OK, I admit I didn't reply to the Customer Service email because I was too busy chatting up a storm with my redheaded buddy from the last job.
Turns out he's had the conversation with his long term g/f about wanting to spread his seed or sew his oats or bang the next chick he sees (hes a little young and been a monogomist forever as far as I can deduce) and I am privy to this knowledge as he tells me he likes the idea of my daydream of making the supply closet an opportunity for afternoon delights.
His last of ELEVEN emails today firmed up that he was certain to dtermine this weeks schedule of cuddle time with the g/f and solidify when he could see me.
I'll admit to having a big ol' fashioned crush on the cute young redhead at the office who was so into his relationship that he didn't tell anyone he had it for four months and by the time I left was taking her calls about 10 times a day. And it was awsomely easy to notice which shirt/bra combos he appreciated, how standing over my desk wasn't condusive to getting any work done, and how a wink could make him trip on carpet for the rest of the day. So I'm a flirt, whatever.
Do I continue this flirtatious path and tease him through a few beers and send him home?? Take advantage of his eagerness and let the consequences be his? Be truthful with myself in knowing that satisfying an old crush would probably make me want a relationship more than squelch anything? And do I really want to knowingly be the other woman? He would tell her willingly and everything!!! Like right now he is dressing for his softball game and talking to her about what he could do with another woman that wouldn't freak her out. Uh huh.
And he'll be getting back to me tomorrow.
And I can't wait.
So bad... so cliche... so easy!!!
Is this what dad meant by keeping friends from the places I've been??? ha!
Monday, October 31, 2005
Dating Dilemma
It was so blah I don't have anything to report.
Dinner at a steak house at 5pm on a Sunday.
I ordered a beer before my meal at the bar and refilled it mid meal (and even with the fill in waitress who asked "what were you drinking again" I didn't change my mind).
He sends me a Customer Survey email to have me rate his dating skills for better performance next time. On the list is place to meet, his dress, his ATTENTION SPAN, and some other crap I laugh at.
I want to be nice but there was absolutely nothing there to work with... he went to Japan with all the money he had saved to move out with and didn't tell me a thing about it!!!
Does it seem like I am at all hard to talk with here??? I left opportunities, I picked hot topics, I even left the door wide open to hear about the Star Wars collection.
Note to self: when they tell you they suck at dating and they live with mom because they can, you want someone W A Y more self assured/powerful/aggressive/wealthy/emotionally available/aloof/charismatic/testy/macho than whoever might show up to buy you an Awsome steak dinner and not give you guff for two beers or the leftover half slab of ribs.
So, do I be honest and tell him to grow a personality along with a backbone before attempting any further human contact? Do I send him the dating tips I get emailed to me once a week (it was a cute test and its hilarious the write ins these wussbags ask the guy to solve)??? Do I be polite and tell him its nice to hear via email that I am funny and attractive and whatever else he said but with not even an attempt at a crack of a smile for two hours over dinner its just not gonna cut it?? Or do I take advantage of this guy and have him meet me for another meal that he will pay for (because he has to pay people to spend time with him, not because hes a gentleman) and see if he loosens up??
I almost added that dating sucks. But I have to get to my email conversation with a MySpace guy who's in town visiting his brother and wants to take me out instead of Trick or Treat with his nephew. I told him commitments come before cum and I could call him later to see if the rugrat is down for the count before I turn in... karma rocks even if dating doesn't!!!
Dinner at a steak house at 5pm on a Sunday.
I ordered a beer before my meal at the bar and refilled it mid meal (and even with the fill in waitress who asked "what were you drinking again" I didn't change my mind).
He sends me a Customer Survey email to have me rate his dating skills for better performance next time. On the list is place to meet, his dress, his ATTENTION SPAN, and some other crap I laugh at.
I want to be nice but there was absolutely nothing there to work with... he went to Japan with all the money he had saved to move out with and didn't tell me a thing about it!!!
Does it seem like I am at all hard to talk with here??? I left opportunities, I picked hot topics, I even left the door wide open to hear about the Star Wars collection.
Note to self: when they tell you they suck at dating and they live with mom because they can, you want someone W A Y more self assured/powerful/aggressive/wealthy/emotionally available/aloof/charismatic/testy/macho than whoever might show up to buy you an Awsome steak dinner and not give you guff for two beers or the leftover half slab of ribs.
So, do I be honest and tell him to grow a personality along with a backbone before attempting any further human contact? Do I send him the dating tips I get emailed to me once a week (it was a cute test and its hilarious the write ins these wussbags ask the guy to solve)??? Do I be polite and tell him its nice to hear via email that I am funny and attractive and whatever else he said but with not even an attempt at a crack of a smile for two hours over dinner its just not gonna cut it?? Or do I take advantage of this guy and have him meet me for another meal that he will pay for (because he has to pay people to spend time with him, not because hes a gentleman) and see if he loosens up??
I almost added that dating sucks. But I have to get to my email conversation with a MySpace guy who's in town visiting his brother and wants to take me out instead of Trick or Treat with his nephew. I told him commitments come before cum and I could call him later to see if the rugrat is down for the count before I turn in... karma rocks even if dating doesn't!!!
Friday, October 28, 2005
My Red Shoes
It is a mentally documented fact that every single time I wear my red shoes I get a compliment on them. They have graced my wardrobe for two years and I wear them about once a month. The are a mule in maroon, boxy in front, open in back, on a 3"wide heel, and cost me $12.99 at Payless.
Today I was standing over a binder and a girl with great fashion sense determinedly walks into the cube with a direct aim at the printer to my right. As her step rock the desk, she spouts "CUTE SHOES!!!!! I L O V E red shoes... love um, love um, love um!" I said a quick thanks and noticed her admire my footwear on the way out.
A far cry from last year about this time when I was in the grocery store and an anciently elderly woman in the line next to mine turned to her paid helper who was gazing at a balloon hoping to suck the helium and get a mental break from this wretched hag and said "In my day, used to be only whores would wear red shoes. Thats how we'd tell they were whores; by the shoes..."
Somehow today's emphatic overjoyed comment made me think of this and if I hadn't been sniffing toner fumes for the previous two hours I might have been able to match her excitement but all I could think was of this hag who caught me on a day when I had plenty of non-nauseated energy and still not enough cahones to say:
1) "whatdaya say grandma, wanna watch? I'll take that six pack as payment"
2) "how about me and your sexy little friend give you a show right here; thats what the whores in my day do to let us know where they are"
3) "hey, I don't see you commenting on the string thong staring you in the face... keep your comments in your own lane for better karma"
4) "being a whore sure makes me a lot less frustrated than I used to be - I used to get my jollies by pointing out how others fall into my judgements... evolution of the mind is a terrible thing to not believe in"
5) "enjoy that deli prepared egg salad ma'am. I like the crunchy crust too - especially because its $.50 off when it has it!"
6) "I don't wear pantyhose either... easier entry I find... damn these express lanes, my date is gonna think I found a new beau in here and I'm out $100"
7) "fuck you. nice mumu you wench"
But today I got three positive comments on my shoes and one "I have the same ones and I LOVE them!" I am debating strutting the mall... I need new jeans since I recall sleeping in these the entirety of last weekend and only just now realized I didn't loose 5 lbs but rather forgot to do laundry on Wed. like I was going to. Fuck it. Its payday. I'll buy new jeans at the mall. Two weeks and two days since I shaved and all.
Today I was standing over a binder and a girl with great fashion sense determinedly walks into the cube with a direct aim at the printer to my right. As her step rock the desk, she spouts "CUTE SHOES!!!!! I L O V E red shoes... love um, love um, love um!" I said a quick thanks and noticed her admire my footwear on the way out.
