I opened my work e-mail to approximately 60 new messages this morning. I finally made it through all of them so I at least know what they say, but I'm scared of the amount of work I have to get through this week. So, of course, I'm blogging instead of getting started on any of it. I make good decisions.
Speaking of good decisions, you know what isn't one? Drinking 20 four-ounce samples of beer when it's 90 degrees outside. OK, that's a lie. I regret nothing, even though I passed out at 8 o'clock on Saturday night, after scarfing down delicious waffle fries, and then woke up at 4 AM all WIDE AWAKE. Oops.
The good part about going to a beer tasting that starts at 2 is that it's over at 6 and you have all night to sober up, meaning no hangover the next day. I'm a fan of that. I still ended up sitting and doing nothing in the AC all of Sunday since it was a billion degrees outside. Until I had to rescue Joe, that is, on account of his car started, um, smoking when he was driving down 75. I'm not a car expert or anything but I think when your car starts smoking, that's probably not good. So my point is, Joe is car shopping this morning.
Today is detox day seeing as how I consumed nothing but beer and junk food all weekend. Friday night was going well, until we went to see To Kill a Mockingbird and they were handing out free popcorn. Who turns down free popcorn? Crazy people, that's who. You know who turns down free popcorn? People who don't like The Beatles. I didn't believe those people existed but they do and I want to punch them because not liking The Beatles means you're missing an important part of your soul. I'm certain that I'm right about this. Anyway.
This morning, I had every intention of getting up early and working out but I'm not sure why I even pretend I'm going to do this because I never do. Which means I have to do it tonight and do you know how much motivation I have to go running after work? It's pretty close to NONE. Is there something less than NONE? Because that's what it is. It's like NONE minus 10.
Monday, August 10, 2009
Saturday, August 08, 2009
don't care how, I want it now
In just a bit, Joe and I are going to go meet my parents and various other family members at a beer tasting. What, what does your family do to bond? We're headed out in 90+ degree weather even though a person with any common sense at all would just go buy a bunch of beer and have their own mini-tasting at home and soak up the AC. I've never claimed to have common sense, though.
I'm going to try and be on my best behavior, but I'm sort of afraid I'll end up running around like Veruca Salt in the chocolate factory. You know, a bit like this:
I'm going to try and be on my best behavior, but I'm sort of afraid I'll end up running around like Veruca Salt in the chocolate factory. You know, a bit like this:
Friday, August 07, 2009
respect my authoritah!
Right after I first started my new job, we had this meeting. And at this meeting, my uberboss explained that we'd be starting a bunch of training sessions in a couple of months, and that they needed volunteers to help lead them. Having just started with the company, I was anxious to TOTALLY BROWN-NOSE and so I volunteered immediately.
It's now a couple of months later and the training has begun. I was given a binder on how to facilitate training (whoo) and a ready-made Powerpoint presentation (hoo) so I thought it seemed pretty foolproof.
Well. Yesterday was the first day and, since I'd never led this particular training before, I observed during two sessions. One of the sessions went fine. Sure, no one really talked, which can be frustrating, but there were no problems.
But the other session. The other session made me scared in my very soul. You see, the employees who are coming to these sessions are all factory employees. The office employees all complete this training WITH TECHNOLOGY because, duh, they all have computers. But the factory employees don't have access to computers because where would they put them? On the floor next to the HUGE, GRINDING MACHINES OF DEATH? Note: I don't actually know if there are HUGE, GRINDING MACHINES OF DEATH in the factory, but I'm assuming so because that's what it sounds like.
In any case, my training cohort told me that whenever she leads these training sessions, sometimes all any of the employees want to do is complain about how much their supervisors/jobs suck and how they are treated unfairly and WAH WAH give me my blankie, I'm tired and need a nap. Which is annoying. The office employees are too lazy to get up and complain to our faces, they complain through e-mail instead. Anyway, my cohort said that sometimes she has to be all Mistress of Pain and tell them to STFU so the meeting doesn't last eight hours. I didn't quite believe her. Until yesterday. When she went all Mistress of Pain and told them to STFU because they wouldn't stop complaining about how their managers beat them with chains and don't let them go to the bathroom and also one time looked at them funny and it hurt their feelings.
