I've been having issues with sleep. While it's always on my top 10 list of favorite things, lately I've been unable to accomplish said task. I've tried every possible solution: going to bed later, earlier, watching TV, listening to music, reading, making lists, blogging, etc. I still somehow wake up about an hour to a half hour before my alarm goes off. Now, I'm not incredibly tired when I do wake up at this time (I think my body's used to the early wakeups at this point, since I wake up at about 5am everyday), but it's frustrating to have your REM disturbed like this everyday. I think it may be my mattress, but even after adjusting it my adding my old college egg crate comforter to it, didn't do anything. I want one of those Serta Perfect Sleepers (sic, I think) or at least a bigger bed, but alas, the funds are too low for such a purchase. But I'm looking for a potential move out of mid-summer, so I have some time to save up. It's just becoming too much to commute an hour into work, then at least an hour back. And when I want to stay in the city after work, I have to make sure I get back to the bus stop in time before it leaves (NJ Transit has this retarded policy of only running the last bus before 12am. On weekdays OK, but why not run them more often on Fridays and weekends? It would generate more income and help everyone out more). I can always just crash at a friend's apartment, as I have a lot scattered throughout the city and the adjoining boroughs, but I still have to go home the next day. I stayed at a friend's apartment in Queens two weeks ago, and it took me TWO hours to get home! That's just ridiculous. I also want my own space and moving out is the only acceptable alternative. Ideally I'd like to move into the Prospect Park area; good neighborhood, nice outdoors, affordable. I think I need about $7-8k to move out, cover the first and last month's rent, and security deposit. I'm actually almost there.
I've also applied to another job. It's only an internship, but it's with Men's Health, which is my all-time favorite magazine. It's become my bible; I go to it for everything. And to have an opportunity to work for them, is almost a dream come true. I've applied there at least 2 other times, coming close the second time, but still ultimately not getting it. Sure, the obvious factors set in when applying for just an internship: salary, benefits, housing, etc. But I'll worry about that if anything happens. I've learned to go into everything with a very skeptical eye and low expectations; it's a lousy way to live, but at least you'll never be let down. But it would be sweet to get it. It'd be in another state (PA), but that's exactly the change I'm looking for. I've always seen myself as a "city" person, especially after going to school in NY, but now is the time for something new. I don't have anything tying me to here anymore. The place I grew up in basically sucks now. It's the same group of people who do the same thing every night. I've always said that my life somewhat resembles Andrew Largeman in "Garden State" and Will Hunting in "Good Will Hunting." Now, I didn't push my mom down a flight of stairs like Large did, and I'm no math whiz like Will, but I can relate somewhat to how they felt: bored of the "norm" and looking to break out. It only takes one opportunity, one girl, one anything...and the willingness to put yourself out there, and be willing to take the hit for it. And damnit, I think I'm at that stage in my life. I wouldn't go so far as to say it's a semi-life crisis or a quarter life crisis, because I am only 22, but I just feel like I'm in a rut. My friends seem to be content with where they are. One, my best friend, especially. He dropped out of college after a trying first year, and never went back. He works and has his own apartment now, but you know he can't be doing that forever. I try to get some of these people to explore new things and try new places, but there so set in their ways they're unable to change. And that's the saddest thing of all.
Meanwhile, at that hellhole I call work, things have been the same: nothing new, nothing better. I've been doing data entry for the past few days until my eyes rolled out of my head and took the midnight train to Georgia. The only thing that keeps me going there is the money of course (as measly as it is, it's enough to get by on) and the friends I've made there. I've met some people who I can see myself continuing to hang out with after I leave (see, I say after not if...gotta stay positive). While I'd feel bad giving my job possibly only two weeks before leaving, I really don't care. Sure, it was my first job, but I have no allegiance there. It's merely a stepping stone to something bigger and better. They'll get over it...it's not like what we do is rocket science (it's "brain surgery"...a classic Simpsons line...check the episode, I think it's one of the Treehouse of Horrors...Mr. Burns is the mad scientist creating a monster out of Homer's brain, only to realize it's Homer's brain and it's as useful as a bag of rocks).
That's about it. Thankfully only two days left before the weekend, which I now live for more than anything, even though I never do anything. Though there's some options for the weekend, so maybe it won't end up with me and a few chums at the local watering hole having a few cold ones and going home...oh wait, that's exactly how it will be. I know it sounds like all I do is bitch, but I'm not completely unhappy. I do have a job, and have been saving a lot of money by moving back home. I guess I'm just satisfied or content right now. But I would like to be happy. Happy about going into work everyday. Happy with my social life. Just happy. And I hope that that comes sooner rather than later.
Sidenote: Maybe I am capable of being somewhat charming. A woman was unsure of where to catch a bus today, and thought it was on the line I was standing on. Unfortunately it was on the other side, behind my line. But she was sure it was this line. Finally she opened the timetables and showed me the section. Even with headphones in, I pointed out to her it said the other line, not this one. I said it in my best cool voice (I'm trying to emulate Wentworth Miller in Prison Break...that show is not only awesome, but he's got the right "look"...yes, I'm straight) and she replied, "You're a doll" and touched my arm. While it was nothing, it still made me feel good. I've struck out so many times with women this year (at least five in a shade under a year) or missed opportunities, I was beginning to lose hope. But moments like that show that maybe kindness can be a turn-on. Sure she was older and I wasn't looking to flirt, but if I can be like that all the time, then I gotta get somewhere, right? Don't answer that.
Classic moment (Shortening the "It's the End" title, it just took too long to write and I didn't know how to properly appreviate it): My boss explaining to a company who's offering a quote on a BBQ we're having to think about "800 hungry men" in coming up with a price. For roughly five minutes, a back and forth dialogue was exchanged between my boss and this vendor about feeding men, and how more than one hot dog would be eaten at a time. "Maybe even 3," my boss added. Cue the Twilight Zone music.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
No Excuses...
I'll save the long-winded apology. Back to Montreal.