A far cry from last year about this time when I was in the grocery store and an anciently elderly woman in the line next to mine turned to her paid helper who was gazing at a balloon hoping to suck the helium and get a mental break from this wretched hag and said "In my day, used to be only whores would wear red shoes. Thats how we'd tell they were whores; by the shoes..."
Somehow today's emphatic overjoyed comment made me think of this and if I hadn't been sniffing toner fumes for the previous two hours I might have been able to match her excitement but all I could think was of this hag who caught me on a day when I had plenty of non-nauseated energy and still not enough cahones to say:
1) "whatdaya say grandma, wanna watch? I'll take that six pack as payment"
2) "how about me and your sexy little friend give you a show right here; thats what the whores in my day do to let us know where they are"
3) "hey, I don't see you commenting on the string thong staring you in the face... keep your comments in your own lane for better karma"
4) "being a whore sure makes me a lot less frustrated than I used to be - I used to get my jollies by pointing out how others fall into my judgements... evolution of the mind is a terrible thing to not believe in"
5) "enjoy that deli prepared egg salad ma'am. I like the crunchy crust too - especially because its $.50 off when it has it!"
6) "I don't wear pantyhose either... easier entry I find... damn these express lanes, my date is gonna think I found a new beau in here and I'm out $100"
7) "fuck you. nice mumu you wench"
But today I got three positive comments on my shoes and one "I have the same ones and I LOVE them!" I am debating strutting the mall... I need new jeans since I recall sleeping in these the entirety of last weekend and only just now realized I didn't loose 5 lbs but rather forgot to do laundry on Wed. like I was going to. Fuck it. Its payday. I'll buy new jeans at the mall. Two weeks and two days since I shaved and all.
Calling Jeff Corwin
I'm home alone.
It's 11:30pm.
I am deciding if I should watch Sex and the City and support my insomniac tendancy.
Or make my career important enough to get some sleep over.
Or take advantage of no one being home and have another shot of tequila and see whats on late night HBO these days.
And the dogs start barking. Fine, its last call in the neighborhood for potty breaks and they are saying hi as always.
Then it changes. The tone and urgency are more severe. Suddenly. And its echoing in the garage. Ummm....
I slide the ultra loud glass door open in one swift gesture and growl "no barken" to the hysterical mutts.
Shorty comes out from behind a bush; only mild satisfaction on her jowls. She is happy to see me and comes into the house with a bit of a jolly gait.
Luke is a different case all together. I hear him in the garage and think only mildly of the socks I will ruin as I rush the garage door and slap the lightswitch up. He gets worked up often - any passer by on the street gets the riot act and the raised hairs on the back of his neck treatment. But last night was a new sighting. Absolutely every hair on his body was on full alert and his vocal cords were stuck in the shrill panic shreek that is usually a mistake.
I am confused. We have a cat that lives in the garage and he knows her and won't chase her into her home, just out of his yard. WTF?
And as I talk him down... "Luke, its just our cat, she lives here! - Come HERE" I see what the fuss is about. From 10 feet up our cabinetry a pair of eyes come out from behind the proped up plywood.
And they have a black bandit-like fur around them.
And I say "thats not our cat"
And suddenly I am relieved I did not do a shooter in the kitchen when the barking started.
I am reliving Monday when I couldn't feel any blood in my face.
Luke notices me and comes to tell me of all he's found. In his excitement he dashes out the door to investigate the source of the intruder more thouroughly.
I am being inquisitively and respectfully looked over by a snout and a black mask when I turn my head indoors. He shows himself to me; healthy coat, ringed tail, and marsupial gripping claws on our cabinets. A beautiful and not at all threatening racoon is looking for a way down.
Our eyes meet again. We both know I am partially blocking the only way out and that the beast of all black puppy excitement is pacing on the other side.
My decision was instinctual.
I get Luke's attention and chase his collar around in three circles before guiding his kineticism into the house. He licks at the glass in an effort to rejoin his quest for home base security. I step into the light of the doorway with a noteably calm disposition and wildly searching eyes.
And where is that darn cat that lives in here??
uh oh. Where is my newly friendly friend wandered off to?
I knock on the door. He looks at me from the farthest rafter corner. And sniffs.
My hands are under my oversized sweatshirt and I am suddenly very conscious of the sight of me... all cloth, no skin, a monotonous human face with no offending limbs or phlanges to harm him with. And the cooing voice of sympathetic nurturing is coming from me.
"hhhiiiiiieeeee bbuudddddyyyyyiiiieeeee... come on down from there. its ok. hhiiiiieeeee"
He turns his back to the corner and expertly traverses the rafter.
He turns back.
I look at him and slide fully into the room. I know it is he and I and neither of us wants a brawl tonight. And neither of us is scared in the least either.
We have an extreme respect for each other. I know he can be a menace at a moments notice and shooing him would only force his survival instinct to rein terror on our stored belongings... he knows I have control of the beast who cornered him and that I have a severly different tone with him.
In less than a minute he is back to the cabinetry, climbing down the way he got up, and on the ground. He is silent when he moves, graceful in his steps, and exactly like a cotton replica I had as a child.
I am suddenly thinking he is much more cuddly in body type and personality than any cat I have ever met.
He knows how to get across the floor without me seeing him in the masses of furniture that clutter the space. I call to him "I know buddy, I am not moving at all, you can come on over".
His face emerges into the light, his eyes reflecting as any nocturnal animal mirrors the exposing rays, and a foot comes around.
Its a crucial moment. If he spooks I will be there all night. He will terrorize our belongings and the cat is sure to be part of the struggle. And there will be no living down the dangerousness of our property to the roomates either.
He understands me instantly. I am there for his safety. Three full body lengths into the open and he stops.
I watch him, knowing he lives in my neighborhood with me, knowing his brother was probably run over, and wondering if he is what Luke stares into the trees for. He is a wild beast with a domesticated side.
His decision was made. He stopped to look at me. Not hesitated to check and see if I would reach for him as so many small mammals do; not even to think about staying the night in our sheltered garage. It was a full stop with the only intention to be eye contact.
In one peaceful explosion his body was in motion and disappearing silently into the night.
I stood for a full breath appreciating who I am. A person who can be trapped with a wild animal and get a good bye nod on departure. Someone who never felt the need for shrill voices or irratic movements. A woman who in the face of imagry of racoon scratches deep enough to scar can appreciate the layering of colors on his coat.
I told the cat she was welcome, shut off the light, and closed the door firmly. I wrestled past Luke to get back into the house. I rewinded Sex and the City (nod to Tivo... lets take a moment of silence for Tivo.....) (...........) and let the adrenalyne cycle through the mutts before asserting "bed time - everyone upstairs" at a distractingly indecent hour. And I slept well.
It's 11:30pm.
I am deciding if I should watch Sex and the City and support my insomniac tendancy.
Or make my career important enough to get some sleep over.
Or take advantage of no one being home and have another shot of tequila and see whats on late night HBO these days.
And the dogs start barking. Fine, its last call in the neighborhood for potty breaks and they are saying hi as always.
Then it changes. The tone and urgency are more severe. Suddenly. And its echoing in the garage. Ummm....
I slide the ultra loud glass door open in one swift gesture and growl "no barken" to the hysterical mutts.
Shorty comes out from behind a bush; only mild satisfaction on her jowls. She is happy to see me and comes into the house with a bit of a jolly gait.
Luke is a different case all together. I hear him in the garage and think only mildly of the socks I will ruin as I rush the garage door and slap the lightswitch up. He gets worked up often - any passer by on the street gets the riot act and the raised hairs on the back of his neck treatment. But last night was a new sighting. Absolutely every hair on his body was on full alert and his vocal cords were stuck in the shrill panic shreek that is usually a mistake.
I am confused. We have a cat that lives in the garage and he knows her and won't chase her into her home, just out of his yard. WTF?