After she yelled at them, there was an awkward silence and then she went back to the Powerpoint. Certain employees looked disgruntled and certain employees looked amused and I looked like I was going to poop my pants because I have to start training next week and THEY ARE GOING TO EAT ME ALIVE. I'm not really much of a YELLER when I get angry. I'm more of an "I'm not going to talk to you for a while" type of person when I'm mad (ask Joe, hee) and I don't think I'm allowed to just click through the presentation without saying anything and if they decide to go all Lord of the Flies, I just know I'm going to be the one who gets smooshed by a big rock.
It's now a couple of months later and the training has begun. I was given a binder on how to facilitate training (whoo) and a ready-made Powerpoint presentation (hoo) so I thought it seemed pretty foolproof.
Well. Yesterday was the first day and, since I'd never led this particular training before, I observed during two sessions. One of the sessions went fine. Sure, no one really talked, which can be frustrating, but there were no problems.
But the other session. The other session made me scared in my very soul. You see, the employees who are coming to these sessions are all factory employees. The office employees all complete this training WITH TECHNOLOGY because, duh, they all have computers. But the factory employees don't have access to computers because where would they put them? On the floor next to the HUGE, GRINDING MACHINES OF DEATH? Note: I don't actually know if there are HUGE, GRINDING MACHINES OF DEATH in the factory, but I'm assuming so because that's what it sounds like.
In any case, my training cohort told me that whenever she leads these training sessions, sometimes all any of the employees want to do is complain about how much their supervisors/jobs suck and how they are treated unfairly and WAH WAH give me my blankie, I'm tired and need a nap. Which is annoying. The office employees are too lazy to get up and complain to our faces, they complain through e-mail instead. Anyway, my cohort said that sometimes she has to be all Mistress of Pain and tell them to STFU so the meeting doesn't last eight hours. I didn't quite believe her. Until yesterday. When she went all Mistress of Pain and told them to STFU because they wouldn't stop complaining about how their managers beat them with chains and don't let them go to the bathroom and also one time looked at them funny and it hurt their feelings.
After she yelled at them, there was an awkward silence and then she went back to the Powerpoint. Certain employees looked disgruntled and certain employees looked amused and I looked like I was going to poop my pants because I have to start training next week and THEY ARE GOING TO EAT ME ALIVE. I'm not really much of a YELLER when I get angry. I'm more of an "I'm not going to talk to you for a while" type of person when I'm mad (ask Joe, hee) and I don't think I'm allowed to just click through the presentation without saying anything and if they decide to go all Lord of the Flies, I just know I'm going to be the one who gets smooshed by a big rock.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
The One Where I Say "Vagina" and "For Real" A LOT.
Last night, I picked Joe up from the airport because he was finally, FINALLY back from San Diego, the big jerk. He saw all sorts of sights, like Breckin Meyer eating and Jeffster singing and Ray Bradbury being awesome and Coronado Island ("It belongs...in a MUSEUM") and the weather was perfect blah blah blah.
Whatever. So we got Potbelly for dinner and somehow the blog The Wind in Your Vagina (that's right) came up. Don't ask me how The Wind in Your Vagina comes up in conversation, it just does. Ever since Joe found out I read a blog called The Wind in Your Vagina, he thinks it's the FUNNIEST THING EVER. I just said vagina a lot. Anyway. When it came up, I was all, "he quit his blog today!" and Joe was like, "why?" and I was all, "I don't know, but Ashley is MAD," which is true. Ashley is mad.
Then I told Joe that I think that dude might be quitting his blog to concentrate on writing For Real things. Not that blogging isn't For Real writing. It is for a lot of people. But for myself, blogging is not For Real writing. I never For Real write on my blog. I open Blogger, I type some nonsense, I spell check (most of the time), I publish, and I pretend I'm writing. It's an easy out. If I'm blogging, I can still tell myself I'm writing and then I don't have to, you know, TRY. Because trying takes a lot of time. And effort. And I'm low on motivation.
So I got to thinking that maybe I could For Real write on my blog. Or, if not, I could at least concentrate more on For Real writing in my spare time instead of concentrating on Facebook or whatever. I'm not quitting my blog, though. I couldn't, because I think Ashley would stab me in the face.
