothing wrong with my eyes, except for, I can't see) for a duration of time as to cause me temporary paralysis and blindness to the left side of my everything. "Kay" has apparently a lot to say and not enough people to say it to and I accidently fell into her line of yearning, lonely, sight. I'm getting out of here.
It's 5:15. I'm going home.
Oh. My. God.
I just made a horrible, horrible mistake.
I asked the "Kay" woman what a particular meeting was about in the conference room, and found out it was about HMOs, then she proceeded to give me a rundown of her entire medical history, with a few choice quotes (i.e. "there's nothing wrong with my eyes, except for, I can't see) for a duration of time as to cause me temporary paralysis and blindness to the left side of my everything. "Kay" has apparently a lot to say and not enough people to say it to and I accidently fell into her line of yearning, lonely, sight. I'm getting out of here.
It's 5:15. I'm going home.
Why is it that stupid people flock toward elevators like an extremely obese person to a chocolate chip cookie? (Yes, I've been mentioning the hefty quite frequently, and no, it's not because I'm callous, it's because I can't see past them and that annoys me; like a compact car behind an SUV, you get pissed off too, right?).
At lunch today I had to go to a different high-rise building to obtain my paycheck and ended up in the elevator with a woman in a light-blue sweatshirt with a picture of a cottage on it, forest-green sweat-pants, large (but short), blond, curly hair, and the expression of an ant eater, that lost all of its ants.
As the elevator was about to close, a woman from outside frantically yells to wait, and our little dimwit friend, accidentally pushes the close button, instead of open. Luckily, the woman running to the elevator got her hand in just in time to have it crushed as the doors closed... then, of course, they slowly opened again. At this point the "one cow short of a herd" woman says, "I always do dat, press the close inted of da open." Then the elevator starts to buzz because, obviously, it's pissed-off that someone just rammed their hand through its hole (you would be too), and the woman then says "now dats you who startid makin all dat noise, why you complainin'?" giving a good stern reprimand to the abusive and angry elevator.
I gave a polite laugh. "Heh."
The other woman holding her hand did not (though it was just as moronic of her to stick her hand into an elevator when the door is about to close, but whatevs, I've done that).
The woman finally gets off the elevator, then before my entertained little corneas, looks left, right, and a little lost, then does a spin as fantastic as a Unicorn during a snowstorm in July, and exits stage left.
Elevators = Stupid People Heaven.
At lunch today I had to go to a different high-rise building to obtain my paycheck and ended up in the elevator with a woman in a light-blue sweatshirt with a picture of a cottage on it, forest-green sweat-pants, large (but short), blond, curly hair, and the expression of an ant eater, that lost all of its ants.
As the elevator was about to close, a woman from outside frantically yells to wait, and our little dimwit friend, accidentally pushes the close button, instead of open. Luckily, the woman running to the elevator got her hand in just in time to have it crushed as the doors closed... then, of course, they slowly opened again. At this point the "one cow short of a herd" woman says, "I always do dat, press the close inted of da open." Then the elevator starts to buzz because, obviously, it's pissed-off that someone just rammed their hand through its hole (you would be too), and the woman then says "now dats you who startid makin all dat noise, why you complainin'?" giving a good stern reprimand to the abusive and angry elevator.
I gave a polite laugh. "Heh."
The other woman holding her hand did not (though it was just as moronic of her to stick her hand into an elevator when the door is about to close, but whatevs, I've done that).
The woman finally gets off the elevator, then before my entertained little corneas, looks left, right, and a little lost, then does a spin as fantastic as a Unicorn during a snowstorm in July, and exits stage left.
Elevators = Stupid People Heaven.
Tuesday, May 17, 2005
TEMP THE GUINA PIG, PART III:
Piece of advice to be charished, treasured and heeded:
If you find a perscription medication bottle, and the expiration date reads 5/16/2003, don't try and take the medication because you're bored and you want to see what happens.
It's just not a good idea.
The end.
It's... like 4:12? I have no idea I can't read the time, but I'm going home anyway.
Piece of advice to be charished, treasured and heeded:
If you find a perscription medication bottle, and the expiration date reads 5/16/2003, don't try and take the medication because you're bored and you want to see what happens.
It's just not a good idea.
The end.
It's... like 4:12? I have no idea I can't read the time, but I'm going home anyway.
TEMP THE GUINEA PIG, PART II:
So, through some slight research, which you can do for yourself (I provided a link atleft right), I found out that Meridia is an anti Obesity Pill. Though, I apparently sound Obese when I walk, I am not even close to the fact, but I do know that any kind of pill that lends itself to the fight against Obesity, also lends itself to the fight against boredom, and the fight for productivity. So, about an hour ago I put on my Meridia Cape (large italic M, with little whoosh marks behind it* as to appear speedy) and began my journey into the world of "random prescription med I probably should not be taking."
After some time, I began to work, but also became distracted by the sever dilation of my pupils and the fact that I feel, not only really stoked out, but minorly affectionate… toward everyone.
Then I actually read the information on the web-site: "Meridia is a class of drug known as monoamine (serotonin and norepinephrine) re-uptake inhibitors. It falls in the same class of many anti-depressants such as Prozac." or, as it were MDMA. Which I will not go into explination.
Oooppps. "Serotonin re-uptake inhibitor," is not the same as "suppresses appetite and speeds up metabolism" which was my initial guess. So, I'm not really speedy, more like I feel the need for a good techno song and some fuzzy gloves… maybe a massage.
Well, at least I really REALLY like doing my filing right now, even if I am really entertained with how smooth the paper is.
* = M
So, through some slight research, which you can do for yourself (I provided a link at
After some time, I began to work, but also became distracted by the sever dilation of my pupils and the fact that I feel, not only really stoked out, but minorly affectionate… toward everyone.