And as I talk him down... "Luke, its just our cat, she lives here! - Come HERE" I see what the fuss is about. From 10 feet up our cabinetry a pair of eyes come out from behind the proped up plywood.
And they have a black bandit-like fur around them.
And I say "thats not our cat"
And suddenly I am relieved I did not do a shooter in the kitchen when the barking started.
I am reliving Monday when I couldn't feel any blood in my face.
Luke notices me and comes to tell me of all he's found. In his excitement he dashes out the door to investigate the source of the intruder more thouroughly.
I am being inquisitively and respectfully looked over by a snout and a black mask when I turn my head indoors. He shows himself to me; healthy coat, ringed tail, and marsupial gripping claws on our cabinets. A beautiful and not at all threatening racoon is looking for a way down.
Our eyes meet again. We both know I am partially blocking the only way out and that the beast of all black puppy excitement is pacing on the other side.
My decision was instinctual.
I get Luke's attention and chase his collar around in three circles before guiding his kineticism into the house. He licks at the glass in an effort to rejoin his quest for home base security. I step into the light of the doorway with a noteably calm disposition and wildly searching eyes.
And where is that darn cat that lives in here??
uh oh. Where is my newly friendly friend wandered off to?
I knock on the door. He looks at me from the farthest rafter corner. And sniffs.
My hands are under my oversized sweatshirt and I am suddenly very conscious of the sight of me... all cloth, no skin, a monotonous human face with no offending limbs or phlanges to harm him with. And the cooing voice of sympathetic nurturing is coming from me.
"hhhiiiiiieeeee bbuudddddyyyyyiiiieeeee... come on down from there. its ok. hhiiiiieeeee"
He turns his back to the corner and expertly traverses the rafter.
He turns back.
I look at him and slide fully into the room. I know it is he and I and neither of us wants a brawl tonight. And neither of us is scared in the least either.
We have an extreme respect for each other. I know he can be a menace at a moments notice and shooing him would only force his survival instinct to rein terror on our stored belongings... he knows I have control of the beast who cornered him and that I have a severly different tone with him.
In less than a minute he is back to the cabinetry, climbing down the way he got up, and on the ground. He is silent when he moves, graceful in his steps, and exactly like a cotton replica I had as a child.
I am suddenly thinking he is much more cuddly in body type and personality than any cat I have ever met.
He knows how to get across the floor without me seeing him in the masses of furniture that clutter the space. I call to him "I know buddy, I am not moving at all, you can come on over".
His face emerges into the light, his eyes reflecting as any nocturnal animal mirrors the exposing rays, and a foot comes around.
Its a crucial moment. If he spooks I will be there all night. He will terrorize our belongings and the cat is sure to be part of the struggle. And there will be no living down the dangerousness of our property to the roomates either.
He understands me instantly. I am there for his safety. Three full body lengths into the open and he stops.
I watch him, knowing he lives in my neighborhood with me, knowing his brother was probably run over, and wondering if he is what Luke stares into the trees for. He is a wild beast with a domesticated side.
His decision was made. He stopped to look at me. Not hesitated to check and see if I would reach for him as so many small mammals do; not even to think about staying the night in our sheltered garage. It was a full stop with the only intention to be eye contact.
In one peaceful explosion his body was in motion and disappearing silently into the night.
I stood for a full breath appreciating who I am. A person who can be trapped with a wild animal and get a good bye nod on departure. Someone who never felt the need for shrill voices or irratic movements. A woman who in the face of imagry of racoon scratches deep enough to scar can appreciate the layering of colors on his coat.
I told the cat she was welcome, shut off the light, and closed the door firmly. I wrestled past Luke to get back into the house. I rewinded Sex and the City (nod to Tivo... lets take a moment of silence for Tivo.....) (...........) and let the adrenalyne cycle through the mutts before asserting "bed time - everyone upstairs" at a distractingly indecent hour. And I slept well.
Thursday, October 27, 2005
Redheads
Isn't there just something about the blue of the eyes of redheads?? That little something extra that makes you think of them more as gems than iris's? Its been far too long since I've seen a pair up close but even emailing a redhead gets me a little revved up... not to say the hazel eyed redheads don't have an extra something over their brunette counterparts - they do - but I happen to have this longstanding thing for light hair and bright blue eyes that is somehow crippling even to think of.
I sit here awaiting a reply from a former daily buddy who once a week or so would have to get in close and I'd get to examine the purity of the hue of crystaline blue that made up his peepers... and it makes my feet twitch and my knees weak just thinking about it.
So I'm extremely single. Confirmed. But come on, baby blues are magic, aren't they? Maybe not two months later magic for you... but whatever blows your skirt up I say =)
Ok, he's been chatty all day but the message I get right before he leaves the office is that his plans for the weekend are blah blah blah and talking his g/f into a threesome... I reply with two lines of hahahaha and chat about the rest of it... he comes back with (ten minutes left in his day) "as for the other, she told me I can have something on the side since she's chicken." bhhmhhmhhmhh - the sound of getting the wind knocked out of you by a sentance. I come back with a quick retort like "her parents were how conservative three months ago and their daughter said WHAT??? WOW" and hit send hoping to catch him.
No reply yet but I will admit to fantasizing about all the million ways such a situation could not ever work and how much fun it would be to experience every last mistake of it. Got two full hours of mindless work done, thank you very much! Now I am off to change my pants...
I sit here awaiting a reply from a former daily buddy who once a week or so would have to get in close and I'd get to examine the purity of the hue of crystaline blue that made up his peepers... and it makes my feet twitch and my knees weak just thinking about it.
So I'm extremely single. Confirmed. But come on, baby blues are magic, aren't they? Maybe not two months later magic for you... but whatever blows your skirt up I say =)
Ok, he's been chatty all day but the message I get right before he leaves the office is that his plans for the weekend are blah blah blah and talking his g/f into a threesome... I reply with two lines of hahahaha and chat about the rest of it... he comes back with (ten minutes left in his day) "as for the other, she told me I can have something on the side since she's chicken." bhhmhhmhhmhh - the sound of getting the wind knocked out of you by a sentance. I come back with a quick retort like "her parents were how conservative three months ago and their daughter said WHAT??? WOW" and hit send hoping to catch him.
No reply yet but I will admit to fantasizing about all the million ways such a situation could not ever work and how much fun it would be to experience every last mistake of it. Got two full hours of mindless work done, thank you very much! Now I am off to change my pants...
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
Crisis of Vanity
I emplore the women to question... if left to your own devices, how often would you shave your legs?
Seriously single, not even the prospect of a coffee date on the horizon, the only thing between you and pants for the rest of your life is the amount of time you can spend at the washing machine... how long would you go?
This hit me as I was in the restroom at work today. I was shocked to realize that it has been a full two weeks. You get past the growing right back in phase, then sit in jammys all Sunday while the it-itches-when-my-jeans-move phase passes, and there isn't even any noise in the slacks anymore because the hairs are SO pliable at this point. So when is the cut off?
Usually for me its the ingrown hair stage but I seem to have missed that this time (usually at one week when another Saturday rolls around and I can take the time to delicately massage the skin and prepare it for the scraping and slicing of its outer layers and give the proper follow up time of lotion and baby oil with just enough fresh air after the apparent assault so as to avoid three days of reminders that its only another two minutes to avoid the rash of razor burn next time). I'm thinking of convincing myself my skirts are too cute to leave taking up half my wardrobe and never put to use but the deal is I just painted my toenails and all my cute heels to go with the skirts are closed toed so its really been working out well to have cute little flats, flashy toes, and cuffs at the bottoms of my pants in this chilly but not cold weather.
Please, I beg of you - give me a reason (besides feeling more sexy for my vibrator sessions - not to be discounted but I'll get some either way) to endure breaking in a fresh razor blade on skin that is finally adjusted to the weather, new water district, brand new laundry detergent, and having a barrier from the rub and tug of nylons or jeans!!!