Whatever. So we got Potbelly for dinner and somehow the blog The Wind in Your Vagina (that's right) came up. Don't ask me how The Wind in Your Vagina comes up in conversation, it just does. Ever since Joe found out I read a blog called The Wind in Your Vagina, he thinks it's the FUNNIEST THING EVER. I just said vagina a lot. Anyway. When it came up, I was all, "he quit his blog today!" and Joe was like, "why?" and I was all, "I don't know, but Ashley is MAD," which is true. Ashley is mad.
Then I told Joe that I think that dude might be quitting his blog to concentrate on writing For Real things. Not that blogging isn't For Real writing. It is for a lot of people. But for myself, blogging is not For Real writing. I never For Real write on my blog. I open Blogger, I type some nonsense, I spell check (most of the time), I publish, and I pretend I'm writing. It's an easy out. If I'm blogging, I can still tell myself I'm writing and then I don't have to, you know, TRY. Because trying takes a lot of time. And effort. And I'm low on motivation.
So I got to thinking that maybe I could For Real write on my blog. Or, if not, I could at least concentrate more on For Real writing in my spare time instead of concentrating on Facebook or whatever. I'm not quitting my blog, though. I couldn't, because I think Ashley would stab me in the face.
Monday, July 27, 2009
I do da cha cha like a sissy girl. I like-a...do da cha cha.
Yesterday I went sort of crazy with cleaning the apartment. It was totally unintentional, too. I meant to do NOTHING yesterday. Absolutely nothing. It started out well enough. I got up relatively early, made some coffee, ate some breakfast, finished my book, and then BOOM...The Crazy kicked in.
Only not really. Really, I was just going to wash my sheets and change my bed. Easy. But once I'd stripped the bed and thrown the dirty sheets in the washer, I was out of control. I was running all over the apartment, downstairs to get the Windex, upstairs to clean my bathroom, downstairs to get the vacuum, upstairs to clean the litter box, and then suddenly I was trying my best not to fall down the stairs while I vacuumed them because did you know? Our vacuum is surprisingly heavy. And, you know, once I'd finished cleaning upstairs and vacuuming down the stairs, I figured I might as well clean the kitchen floor and take out all the trash and vacuum the downstairs and SWEEP THE PORCH. WTF? Sweep the porch? It did no good. It's just as dirty this morning as it was before I swept it, but right after? It was a thing of beauty.
Anyway, I blame this obsessive bout of cleaning on the psychological trauma I suffered Saturday night. I was sitting on the sofa, talking to Joe on the phone, when I noticed a creepy bug crawling on the wall next to me. I thought about killing it, but it was the same kind of creepy bug that attacked Heidi and I that one time and I didn't want to risk it.
SO! There I am, sitting on the sofa, watching the bug and watching PHOEBE watch the bug, and giving Joe a play-by-play (he's so lucky). I was all, "it's crawling higher...Phoebe thinks she can reach it, but she can't...now it's trying to crawl on the ceiling...now it's on the ceiling...OH MY GOD IT JUST FELL OFF THE CEILING ON THE COUCH RIGHT NEXT TO ME OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD," and this is when I ran to the bathroom to get some toilet paper to KILL IT KILL IT KILL IT but you guys! IT CRAWLED INTO THE SOFA! IN BETWEEN THE CUSHIONS! And I kept freaking out and Joe was telling me to calm down and I was yelling at home for being in San Diego and not protecting me from the KILLER BUG THAT WAS TRYING TO KILL ME, KILL ME DEAD! And then I told him I was never, ever sitting on that couch again and he laughed at me but GUESS WHAT, I did not sit on that sofa at all yesterday SO THERE.
And then Joe was not sympathetic AT ALL about my brush with death. I believe his exact words were, "I cannot believe that you, a grown woman, just had a massive meltdown because of a tiny bug," and I was all, "whatever, you didn't see it, IT WAS HUGE AND HAD FANGS!" and then he didn't believe me when I told him it was two inches long, like bugs in Ohio can't be that big or something. But they can be that big because I saw one and it crawled into the couch and again I say SO THERE.