Then I actually read the information on the web-site: "Meridia is a class of drug known as monoamine (serotonin and norepinephrine) re-uptake inhibitors. It falls in the same class of many anti-depressants such as Prozac." or, as it were MDMA. Which I will not go into explination.
Oooppps. "Serotonin re-uptake inhibitor," is not the same as "suppresses appetite and speeds up metabolism" which was my initial guess. So, I'm not really speedy, more like I feel the need for a good techno song and some fuzzy gloves… maybe a massage.
Well, at least I really REALLY like doing my filing right now, even if I am really entertained with how smooth the paper is.
* = M
*sang to the tune of happy birthday* Good morning to me. Good morning to me. Good morning tooo meeee. Good morning to meee.
Coffee? Check.
Fruit plate left over from partner meeting this morning? Check.
Bills that I brought from home that I plan to pay today? Check.
Little Rx pill called Meridia that I found in a drawer at my desk? Check.
Stoked on finding out the effects of Meridia? Double-Check.
For the last few weeks, I have purposefully (well actually not purposefully, if I could have been compelled to do any work, I would have, I swear to … whatever, but I couldn't…) not done any work. Now I have a stack of papers that measures approximately.. hold on… 15 inches… which would be basically a foot and a quarter of paper. Stacked. That I have to file. If you take into account that a "ream" (not my word) of paper is 2 inches and contains 500 sheets of paper… after we do some simple multiplication, with a little pre-algebra just for sass and flair, we find out that I have approximately 3,750 individual pieces of paper in a pile on my desk just waiting to be filed.
And with my little pill of Meridia… I'm going to do it.
I'll let you know how that turns out.
Coffee? Check.
Fruit plate left over from partner meeting this morning? Check.
Bills that I brought from home that I plan to pay today? Check.
Little Rx pill called Meridia that I found in a drawer at my desk? Check.
Stoked on finding out the effects of Meridia? Double-Check.
For the last few weeks, I have purposefully (well actually not purposefully, if I could have been compelled to do any work, I would have, I swear to … whatever, but I couldn't…) not done any work. Now I have a stack of papers that measures approximately.. hold on… 15 inches… which would be basically a foot and a quarter of paper. Stacked. That I have to file. If you take into account that a "ream" (not my word) of paper is 2 inches and contains 500 sheets of paper… after we do some simple multiplication, with a little pre-algebra just for sass and flair, we find out that I have approximately 3,750 individual pieces of paper in a pile on my desk just waiting to be filed.
And with my little pill of Meridia… I'm going to do it.
I'll let you know how that turns out.
Monday, May 16, 2005
Über-Secretaries:
Über, being German for over, in the sense of greater, or "in superiority to," or "in preference to," which to me sounds a lot like Hitler's definition of the "chosen people," and reasoning for "the extermination of the jews."
and
Secretary, being "a desk with a small bookcase on top." Wait that's not right… sorry, it's "a person employed to handle correspondence, keep files, and do clerical work for an employer or an organization," if you take the word "person" and replace it with "bitter woman" we have our winner.
So, when you use them in succession we've got: "a German he-woman who thinks they are the chosen people, or in the superior ranks of the bitter women, whose livelihood consists of menial, menial tasks that monkeys should be trained to do*"
*I'm not saying that monkeys would like it either.
So there are a few Über-Secretaries at the firm that I work at. Unfortunetly, they are the best at their jobs, so you desperately want these women on your side, because if they smell incompetent fresh-meat (which by the way smells a little like 3 day old Salmon) they will rip you apart with their filed down teeth, and stick a letter opener up your ass. And that is exactly what has been happening to me by one of them, at an uncomfortable frequency.
Not that I'm incompetent, but unfavorably, one of the Übers who had actually liked me, and had respect for me before, found out that I don't like to file (which qualifies me as lazy), and therefore began her reign of terror.
Terror includes the following:
- Not looking up from your desk when I ask you a question.
- Scoffing at the question I just asked you, and saying "I don't know, I don't do that, ask someone else!"
- Snapping at me when I use the copy machine by your desk to make one copy to be scanned, because that is the logical thing to do and say "Don't use that copier, gawd!"
- When I try to explain the logic behind my decision, exclaiming this odd, "fffffsssstttt"-like, cat hiss from your oral orifice to shut me up.
- Standing next to me to wait for the elevator, then begin to talk small talk to someone else, completely ignoring my presence, saying "I have so much work to do…"
- When I chime in to make a comment, "really, I could help out with some stuff –" (obviously trying to take some of her work load off of her) continue to ignore me, and speak right over me.
- Then finish your conversation by saying to the other person: "Yeah, I opened my book last night, and I just couldn't do a thing. I've got a long night ahead of me. I hate pre-algebra."
Hold the phone. Pre-Algebra? This is the Queen-Über of the floor… she's probably 39 and has a glandular problem, and she's taking Pre-Algebra… but more than that she has "a long night ahead" of her toiling, and sweating over the pages of a 7th grader's math book… that I did for fun when I was 10?
Reign of Terror Complete. Any intimidation has now been deflated and is lying in a pool of ooze on the floor.
Yes. It's 5:15. I'm going home.
Über, being German for over, in the sense of greater, or "in superiority to," or "in preference to," which to me sounds a lot like Hitler's definition of the "chosen people," and reasoning for "the extermination of the jews."
and
Secretary, being "a desk with a small bookcase on top." Wait that's not right… sorry, it's "a person employed to handle correspondence, keep files, and do clerical work for an employer or an organization," if you take the word "person" and replace it with "bitter woman" we have our winner.
So, when you use them in succession we've got: "a German he-woman who thinks they are the chosen people, or in the superior ranks of the bitter women, whose livelihood consists of menial, menial tasks that monkeys should be trained to do*"
*I'm not saying that monkeys would like it either.
