My favorite You Tube videos of the week....errr...month? Well, these really made me laugh today.
Language is no barrier for brillance. If it is, please take advantage of the wonderfulness that is the internet to decipher foreign languages.
That's right. I know it's old by now, but did you see this chapter? Did you see it? Oh god. He's serious isn't he?
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
Monday, September 25, 2006
Take This Day and Shove It!
I woke up this morning in an exceptionally odd mood. I wouldn't say any worse than any other Monday morning by any means. But as always, the allure of coffee made me rise. My dog was in a fantastic mood. Staring me down, trying to lure my gaze away from my computer, smiling and panting when successful. When not, she'd let out a playful howl. Then she'd snuggle down into the covers and try to get to my body beneath the sheets. And then on our walk, she was exceptionally outgoing and everytime she'd turn around at me and smile, my heart would soar! She's sooo happy!!
Now if you know me, you know the problems I've had with my dog, or rather, the problems my dog has. She's a rescue and to an extreme that is rare, she is afraid of most anything that is new. People, plastic bags blowing in the wind, car doors slamming two blocks away. She jumps, and is on edge, and her whole life is filled with this anxiety that fills me with anxiety and I love that today she was having a good day.
And at the beginning of the day, I thought that maybe my day would be extraordinary as well. Think again. Now I know in comparision to some people's bad days, this was nothing, but I couldn't find anything to wear. Immediately this caused warning lights in my head to go off. I knew these days. I hate these days. You know, the days where you can't find anything to wear because that shirt makes you look fat, or you saw someone on the subway wearing those pants, or those shoes give you blisters. And you think of a shirt that would maybe suit this day perfectly, only to realize it's dirty, along with all the other clothes that you wanted to wear today because throughout your weekend of rest and relaxation, you failed to do laundry.
Blah.
So I throw on something comfortable, because let's face it, I wasn't going to be having a "You look fabulous! Where did you get that?!" day. And I didn't shower. I admit it! I showered yesterday, and I wanted to sit in bed and drink coffee and ponder what I was supposed to do on September 22nd a little longer.
I really set myself up for this day to be bad. I didn't do laundry, I didn't shower, and now I wonder why I feel blah? I wish I could go back and get up a little earlier and shower and dig a little deeper in my closet and find something that I haven't seen in months. But I can't. Instead, I find solace in being a bitch to those around me, and complaining when my boss gives me
I hate this day. I hate it because it's my fault that it's sucky and I can not really do anything to change it. My face feels greasy, my headband is pinching behind my ears uncomfortably, and I know when my boss says he wants to train me to do this other show so some weeks we switch off, he really means, even though you work your ass off four days a week, putting in more hours than anyone else in this office, yet you get paid less than everyone in this office, I can't stand for you to have a light Monday, when I have to be here. So I will train you to do this show, so on the rare occasion you have a chance to catch your breath, you can do my job too and I can sit back and be the boss.
It's really just one of those days. So yes, I could try and cheer myself up and not be bitchy to people around me, but I'm a freaking ray of sunshine compared to ninty percent of this office on any given day. Let me have my day to gripe and be pissy.
Now if you know me, you know the problems I've had with my dog, or rather, the problems my dog has. She's a rescue and to an extreme that is rare, she is afraid of most anything that is new. People, plastic bags blowing in the wind, car doors slamming two blocks away. She jumps, and is on edge, and her whole life is filled with this anxiety that fills me with anxiety and I love that today she was having a good day.
And at the beginning of the day, I thought that maybe my day would be extraordinary as well. Think again. Now I know in comparision to some people's bad days, this was nothing, but I couldn't find anything to wear. Immediately this caused warning lights in my head to go off. I knew these days. I hate these days. You know, the days where you can't find anything to wear because that shirt makes you look fat, or you saw someone on the subway wearing those pants, or those shoes give you blisters. And you think of a shirt that would maybe suit this day perfectly, only to realize it's dirty, along with all the other clothes that you wanted to wear today because throughout your weekend of rest and relaxation, you failed to do laundry.
Blah.
So I throw on something comfortable, because let's face it, I wasn't going to be having a "You look fabulous! Where did you get that?!" day. And I didn't shower. I admit it! I showered yesterday, and I wanted to sit in bed and drink coffee and ponder what I was supposed to do on September 22nd a little longer.