So pretty much I had to wait in the airport for roughly 2 hours for the rest of my party to arrive (flying out of your own state's major airport on the company's dime isn't so bad after all). After my entire customs debacle (sans the cavity search), I went in search for food. Besides the really filling two half-dollar sized cookies and glass of water I got on the airplane, I hadn't eaten anything in awhile. I was really hoping for some authentic French Canadian food, like Burger King or McDonalds, but unfortunately all I came across was Tim Hortons; apparently the Roy Rogers of Montreal. It was the only place where you could order a sandwich or donuts...or even a combo with a coffee. Since I didn't feel like wandering around anymore, I figured to just order a sandwich and wait until they landed. So I sauntered up to the register, even trying to lay down a smooth game by saying "Bonjour" to the cashier. But either my accent was bad or she wasn't in the mood, because she didn't even respond. Anyway, I ordered the "Deli Trio" special, which was a drink and a sandwich, when the cashier asked, in her French Canadian/English accent, if I wanted "sizz" or something like that, to which I of course replied, "Yes," since you never turn down a French Canadian in their own city no less. She then began to pick out six donuts from underneath the glass case. "This restaurant is awesome," I thought. "If they give me a draft beer for dessert, I'm buying stock in this company." I went with six chocolate glazed, and she placed them on the table. But then some weird things started to happen: she continued to ask me questions and then put six waters on the counter. I knew something was wrong. "Whoa, I think there was some miscommunication. I only wanted one water and a sandwich," I said, in my friendliest tone ever. "But you didn't say that," the cashier said in response, not in a friendly tone. So for the next 30 seconds we argued as to what I ordered and what I should have ordered. Eventually the manager came over and smoothed everything over by only giving me the one sandwich and water combination. Apparently, ordering a "Deli Trio" means you're getting a donut, drink, and sandwich. And "sizz" meant "six." Not the best way to start off a trip. But how cool would it be to get a sixer of donuts with a meal? I smell an American rip-off...
The rest of my group soon came after I ate my sandwich (though I should have told her no mustard. But at that point, I may have been given a roundhouse kick for asking such a request) and wandered around looking for a phone card in two different stores. Mind you, I was wearing a suit, and I see my group wearing jeans and sneakers. Just my luck.
I knew only one guy on this trip. The other two I had no clue what they looked like. I pictured one of them to look like someone from "Beauty and the Geek," complete with glasses and pants pulled up to his chest. The other, I thought would be this graying old fat man. Shows just how wrong we can be. They both introduced themselves, and boy, was I surprised. The "nerd" was this muscular bald dude who looked like he could destroy me in minutes. The other was a 4'11 (at the tallest) balding man with a moustache who looked like he just woke up from sleeping in a dryer. Disheveled and annoyed at customs for asking him too many questions, I instantly knew this would be an interesting two days. Throw in a heavyset black man who resembled Sherman Klump's father from "The Nutty Professor," and you had quite the motley crew.
After exchanging pleasantries we picked up our car for the trip, a very nice Hyundai SUV. Before we could leave though, a thorough body check of the car had to be completed, so we weren't unnecessarily billed for any damage. Since one of our group members worked with Budget Rent-a-Car previously, he went over every inch of the car, from the blinkers to the brakes. All the while, the short man (we'll call Mini-Man) was behind the wheel, seemingly unsure of how to operate the windshield wipers. And he was driving me?
Somehow we ended up making it out of the garage and onto the road. Luckily we had a GPS so we couldn't get lost, even though we had Dale Earnhardt, Jr. driving. He bobbed and weaved out of traffic like Muhammad Ali in his prime, stop signs and traffic lights be damned (well not exactly, but you get the idea). We stumbled onto our hotel's street, but because they were undergoing renovations, there was no sign for the entrance. So we had to drive around the block at least 3 times looking for it. We'd come to where we thought was the entrance: it was a service one only. Another wasn't the right building. All the while, Mini-Man was screaming at everyone in sight (passengers, pedestrians, other cars on the road, a guy in a wheelchair crossing the street). He even wanted to make an "illegal U-Turn" on one of our wrong turns. He began to back up on a one-way street, avoiding looking in the rearview mirror and the cars behind him. We almost had to bribe him to convince him not to do it. "It's just right ahead," we told him. Soon enough, we found it, and as soon as we got out of the car, Mini-Man began to argue with the bellhop about the lack of signs pointing you to the hotel, even though the kid had nothing to do with anything. That was one thing with this guy; he argued about everything. Got the master suite in the hotel? Damnit, he needed a bigger refrigerator. No 90 ounce steak on the menu? Well they better cook the 32 oz. one perfectly or there'd be hell to pay. And he said all of this while he profusely sweated, as if we were in the Sahara Desert, even though it was bout 15 degrees there all day. Couple that with a tendency to over drink and make a fool of himself, and you had one of the most colorful characters I've ever met.
But back to checking in: the very attractive hotel worker (I have a weakness for women named "Vanessa" who wear those stylish glasses) checked us in, we went to our rooms. Let me just tell you how bad these guys abuse our company's money. Instead of staying in a small 3-star room, they get executive suites with desks and mini-bars on the top floor. Me? I get a crappy room with two double beds and a broken thermostat. And forget about TV. Canadian TV sucks; besides showing "Viva La Bam" with course language intact, there's nothing on but hockey and crappy melodramas. The one bright spot was seeing a piece of "Arrested Development"; I really need to watch that show.
That night, we settled on dinner. I found out after I got all decked out that we were just eating in the hotel restaurant. Dinner was interesting. All we talked about was politics and religion. One of the party members, after telling him I was a journalism major in college, thought that was a green light to ask me about every event that's ever happened in the world and asking me for my opinion. When I hadn't heard of it ("You mean to tell me you don't know the history of the IRS?"), he would get upset. He also added "journalism student" to every question he asked me, as if that meant I should have my finger on the pulse of every current event ever. Then I had Mini-Man ordering two "Antifreeze" cocktails in under an hour and then continuously telling me to drink the beer he ordered. Then on my left, was Mr. Klump, doing his best Morgan Freeman impersonation, all the while trying to convert me to Christianity. And yes, I had only known these people (besides Klump) for less than a day. They eventually went to bed but seeing it was only about 8:30, I knew I had to go out and explore the town. I had told everyone I was going to stay out all night since I was only there for the night, but it wasn't as easy as I would have hoped. One, it's weird when you're alone. You don't want to roll up to a bar alone and be "that guy." Two, it was snowing like someone shook a snowglobe and dumped it all over, because it was coming down hard. Tiring of wandering the main strip (as it was within walking distance of the hotel), I settled on a fine establishment called "Super Sexe," which offered tales of "full contact dancing." I'll withhold the details of that encounter, as this is a family site, but let's just say Montreal rules, and I have to go back. And their people are very friendly.
I'll spare you the details of the trip, as it was as boring to experience it as it would be to write it. The trip home wasn't much better. A one-hour flight turned into a five-hour nightmare, as I ended up not getting home until well after 10:00pm, when I started at the airport at 2pm. So yes, a very long day to a very interesting two days.