It is tempting to introduce myself as an earthy type but the hairspray, lip gloss, two foundations, and three eye shadow colors Might throw them off a bit. ;) Maybe I'll get it waxed to remind me shaving isn't so bad... only if the shoulder massage is included though.
Seriously single, not even the prospect of a coffee date on the horizon, the only thing between you and pants for the rest of your life is the amount of time you can spend at the washing machine... how long would you go?
This hit me as I was in the restroom at work today. I was shocked to realize that it has been a full two weeks. You get past the growing right back in phase, then sit in jammys all Sunday while the it-itches-when-my-jeans-move phase passes, and there isn't even any noise in the slacks anymore because the hairs are SO pliable at this point. So when is the cut off?
Usually for me its the ingrown hair stage but I seem to have missed that this time (usually at one week when another Saturday rolls around and I can take the time to delicately massage the skin and prepare it for the scraping and slicing of its outer layers and give the proper follow up time of lotion and baby oil with just enough fresh air after the apparent assault so as to avoid three days of reminders that its only another two minutes to avoid the rash of razor burn next time). I'm thinking of convincing myself my skirts are too cute to leave taking up half my wardrobe and never put to use but the deal is I just painted my toenails and all my cute heels to go with the skirts are closed toed so its really been working out well to have cute little flats, flashy toes, and cuffs at the bottoms of my pants in this chilly but not cold weather.
Please, I beg of you - give me a reason (besides feeling more sexy for my vibrator sessions - not to be discounted but I'll get some either way) to endure breaking in a fresh razor blade on skin that is finally adjusted to the weather, new water district, brand new laundry detergent, and having a barrier from the rub and tug of nylons or jeans!!!
It is tempting to introduce myself as an earthy type but the hairspray, lip gloss, two foundations, and three eye shadow colors Might throw them off a bit. ;) Maybe I'll get it waxed to remind me shaving isn't so bad... only if the shoulder massage is included though.
Monday, October 24, 2005
Mondays Suck - Case in Point
It started out like any other day... roll into work 10 min late, be disgusted with the caffeinated sludge in the lunch room, curse yourself for again forgetting the bottle of sweetened creamy dreamy vanilla stuff to make the sludge go down easier, rue the day you decided to have a cup of coffee with the gang and now are severly dependent on it by 10am every work day. Get to my desk and open the email with "another meanial project" (my bosses words exactly) that will take all day every day of this week to complete however there is no way to get to it until late afternoon due to the other pressing projects that were given via email. The cubemate is chatty, the conference room caddy corner to my adjacent cube is letting out droves of talkative types every hour on the hour, and lunch break is coming soon.
OK, so far its just a typical day in the life of a cube dweller, I'll admit. But I signed up to donate blood for the first time today. OK, is it a state secret that this should not be taken lightly??? I mean I figured to drink water and have lunch and stuff, but here I am three hours later and I still feel like my first hangover all over again - this differs from last weeks hangover only because there is the added "what in the name of damnation is going on here?" attitude. Seriously can't keep anything down, headache, woozy, skin tingling, overheating but my extremities could ice your drink, and an overwhelming wish to remember the fun that created this torture. Oh, wait, I got my finger pricked, my sex life questioned by a stuttering bimbo, half glazed looks from the guys who poke arms and clean up spills in a van all day as they shove ice paks in my shirt and tell me to cough to get some color back in my face, and after two juice cups and a cookie I am sent on my way to make it to the bathroom in my building and chuck it all up.
Yeah. I'm a hero. She tells me that next time I come in I should tell them I had a reaction and they will put my feet up from the get go. Uh, ok, yes ma'am - and I won't take it personally that you repeated it three times because I'll admit that the first two times I was swaying with my eyes closed trying to remain conscious.
Oh, I left out the part where I got my deposit back from my last place - $175 of my $600 in a personal check from former roomie after the bills were deducted (not $425). And the part when I checked my emails and got one from used-to-f*cks friend asking where I've been followed shortly thereafter by a reply from used-to-f*ck from the rant last Friday. He owned up to avoiding me, asked that I follow through on not ever communicating with him again after he points out he' s been seeing someone who takes a lot of his time (Mr. I don't want to be in a relationship because I've been single for a long time and dont' plan to change - until my favorite chick gets back into town and I don't need the look alike around to placate me anymore) and that while he wasn't in the hospital with head trauma (my assumption over the other choice - he is just that much of a wussy and will wait until I'm bored of not hearing from him rather than tell me straight) he was in jail for Another DUI. Thats right folks, I know how to pick 'um!!! Whatever, I'm just a little pissed that I thought I had a real friend and apparently I had a boyfriend and I SO thought I knew how to tell the difference by now!
I'm now safely home, glad that every day I don't fight the 5pm traffic to get away from the building complex that had me with my finger on the automatic window trigger thru all 12 red lights I waited at (there are only 8 lights between me and my work but that is how many people leave at 5pm - I caught three of them green!), in my pjs, with cold water and an ice pack to keep me from running to the toilet and pray. I know I'll eventually have to eat and that being in PJs at 5:45pm isn't a great way to show up at take out places but maybe, just maybe a roomate will come home with meatloaf and mashed potatoes leftovers and my daydreams will come true!
Not looking forward to tomorrow. Time to buy headphones if for nothing else to keep the sound of gum smacking at 4pm from driving me up the wall or into a stall with no TP. Topper I tell ya. Since I can't think of an addage about having a Case of the Tuesdays, I'll assume that I can sleep this one off and be fairly normal tomorrow, and divine if I can remember the creamer.
OK, so far its just a typical day in the life of a cube dweller, I'll admit. But I signed up to donate blood for the first time today. OK, is it a state secret that this should not be taken lightly??? I mean I figured to drink water and have lunch and stuff, but here I am three hours later and I still feel like my first hangover all over again - this differs from last weeks hangover only because there is the added "what in the name of damnation is going on here?" attitude. Seriously can't keep anything down, headache, woozy, skin tingling, overheating but my extremities could ice your drink, and an overwhelming wish to remember the fun that created this torture. Oh, wait, I got my finger pricked, my sex life questioned by a stuttering bimbo, half glazed looks from the guys who poke arms and clean up spills in a van all day as they shove ice paks in my shirt and tell me to cough to get some color back in my face, and after two juice cups and a cookie I am sent on my way to make it to the bathroom in my building and chuck it all up.
Yeah. I'm a hero. She tells me that next time I come in I should tell them I had a reaction and they will put my feet up from the get go. Uh, ok, yes ma'am - and I won't take it personally that you repeated it three times because I'll admit that the first two times I was swaying with my eyes closed trying to remain conscious.
Oh, I left out the part where I got my deposit back from my last place - $175 of my $600 in a personal check from former roomie after the bills were deducted (not $425). And the part when I checked my emails and got one from used-to-f*cks friend asking where I've been followed shortly thereafter by a reply from used-to-f*ck from the rant last Friday. He owned up to avoiding me, asked that I follow through on not ever communicating with him again after he points out he' s been seeing someone who takes a lot of his time (Mr. I don't want to be in a relationship because I've been single for a long time and dont' plan to change - until my favorite chick gets back into town and I don't need the look alike around to placate me anymore) and that while he wasn't in the hospital with head trauma (my assumption over the other choice - he is just that much of a wussy and will wait until I'm bored of not hearing from him rather than tell me straight) he was in jail for Another DUI. Thats right folks, I know how to pick 'um!!! Whatever, I'm just a little pissed that I thought I had a real friend and apparently I had a boyfriend and I SO thought I knew how to tell the difference by now!