So there are a few Über-Secretaries at the firm that I work at. Unfortunetly, they are the best at their jobs, so you desperately want these women on your side, because if they smell incompetent fresh-meat (which by the way smells a little like 3 day old Salmon) they will rip you apart with their filed down teeth, and stick a letter opener up your ass. And that is exactly what has been happening to me by one of them, at an uncomfortable frequency.
Not that I'm incompetent, but unfavorably, one of the Übers who had actually liked me, and had respect for me before, found out that I don't like to file (which qualifies me as lazy), and therefore began her reign of terror.
Terror includes the following:
- Not looking up from your desk when I ask you a question.
- Scoffing at the question I just asked you, and saying "I don't know, I don't do that, ask someone else!"
- Snapping at me when I use the copy machine by your desk to make one copy to be scanned, because that is the logical thing to do and say "Don't use that copier, gawd!"
- When I try to explain the logic behind my decision, exclaiming this odd, "fffffsssstttt"-like, cat hiss from your oral orifice to shut me up.
- Standing next to me to wait for the elevator, then begin to talk small talk to someone else, completely ignoring my presence, saying "I have so much work to do…"
- When I chime in to make a comment, "really, I could help out with some stuff –" (obviously trying to take some of her work load off of her) continue to ignore me, and speak right over me.
- Then finish your conversation by saying to the other person: "Yeah, I opened my book last night, and I just couldn't do a thing. I've got a long night ahead of me. I hate pre-algebra."
Hold the phone. Pre-Algebra? This is the Queen-Über of the floor… she's probably 39 and has a glandular problem, and she's taking Pre-Algebra… but more than that she has "a long night ahead" of her toiling, and sweating over the pages of a 7th grader's math book… that I did for fun when I was 10?
Reign of Terror Complete. Any intimidation has now been deflated and is lying in a pool of ooze on the floor.
Yes. It's 5:15. I'm going home.
Yeah yeah yeah. I didn't write anything past Tuesday of last week. I noticed. Honestly though, if you read my two posts, you can see that the trend of my life was a basic black hole of boredom that threatened to envelope and suck in all matter that got close to its vacuum of unruly apathy and lamentation, crushing the spirit of life and joy with its anti-gravity pressure of skull-fucking tedium.
So, I chose not to update it, and you are the better person for it.
Actually, I will update it…. wait a second...
There - I went back and updated the last few days.
and I will find a way to entertain myself this week if it means stripping off all of my clothes and streaking through the reception area with my really loud shoes as to make sure everyone notices, then running into a wall with my elbows exposed just to see what happens. Oh yes, I will find something to entertain myself with.
So, I chose not to update it, and you are the better person for it.
Actually, I will update it…. wait a second...
There - I went back and updated the last few days.
and I will find a way to entertain myself this week if it means stripping off all of my clothes and streaking through the reception area with my really loud shoes as to make sure everyone notices, then running into a wall with my elbows exposed just to see what happens. Oh yes, I will find something to entertain myself with.
Friday, May 13, 2005
Thursday, May 12, 2005
Wednesday, May 11, 2005
Tuesday, May 10, 2005
Alright. This has got to stop. Seriously.
I have a stack of filing approximately 18 inches in height sitting next to me, and I can't bring myself to do anything with it. I showed up 12 minutes later than my "late" time, for no reason whatsoever, besides the fact that I didn't want to get out of bed, and I kept waking up and smiling, smuggly at my alarm clock, thinking that I was tricking it by hiding under my covers.
I was just informed by the partner I work for that "the rest of the week is going to be pretty slow." First off: the rest of the week? It's Tuesday. Second: this week particularly is going to be slow? As opposed to last week? When I was on Vicodine? Does that mean that I get to take out a cot between the hours of 2:30 and 3:30, turn down the lights and take a nap? Because really, my work load couldn't get much lighter, and the "office" couldn't get much slower.
Okay, yes. I am complaining, and yes I should just move the fuck on... I will take any suggestions you might have today, because motivation is at an all time low... and, yes. I do have a work ethic. Itake pride used to take pride in my work. But for now, it's a failed cause. I don't anymore... and I get paid a lot of money not to.
I have a stack of filing approximately 18 inches in height sitting next to me, and I can't bring myself to do anything with it. I showed up 12 minutes later than my "late" time, for no reason whatsoever, besides the fact that I didn't want to get out of bed, and I kept waking up and smiling, smuggly at my alarm clock, thinking that I was tricking it by hiding under my covers.
I was just informed by the partner I work for that "the rest of the week is going to be pretty slow." First off: the rest of the week? It's Tuesday. Second: this week particularly is going to be slow? As opposed to last week? When I was on Vicodine? Does that mean that I get to take out a cot between the hours of 2:30 and 3:30, turn down the lights and take a nap? Because really, my work load couldn't get much lighter, and the "office" couldn't get much slower.
Okay, yes. I am complaining, and yes I should just move the fuck on... I will take any suggestions you might have today, because motivation is at an all time low... and, yes. I do have a work ethic. I
Monday, May 09, 2005
I'm tired. I'm really really tired. I drove two hours to work this morning, only to get here and do nothing. I'm falling asleep at my desk, and I've been doing that for the last four hours. I don't think the outfit I put on this morning matches, or is even appropriate for work, and I'm wearing those "loud" and "heavy-gated" shoes again today so I'm once again annoying the receptions (who, mind you, looks like she put on some weight over the weekend). I haven't been able to have a reasonable conversation with someone without, either yawning, or trying to walk away in the middle of it, because it takes way too much energy to keep it going. I want to call someone, but I can't think of anything to say. I want to read something on the internet, but I can't manuver my mouse. I am really fucking tired.
I'm not the only tired one though. I walked past a partners office to see him sitting straight up in his chair with his eyes closed, and in an obvious, "I just passed out from sheer boredom" pose. "Kay" woman has also cut down on her "Kays" by about a 80%, so obviously, she's not feelin' it either.