I really set myself up for this day to be bad. I didn't do laundry, I didn't shower, and now I wonder why I feel blah? I wish I could go back and get up a little earlier and shower and dig a little deeper in my closet and find something that I haven't seen in months. But I can't. Instead, I find solace in being a bitch to those around me, and complaining when my boss gives me
I hate this day. I hate it because it's my fault that it's sucky and I can not really do anything to change it. My face feels greasy, my headband is pinching behind my ears uncomfortably, and I know when my boss says he wants to train me to do this other show so some weeks we switch off, he really means, even though you work your ass off four days a week, putting in more hours than anyone else in this office, yet you get paid less than everyone in this office, I can't stand for you to have a light Monday, when I have to be here. So I will train you to do this show, so on the rare occasion you have a chance to catch your breath, you can do my job too and I can sit back and be the boss.
It's really just one of those days. So yes, I could try and cheer myself up and not be bitchy to people around me, but I'm a freaking ray of sunshine compared to ninty percent of this office on any given day. Let me have my day to gripe and be pissy.
September 22nd
You know when a date comes and goes with a nagging feeling that something special is happening on that day? Where you go through your list of acquaintances, thumbing off their birthdays and anniversaries. Check the calender, that you hardly keep up with, knowing that something is happening on that day. This year, September 22 was, or rather is, that day. It is three days later and I have yet to figure out what I missed.
I scanned IMDB to see if it was a celebrity's birthday or death day, only realizing that besides the birth of Bonnie Hunt, it's probably the most uneventful day in movie history. I just can't figure this out. I have faces in my head, one's I can not reconcile with this day at all, but my brain won't let them go. I know I missed something, this day plagues me, and I can't, for the life of me, figure out why.
September twenty-second, September 22. What a quandry. I give my sincere apologies to whoever I stood-up on this day. Was it a birthday? Did I have plans that, due to my lack of organization, I forgot? Maybe I did something memorable on this day last year? Nothing. I'm getting nothing.
I scanned IMDB to see if it was a celebrity's birthday or death day, only realizing that besides the birth of Bonnie Hunt, it's probably the most uneventful day in movie history. I just can't figure this out. I have faces in my head, one's I can not reconcile with this day at all, but my brain won't let them go. I know I missed something, this day plagues me, and I can't, for the life of me, figure out why.
September twenty-second, September 22. What a quandry. I give my sincere apologies to whoever I stood-up on this day. Was it a birthday? Did I have plans that, due to my lack of organization, I forgot? Maybe I did something memorable on this day last year? Nothing. I'm getting nothing.
Monday, September 18, 2006
Putting The "Woman" In Manual Labor
Our office is currently expanding into a space next door. It is almost completed and we already have two guys employed for when it's done. They've been here for like six weeks playing Halo and answering phones. We get on quite well. My Halo game has improved quite a bit and it's nice not to have to answer phones anymore. (We've been between receptionists for 4 months now.) Today was the day that the carpet was being put in.
I walk to my transfer train and as usual, see Ben, one of the two guys mentioned above. He has headphones on and as I approach him he starts to take them off. You know when you have your music on pretty loud and you speak louder than usual to compensate, which is pointless only because no one else can hear your music and you just end up talking unnecessarily loud? Well that's what he did. And what were these loud words he decided to speak? "I got hit by a car!" Everyone looked at us, and if i weren't so stunned by his announcement, I would have been embarrassed by his outburst. He took off his sunglasses to reveal the nastiest black eye I've ever seen. That was his only visible injury and so immediately my mind started wondering how exactly one would get hit in the eye by a car. And moreover, how one might survive such an attack. He explains how a cab hit him on his bike and he hit his face on the windshield and bounced off into the road. People walking by saw and pulled his unconscious body onto the sidewalk. He'd be dead if he weren't wearing a helmet. (Now I don't know about you, but this is the point where I'd take two months off of work and curl up in the fetal position on my parents bed, screaming anytime anyone mentioned a "C" word.) He had a concussion and spent the better part of his weekend in the hospital getting CAT-scans and x-rays. Why exactly was he going into work? One may never know. I ordered him to turn around and go back home, (as if I have such authority), but alas, he insisted he was fine.
We get to work and he fills everyone in on his eventful weekend. Comparatively, we all concluded that our weekends were pretty awesome. The other guy reveals with a hearty cough that he has bronchitis. My boss turns to me and pats my back, "Ready to do some manual labor?" ECCCCKKKK.
The three rooms need to be cleaned out of all the junk-including large scraps of dry wall. Ladders, paint cans, nails, shelves, a computer, wood, need I go on?? Then the floors needed to be vacuumed. It was not going to be an usual Monday. (An usual? A usual? Word has lost all meaning.)
There was an awkward moment when drugged up Ben, (from painkillers), said something about how amazing the vacuum is, "it sucks better than you've ever sucked-". Of course this was directed towards me, and with my boss at my side, blush rose to my cheeks and I couldn't help but crack a smile at the obvious unintended double meaning there. I would have slipped in a "dirty" or a snide remark but bossman beat me to it, "Please stop there." I agreed, "Yes please!" That is one thing that I love about our office. We're all pretty young, even bossman, and the atmosphere is so laid back that these potentially funny moments never pass us by. Someone is sure to point out a "dirty" or tell a coworker to "stop being an asshole". The latter is usually me. I work with three boys! I'm the only girl and someone needs to keep them straight.