I'm now safely home, glad that every day I don't fight the 5pm traffic to get away from the building complex that had me with my finger on the automatic window trigger thru all 12 red lights I waited at (there are only 8 lights between me and my work but that is how many people leave at 5pm - I caught three of them green!), in my pjs, with cold water and an ice pack to keep me from running to the toilet and pray. I know I'll eventually have to eat and that being in PJs at 5:45pm isn't a great way to show up at take out places but maybe, just maybe a roomate will come home with meatloaf and mashed potatoes leftovers and my daydreams will come true!
Not looking forward to tomorrow. Time to buy headphones if for nothing else to keep the sound of gum smacking at 4pm from driving me up the wall or into a stall with no TP. Topper I tell ya. Since I can't think of an addage about having a Case of the Tuesdays, I'll assume that I can sleep this one off and be fairly normal tomorrow, and divine if I can remember the creamer.
Friday, October 21, 2005
Today's Realization
It happens to the best of us, doesn't it??
We go through the day and even with the horoscope telling you to keep an eye out for love or fortune or a promotion, you are slapped in the face numerous times with the notion that something is just not right. In fact others are noticing.
Have you ever had someone start chit chatting about how the paperwork is in tremendous amounts and end up telling you that volunteer work might be a good way to break the rut you seem to be in? Or been filling up a glass of water in the office kitchenette and been asked if your sleeping ok? Or been told by the repeating chatterbox that comes to lean on the doorway of your cube to talk to Miss Nasal Hummer that she hasn't seen you smile today and that she wasn't gonna go back to her side of the maze until she got one out of you??
Its days like this when the abnormal becomes quite acceptable. Like making that phone call to the guy who won't return your emails with genuine concern (because he was such a decent guy he wouldn't just not even respond - not even with a F*CK OFF AND LEAVE ME THE F*CK ALONE) and realize later that evening that he will hear the message as a cry from a desperate, lonely, manipulative chick (just like he labeled you) and think its a way to make me call him on a Friday night so I can squeeze into whatever plans he has for the weekend? Or the lunch break when $12 for sushi sounds pretty reasonable considering you didn't get the big platter and therefore have some change from that $20 bill??
It is on these days, however, that there is just enough of the normal person-to-person nicetys stripped away so as to allow you to not give a naked bald cats ass about if the b#tch hasn't seen you smile or what the gigglemonster thinks would be a great volunteer job to do on a random Saturday. You also couldn't puke about what the shaved rams balls that cowardly black lister thinks of you to the point of finding out he isn't hanging off a barbed wire fence and has offered his services to the barely of age (and apparently taken) fellow onliner yesterday and email him that your glad he isn't sewing fingers back on at the hospital and are so disappointed that even a guy who will do a gig for his psuedo competition won't even own up and respect a Girl of the Month enough to text her a proper "I mean it - go away"? And just enough 'I am Conquerer of my Own Destiny' to wear tennies and jeans to work for the third day straight and leave a message on a wayward family members old school answering machine about what you really think of how she tricked you into paying off her bad debt and not think for the flap of a fairy's wings about what her roomies will think - and be snappy as a fly trap to the credit beareu chick who asked for what I meant and talked over me the entire explanation. "Listen to me - I was told I was keeping this account from going to collections - you ARE collections, I KNOW THAT - and since it is my checking account paying for her lameness on my dads SSN, I'm telling you that I resind my authorization for the next payment and any other subsequent payments on this account... now, can you do that for me or are you going to get your manager who understands what resind means?" I actually said this one.
Its just wonderful that the tides can ebb and flow and the winds can whip up a tiny tornado of pine needles and its just enough of a bite of chill in the air to require a coat with pockets for walking comfort on a day when the particular alignment of hormones and neurotransmitters in my body allow me to do what I normally only accomplish after three drinks in a bar - and always wish I could do during normal business hours.
We go through the day and even with the horoscope telling you to keep an eye out for love or fortune or a promotion, you are slapped in the face numerous times with the notion that something is just not right. In fact others are noticing.
Have you ever had someone start chit chatting about how the paperwork is in tremendous amounts and end up telling you that volunteer work might be a good way to break the rut you seem to be in? Or been filling up a glass of water in the office kitchenette and been asked if your sleeping ok? Or been told by the repeating chatterbox that comes to lean on the doorway of your cube to talk to Miss Nasal Hummer that she hasn't seen you smile today and that she wasn't gonna go back to her side of the maze until she got one out of you??
Its days like this when the abnormal becomes quite acceptable. Like making that phone call to the guy who won't return your emails with genuine concern (because he was such a decent guy he wouldn't just not even respond - not even with a F*CK OFF AND LEAVE ME THE F*CK ALONE) and realize later that evening that he will hear the message as a cry from a desperate, lonely, manipulative chick (just like he labeled you) and think its a way to make me call him on a Friday night so I can squeeze into whatever plans he has for the weekend? Or the lunch break when $12 for sushi sounds pretty reasonable considering you didn't get the big platter and therefore have some change from that $20 bill??
It is on these days, however, that there is just enough of the normal person-to-person nicetys stripped away so as to allow you to not give a naked bald cats ass about if the b#tch hasn't seen you smile or what the gigglemonster thinks would be a great volunteer job to do on a random Saturday. You also couldn't puke about what the shaved rams balls that cowardly black lister thinks of you to the point of finding out he isn't hanging off a barbed wire fence and has offered his services to the barely of age (and apparently taken) fellow onliner yesterday and email him that your glad he isn't sewing fingers back on at the hospital and are so disappointed that even a guy who will do a gig for his psuedo competition won't even own up and respect a Girl of the Month enough to text her a proper "I mean it - go away"? And just enough 'I am Conquerer of my Own Destiny' to wear tennies and jeans to work for the third day straight and leave a message on a wayward family members old school answering machine about what you really think of how she tricked you into paying off her bad debt and not think for the flap of a fairy's wings about what her roomies will think - and be snappy as a fly trap to the credit beareu chick who asked for what I meant and talked over me the entire explanation. "Listen to me - I was told I was keeping this account from going to collections - you ARE collections, I KNOW THAT - and since it is my checking account paying for her lameness on my dads SSN, I'm telling you that I resind my authorization for the next payment and any other subsequent payments on this account... now, can you do that for me or are you going to get your manager who understands what resind means?" I actually said this one.
Its just wonderful that the tides can ebb and flow and the winds can whip up a tiny tornado of pine needles and its just enough of a bite of chill in the air to require a coat with pockets for walking comfort on a day when the particular alignment of hormones and neurotransmitters in my body allow me to do what I normally only accomplish after three drinks in a bar - and always wish I could do during normal business hours.
Fridays
There is a sense of relief that comes with Friday - that soon I will have an open schedule to do the rest of my life, that I won't sit in a cube and shuffle papers and get paid; I'll have two entire days to fill out the rest of my existence.
Yet there is that overwhelming sadness that I know I will just sit and watch Tivo, convince myself sunbathing is a severly worthwhile activity, and try to mix in some snacks with my vodka drinks.
Tomorrow the dog gets a haircut. I am trying to set up the day so I won't just go home and wait for her to get done. But its all on me! There is no one to call to meet me somewhere, no other appointment to get to. I could get my haircut but it would be a walkin appointment and I've let it go this long so whats another week or three.
At 26 I feel like I am wasting my life on a daily basis - and the self sabatoge is the only thing that makes me feel like I am experiencing some of what life has to offer.
Maybe I'll get hooked on running when my knee heals and transfer my reliance on Hershey Kisses to an unhealthy need to run. Better get some shoes... maybe tomorrow ;)
Yet there is that overwhelming sadness that I know I will just sit and watch Tivo, convince myself sunbathing is a severly worthwhile activity, and try to mix in some snacks with my vodka drinks.
Tomorrow the dog gets a haircut. I am trying to set up the day so I won't just go home and wait for her to get done. But its all on me! There is no one to call to meet me somewhere, no other appointment to get to. I could get my haircut but it would be a walkin appointment and I've let it go this long so whats another week or three.