I'm so tired that I'm slurring my speech. It's 5:15. I'm going home... to go to bed.
I'm not the only tired one though. I walked past a partners office to see him sitting straight up in his chair with his eyes closed, and in an obvious, "I just passed out from sheer boredom" pose. "Kay" woman has also cut down on her "Kays" by about a 80%, so obviously, she's not feelin' it either.
I'm so tired that I'm slurring my speech. It's 5:15. I'm going home... to go to bed.
Friday, May 06, 2005
So, let's recap… my tasks for the day were laid our triumphantly and predicted on, and I will now address each, and whether they made it to fruition:
1. I will file: ah, No.
2. I will take a walk at lunch: ah, No.
3. I will not surf the internet all day because my partner isn't here: ah, surfed the internet all god damned day long… but I'm a smarter person for it, so there.
4. I will make sure that everything is done for Monday: ah, No. Still stuff left for me to do…actually, I didn't do a thing, but don't tell anyone. It's not like anyone notices anyway.
5. I will catch up with my Cousin on the other side of the country using the free log-distance they offer here: ah, used the long-distance, but not for my cousin.
6. I will e-mail my friends in other countries because I haven't seen them in awhile: ah, Yeah, e-mailed my ass off today.
7. I will e-mail bloggers I don't know just to try and make them mad: proved to be too mean spirited and so I will save that for a day when I am truly in a rancid mood.
8. I will stalk my favorite bloggers because I'm bored: I didn't stalk him… I don't want to scare him away… I think he's cute. (even though I've never seen him.)
9. I will work on my Resume to get out of this job. Yeah, right.
10. I will not fall asleep. I will not fall asleep. I will not fall asleep. I will not fall … I did fall asleep a little bit there, but for right now, I'm going to go home, and have a beer and forget that I have to come back in approximately 64 hours from now.
Fuck yeah.
It's 5:15. I'm going home.
1. I will file: ah, No.
2. I will take a walk at lunch: ah, No.
3. I will not surf the internet all day because my partner isn't here: ah, surfed the internet all god damned day long… but I'm a smarter person for it, so there.
4. I will make sure that everything is done for Monday: ah, No. Still stuff left for me to do…actually, I didn't do a thing, but don't tell anyone. It's not like anyone notices anyway.
5. I will catch up with my Cousin on the other side of the country using the free log-distance they offer here: ah, used the long-distance, but not for my cousin.
6. I will e-mail my friends in other countries because I haven't seen them in awhile: ah, Yeah, e-mailed my ass off today.
7. I will e-mail bloggers I don't know just to try and make them mad: proved to be too mean spirited and so I will save that for a day when I am truly in a rancid mood.
8. I will stalk my favorite bloggers because I'm bored: I didn't stalk him… I don't want to scare him away… I think he's cute. (even though I've never seen him.)
9. I will work on my Resume to get out of this job. Yeah, right.
10. I will not fall asleep. I will not fall asleep. I will not fall asleep. I will not fall … I did fall asleep a little bit there, but for right now, I'm going to go home, and have a beer and forget that I have to come back in approximately 64 hours from now.
Fuck yeah.
It's 5:15. I'm going home.
You know that thing people do sometimes, when they make a joke or light of something that obviously has been an issue and been annoying them for quite sometime, but they've never brought it up before because they are pussies? Like saying, "Wow, I haven't see you wear that sweater you always wear in awhile… you look really nice," or something of the sort?
Alright, I'm walking through the reception area which has marble tiles on the floor. Usually, I wear these little one inch heals, which, YES I will admit are a little on the noisy side when I walk. Well, today, I'm wearing flip-flops which are silent as a Mormon's wedding night. So, the Assistant Receptionist, who is sitting next to the Regular Receptionist, says:
"Wow, I didn't even recognize you without your shoes, I'm used to this heavy gate when you walk by!"
The Actual OldFatHaggard Receptionist: "I know, you would expect from someone who looks like a dancer (second time this week I've been referred to as a dancer by the way)*, this little Skinny-Minnie thing, who walks so loud!" For one thing, I'm not little. I'm 5ft 9. And I wear a size 10 shoe… the sound reverberation has to go somewhere, alright?
AssRec: "I know, even the client's look up, like 'yeah! I'm awake now!" Hardy-Har-fucking-Har...
At this point you have to understand that I am agreeing with them, trying to relay an antitode about when I was little - heavy walk, hardwood floors, mad parents, ect. - but they won't let me say anything; they just keep right on commenting…
FATRegReceptionits: "I know, every time, I know it's you, I don't even have to look up. I think 'oh, here she comes'" You know if I cared at this point, I would be getting self-conscious and embarrassed… IF I cared.
AR: "Yeah, you know, you're as thin as a rail*, but your walk, you sound like you're 400 pounds!" Jesus Tap-Dancing Christ people.
I try to give my antidote one more time, to explain the level of my self-awareness, but nope… no word in edgewise, so I turn around and say, walking back to my desk "Yeah, it's funny… my flip-flops are pretty silent though..."
You know, I half expect their following conversation to be:
"So, do you think she realizes it now?"
"Let's hope so, I mean, she's the only one who doesn't notice it"**
"Whew… I think we might have gotten through to her…"
Yeah, people. Clear as a fucking bell on Christmas morning. I realize that my walk is loud and obnoxious and people look up to see whose coming… I realize this annoys you… am I going to stop? Nope. I'm not going to change a Goddamned thing.
*The only reason why I think that they think I look so thin is because they are so mammoth in size… that's what happens when you sit at a computer/reception desk all day, and then go home and watch American Idol while munching on Cheetos… just sayin'.
** I have known that I'm a loud walker since I was around 4 years old. Like several special idiosyncrases, it has been the subject of many arguments with my parents, and significant others, but like many things (my messiness, my inability to spell, the fact that I don't know my left from my right, my affinity for prescription pills), I am very VERY aware, and I'm not going to change it. So you love me and find my flaws endearing, or you can go fuck yourself.