I digress, due to the extraordinary circumstances, I started my manual labor. Sweat and all. And I was wearing my new jeans! I've never felt like more of a girl. But I did it and cleaned out the whole space. Then I took the super-sucking vacuum to the floor, filling the bag with drywall powder. A thick, flour-like mess. At the end of the day, the carpet was laid, the stuff was moved, and I was tired. My last, seemingly easy task was to return the vacuum. Just getting this thing on the elevator was work enough. I finally get it down there and the tall man with the cover-alls tells me I have to empty the bag because "The boy from Savannah borrowed it last week and didn't clean it out. Once is okay. Today he borrows it and I tell him he has to clean it out, and no, he has to clean it out." I didn't have the heart to tell him that "The boy from Savannah" left work early cause he got hit by a car this weekend, so instead I tredge back upstairs with a gas mask and a frown. He provided me for the gas mask because of the dust that was surely going to be let loose. Remember my "ECCCKKK" from earlier? Insert it here as well.
I take the 260 lb. vacuum to the end of the hall. Me, exaggerate? Maybe a little, but it is unbelievably heavy and doesn't roll easily. I have to unzip the bag, immediately making dust fly into my face. If I had been with a significant other baking a cake in a cheesy romantic comedy, my face would have been perfectly made up for the scene. I comically dumped the bag into the trash bag, tipping the entire vacuum and shaking it, stirring up a cloud of dust that is so thick, it takes an hour to settle. Needless to say, I was covered in the white dust.
One day of womanual labor was enough for me, I'll return to the working world tomorrow.
I walk to my transfer train and as usual, see Ben, one of the two guys mentioned above. He has headphones on and as I approach him he starts to take them off. You know when you have your music on pretty loud and you speak louder than usual to compensate, which is pointless only because no one else can hear your music and you just end up talking unnecessarily loud? Well that's what he did. And what were these loud words he decided to speak? "I got hit by a car!" Everyone looked at us, and if i weren't so stunned by his announcement, I would have been embarrassed by his outburst. He took off his sunglasses to reveal the nastiest black eye I've ever seen. That was his only visible injury and so immediately my mind started wondering how exactly one would get hit in the eye by a car. And moreover, how one might survive such an attack. He explains how a cab hit him on his bike and he hit his face on the windshield and bounced off into the road. People walking by saw and pulled his unconscious body onto the sidewalk. He'd be dead if he weren't wearing a helmet. (Now I don't know about you, but this is the point where I'd take two months off of work and curl up in the fetal position on my parents bed, screaming anytime anyone mentioned a "C" word.) He had a concussion and spent the better part of his weekend in the hospital getting CAT-scans and x-rays. Why exactly was he going into work? One may never know. I ordered him to turn around and go back home, (as if I have such authority), but alas, he insisted he was fine.
We get to work and he fills everyone in on his eventful weekend. Comparatively, we all concluded that our weekends were pretty awesome. The other guy reveals with a hearty cough that he has bronchitis. My boss turns to me and pats my back, "Ready to do some manual labor?" ECCCCKKKK.
The three rooms need to be cleaned out of all the junk-including large scraps of dry wall. Ladders, paint cans, nails, shelves, a computer, wood, need I go on?? Then the floors needed to be vacuumed. It was not going to be an usual Monday. (An usual? A usual? Word has lost all meaning.)
There was an awkward moment when drugged up Ben, (from painkillers), said something about how amazing the vacuum is, "it sucks better than you've ever sucked-". Of course this was directed towards me, and with my boss at my side, blush rose to my cheeks and I couldn't help but crack a smile at the obvious unintended double meaning there. I would have slipped in a "dirty" or a snide remark but bossman beat me to it, "Please stop there." I agreed, "Yes please!" That is one thing that I love about our office. We're all pretty young, even bossman, and the atmosphere is so laid back that these potentially funny moments never pass us by. Someone is sure to point out a "dirty" or tell a coworker to "stop being an asshole". The latter is usually me. I work with three boys! I'm the only girl and someone needs to keep them straight.