And that was my trip. And then it was back to work. It still sucks, in case you know. Caring about what I do has long since passed. I simply do the bare minimum and what I'm told, and leave. I've applied to another internship and am really hoping something comes out of it. But I know not to get excited, because I've been let down before. I guess I'm almost accepting the fact that I'm stuck there for a bit longer...until I think about everything I hate, and then it fuels me again. Oh well; I'm sure it gets tiring to hear me bitch. Hell, writing it gets tedious. So for now, I'll try not to focus on it, and maybe just share anecdotes and stories, rather than bringing out my tiny violin. Here's to new beginnings.
It's the End of the World as We Know It: I hate when a female gives you a high-five. It's always an awkward gesture any way you cut it. The only positive was that though she has a boyfriend, she doesn't hate me, though I never gave her a reason to do so. My lunch bag has seemingly become a part of common workplace folklore, as everyone is amazed at its durability and look (it's made of neoprene "wetsuit" material and expands when more objects are put into it...yes, sexual innuendo noted). It's a sad day when that is getting more play than you.
So pretty much I had to wait in the airport for roughly 2 hours for the rest of my party to arrive (flying out of your own state's major airport on the company's dime isn't so bad after all). After my entire customs debacle (sans the cavity search), I went in search for food. Besides the really filling two half-dollar sized cookies and glass of water I got on the airplane, I hadn't eaten anything in awhile. I was really hoping for some authentic French Canadian food, like Burger King or McDonalds, but unfortunately all I came across was Tim Hortons; apparently the Roy Rogers of Montreal. It was the only place where you could order a sandwich or donuts...or even a combo with a coffee. Since I didn't feel like wandering around anymore, I figured to just order a sandwich and wait until they landed. So I sauntered up to the register, even trying to lay down a smooth game by saying "Bonjour" to the cashier. But either my accent was bad or she wasn't in the mood, because she didn't even respond. Anyway, I ordered the "Deli Trio" special, which was a drink and a sandwich, when the cashier asked, in her French Canadian/English accent, if I wanted "sizz" or something like that, to which I of course replied, "Yes," since you never turn down a French Canadian in their own city no less. She then began to pick out six donuts from underneath the glass case. "This restaurant is awesome," I thought. "If they give me a draft beer for dessert, I'm buying stock in this company." I went with six chocolate glazed, and she placed them on the table. But then some weird things started to happen: she continued to ask me questions and then put six waters on the counter. I knew something was wrong. "Whoa, I think there was some miscommunication. I only wanted one water and a sandwich," I said, in my friendliest tone ever. "But you didn't say that," the cashier said in response, not in a friendly tone. So for the next 30 seconds we argued as to what I ordered and what I should have ordered. Eventually the manager came over and smoothed everything over by only giving me the one sandwich and water combination. Apparently, ordering a "Deli Trio" means you're getting a donut, drink, and sandwich. And "sizz" meant "six." Not the best way to start off a trip. But how cool would it be to get a sixer of donuts with a meal? I smell an American rip-off...
The rest of my group soon came after I ate my sandwich (though I should have told her no mustard. But at that point, I may have been given a roundhouse kick for asking such a request) and wandered around looking for a phone card in two different stores. Mind you, I was wearing a suit, and I see my group wearing jeans and sneakers. Just my luck.
I knew only one guy on this trip. The other two I had no clue what they looked like. I pictured one of them to look like someone from "Beauty and the Geek," complete with glasses and pants pulled up to his chest. The other, I thought would be this graying old fat man. Shows just how wrong we can be. They both introduced themselves, and boy, was I surprised. The "nerd" was this muscular bald dude who looked like he could destroy me in minutes. The other was a 4'11 (at the tallest) balding man with a moustache who looked like he just woke up from sleeping in a dryer. Disheveled and annoyed at customs for asking him too many questions, I instantly knew this would be an interesting two days. Throw in a heavyset black man who resembled Sherman Klump's father from "The Nutty Professor," and you had quite the motley crew.
After exchanging pleasantries we picked up our car for the trip, a very nice Hyundai SUV. Before we could leave though, a thorough body check of the car had to be completed, so we weren't unnecessarily billed for any damage. Since one of our group members worked with Budget Rent-a-Car previously, he went over every inch of the car, from the blinkers to the brakes. All the while, the short man (we'll call Mini-Man) was behind the wheel, seemingly unsure of how to operate the windshield wipers. And he was driving me?
Somehow we ended up making it out of the garage and onto the road. Luckily we had a GPS so we couldn't get lost, even though we had Dale Earnhardt, Jr. driving. He bobbed and weaved out of traffic like Muhammad Ali in his prime, stop signs and traffic lights be damned (well not exactly, but you get the idea). We stumbled onto our hotel's street, but because they were undergoing renovations, there was no sign for the entrance. So we had to drive around the block at least 3 times looking for it. We'd come to where we thought was the entrance: it was a service one only. Another wasn't the right building. All the while, Mini-Man was screaming at everyone in sight (passengers, pedestrians, other cars on the road, a guy in a wheelchair crossing the street). He even wanted to make an "illegal U-Turn" on one of our wrong turns. He began to back up on a one-way street, avoiding looking in the rearview mirror and the cars behind him. We almost had to bribe him to convince him not to do it. "It's just right ahead," we told him. Soon enough, we found it, and as soon as we got out of the car, Mini-Man began to argue with the bellhop about the lack of signs pointing you to the hotel, even though the kid had nothing to do with anything. That was one thing with this guy; he argued about everything. Got the master suite in the hotel? Damnit, he needed a bigger refrigerator. No 90 ounce steak on the menu? Well they better cook the 32 oz. one perfectly or there'd be hell to pay. And he said all of this while he profusely sweated, as if we were in the Sahara Desert, even though it was bout 15 degrees there all day. Couple that with a tendency to over drink and make a fool of himself, and you had one of the most colorful characters I've ever met.
But back to checking in: the very attractive hotel worker (I have a weakness for women named "Vanessa" who wear those stylish glasses) checked us in, we went to our rooms. Let me just tell you how bad these guys abuse our company's money. Instead of staying in a small 3-star room, they get executive suites with desks and mini-bars on the top floor. Me? I get a crappy room with two double beds and a broken thermostat. And forget about TV. Canadian TV sucks; besides showing "Viva La Bam" with course language intact, there's nothing on but hockey and crappy melodramas. The one bright spot was seeing a piece of "Arrested Development"; I really need to watch that show.