Only not really. Really, I was just going to wash my sheets and change my bed. Easy. But once I'd stripped the bed and thrown the dirty sheets in the washer, I was out of control. I was running all over the apartment, downstairs to get the Windex, upstairs to clean my bathroom, downstairs to get the vacuum, upstairs to clean the litter box, and then suddenly I was trying my best not to fall down the stairs while I vacuumed them because did you know? Our vacuum is surprisingly heavy. And, you know, once I'd finished cleaning upstairs and vacuuming down the stairs, I figured I might as well clean the kitchen floor and take out all the trash and vacuum the downstairs and SWEEP THE PORCH. WTF? Sweep the porch? It did no good. It's just as dirty this morning as it was before I swept it, but right after? It was a thing of beauty.
Anyway, I blame this obsessive bout of cleaning on the psychological trauma I suffered Saturday night. I was sitting on the sofa, talking to Joe on the phone, when I noticed a creepy bug crawling on the wall next to me. I thought about killing it, but it was the same kind of creepy bug that attacked Heidi and I that one time and I didn't want to risk it.
SO! There I am, sitting on the sofa, watching the bug and watching PHOEBE watch the bug, and giving Joe a play-by-play (he's so lucky). I was all, "it's crawling higher...Phoebe thinks she can reach it, but she can't...now it's trying to crawl on the ceiling...now it's on the ceiling...OH MY GOD IT JUST FELL OFF THE CEILING ON THE COUCH RIGHT NEXT TO ME OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD," and this is when I ran to the bathroom to get some toilet paper to KILL IT KILL IT KILL IT but you guys! IT CRAWLED INTO THE SOFA! IN BETWEEN THE CUSHIONS! And I kept freaking out and Joe was telling me to calm down and I was yelling at home for being in San Diego and not protecting me from the KILLER BUG THAT WAS TRYING TO KILL ME, KILL ME DEAD! And then I told him I was never, ever sitting on that couch again and he laughed at me but GUESS WHAT, I did not sit on that sofa at all yesterday SO THERE.
And then Joe was not sympathetic AT ALL about my brush with death. I believe his exact words were, "I cannot believe that you, a grown woman, just had a massive meltdown because of a tiny bug," and I was all, "whatever, you didn't see it, IT WAS HUGE AND HAD FANGS!" and then he didn't believe me when I told him it was two inches long, like bugs in Ohio can't be that big or something. But they can be that big because I saw one and it crawled into the couch and again I say SO THERE.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
oh, right, I have a blog
I have two Big Problems. I want everything to be perfect ALL THE TIME and I procrastinate, um, a lot. The combination means I don't ever get anything done. Because NEWSFLASH nothing can ever be perfectly perfect all the perfect time. Duh. This is like, common knowledge, right? And if something isn't going to be perfect, why even bother DOING it?
Earlier someone asked me for a report. Except...not really. They did not ask for a report. They asked for A NUMBER. Their exact words were, "Can you tell me the percentage of employees blah blah blah...doesn't have to be perfect, I just need an estimate." And I was all, "OMG, I can't believe someone is finally asking me to do something! Hooray!" So instead of procrastinating, I did it right away! Even though it was lunchtime! Unfortunately, instead of just estimating the answer off of data I've already compiled (because that data is OLD, duh, and no longer perfect), I took it upon myself to make it a much bigger project than it needed to be and suddenly there were reports and spreadsheets ALL OVER MY COMPUTER AND THE NUMBERS WEREN'T ADDING UP AND THE PERSON WAS EMAILING ME ALL, "NO SRSLY, THIS DOES NOT NEED TO BE PERFECT, DO YOU HAVE IT YET?" AND I WAS ALL, "THERE'S NEVER ANY TIME I NEVER HAVE TIME TO STUDY OMG SHUT UP JESSIE SPANO." PLUS ALSO my other coworker was trying to talk to me and carrying on a conversation with her is like a never-ending "Who's on First" routine, so concentrating was OUT OF THE QUESTION.
Ahem. I eventually finished it without procrastinating AT ALL (!!) and it was perfect (!!) and I sent it away and got what I wanted: validation in the form of a "YOU'RE AWESOME, THANK YOU!" email. Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh.
Anyway, my point is, SUCK IT, BIG PROBLEMS. If we were in prison, you guys would be, like, my bitches*.