Alright, I'm walking through the reception area which has marble tiles on the floor. Usually, I wear these little one inch heals, which, YES I will admit are a little on the noisy side when I walk. Well, today, I'm wearing flip-flops which are silent as a Mormon's wedding night. So, the Assistant Receptionist, who is sitting next to the Regular Receptionist, says:
"Wow, I didn't even recognize you without your shoes, I'm used to this heavy gate when you walk by!"
The Actual OldFatHaggard Receptionist: "I know, you would expect from someone who looks like a dancer (second time this week I've been referred to as a dancer by the way)*, this little Skinny-Minnie thing, who walks so loud!" For one thing, I'm not little. I'm 5ft 9. And I wear a size 10 shoe… the sound reverberation has to go somewhere, alright?
AssRec: "I know, even the client's look up, like 'yeah! I'm awake now!" Hardy-Har-fucking-Har...
At this point you have to understand that I am agreeing with them, trying to relay an antitode about when I was little - heavy walk, hardwood floors, mad parents, ect. - but they won't let me say anything; they just keep right on commenting…
FATRegReceptionits: "I know, every time, I know it's you, I don't even have to look up. I think 'oh, here she comes'" You know if I cared at this point, I would be getting self-conscious and embarrassed… IF I cared.
AR: "Yeah, you know, you're as thin as a rail*, but your walk, you sound like you're 400 pounds!" Jesus Tap-Dancing Christ people.
I try to give my antidote one more time, to explain the level of my self-awareness, but nope… no word in edgewise, so I turn around and say, walking back to my desk "Yeah, it's funny… my flip-flops are pretty silent though..."
You know, I half expect their following conversation to be:
"So, do you think she realizes it now?"
"Let's hope so, I mean, she's the only one who doesn't notice it"**
"Whew… I think we might have gotten through to her…"
Yeah, people. Clear as a fucking bell on Christmas morning. I realize that my walk is loud and obnoxious and people look up to see whose coming… I realize this annoys you… am I going to stop? Nope. I'm not going to change a Goddamned thing.
*The only reason why I think that they think I look so thin is because they are so mammoth in size… that's what happens when you sit at a computer/reception desk all day, and then go home and watch American Idol while munching on Cheetos… just sayin'.
** I have known that I'm a loud walker since I was around 4 years old. Like several special idiosyncrases, it has been the subject of many arguments with my parents, and significant others, but like many things (my messiness, my inability to spell, the fact that I don't know my left from my right, my affinity for prescription pills), I am very VERY aware, and I'm not going to change it. So you love me and find my flaws endearing, or you can go fuck yourself.
The bored is strong in this one (today):
So, not only have I avoided doing all possible work today by visiting my Rampant Interests off to the side ==} , but I have created a faux-hawk in my hair, which I am very proud of, I have counseled a woman on her situation with her oldest daughter (who is roughly my age) and, AND I just realized I am a FUCKING GENIUS when I went down to order Hamburger and Fries from the cafeteria, and I found out that I can get free salad dressing, so I get Ranch with my fries INSTEAD of Ketchup! For free! It's the best thing EVER!!
Fuck Yeah.
So, not only have I avoided doing all possible work today by visiting my Rampant Interests off to the side ==} , but I have created a faux-hawk in my hair, which I am very proud of, I have counseled a woman on her situation with her oldest daughter (who is roughly my age) and, AND I just realized I am a FUCKING GENIUS when I went down to order Hamburger and Fries from the cafeteria, and I found out that I can get free salad dressing, so I get Ranch with my fries INSTEAD of Ketchup! For free! It's the best thing EVER!!
Fuck Yeah.
Alright! We're back to Friday, off the Vike-train, awake, and rearin' to go – bring it on! Oh, wait, there's nothing to bring on? Oh, really? Oh… I forgot, my job has the complexity of trying to put a square peg into a round hole: pretty soon, you realize that it's not going to work, and you start taking Vicodin again. Wait that's me…
I kid! I kid.
Not today! Today, I'm going to accomplish the following tasks:
1. I will file (It's not that funny, stop laughing).
2. I will take a walk at lunch (Kay, that was funny, by all means).
3. I will not surf the internet all day because the Partner I work for isn't here! (HAHAHAHaHaHahahahahahahah!!! Whew, I think I just peed a little, that was fucking hilarious).
4. I will make sure that everything is done for Monday (I might do that, but you have to understand at this point, that's pointless, because that just means that I will sit here on Monday and do nothing… it's a cycle of non-work).
5. I will catch up with my Cousin on the other side of the country using the free log-distance they offer here (Yes, that sounds viable).
6. I will e-mail my friends in other countries because I haven't seen them in awhile. (ditto on the viability)
7. I will e-mail bloggers I don't know just to try and make them mad (that just sounds fun).
8. I will stalk my favorite bloggers because I'm bored, and try to get them to banter with me (I've already done that today).
9. I will work on my Resume to get out of this job (Ug. I always say that).
10. I will not fall asleep. I will not fall asleep. I will not fall asleep. I will not fall …
I kid! I kid.
Not today! Today, I'm going to accomplish the following tasks:
1. I will file (It's not that funny, stop laughing).
2. I will take a walk at lunch (Kay, that was funny, by all means).
3. I will not surf the internet all day because the Partner I work for isn't here! (HAHAHAHaHaHahahahahahahah!!! Whew, I think I just peed a little, that was fucking hilarious).
4. I will make sure that everything is done for Monday (I might do that, but you have to understand at this point, that's pointless, because that just means that I will sit here on Monday and do nothing… it's a cycle of non-work).
5. I will catch up with my Cousin on the other side of the country using the free log-distance they offer here (Yes, that sounds viable).