That night, we settled on dinner. I found out after I got all decked out that we were just eating in the hotel restaurant. Dinner was interesting. All we talked about was politics and religion. One of the party members, after telling him I was a journalism major in college, thought that was a green light to ask me about every event that's ever happened in the world and asking me for my opinion. When I hadn't heard of it ("You mean to tell me you don't know the history of the IRS?"), he would get upset. He also added "journalism student" to every question he asked me, as if that meant I should have my finger on the pulse of every current event ever. Then I had Mini-Man ordering two "Antifreeze" cocktails in under an hour and then continuously telling me to drink the beer he ordered. Then on my left, was Mr. Klump, doing his best Morgan Freeman impersonation, all the while trying to convert me to Christianity. And yes, I had only known these people (besides Klump) for less than a day. They eventually went to bed but seeing it was only about 8:30, I knew I had to go out and explore the town. I had told everyone I was going to stay out all night since I was only there for the night, but it wasn't as easy as I would have hoped. One, it's weird when you're alone. You don't want to roll up to a bar alone and be "that guy." Two, it was snowing like someone shook a snowglobe and dumped it all over, because it was coming down hard. Tiring of wandering the main strip (as it was within walking distance of the hotel), I settled on a fine establishment called "Super Sexe," which offered tales of "full contact dancing." I'll withhold the details of that encounter, as this is a family site, but let's just say Montreal rules, and I have to go back. And their people are very friendly.
I'll spare you the details of the trip, as it was as boring to experience it as it would be to write it. The trip home wasn't much better. A one-hour flight turned into a five-hour nightmare, as I ended up not getting home until well after 10:00pm, when I started at the airport at 2pm. So yes, a very long day to a very interesting two days.
And that was my trip. And then it was back to work. It still sucks, in case you know. Caring about what I do has long since passed. I simply do the bare minimum and what I'm told, and leave. I've applied to another internship and am really hoping something comes out of it. But I know not to get excited, because I've been let down before. I guess I'm almost accepting the fact that I'm stuck there for a bit longer...until I think about everything I hate, and then it fuels me again. Oh well; I'm sure it gets tiring to hear me bitch. Hell, writing it gets tedious. So for now, I'll try not to focus on it, and maybe just share anecdotes and stories, rather than bringing out my tiny violin. Here's to new beginnings.
It's the End of the World as We Know It: I hate when a female gives you a high-five. It's always an awkward gesture any way you cut it. The only positive was that though she has a boyfriend, she doesn't hate me, though I never gave her a reason to do so. My lunch bag has seemingly become a part of common workplace folklore, as everyone is amazed at its durability and look (it's made of neoprene "wetsuit" material and expands when more objects are put into it...yes, sexual innuendo noted). It's a sad day when that is getting more play than you.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
The Great White North Et Cetera... (Part I)
I plan to have a monster update because I feel I've been slacking in my blogging duties (they may take my membership card and decoder ring away). So I have to catch everyone up on the events of my life (though trust me, it's really not that exciting).
I recently went on a mini-vacation (not really) to Montreal, Canada. I left Tuesday and got back yesterday night. For the most part, it was uneventful. I was only there one night, so it limited me severely in what I could do. In fact, it seemed like I waited at the airport longer than I was even in the country. And let me tell you, going through customs into Canada is like trying to smuggle alcohol into a bar: it seems easy, and you may pull it off initially, but the bouncer, house, or in this case, the country, always wins. I guess I'll give a brief synopsis of what it's like to be an American in Canada:
I recently went on a mini-vacation (not really) to Montreal, Canada. I left Tuesday and got back yesterday night. For the most part, it was uneventful. I was only there one night, so it limited me severely in what I could do. In fact, it seemed like I waited at the airport longer than I was even in the country. And let me tell you, going through customs into Canada is like trying to smuggle alcohol into a bar: it seems easy, and you may pull it off initially, but the bouncer, house, or in this case, the country, always wins. I guess I'll give a brief synopsis of what it's like to be an American in Canada:
- The airport is a lot bigger than you think, and you should always walk straight ahead. I must have wandered in a circle for about 2 hours looking for a place to eat once I landed in Montreal. After I cleared customs (though they asked me a lot of questions, like why I was here on "business" and who I was visiting, etc), I walked straight ahead through the booth to find a downward escalator. Figuring I would find restaurants once I got down there, I was surprised to find nothing but baggage claims, currency converter booths, and airline representative booths. In front of me was another long corridor with two guards at the end (in heavy body armor no less) waving passengers through to the exit door. Now, I thought it wouldn't make any sense to have to exit when I wanted to stay in the airport while I waited for the other parties, I proceeded to turn around. The officer, seeing me, motioned for me to come to the exit. I gave him a half glance and turned around, not thinking twice about it. As I sat on the bench, looking at the airport map, trying to find the "You Are Here" arrow while holding a heavy backpack and sweating like I ran a marathon, I turned around to find the officer standing beside me. Wondering if a plastic glove was going to be put on and I would be brought to a back room, I looked at him. "May I help you?" He said. "I waved you to come over."
I gave him a smile and told him I was looking for restaurants to eat at. "There's no restaurants here," he said. "You have to go to the other side." I thanked him and went on my way, turning around and heading back where I came from. Little did I know how bad of a move this was. To make a long story short, I continuously walked in a circle looking for places to eat, stopping airport personnel and asking for directions, and getting suspicious looks from the customs police. After about an hour of wandering around, feeling like Austin Powers trying to back the golf cart out of the small hallway in the first movie, I dejectedly sat back down on the bench, right where I started. As I debated whether I would ever eat again, who came back to check up on me? Yes, that same officer again. Only this time, he wasn't as chipper and friendly as last time. "Why are you still here?" he said. "I'm a little lost" was all I could stammer out, before adding, "and a little sweaty." Why I said that, I'll never know, but I figured maybe he'd have some sympathy. "I told you before there were no restaurants here," he replied curtly. I nodded and apologized, and finally just proceeded straight ahead to where the exit was. I had nothing to lose by trying, so I went through and was quickly pulled aside by another officer to be pre-screened again in another room. This room looked like an IKEA; the inside was like a warehouse, and they even had a setup that looked like registers and stock used to be in there. I waited patiently to be called to the next officer, and a new line of questioning. It was going to be a long day.
Monday, February 18, 2008
Blame Canada...
Well I'm about to head up north to America's cooler cousin Canada for a few days. I'm flying out tomorrow (on the company's dime) and coming back Wednesday night. Not only do I get to be out of work for those two days, I also get to experience the magic that is Montreal. I've heard some very good things about this fine city, so I'm looking forward to being able to experience them firsthand, if even for a night. Which means I have to maximize my time there completely. Going to meetings all day on Wednesday, while potentially being out all night? Priceless. I'm all about being spontaneous now; so hopefully I get to take in some of the sights.