At 26 I feel like I am wasting my life on a daily basis - and the self sabatoge is the only thing that makes me feel like I am experiencing some of what life has to offer.
Maybe I'll get hooked on running when my knee heals and transfer my reliance on Hershey Kisses to an unhealthy need to run. Better get some shoes... maybe tomorrow ;)
Monday, October 17, 2005
Mid Morning Rush
Its a wonderful joyous evening that is filled with lightning cracks and thunder claps and random yet fierce thuds of water pouring from the sky. I got to drive in it, watch it chase me up the freeway, and enjoy from the comfort of my bed the sounds and sights of just such an evening (well, I got home at midnight, does that count??) last night. And I loved it so much I left the window open just enough to hear the swell of the wind and the pine needles brushing together as my lullaby.
The downfall of such a wonderful sleeping environment is that now, after being up for two hours, the left side of my sinuses is in total revolt of the air system pumped into my cubicle and is draining like I need absolutely no mucous membrane in my head in the next 15 minutes. Not that this would ever be a lovely way to start the day, but when my eyes drip onto the pages, smearing the triple faxed 7pt font numbers in the corner of the file I am reading as I try to dismiss the evidence of my latest bodily revolt against itself, my only solice is the memory of the full moon shining behind the thunderclouds out my bedroom window. Hmmm.... loverly.
The downfall of such a wonderful sleeping environment is that now, after being up for two hours, the left side of my sinuses is in total revolt of the air system pumped into my cubicle and is draining like I need absolutely no mucous membrane in my head in the next 15 minutes. Not that this would ever be a lovely way to start the day, but when my eyes drip onto the pages, smearing the triple faxed 7pt font numbers in the corner of the file I am reading as I try to dismiss the evidence of my latest bodily revolt against itself, my only solice is the memory of the full moon shining behind the thunderclouds out my bedroom window. Hmmm.... loverly.
Friday, October 14, 2005
Another Friday
Its the end of another work week... when corporate lemmings all sigh in unison relief that we don't have to see each other again for a full 48 hours. There are the greetings of "Happy Friday" to go along with the obligitory "any plans for the weekend?" as the substitute go- to question of the rest of the week - "whats at the deli today?" or "have you been outside? has a metor struck us into the dark ages and I missed it due to a meeting running late?"
And I am here a bit later than everyone since I can't manage to get out of the house or over the four mile treak to the office in a reasonable enough time to let my conscience let me leave this huge stack of stuff until Monday when I KNOW I wasn't even in the building until 1/2 hour after my time card reports. Yeah, poor me - all the bosses get in later than me and leave before me and I am stuck with this new work ethic that won't let me subit myself to procrastinated torture. In fact it is the mental picture of this three foot stack - one of ten to complete the project - that kept me in bed late all this week... it started as a motivation tactic actually; "you know you don't want to stay late to get through that, you should just get up right this second and get there on time so you can leave with everyone else at the end of the day" my personal Jimmeny Cricket chirps into my pillow covered ear. And I see it in projected against my eyelids and wonder what I am wearing when I plow through todays number series. And as I plan for a skirt I try to remember if that means I have to shave or not. And as I slap the alarm for interupting my thoughts with another blasting of its repetitious beep I roll over and find that perfect curl of the pillow to dig my face into. I am now perfectly set to Think I am getting ready for work while my body remains basically sleeping.
Yeah, so its Friday night and the maids will be coming soon and I have just entered the second half of the decade of Twentysomething and the only thing on the agenda tonight is Tivo, laundry, and margaritas or wine, depending if I want to swill the intoxicants of my influence on the house or my roomies'. While there was a time it sounded indulgent to be home alone with no plans on such a notoriously opportune night, I am faced with the fact that I regularly have no plans for the evening and it really makes no difference to me what day of the week it is - I'm still home alone with Tivo, margaritas or wine, and laundry to do. While it is true that in the not so distant past I had an opportunity to get a call to go out (maybe even a days notice even!!), that phase has apparently passed as he hasn't returned any communication of mine said last said eventful evening and curtly stated that the last time it was a bit out of his budget. Not my fault (though I have learned not to reach for my wallet due to strict training of his) that he invited me out and turned it into an official date... but alas, I suffer the consequences.
Now the tempation. Do I cruise my new town in the last hour of daylight so I don't look like a total newcomer when I drive up to a club and don't know where the parking lot is; accept that laundry is a part of life and I have avoided it long enough; convince myself the dogs need my attention and time spent on the couch is Quality Time; or something really novel like dive into a hobby or three I have neglected myself since the Year of the Move-Every-Three-Months.
Somehow picking tonights plans has floated me into the riptide thought current of 'what you do daily is what your life ends up reflecting'. Damn quote of the days seem so poignent and perfect at the beginning of the day but when they flood you with sage wisdom when facing gluttonous laziness it just makes it no fun to get trashed on the couch on a Friday. Maybe a two shots and a beer chaser will shut all those yammering quotables up so I can enjoy some TV drama with fast forwarded commercials =)
And I am here a bit later than everyone since I can't manage to get out of the house or over the four mile treak to the office in a reasonable enough time to let my conscience let me leave this huge stack of stuff until Monday when I KNOW I wasn't even in the building until 1/2 hour after my time card reports. Yeah, poor me - all the bosses get in later than me and leave before me and I am stuck with this new work ethic that won't let me subit myself to procrastinated torture. In fact it is the mental picture of this three foot stack - one of ten to complete the project - that kept me in bed late all this week... it started as a motivation tactic actually; "you know you don't want to stay late to get through that, you should just get up right this second and get there on time so you can leave with everyone else at the end of the day" my personal Jimmeny Cricket chirps into my pillow covered ear. And I see it in projected against my eyelids and wonder what I am wearing when I plow through todays number series. And as I plan for a skirt I try to remember if that means I have to shave or not. And as I slap the alarm for interupting my thoughts with another blasting of its repetitious beep I roll over and find that perfect curl of the pillow to dig my face into. I am now perfectly set to Think I am getting ready for work while my body remains basically sleeping.
Yeah, so its Friday night and the maids will be coming soon and I have just entered the second half of the decade of Twentysomething and the only thing on the agenda tonight is Tivo, laundry, and margaritas or wine, depending if I want to swill the intoxicants of my influence on the house or my roomies'. While there was a time it sounded indulgent to be home alone with no plans on such a notoriously opportune night, I am faced with the fact that I regularly have no plans for the evening and it really makes no difference to me what day of the week it is - I'm still home alone with Tivo, margaritas or wine, and laundry to do. While it is true that in the not so distant past I had an opportunity to get a call to go out (maybe even a days notice even!!), that phase has apparently passed as he hasn't returned any communication of mine said last said eventful evening and curtly stated that the last time it was a bit out of his budget. Not my fault (though I have learned not to reach for my wallet due to strict training of his) that he invited me out and turned it into an official date... but alas, I suffer the consequences.
Now the tempation. Do I cruise my new town in the last hour of daylight so I don't look like a total newcomer when I drive up to a club and don't know where the parking lot is; accept that laundry is a part of life and I have avoided it long enough; convince myself the dogs need my attention and time spent on the couch is Quality Time; or something really novel like dive into a hobby or three I have neglected myself since the Year of the Move-Every-Three-Months.
Somehow picking tonights plans has floated me into the riptide thought current of 'what you do daily is what your life ends up reflecting'. Damn quote of the days seem so poignent and perfect at the beginning of the day but when they flood you with sage wisdom when facing gluttonous laziness it just makes it no fun to get trashed on the couch on a Friday. Maybe a two shots and a beer chaser will shut all those yammering quotables up so I can enjoy some TV drama with fast forwarded commercials =)
Thursday, October 13, 2005
guys suck
Have you noticed that the more fun you have with someone via email or phone, the less they can even match the fun conversing in person - let alone have a shred of the fun guy hanging off their shirt that you could at least grasp in hope of finding the rest of the cloak of fun guy you knew before??