6. I will e-mail my friends in other countries because I haven't seen them in awhile. (ditto on the viability)
7. I will e-mail bloggers I don't know just to try and make them mad (that just sounds fun).
8. I will stalk my favorite bloggers because I'm bored, and try to get them to banter with me (I've already done that today).
9. I will work on my Resume to get out of this job (Ug. I always say that).
10. I will not fall asleep. I will not fall asleep. I will not fall asleep. I will not fall …
Thursday, May 05, 2005
Because of my inability to completely be normal due to the fact I've been downing Vicodin for the last few days because of "pain," there have been several funny things, that I just stare at, and cannot put into words, as I am a complete Viked-out-slap-happy-fun-loving moron. And if I were me (which I am… hold on, this will go somewhere) and I saw me (wait for it) right now, I would write about how there is this chick that is totally on Vocodin, which I am. (Fuck, totally fucked that one up… there's Vicodin for ya… let me start over, I know I can get it).
Kay... if I wasn't me... but I was another person in the office, who wrote about weird things in the office, and I saw me walking the halls hopped up on Vicodin, I would totally go back to my desk, and write about me. There. That was it. Right?
It's 5:15. I'm going home.
Kay... if I wasn't me... but I was another person in the office, who wrote about weird things in the office, and I saw me walking the halls hopped up on Vicodin, I would totally go back to my desk, and write about me. There. That was it. Right?
It's 5:15. I'm going home.
It smells in here. But not a normal "death" smell or something like that, there is an amalgamation of smells wafting in and out of the office today, and it's getting on my olfactory nerve.
First off: There was a mishap with a sweet potato yesterday. Apparently, it had been left in the microwave for the amount of time it would take to fully de-feather, baste, and cook a baby bird, and it was nuked into what appeared to be the afterbirth of nuclear waste. It made the entire floor smell, and let me tell you, as you probably already know, in high rise buildings (one of which I do work) there are no openable windows. So the administrative-slaves set up high-powered industrial fans all over the floor, and, because there are none of these aforementioned openable windows, the air is just blown around in one big ironic circle. Thus, today it still smells like sweet-burntown-potato. It's gross and as far as I'm concerned (the laws of physics be what they may) the smell isn't going to go away unless someone opens a fucking window.
Secondly: TMI woman (to refresh memory, I know ever so more about her bodily functions than I ever… EVER wanted to) has a burn. She's had a burn for the last three months, either that or she's gotten addicted to Tiger-Balm, or whatever heinocity she uses as "ointment" (wow, what a gross word that is, eh?) for this supposed "burn". She's the walking causation of why my eyes are watering and nostrils are burning right at this very moment. It smells like Eucalyptus-mint-burnt-hair-Wasabee and it makes me want to kill my sense of smell with the sweet sting of punching-myself-in-the-face-as-to-give-myself-a-bloody-nose.
Third: I think I might smell because I didn't take a shower last night, or this morning. You see, my boss wanted me here a half-an hour early, and I have my mornings down to an exact science:
8:41 am – Get out of bed.
8:42 am – Get into shower.
8:45 am – Pick up clothes off of floor and get dressed.
8:47 am – Leave dwelling and hop in car in order to get to work at …
9:03 am – Arrive at work.*
* I will spare you the details of what I do in the car as a continuation of my process of awakening, but I assure you it's extensive.
Anyway. The boss asked that I be in at 8:30am, and so therefore the three minutes I need to take a shower in the morning are cut out of my day, and I simply go from "Get out of bed" to "Pick clothes up…" thereby laying the foundation for me to smell not so fresh this morning (Oh, and I'm wearing the same pants I wore yesterday, but I doubt anybody will notice... hopefully).
But I would rather smell myself than a mix of Sweet-potato-death-and-fat-tiger-buttered-in-mint-oil that's been lit on fire and is now roasting next to the copier, where I want to get my coffee. Trust me, I smell much better than that.
First off: There was a mishap with a sweet potato yesterday. Apparently, it had been left in the microwave for the amount of time it would take to fully de-feather, baste, and cook a baby bird, and it was nuked into what appeared to be the afterbirth of nuclear waste. It made the entire floor smell, and let me tell you, as you probably already know, in high rise buildings (one of which I do work) there are no openable windows. So the administrative-slaves set up high-powered industrial fans all over the floor, and, because there are none of these aforementioned openable windows, the air is just blown around in one big ironic circle. Thus, today it still smells like sweet-burntown-potato. It's gross and as far as I'm concerned (the laws of physics be what they may) the smell isn't going to go away unless someone opens a fucking window.
Secondly: TMI woman (to refresh memory, I know ever so more about her bodily functions than I ever… EVER wanted to) has a burn. She's had a burn for the last three months, either that or she's gotten addicted to Tiger-Balm, or whatever heinocity she uses as "ointment" (wow, what a gross word that is, eh?) for this supposed "burn". She's the walking causation of why my eyes are watering and nostrils are burning right at this very moment. It smells like Eucalyptus-mint-burnt-hair-Wasabee and it makes me want to kill my sense of smell with the sweet sting of punching-myself-in-the-face-as-to-give-myself-a-bloody-nose.
Third: I think I might smell because I didn't take a shower last night, or this morning. You see, my boss wanted me here a half-an hour early, and I have my mornings down to an exact science:
8:41 am – Get out of bed.
8:42 am – Get into shower.
8:45 am – Pick up clothes off of floor and get dressed.
8:47 am – Leave dwelling and hop in car in order to get to work at …
9:03 am – Arrive at work.*
* I will spare you the details of what I do in the car as a continuation of my process of awakening, but I assure you it's extensive.
Anyway. The boss asked that I be in at 8:30am, and so therefore the three minutes I need to take a shower in the morning are cut out of my day, and I simply go from "Get out of bed" to "Pick clothes up…" thereby laying the foundation for me to smell not so fresh this morning (Oh, and I'm wearing the same pants I wore yesterday, but I doubt anybody will notice... hopefully).