I have a lot to say, but I really want to get to sleep, even though my flight doesn't leave until 11am (I have to be there about 9am for the unnecessarily long bag check and various unnecessary security checks). I'll update when I get back. Wish me luck.
It's The End of the World As We Know It: The people I'm flying with taking all of tomorrow as a "travel day" and getting no work done. The flight is under two hours; an earlier flight could have easily been arranged. Gotta love people taking advantage of their employer.
I have a lot to say, but I really want to get to sleep, even though my flight doesn't leave until 11am (I have to be there about 9am for the unnecessarily long bag check and various unnecessary security checks). I'll update when I get back. Wish me luck.
It's The End of the World As We Know It: The people I'm flying with taking all of tomorrow as a "travel day" and getting no work done. The flight is under two hours; an earlier flight could have easily been arranged. Gotta love people taking advantage of their employer.
Monday, February 11, 2008
My Name Isn't Dave, Damnit...
I don't know how hard it is to pronounce "Dan." It doesn't even sound like "Dave" or "David," for that matter. I am not the type of person to stutter or mumble; I feel that I speak clearly and enunciate enough so people know what I'm saying. But still, this "Dave" nonsense has been following me around like a bad groupie (not like the ones Bret Michaels gets on "Rock of Love"). I really have to correct these people before it becomes permanent. I know how some people look like a certain name, but I really don't think I look like a Dave. Maybe more like a Brian or something. And what kills me the most is that I told these people what my name was. A woman even wrote it down and said it out loud, audibly. But when I checked something online, she had wrote in my name in the status line as "David." Ugh. I may start calling these people the wrong name too. Like I said, this job has something new everyday. Like seeing a co-worker in front of me, a miserable man who should have retired years ago but enjoys basking in his misery and bringing everyone else in it, doing stretches at his desk and side bends. All he needed were the leg warmers and the headband.
I have to digress (like I do in all my posts, while seem to digress from relevance daily) and mention bathrooms. All offices are different; but the bathrooms in this place are where legends are born. In the women's room, you have old women spending an unhealthy amount of time at the mirror, fixing a face that said bye-bye to them years ago, while others use the stall and seemingly soundproof it, or go when they hear a noise, similar to Tim Robbins banging the pipe in "Shawshank" when the thunder hit. This woman is the epitome of shy. I mean there's shy, and then there's this woman. Granted, she's over 40, but she acts like a child clutching her mother's leg in public and hiding behind it. She must have been put on display a lot when she was young, because this woman hates to bring any attention to herself whatsoever. She'll hide behind people in photos, walk hunched over and quickly dash through hallways, or stay at her desk hidden behind a stack of papers. It actually comes off as a bit rude. I understand if you don't like to make your presence felt, but this bordered on psychotic. The bathroom thing makes me the most perplexed; it's the only place you have privacy, and you're still freaked out? She also happens to be a huge germophobe, so I wouldn't doubt it if she covers the entire place in toiletpaper or sanitizer and doesn't even sit on the seat. She also happens to wear white and/or plastic gloves around the office. Yes, she is the 2008 version of Howard Hughes. If I see a mysterious jar of something on her desk, I'm calling the health department.
The men's room is even better. You'd think people would be old enough now to treat the bathroom like they treat their houses. Well apparently these people lived like Axl Rose, because this bathroom was filthy. People not flushing after doing their business, clogging the toilet, going all over the urinal like they're watering a lawn. It's disgusting. I walk in there, and the place is seemingly always wet. The floor, the walls, the handles. I don't know why there's so much moisture but it's like walking into a damn bathhouse, minus the naked men in towels (which I wouldn't doubt happening soon). I dread touching anything in there for fear of getting the flesh eating virus. And people's habits in there are so weird too. You have the guy who talks to you while you go, or looks over at you mid-stream. The guy who touches you while you go on the shoulder like you're in a "Hands Across America" singalong. The others think their member is a garden hose and let it spray everywhere (thank God for those walls in between). Overall, I hate having to use the bathroom, especially if I have to drop the Cosby kids off at the pool (take a guess what that means). Now one of the doors is broken, so when you go, it likes to pop open at inopportune times. I have to either start using another bathroom or just holding it. While constipation is never cool, it's gotta be better than that shithole (pun fully intended).
It's the End of the World As We Know It: My boss coming over to my desk, exclaiming "I'm being nosy," touching my peanut butter snack cakes, and inquiring as to what they tasted like, etc. At least she was honest.
I have to digress (like I do in all my posts, while seem to digress from relevance daily) and mention bathrooms. All offices are different; but the bathrooms in this place are where legends are born. In the women's room, you have old women spending an unhealthy amount of time at the mirror, fixing a face that said bye-bye to them years ago, while others use the stall and seemingly soundproof it, or go when they hear a noise, similar to Tim Robbins banging the pipe in "Shawshank" when the thunder hit. This woman is the epitome of shy. I mean there's shy, and then there's this woman. Granted, she's over 40, but she acts like a child clutching her mother's leg in public and hiding behind it. She must have been put on display a lot when she was young, because this woman hates to bring any attention to herself whatsoever. She'll hide behind people in photos, walk hunched over and quickly dash through hallways, or stay at her desk hidden behind a stack of papers. It actually comes off as a bit rude. I understand if you don't like to make your presence felt, but this bordered on psychotic. The bathroom thing makes me the most perplexed; it's the only place you have privacy, and you're still freaked out? She also happens to be a huge germophobe, so I wouldn't doubt it if she covers the entire place in toiletpaper or sanitizer and doesn't even sit on the seat. She also happens to wear white and/or plastic gloves around the office. Yes, she is the 2008 version of Howard Hughes. If I see a mysterious jar of something on her desk, I'm calling the health department.
The men's room is even better. You'd think people would be old enough now to treat the bathroom like they treat their houses. Well apparently these people lived like Axl Rose, because this bathroom was filthy. People not flushing after doing their business, clogging the toilet, going all over the urinal like they're watering a lawn. It's disgusting. I walk in there, and the place is seemingly always wet. The floor, the walls, the handles. I don't know why there's so much moisture but it's like walking into a damn bathhouse, minus the naked men in towels (which I wouldn't doubt happening soon). I dread touching anything in there for fear of getting the flesh eating virus. And people's habits in there are so weird too. You have the guy who talks to you while you go, or looks over at you mid-stream. The guy who touches you while you go on the shoulder like you're in a "Hands Across America" singalong. The others think their member is a garden hose and let it spray everywhere (thank God for those walls in between). Overall, I hate having to use the bathroom, especially if I have to drop the Cosby kids off at the pool (take a guess what that means). Now one of the doors is broken, so when you go, it likes to pop open at inopportune times. I have to either start using another bathroom or just holding it. While constipation is never cool, it's gotta be better than that shithole (pun fully intended).