Also, the more they taut their specialness/diversity from the norm/all mightyness/super powers/general 98th percentile of society greatness, the more you wait for any iota of experiential data to support these claims - therefore making you unavoidably conscious of how normal they actually are?? And then you feel sorry for them and want to let them know that they really do blend into the background (to the point you can't find them in a club with 30 people in it when you come back from the bathroom) and have to decide at every communication on the topic (which is every meet or greet in most cases of these arrogant pricks) if you are going to continue to literally bite your lips or if this will be the day you release the hatch of all the ways they are exactly like every other guy you've ever met or talked about in a gab-fest with the chicks.
Not to say women don't have faults or misrepresent themselves or think they are Queen of the Valley without any reason besides the fact they are so afraid to deal with the normal ways of life that they hide behind the ego necessary to sustain that level of I'm Damn Cool... but to me they are just lame chicks and they don't throw fits of superiority when I am honest with them about who I am.
Good thing guys have chivalry and dicks to keep me interested or I might stop talking to the whole gender on principal.
Also, the more they taut their specialness/diversity from the norm/all mightyness/super powers/general 98th percentile of society greatness, the more you wait for any iota of experiential data to support these claims - therefore making you unavoidably conscious of how normal they actually are?? And then you feel sorry for them and want to let them know that they really do blend into the background (to the point you can't find them in a club with 30 people in it when you come back from the bathroom) and have to decide at every communication on the topic (which is every meet or greet in most cases of these arrogant pricks) if you are going to continue to literally bite your lips or if this will be the day you release the hatch of all the ways they are exactly like every other guy you've ever met or talked about in a gab-fest with the chicks.
Not to say women don't have faults or misrepresent themselves or think they are Queen of the Valley without any reason besides the fact they are so afraid to deal with the normal ways of life that they hide behind the ego necessary to sustain that level of I'm Damn Cool... but to me they are just lame chicks and they don't throw fits of superiority when I am honest with them about who I am.
Good thing guys have chivalry and dicks to keep me interested or I might stop talking to the whole gender on principal.
The reason for the blog
I just discovered the email I sent to a blog enthusiast that got me thinking it might be for me. While the thoughts are a bit dated - before the move when I commuted three towns and a mountain to get to my new job - but apparently was written in such a blog worthy way that a creator and avid reader of the blog told me to start one of my very own. Enjoy.
I thought it amusing that the instant I hit the freeway I stopped moving at all - lending me the time to send a text message. When I hit the town boarder and sped up for the two miles with no ramps, I wasn't surprised that this particular batch of molecules I happened into couldn't manage to add any more without returning to a standstill. But when I came out on the other side of Camarillo to see a standstill all the way up the grade, I knew I was in trouble.
I got rid of the soulful Ericka Badu CD and tried the Mark and Brian program for some relief of the WTF attitude that strikes, even in momentarily, whenever you are faced with the fact that your car seat is cushioned for a reason. I ended up with Beduan Soundclash back in the player (it was only shelved for three days actually) and tried to be thrilled to have a few extra minutes to plan my attack of my job duties for the week and to be able to be by myself for a bit. But when it hit 1/2 later and I was barely at the summit, I was a little beyond the joy of it all, had been through enough deep breaths to hyperventilate, singing to the songs was just a reason to be vocal at which point I took liberty to shout explitives at will, only to see the salvation that will be mine next week - the freeway exit to my new home... right before the one I would take to get to work today.
No longer did I care that I would be 40 minutes late to work. No longer did the mercedes in front of me the whole way up the hill with no break lights torment my patience. No longer was I upset that I didn't take the time for a cup of coffee or milk or OJ before dashing out of my house. I was suddenly thrilled to have a reason to push on through the day, get home late, take my time eating whatever take out I subject myself to, and then get busy loading every box I can find into the garage and cleaning like a mad woman so as to avoid the already accumulated chastising from the roomies that I don't do a damn thing and they are sick of pulling my weight.
As I crossed the exit only lane divider and pulled off the freeway, I knew I would have cup of coffee in my hand when I left the office so as to be motivated to move as soon as I hit the door - no excuses to not stay up and do the work tonight!! And as I rolled into my chair with barely a glance from anyone on my way there, I realized that in a job where the work gets done no matter the time, it isn't a major deal to show up 40 min late... its just another day in a cube of grey walls.
And suddenly I remembered what it was like to not give a shit. Its not a cold world, and not hot from the heat of rage either. It is that nonchalant go with it kind of mellow early summer 72 degrees and partly cloudy world where there is nothing to do but what is in front of you. I was drawn to the world of the passionate, but have been seduced by the tranquility of taking it all in stride. I'll work hard today once I can get anyone to tell me what the next step is, I'll convince myself work starts at 8am to prove I can be on time and early without killing myself over it, I'll show these managers I can handle the work and crave more, and I'll continue to indulge in the night life that calls to me. And if I can do it all in the "Office Space" hum drum attitude, it will be the icing on my cupcake when a box of chocolate covered macadamia nuts make it to my desk from Hawaii, and nothing else.
Though I am still in the Garfield state of half sleepy, half masted, half witty banter, half laugh at it all kinda mind frame that comes only when faced with a day when bed is the only appetizing thing offered, I am ready to be swept away into whatever diatribe you choose for the day (I had my choice yesterday =) )
I thought it amusing that the instant I hit the freeway I stopped moving at all - lending me the time to send a text message. When I hit the town boarder and sped up for the two miles with no ramps, I wasn't surprised that this particular batch of molecules I happened into couldn't manage to add any more without returning to a standstill. But when I came out on the other side of Camarillo to see a standstill all the way up the grade, I knew I was in trouble.
I got rid of the soulful Ericka Badu CD and tried the Mark and Brian program for some relief of the WTF attitude that strikes, even in momentarily, whenever you are faced with the fact that your car seat is cushioned for a reason. I ended up with Beduan Soundclash back in the player (it was only shelved for three days actually) and tried to be thrilled to have a few extra minutes to plan my attack of my job duties for the week and to be able to be by myself for a bit. But when it hit 1/2 later and I was barely at the summit, I was a little beyond the joy of it all, had been through enough deep breaths to hyperventilate, singing to the songs was just a reason to be vocal at which point I took liberty to shout explitives at will, only to see the salvation that will be mine next week - the freeway exit to my new home... right before the one I would take to get to work today.
No longer did I care that I would be 40 minutes late to work. No longer did the mercedes in front of me the whole way up the hill with no break lights torment my patience. No longer was I upset that I didn't take the time for a cup of coffee or milk or OJ before dashing out of my house. I was suddenly thrilled to have a reason to push on through the day, get home late, take my time eating whatever take out I subject myself to, and then get busy loading every box I can find into the garage and cleaning like a mad woman so as to avoid the already accumulated chastising from the roomies that I don't do a damn thing and they are sick of pulling my weight.
As I crossed the exit only lane divider and pulled off the freeway, I knew I would have cup of coffee in my hand when I left the office so as to be motivated to move as soon as I hit the door - no excuses to not stay up and do the work tonight!! And as I rolled into my chair with barely a glance from anyone on my way there, I realized that in a job where the work gets done no matter the time, it isn't a major deal to show up 40 min late... its just another day in a cube of grey walls.
And suddenly I remembered what it was like to not give a shit. Its not a cold world, and not hot from the heat of rage either. It is that nonchalant go with it kind of mellow early summer 72 degrees and partly cloudy world where there is nothing to do but what is in front of you. I was drawn to the world of the passionate, but have been seduced by the tranquility of taking it all in stride. I'll work hard today once I can get anyone to tell me what the next step is, I'll convince myself work starts at 8am to prove I can be on time and early without killing myself over it, I'll show these managers I can handle the work and crave more, and I'll continue to indulge in the night life that calls to me. And if I can do it all in the "Office Space" hum drum attitude, it will be the icing on my cupcake when a box of chocolate covered macadamia nuts make it to my desk from Hawaii, and nothing else.