But I would rather smell myself than a mix of Sweet-potato-death-and-fat-tiger-buttered-in-mint-oil that's been lit on fire and is now roasting next to the copier, where I want to get my coffee. Trust me, I smell much better than that.
Wednesday, May 04, 2005
A woman who looks like she was probably the recipient of shock treatment therapy in the late 80s just asked if I was a Ballet dancer and then motioned with her hand in such a way as to convey an act of spontaneous dance.
I told her I wasn't. She then kicked out her leg to the side, and said I looked like one, while bowing slightly.
"Thanks?"
I have no conscious thought on how to appropriately respond to that comment, but I'm half-way expecting her to pirouette down the hall to the sound of Swan Lake.
I told her I wasn't. She then kicked out her leg to the side, and said I looked like one, while bowing slightly.
"Thanks?"
I have no conscious thought on how to appropriately respond to that comment, but I'm half-way expecting her to pirouette down the hall to the sound of Swan Lake.
Tuesday, May 03, 2005
I must have some sort of pheromone spray on me today, because against my better wishes, I've been engaged several times in slightly-awkward-conversation-with-the-stinking-air-of-sexual-overtone-coming-from-men-that-are-old-enough-to-be-my-father all day long. This isn't the amusing part though. The amusing part is that for reasons I might get into later, I've had to take Vicodin for the last two days to quell some "pain" of mine. So, not only am I apparently really cute walking around the office, but I'm cute and spacey: perfect for attracting older rich men like hoboes to a bottle of Johnny Walker Black.
Usual situation: I becomed cornered in an elevator, for at least 20 to 25 seconds, taking the brunt of initial side-glances and smiles until one says the following phrases, to which I have repeated the following various responses:
"You work here?"
Yes, No, Maybe, I'm a temp, I don't really know, hopefully not for long, why?, do you?, what's that smell?
"What floor do you work on?"
7, 5, 10, I'm just here to deliver flowers, 6, I'm sorry?, why?, not sure
"Are you a Partner?"
No, I'm a temp, I'm actually trying to not work here at all, no I'm just filling in, Yes, no I'm a secretary, no I would kill myself first; are you?
"Are you a Secretary?"
No, I'm a temp, actually I'm trying to be a writer, I'm an assistant, who's asking, why is my partner looking for me?
"How Long have you worked here?"
1 day, 2 months, I can't remember, I've taken too much vicodin today, what's your name? [sometimes I just hold up my fingers] 4 months? Oh, god has it been that long?? Someone Shoot ME!
"What floor are you going to?"
I'm getting off, I can see my reflection in the top of your head, I'm not sure, I started taking vicodin two days ago, in the grand scheme of life does it really matter anyway?
I've been riding the elevator all day long in order to avoid work, and the pressure of performing under the influence of pain pills.
It's 5:15. I'm going home.
Usual situation: I becomed cornered in an elevator, for at least 20 to 25 seconds, taking the brunt of initial side-glances and smiles until one says the following phrases, to which I have repeated the following various responses:
"You work here?"
Yes, No, Maybe, I'm a temp, I don't really know, hopefully not for long, why?, do you?, what's that smell?
"What floor do you work on?"
7, 5, 10, I'm just here to deliver flowers, 6, I'm sorry?, why?, not sure
"Are you a Partner?"
No, I'm a temp, I'm actually trying to not work here at all, no I'm just filling in, Yes, no I'm a secretary, no I would kill myself first; are you?
"Are you a Secretary?"
No, I'm a temp, actually I'm trying to be a writer, I'm an assistant, who's asking, why is my partner looking for me?
"How Long have you worked here?"
1 day, 2 months, I can't remember, I've taken too much vicodin today, what's your name? [sometimes I just hold up my fingers] 4 months? Oh, god has it been that long?? Someone Shoot ME!
"What floor are you going to?"
I'm getting off, I can see my reflection in the top of your head, I'm not sure, I started taking vicodin two days ago, in the grand scheme of life does it really matter anyway?
I've been riding the elevator all day long in order to avoid work, and the pressure of performing under the influence of pain pills.
It's 5:15. I'm going home.
Monday, May 02, 2005
There is a woman who works right next to me. She is short, stocky and over caffeinated. She also has hair that is shaped the way a woman's hair would in a 1950s HairNet commercial, if it were the color of dirt and leaves (her hair, not the commercial).
More than her amusing physical atributes, she has a habit of incessantly repeating an utterance that sounds an awful lot like my first name... which I will tell you for the sake of explanation (the utterance, not my name): "Kay" or "oKay."
As something that is common when someone says your first name, everytime she says her little word, I snap my head around to see who's calling me. It sounds to me like a loud, abrupt and demanding call for attention.
And she says this: All. Day. Long. When she's starting a task "oKay," she says it, and finishing with a task "Kay" she says it. When she's walking by my desk to complete a task "Kay," and then walking back to her own to begin another one "Kay;" When she's going into her bosses office to help with a project "oKay," and then returning to her own desk "Kay" to make sure that it is done "Kay." She remarks this when she comes in for the day, "Kay," preparing for a meeting "Kay", and when she is cleaning her desk "Kay" in order to go home "Kay." It's like some sort of hideous OCD-therapy. Or she's just always on the verge of a nervous breakdown and she must steady herself and reassess the situation: "Okay."
Whatever the retarded reason, this is impeding on my sanity, because I still perk up each time she feels the need to express a function (of any sort), as to induce a slight state of schizophrenia, which is now turning to full blown paranoia.
Ug.
It's 5:15. I'm going home.
More than her amusing physical atributes, she has a habit of incessantly repeating an utterance that sounds an awful lot like my first name... which I will tell you for the sake of explanation (the utterance, not my name): "Kay" or "oKay."