It's the End of the World As We Know It: My boss coming over to my desk, exclaiming "I'm being nosy," touching my peanut butter snack cakes, and inquiring as to what they tasted like, etc. At least she was honest.
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
It's Hotter'en Hell Out There...
Friggin' global warming. It was like a sauna out there today. And add in the rain, and you have a pretty brutal day altogether. The good part is my boss is out of the office today and tomorrow, so I'm essentially on my own, which is beautiful. Her stand-in really could care less what I do. He's more content to argue politics with this other guy, a diehard Liberal (you can guess what the other guy is). Occassionally it can border on the insane, as it gets pretty heated, and in a work environment, it's probably not the best thing to do. But they're lifers, and at this point, who cares. It's just a lot of static for everyone else. I almost feel like it's an episode of "Hardball": a lot of screaming and very little sense is made of anything.
It's always interesting to have lunch with other co-workers. Not only does it give you a chance to catch up with them outside of work, but it also gives you insight into more gossip. And everyone knows how gossip makes the office go round. Today I found out some interesting tidbits: how a few of my co-workers don't have college degrees and can never advance in their position within the company, and...well the rest doesn't really matter. This lack of college experience explains a lot: that's why some of these people have the social skills of a child and the common sense of a toddler. This job never ceases to amaze me.
The good part of this lunch was that I got to connect with a female co-worker; though she threw me a curveball by inviting two other people (one didn't show up, the other seems to not be a threat, as he may lack interest in women), the dialogue between the two of us went extremely well. Safe to say, some of the telltale signs were there, and here's hoping she's not married.
It's the End of the World as We Know It: Seeing a co-worker, who's leaving in a few weeks for another position within the company, almost going apeshit over a copier machine. His slow burn is classic, and hilarious to watch. He almost had his Michael Bolton copier machine moment. If only it had read "PC Load Letter." Or maybe it's better it didn't.
It's always interesting to have lunch with other co-workers. Not only does it give you a chance to catch up with them outside of work, but it also gives you insight into more gossip. And everyone knows how gossip makes the office go round. Today I found out some interesting tidbits: how a few of my co-workers don't have college degrees and can never advance in their position within the company, and...well the rest doesn't really matter. This lack of college experience explains a lot: that's why some of these people have the social skills of a child and the common sense of a toddler. This job never ceases to amaze me.
The good part of this lunch was that I got to connect with a female co-worker; though she threw me a curveball by inviting two other people (one didn't show up, the other seems to not be a threat, as he may lack interest in women), the dialogue between the two of us went extremely well. Safe to say, some of the telltale signs were there, and here's hoping she's not married.
It's the End of the World as We Know It: Seeing a co-worker, who's leaving in a few weeks for another position within the company, almost going apeshit over a copier machine. His slow burn is classic, and hilarious to watch. He almost had his Michael Bolton copier machine moment. If only it had read "PC Load Letter." Or maybe it's better it didn't.
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
Ticker Tape Parades, Near Death Experiences, and Letdowns...
Sometimes working downtown has its perks. Sure, after 5 the place clears out faster than a Cloverfield monster sighting, but sometimes it works out. Like today. In case you haven't heard, the New York Giants captured the Super Bowl on Sunday over the New England Patriots (as a big sports buff, I could analyze the hell out of the game: Belichick's decision to not go for a field goal on 4th and 13, the emergence of Justin Tuck as a legitimate beast on defense, etc) but I'll save that for the other guys. This is about my life, which is clearly more important. Anyway, today was the parade for the G-Men, and lo and behold, it was starting at 11am near Battery Park, mere minutes from my office. To help matters, I also had a great vantage point from the window near my desk; so I could watch the parade and not be cramped or feel like someone was either grabbing my ass or pickpocketing me. I was content with that. But then after thinking about it, I realized, I had to watch it from the ground, no matter how far I was. Ticker tape parades are few and far between; the last one was for the Evil Empire (The Yankees) in 2000, and there had never been a football parade. The last time the Giants won, I believe in 1990, they didn't have a parade in NYC because former mayor Ed "I hope people forget I was the judge on The People's Court for a period of time" Koch didn't want a non-tax paying entity in "his" city. I think the Giants ended up on a flat bed truck somewhere near Route 3 near the Meadowlands, near the Tick Tock Diner and the Secaucus transfer point for NJ Transit. So this truly was something that hadn't happened in awhile, and may never happen again. And being so close to the actual parade route, it was a no-brainer. I saddled up my camera, and about 10:33am, about four co-workers and I braved the elements and went outside to catch a glimpse (I say "brave the elements" because we all didn't wear jackets; I thought it was supposed to be warmer yet I still shivered; another guy just had chronic armpit sweating issues).
However, our view was obstructed by overly excited Giant fans and a plethora of New York's finest. Seeing nothing in sight (except the buses the players were on, I assume, and an unbelievable amount of attractive women), we went back upstairs, heads down, disappointed. "I really planned on doing no work today," I thought to myself, even though that was most of the days.
While sitting back in my cell, I mean cube, a co-worker came back and said, "We have to go back." I wasn't sure we'd make any progress, but since I wanted any excuse to ditch what I was doing, I obliged, this time making sure to grab my coat.
We trudged downstairs and went out the back entrance, hoping to beat some of the rush. A co-worker warned us we wouldn't see anything, we paid him no mind. We had to at least try. So we went up Wall Street, only to be blocked by more of the po-po on each side street. But then, a break. We found a side street not blocked off. So we and about 500 other people crammed into what amounted into no more than an alley to try to get a glimpse of the promenade. Unfortunately, space and good viewing were in high demand, so we appeared to be out of luck. My co-worker stands about 6'3, so standing on his tippy toes, he was able to get a decent look. Me, being in this case a short 5'9, saw nothing but the back of heads. I was about to go out when an idea struck my co-worker. To my left, where other kids were standing (or rather balancing), there stood a ledge, maybe about 2 inches off the wall and about 3 feet long. "You should go up there," my co-worker exclaimed, not figuring I was chancing certain death. Keep in mind the ledge was probably about 10 feet off the ground, so a spill off that wouldn't likely kill me, but definitely would do some damage. I hesitated, wondering if it was all worth it. But, continuing my "once in a lifetime" thinking, I willingly took a boost from him and jumped up there. Now, the view was exceptional. I was able to see a good amount of the players, and snapped a solid 30+ pics, all while holding onto the ledge with one hand and the other holding my camera. I don't know what I was more worried about; falling or breaking my camera (it was a gift after all). Somehow I kept my balance until I couldn't feel my feet or hands. It was bedlam by me. People everywhere, people climbing onto sanitation trucks, ledges, standing on shoulders. I think voter groups would love to see this type of turnout for the primaries, but I severely doubt it. I have to say though, while it was a trying experience, I'll certainly never forget it, and am glad I did it. Just next time, I'll be getting there early, bringing stilts, and a camera with a better zoom.