Though I am still in the Garfield state of half sleepy, half masted, half witty banter, half laugh at it all kinda mind frame that comes only when faced with a day when bed is the only appetizing thing offered, I am ready to be swept away into whatever diatribe you choose for the day (I had my choice yesterday =) )
Wednesday, October 12, 2005
Its that time of year....
The first week of October is always meaningful to me as it cradles my birthday. While this was cause for celebration as a kid, it was still a little uneasy as the party had to coordinate with the first weeks of school, the upcoming Halloween parties had parents strapped for how much $$ they could give their kids for fun in the month, and my Dad's bday at the end of the month somehow trumped mine - maybe pool parties were just that much more fun with alcohol.
These days its cause for company lunches, the deciding if three weeks of kissing up will give me enough cash from Dad to warrent such manipulative behaviors, and the occasional monumental earth shattering cathartically enlightening mental breakthrough about the consequences of today on tomorrow. While this ranges from deciding to recycling is SO necessary for me to be a worthy human being (age 15) to knowing that my world will never be the same as I am legally responsible for myself and my parents involvement in any subsquent encounters with the law will be strictly voluntary (age 18) to understanding that life moves pretty fast if you don't watch it and there will be a day when the excuse of 'young and stupid' will sound just plain stupid (age 25).
This year I found no need for the freak out phase of the beginning of October, a serious lack of desire to essentially beg and plead for $100 from Dad, and an overall comfort with having a Friday birthday and no plans besides Tivo, tequila shots, the dog at my feet, and the phone at my side just in case. Oh, and that all the roomates were out celebrating another worthy occassion made the dancing in front of the salt shaker that much more of a true expression of me - the ultimate reason to celebrate a birthday!!
Seriously, if you think about the etimology of why its such a special day, it seems a little strange that to this day we find it necessary to throw a party in celebration that we are alive one more year - especially after all the biggies in puberty. I have a cousin who had a second baby boy who was allergic to everything they tried to feed him for a year. Thats right folks - he didn't eat without getting some form of severe allergic reaction for a whole year right out of the chute. So for his first birthday to come around was a B I G D E A L!!! For me, a kid who was so spoiled she thought not getting a second virgin margarita with dinner was being deprived, its hardly a miricle of life - let alone cause for the townfolk to rejoice - to turn 26. (Not that being treated to lunch isn't setting me up for a great day, but come on; they look for reasons to break out of the cubes and meet the people on the other side of the grey padded wall and birthdays happen just often enough to not strain anyone's monotonous isolation long enough for us to realize that there are real people on the other side of the walls we decorate with flare to prove to ourselves we haven't become the drones society complains about.)
However, this time of year is my favorite time of year for another reason; autumn. There is something so fantasitically indulgent about flannel PJs, socks to hang out in the house comfortably, having to close the window a little at night, remembering why you have those drawers of sweaters, and dew on your car in the morning. Its that first day when you leave work and there is no humid heat hanging over the day - there is a distinct crispness of the air that reminds you that being outdoors does not necessitate sweat. Its the time of year when we start to stay inside more. We remember that home is where the heart is. We start decorating and spending money on the people and places we love. We are eased into the holidays where sharing and caring are no longer convenient but necessary. Not that I live for Christmas or anything (actually I boycotted last year and it was Awsome!!!) but I do live for the ideas that people seem to adopt this time of year - appreciate what you've got, love the people you've got, be kind to others, and recieve from others graciously and without question.
Alrighty, time to get back to work. Its another day in a shared grey cube with bad lighting and no window with a massive (I'm not kidding, I have feet of paperwork in my inbox here) stack of busywork that was such a repugnent project for the staff they hired a temp to do it. That'd be me. They keep telling me its job security; which leaves me no motivation to get it done actually. And with the nip at my nose these mornings, and the dog at my feet, and the blankets stacked just thick enough, its hard to get here in the first place. I don't even go home at lunch much anymore just so I don't get tempted to stay there and wrap up in a blanket on the back porch with a cup of honeyd tea and watch the grass grow and the leaves turn... the daydream has started... I can file in peace again...
ttfn,
Her Mind's I
These days its cause for company lunches, the deciding if three weeks of kissing up will give me enough cash from Dad to warrent such manipulative behaviors, and the occasional monumental earth shattering cathartically enlightening mental breakthrough about the consequences of today on tomorrow. While this ranges from deciding to recycling is SO necessary for me to be a worthy human being (age 15) to knowing that my world will never be the same as I am legally responsible for myself and my parents involvement in any subsquent encounters with the law will be strictly voluntary (age 18) to understanding that life moves pretty fast if you don't watch it and there will be a day when the excuse of 'young and stupid' will sound just plain stupid (age 25).
This year I found no need for the freak out phase of the beginning of October, a serious lack of desire to essentially beg and plead for $100 from Dad, and an overall comfort with having a Friday birthday and no plans besides Tivo, tequila shots, the dog at my feet, and the phone at my side just in case. Oh, and that all the roomates were out celebrating another worthy occassion made the dancing in front of the salt shaker that much more of a true expression of me - the ultimate reason to celebrate a birthday!!
Seriously, if you think about the etimology of why its such a special day, it seems a little strange that to this day we find it necessary to throw a party in celebration that we are alive one more year - especially after all the biggies in puberty. I have a cousin who had a second baby boy who was allergic to everything they tried to feed him for a year. Thats right folks - he didn't eat without getting some form of severe allergic reaction for a whole year right out of the chute. So for his first birthday to come around was a B I G D E A L!!! For me, a kid who was so spoiled she thought not getting a second virgin margarita with dinner was being deprived, its hardly a miricle of life - let alone cause for the townfolk to rejoice - to turn 26. (Not that being treated to lunch isn't setting me up for a great day, but come on; they look for reasons to break out of the cubes and meet the people on the other side of the grey padded wall and birthdays happen just often enough to not strain anyone's monotonous isolation long enough for us to realize that there are real people on the other side of the walls we decorate with flare to prove to ourselves we haven't become the drones society complains about.)
However, this time of year is my favorite time of year for another reason; autumn. There is something so fantasitically indulgent about flannel PJs, socks to hang out in the house comfortably, having to close the window a little at night, remembering why you have those drawers of sweaters, and dew on your car in the morning. Its that first day when you leave work and there is no humid heat hanging over the day - there is a distinct crispness of the air that reminds you that being outdoors does not necessitate sweat. Its the time of year when we start to stay inside more. We remember that home is where the heart is. We start decorating and spending money on the people and places we love. We are eased into the holidays where sharing and caring are no longer convenient but necessary. Not that I live for Christmas or anything (actually I boycotted last year and it was Awsome!!!) but I do live for the ideas that people seem to adopt this time of year - appreciate what you've got, love the people you've got, be kind to others, and recieve from others graciously and without question.
Alrighty, time to get back to work. Its another day in a shared grey cube with bad lighting and no window with a massive (I'm not kidding, I have feet of paperwork in my inbox here) stack of busywork that was such a repugnent project for the staff they hired a temp to do it. That'd be me. They keep telling me its job security; which leaves me no motivation to get it done actually. And with the nip at my nose these mornings, and the dog at my feet, and the blankets stacked just thick enough, its hard to get here in the first place. I don't even go home at lunch much anymore just so I don't get tempted to stay there and wrap up in a blanket on the back porch with a cup of honeyd tea and watch the grass grow and the leaves turn... the daydream has started... I can file in peace again...
ttfn,
Her Mind's I
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