As something that is common when someone says your first name, everytime she says her little word, I snap my head around to see who's calling me. It sounds to me like a loud, abrupt and demanding call for attention.
And she says this: All. Day. Long. When she's starting a task "oKay," she says it, and finishing with a task "Kay" she says it. When she's walking by my desk to complete a task "Kay," and then walking back to her own to begin another one "Kay;" When she's going into her bosses office to help with a project "oKay," and then returning to her own desk "Kay" to make sure that it is done "Kay." She remarks this when she comes in for the day, "Kay," preparing for a meeting "Kay", and when she is cleaning her desk "Kay" in order to go home "Kay." It's like some sort of hideous OCD-therapy. Or she's just always on the verge of a nervous breakdown and she must steady herself and reassess the situation: "Okay."
Whatever the retarded reason, this is impeding on my sanity, because I still perk up each time she feels the need to express a function (of any sort), as to induce a slight state of schizophrenia, which is now turning to full blown paranoia.
Ug.
It's 5:15. I'm going home.
DESCRIPTION OF BOREDOM NUMERO UNO:
Currently, I am working for a younger, NewYorkian, "if I were in any movie, I would definatly be the neurotic lead of a Woody Allen film" Uber-Jew. He has this intrugeging habit of pulling his pants up so far above his waist, as to taunt the great Newton himself, which makes the cuffs of his pants come to rest about a half- a-foot above his ankles. It's truly breathtaking… However, he is cool, and I like him.
I'm surpised, at this point, he hasn't transferred me out, because last week I was functioning as the embodiment of the following metaphors:
1. A gay interior designer who, after being told that the kitchen in his client's new-house is being covered completely by Linoleum, falls into a heap on the floor sobbing, where he is immediately consoled by his assistant, donning a hand full of Pills, and a cup of vodka.
2. A billionaire's Pill-popping, trophy-wife who, after finding out that Fredrico the pool boy isn't coming today, decides to scrap her whole "get out in the sun for once this week" idea, and retreats back to her room to watch Dynasty reruns, pop Pills and drink vodka.
3. A six year old who was just told that Santa Clause, the Tooth Fairy, and the Easter Bunny aren't real, all at the same time, and immediately turns into an apathetic, miniature Nihilist, downing his first dose of Pills and and taking a shot of vodka.
In conclusion, disgust, distress, hopelessness, confusion, apathy and nihilism is the basic description of my daily humor.
Currently, I am working for a younger, NewYorkian, "if I were in any movie, I would definatly be the neurotic lead of a Woody Allen film" Uber-Jew. He has this intrugeging habit of pulling his pants up so far above his waist, as to taunt the great Newton himself, which makes the cuffs of his pants come to rest about a half- a-foot above his ankles. It's truly breathtaking… However, he is cool, and I like him.
I'm surpised, at this point, he hasn't transferred me out, because last week I was functioning as the embodiment of the following metaphors:
1. A gay interior designer who, after being told that the kitchen in his client's new-house is being covered completely by Linoleum, falls into a heap on the floor sobbing, where he is immediately consoled by his assistant, donning a hand full of Pills, and a cup of vodka.
2. A billionaire's Pill-popping, trophy-wife who, after finding out that Fredrico the pool boy isn't coming today, decides to scrap her whole "get out in the sun for once this week" idea, and retreats back to her room to watch Dynasty reruns, pop Pills and drink vodka.
3. A six year old who was just told that Santa Clause, the Tooth Fairy, and the Easter Bunny aren't real, all at the same time, and immediately turns into an apathetic, miniature Nihilist, downing his first dose of Pills and and taking a shot of vodka.
In conclusion, disgust, distress, hopelessness, confusion, apathy and nihilism is the basic description of my daily humor.
Yeah…
So, the 64-hours that I was so stoked about on Friday have officially come to their natural conclusion, and I am back to that same boring place that I was last week… I have a torturous 4 days until I can go back to my manic state and exclaim my adoration for my fateful favorite day, so let me do a quick recap of last week, because it absolutely fucking blew.
To catch you up: apparently, I've been moved to a stationary position within the company that I work for, instead of being transferred from desk to desk encountering the wonderful and strange each day that I've been so fond of. This means that everyday I sit at the same desk, look at the same people, avoid the same work, have the same conversations, go to the same bathroom, where I again, walk past more of the same people, and then try to sleep in the same stall that I've been trying to sleep in all week long.
Unfortunately, NONE of the people around me are remotely interesting. Therefore, I will catalogue their last-week's boringness with tenacious fervor throughout the week, in order to catch you up with my world.*
I apologize for not keeping you updated as much as I should have last week. But you have to understand, when you're main source of material in making boring things seem slightly amusing, when even the boring gets boring … It makes you want to burry your face in your hands and cry.
*It gives me something to say this week, because I know for certain that nothing will happen.
So, the 64-hours that I was so stoked about on Friday have officially come to their natural conclusion, and I am back to that same boring place that I was last week… I have a torturous 4 days until I can go back to my manic state and exclaim my adoration for my fateful favorite day, so let me do a quick recap of last week, because it absolutely fucking blew.
To catch you up: apparently, I've been moved to a stationary position within the company that I work for, instead of being transferred from desk to desk encountering the wonderful and strange each day that I've been so fond of. This means that everyday I sit at the same desk, look at the same people, avoid the same work, have the same conversations, go to the same bathroom, where I again, walk past more of the same people, and then try to sleep in the same stall that I've been trying to sleep in all week long.
Unfortunately, NONE of the people around me are remotely interesting. Therefore, I will catalogue their last-week's boringness with tenacious fervor throughout the week, in order to catch you up with my world.*
I apologize for not keeping you updated as much as I should have last week. But you have to understand, when you're main source of material in making boring things seem slightly amusing, when even the boring gets boring … It makes you want to burry your face in your hands and cry.
*It gives me something to say this week, because I know for certain that nothing will happen.
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