In other news, the streak continues with bad news for other job opportunities. I hadn't invested a lot in this one, even though it sounded promising. The editor got back to me saying progress had been made, but they needed the dreaded "more time." I'm to get back to her in another month. Sigh. I should have expected it. I guess that's why I don't get too worked up over these things anymore; I always get let down. And while it's not a definite no-go, it might as well be. Another month. I just keep telling myself, "Just get yourself through another day. Another week. Another month." But I didn't think I'd still be telling myself this, almost eight months later. A co-worker, who is also as despondent over this job situation as I am, ran down the cons of working there, as there were really no pros. Basically, it came down to us feeling like we weren't doing anything for "the greater good." We weren't using our full college degree talents towards anything. And we just weren't going to put out a complete effort for such a meaningless place. I guess that's what it all comes down to. Are you willing to give all of yourself to something you don't care about? I've realized for this place, no. Thankfully I had the parade to take up most of the day. I wish they came around everyday.
It's the End of the World as We Know It: Standing on a ledge to get a glimpse of a bunch of football players I couldn't pick out of a police lineup. A close second: being at the urinal in the bathroom and saying, "I need to wash this crap off my hands." Another person at an adjoining stall replying, "Whoa, you don't use toilet paper?"
However, our view was obstructed by overly excited Giant fans and a plethora of New York's finest. Seeing nothing in sight (except the buses the players were on, I assume, and an unbelievable amount of attractive women), we went back upstairs, heads down, disappointed. "I really planned on doing no work today," I thought to myself, even though that was most of the days.
While sitting back in my cell, I mean cube, a co-worker came back and said, "We have to go back." I wasn't sure we'd make any progress, but since I wanted any excuse to ditch what I was doing, I obliged, this time making sure to grab my coat.
We trudged downstairs and went out the back entrance, hoping to beat some of the rush. A co-worker warned us we wouldn't see anything, we paid him no mind. We had to at least try. So we went up Wall Street, only to be blocked by more of the po-po on each side street. But then, a break. We found a side street not blocked off. So we and about 500 other people crammed into what amounted into no more than an alley to try to get a glimpse of the promenade. Unfortunately, space and good viewing were in high demand, so we appeared to be out of luck. My co-worker stands about 6'3, so standing on his tippy toes, he was able to get a decent look. Me, being in this case a short 5'9, saw nothing but the back of heads. I was about to go out when an idea struck my co-worker. To my left, where other kids were standing (or rather balancing), there stood a ledge, maybe about 2 inches off the wall and about 3 feet long. "You should go up there," my co-worker exclaimed, not figuring I was chancing certain death. Keep in mind the ledge was probably about 10 feet off the ground, so a spill off that wouldn't likely kill me, but definitely would do some damage. I hesitated, wondering if it was all worth it. But, continuing my "once in a lifetime" thinking, I willingly took a boost from him and jumped up there. Now, the view was exceptional. I was able to see a good amount of the players, and snapped a solid 30+ pics, all while holding onto the ledge with one hand and the other holding my camera. I don't know what I was more worried about; falling or breaking my camera (it was a gift after all). Somehow I kept my balance until I couldn't feel my feet or hands. It was bedlam by me. People everywhere, people climbing onto sanitation trucks, ledges, standing on shoulders. I think voter groups would love to see this type of turnout for the primaries, but I severely doubt it. I have to say though, while it was a trying experience, I'll certainly never forget it, and am glad I did it. Just next time, I'll be getting there early, bringing stilts, and a camera with a better zoom.
In other news, the streak continues with bad news for other job opportunities. I hadn't invested a lot in this one, even though it sounded promising. The editor got back to me saying progress had been made, but they needed the dreaded "more time." I'm to get back to her in another month. Sigh. I should have expected it. I guess that's why I don't get too worked up over these things anymore; I always get let down. And while it's not a definite no-go, it might as well be. Another month. I just keep telling myself, "Just get yourself through another day. Another week. Another month." But I didn't think I'd still be telling myself this, almost eight months later. A co-worker, who is also as despondent over this job situation as I am, ran down the cons of working there, as there were really no pros. Basically, it came down to us feeling like we weren't doing anything for "the greater good." We weren't using our full college degree talents towards anything. And we just weren't going to put out a complete effort for such a meaningless place. I guess that's what it all comes down to. Are you willing to give all of yourself to something you don't care about? I've realized for this place, no. Thankfully I had the parade to take up most of the day. I wish they came around everyday.
It's the End of the World as We Know It: Standing on a ledge to get a glimpse of a bunch of football players I couldn't pick out of a police lineup. A close second: being at the urinal in the bathroom and saying, "I need to wash this crap off my hands." Another person at an adjoining stall replying, "Whoa, you don't use toilet paper?"
Friday, February 1, 2008
It's the Small Wins that Get You By
Not a particularly interesting day today. But I did realize that the little things do get you by sometimes. As much as I don't like what I do, I still try to do it to the best of my abilities. Two projects I'd been working on since I started are almost coming to an end, something I never thought I'd say. I think it's too good to be true; something has to happen to make them not finish. It just wouldn't be me if it didn't. When my boss dropped one of the projects off, I almost jumped back in terror, fearing his wrath. He is well known to be a ballbreaker, and could find a question to ask in anything. But for some reason, he had none for me. I was amazed. Either my project was that good, or he didn't feel like waiting around for an answer. Either way, it was a pleasant surprise.