*thank you, Phoebe
Earlier someone asked me for a report. Except...not really. They did not ask for a report. They asked for A NUMBER. Their exact words were, "Can you tell me the percentage of employees blah blah blah...doesn't have to be perfect, I just need an estimate." And I was all, "OMG, I can't believe someone is finally asking me to do something! Hooray!" So instead of procrastinating, I did it right away! Even though it was lunchtime! Unfortunately, instead of just estimating the answer off of data I've already compiled (because that data is OLD, duh, and no longer perfect), I took it upon myself to make it a much bigger project than it needed to be and suddenly there were reports and spreadsheets ALL OVER MY COMPUTER AND THE NUMBERS WEREN'T ADDING UP AND THE PERSON WAS EMAILING ME ALL, "NO SRSLY, THIS DOES NOT NEED TO BE PERFECT, DO YOU HAVE IT YET?" AND I WAS ALL, "THERE'S NEVER ANY TIME I NEVER HAVE TIME TO STUDY OMG SHUT UP JESSIE SPANO." PLUS ALSO my other coworker was trying to talk to me and carrying on a conversation with her is like a never-ending "Who's on First" routine, so concentrating was OUT OF THE QUESTION.
Ahem. I eventually finished it without procrastinating AT ALL (!!) and it was perfect (!!) and I sent it away and got what I wanted: validation in the form of a "YOU'RE AWESOME, THANK YOU!" email. Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh.
Anyway, my point is, SUCK IT, BIG PROBLEMS. If we were in prison, you guys would be, like, my bitches*.
*thank you, Phoebe
Wednesday, July 08, 2009
I also idolized Pippi Longstocking, if only because she had her own monkey
This morning, when I left for work, I was all, "booo, it's cloudy and looks somewhat thunderstormy!" I like thunderstorms, but not when I'm driving to work because once it starts to rain EVEN A LITTLE BIT everyone forgets how to drive. Thunderstorms are OK once I'm AT work, though, because the power might go out and the last time all the power went out I didn't have to work for two days.
It didn't end up thunderstorming on the way to work and EVEN BETTER there was the best rainbow. I'm assuming that seeing a rainbow means good luck. Which is good because Joe bought a lottery ticket (hey, why not?) although I'm happy to report he didn't play Hurley's numbers. I don't need any bad juju. Don't worry, I won't forget about you when we win (do you like how HE bought the ticket, but WE get the money?) because obviously I'll quit my job right away and have loads of time to blog. Or sleep. One of those.
Even if we don't win the lottery, rainbows are still pretty, right? I've always had a fondness for them on account of one of my two childhood idols was Rainbow Brite. The other? Punky Brewster. My mom insists that I dressed myself like Punky when I was little, complete with rainbow suspenders, a rainbow belt (this also doubled as a Rainbow Brite belt when I played Rainbow Brite), pigtails, freckles (those never came off), and red, heart-shaped sunglasses. I've never seen photographic evidence of this, so I'm not sure I believe her. I've also been told that I inexplicably spoke with a Southern accent as a tiny child, but I don't know if that's true and I have no idea where the accent went.
Anyway. Here is a picture of the rainbow I saw. It looked way awesomer than that IRL, I promise.
It didn't end up thunderstorming on the way to work and EVEN BETTER there was the best rainbow. I'm assuming that seeing a rainbow means good luck. Which is good because Joe bought a lottery ticket (hey, why not?) although I'm happy to report he didn't play Hurley's numbers. I don't need any bad juju. Don't worry, I won't forget about you when we win (do you like how HE bought the ticket, but WE get the money?) because obviously I'll quit my job right away and have loads of time to blog. Or sleep. One of those.
Even if we don't win the lottery, rainbows are still pretty, right? I've always had a fondness for them on account of one of my two childhood idols was Rainbow Brite. The other? Punky Brewster. My mom insists that I dressed myself like Punky when I was little, complete with rainbow suspenders, a rainbow belt (this also doubled as a Rainbow Brite belt when I played Rainbow Brite), pigtails, freckles (those never came off), and red, heart-shaped sunglasses. I've never seen photographic evidence of this, so I'm not sure I believe her. I've also been told that I inexplicably spoke with a Southern accent as a tiny child, but I don't know if that's true and I have no idea where the accent went.
Anyway. Here is a picture of the rainbow I saw. It looked way awesomer than that IRL, I promise.
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