I attended a pizza party for a departing co-worker today. She was one of the good ones, even though she rocked 1980's pant suits with shoulder pads and sneakers. I think it wasn't so much she was going for the hair band rock look, it's just that she didn't care. She never went out of her way to be friendly, but when you got her to open up, she was really cool. A person who wouldn't bullshit you or treat you like an inferior. She kept to herself for the most part but occasionally you saw her real side. I liked her. She helped me out a lot and never disrespected me; two things that are hard to find in my line of work. Anyway, we went to this ridiculously expensive pizza "bar" where we sat on incredibly high and uncomfortable bar stools at a much lower table. I felt like I was on a high chair. The place is about the size of a Manhattan studio apartment and was incredibly overcrowded. Our group of 7 had to huddle around this tiny table like a bunch of homeless people around a barrel fire. I couldn't complain about the service though; it was quick and friendly, and the waitress was very attractive and had ample...personality. But what made things too awkward are the people I went with. For the most part they're all cool, besides the one guy who I think has a thing for me (which I find flattering, but sad...I get more attention from men than women) but there's this one woman who is just unbelievable. Annoying to no end, complaining about everything, and doing it all in the most annoying nazily voice possible. Similar to nails on a chalkboard, anything she said was automatically irritating. And she finds the weirdest things to make noise about. Like asking everyone if they wanted salad. When everyone replied no, she continued to badger everyone until two people gave in, I think just to shut her up. And she is always a big fan of sharing foods. Now, I don't mind if I'm on a date and it's a dessert (because every guy knows that's a great move to pull), but I really don't like sharing anything. If I ordered it, and paid some outrageous price, I am damn sure going to eat it. But no, this woman insists on sharing. I tried to tune her out though; I was fine with sitting back in the corner pseudo-flirting with another co-worker. I spent the latter part of the day running around getting things signed, so safe to say, a rather productive Friday, even though I lost the sixth item in the last 6 months: a brand-new stick of Blistex. I just bought it today too, had it for less than 5 hours and it was gone. For some reason I have a habit of taking things out of my pocket and examining them, as if they're a magic eight ball or something and will give me a look into the future. I did a similar thing with the Blistex, which worked fantastically by the way, and poof, it's gone. The only reason I bought more is because the last stuff I bought needed to be reapplied roughly every 2 minutes. I guess that's what I get for buying "Lip Infusion," which leaves your lips looking like Angelina Jolie's after you apply it. And the little rollerball tip was fun at first, but after that, it felt like a truck was running over your lips when you applied it, so I definitely wasted 3 bucks on that. I think it's a sign I cannot buy anything anymore. Period. I'll just lose it. And I never was like that before.
It's the End of the World as We Know It: Two things. Discussing with another co-worker if Time's Man of the Year, Vladimir Putin, took over our department. After it was mentioned, my co-worker immediately pointed out two people across from us and said, "They'd definitely be gone." One is a single overweight meatball-ish man who buys groceries at Duane Reade to stock the fridge, and nonchalantly breaks wind daily. He was last seen sprinting into the bathroom after laying two monster farts, and dropping his pants before entering a stall. The other has a heart of gold but probably has a heart the size of a rhinoceros. Severely overweight but always friendly, he's kind of like Grimace. But Putin would definitely pick them off like flies. I said he'd probably shoot them point blank to prove a point. Yes, I'm sick.
The other was a co-worker forwarding an e-mail to me about something that annoying woman said the other day. When asked to do something by my boss, she replied, "That's not on the top of my to do list of priorities today" or something to that extent. Everyone just kind of gave her the shrug sign, and dismissed it. But a co-worker sent an e-mail saying to use that phrase which will "most certainly impress senior management." The beauty of my job...and you wonder why I'm miserable.
I attended a pizza party for a departing co-worker today. She was one of the good ones, even though she rocked 1980's pant suits with shoulder pads and sneakers. I think it wasn't so much she was going for the hair band rock look, it's just that she didn't care. She never went out of her way to be friendly, but when you got her to open up, she was really cool. A person who wouldn't bullshit you or treat you like an inferior. She kept to herself for the most part but occasionally you saw her real side. I liked her. She helped me out a lot and never disrespected me; two things that are hard to find in my line of work. Anyway, we went to this ridiculously expensive pizza "bar" where we sat on incredibly high and uncomfortable bar stools at a much lower table. I felt like I was on a high chair. The place is about the size of a Manhattan studio apartment and was incredibly overcrowded. Our group of 7 had to huddle around this tiny table like a bunch of homeless people around a barrel fire. I couldn't complain about the service though; it was quick and friendly, and the waitress was very attractive and had ample...personality. But what made things too awkward are the people I went with. For the most part they're all cool, besides the one guy who I think has a thing for me (which I find flattering, but sad...I get more attention from men than women) but there's this one woman who is just unbelievable. Annoying to no end, complaining about everything, and doing it all in the most annoying nazily voice possible. Similar to nails on a chalkboard, anything she said was automatically irritating. And she finds the weirdest things to make noise about. Like asking everyone if they wanted salad. When everyone replied no, she continued to badger everyone until two people gave in, I think just to shut her up. And she is always a big fan of sharing foods. Now, I don't mind if I'm on a date and it's a dessert (because every guy knows that's a great move to pull), but I really don't like sharing anything. If I ordered it, and paid some outrageous price, I am damn sure going to eat it. But no, this woman insists on sharing. I tried to tune her out though; I was fine with sitting back in the corner pseudo-flirting with another co-worker. I spent the latter part of the day running around getting things signed, so safe to say, a rather productive Friday, even though I lost the sixth item in the last 6 months: a brand-new stick of Blistex. I just bought it today too, had it for less than 5 hours and it was gone. For some reason I have a habit of taking things out of my pocket and examining them, as if they're a magic eight ball or something and will give me a look into the future. I did a similar thing with the Blistex, which worked fantastically by the way, and poof, it's gone. The only reason I bought more is because the last stuff I bought needed to be reapplied roughly every 2 minutes. I guess that's what I get for buying "Lip Infusion," which leaves your lips looking like Angelina Jolie's after you apply it. And the little rollerball tip was fun at first, but after that, it felt like a truck was running over your lips when you applied it, so I definitely wasted 3 bucks on that. I think it's a sign I cannot buy anything anymore. Period. I'll just lose it. And I never was like that before.
It's the End of the World as We Know It: Two things. Discussing with another co-worker if Time's Man of the Year, Vladimir Putin, took over our department. After it was mentioned, my co-worker immediately pointed out two people across from us and said, "They'd definitely be gone." One is a single overweight meatball-ish man who buys groceries at Duane Reade to stock the fridge, and nonchalantly breaks wind daily. He was last seen sprinting into the bathroom after laying two monster farts, and dropping his pants before entering a stall. The other has a heart of gold but probably has a heart the size of a rhinoceros. Severely overweight but always friendly, he's kind of like Grimace. But Putin would definitely pick them off like flies. I said he'd probably shoot them point blank to prove a point. Yes, I'm sick.
The other was a co-worker forwarding an e-mail to me about something that annoying woman said the other day. When asked to do something by my boss, she replied, "That's not on the top of my to do list of priorities today" or something to that extent. Everyone just kind of gave her the shrug sign, and dismissed it. But a co-worker sent an e-mail saying to use that phrase which will "most certainly impress senior management." The beauty of my job...and you wonder why I'm miserable.
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