I digress, due to the extraordinary circumstances, I started my manual labor. Sweat and all. And I was wearing my new jeans! I've never felt like more of a girl. But I did it and cleaned out the whole space. Then I took the super-sucking vacuum to the floor, filling the bag with drywall powder. A thick, flour-like mess. At the end of the day, the carpet was laid, the stuff was moved, and I was tired. My last, seemingly easy task was to return the vacuum. Just getting this thing on the elevator was work enough. I finally get it down there and the tall man with the cover-alls tells me I have to empty the bag because "The boy from Savannah borrowed it last week and didn't clean it out. Once is okay. Today he borrows it and I tell him he has to clean it out, and no, he has to clean it out." I didn't have the heart to tell him that "The boy from Savannah" left work early cause he got hit by a car this weekend, so instead I tredge back upstairs with a gas mask and a frown. He provided me for the gas mask because of the dust that was surely going to be let loose. Remember my "ECCCKKK" from earlier? Insert it here as well.
I take the 260 lb. vacuum to the end of the hall. Me, exaggerate? Maybe a little, but it is unbelievably heavy and doesn't roll easily. I have to unzip the bag, immediately making dust fly into my face. If I had been with a significant other baking a cake in a cheesy romantic comedy, my face would have been perfectly made up for the scene. I comically dumped the bag into the trash bag, tipping the entire vacuum and shaking it, stirring up a cloud of dust that is so thick, it takes an hour to settle. Needless to say, I was covered in the white dust.
One day of womanual labor was enough for me, I'll return to the working world tomorrow.
I Love TV
Is it just me or does the Fall TV schedule kick ass? Below is what I'm going to be watching. I'm also going to try and pencil in a life. Whew, this is a lot of good television.
Sunday, September 17, 2006
Scared.
At brunch yesterday, I got into a Champagne-laced comversation with an almost complete stranger.
He said, "Is it because you're scared? Maybe they'll laugh?"
I assured him, "No. No."
And I believed myself then. Now, I think that a complete stranger saw what I couldn't. Damn. He is right. I hate it when that happens.
He said, "Is it because you're scared? Maybe they'll laugh?"
I assured him, "No. No."
And I believed myself then. Now, I think that a complete stranger saw what I couldn't. Damn. He is right. I hate it when that happens.
Saturday, September 16, 2006
Outta Mind, Outta Sight
I just remembered why I love Wilco. It was one of those occasions where you are playing your iTunes at random and a song comes on that you haven't heard in a while. Excitement runs through your veins and you immediately narrow the search window to said artist.
That's what I did tonight and for the last hour I've been listening to Wilco. Currently on the air? California Stars. Oh Wilco, how you make me feel so good. The music just makes me smile.
You know what's embarrassing? Knowingly leaving your window open while you change because you're too tired, (read: lazy), to close it, and then walking out the front door and walking to the subway with the cute across-the-street neighbor who has surely seen your goods, or Thompson twins as mine are affectionately known. In the brightness of day, my inhibitions ruturn to the upright position and the tray tables stay secured. Blush rises to my cheeks and I curse my lazy ways. I gotta start closing that window!
Dishes! Must do dishes tomorrow!
Why am I still awake? Because tomorrow is Saturday and I can and will sleep in? Great friend from home is here with her old college friends. She's coming for brunch in the morning-afternoon. I have a feeling that it's going to be more like afternoon. She doesn't exactly rise with the sun. She's more akin to rising as the sun starts to make it's descent. Maybe subconsciously I'm protecting my hunger and hoping that when I wake up, it'll be sometime closer to when she's ready to eat. Because if there's one thing I have to say about brunch that's negative, it's the time frame is so wide on when brunch actually ends, people seem to drag their heels, usually hungover, and my stomach eats itself, or worse, I give in and cook some eggs, thus dulling the initial pleasure of the coveted brunch when it finally does roll around.
Well, I'll leave you with something comical.
Last night, I was talking to my very paranoid and protective mother on the phone. I think she was trying to convince me to move home, (so I can meet a nice man and my house can act as a storage garage for her parent's old furniture), and as always I told her, "We'll see what happens." (Man, I need to post about my huge upcoming decision.) I was in a cab and halfway talking to her and halfway helping this guy navigate through Brooklyn. Here's what she heard. She freaked !
"I just don't know yet. I'm actually starting to---take a left here---get to a point where I can fully support myself, --three blocks up---and to where I feel comfortable here."
"But it's so dangerous!"
"Mom don't be silly---there, you can drop me off behind that dumpster!"
That's what I did tonight and for the last hour I've been listening to Wilco. Currently on the air? California Stars. Oh Wilco, how you make me feel so good. The music just makes me smile.
You know what's embarrassing? Knowingly leaving your window open while you change because you're too tired, (read: lazy), to close it, and then walking out the front door and walking to the subway with the cute across-the-street neighbor who has surely seen your goods, or Thompson twins as mine are affectionately known. In the brightness of day, my inhibitions ruturn to the upright position and the tray tables stay secured. Blush rises to my cheeks and I curse my lazy ways. I gotta start closing that window!
Dishes! Must do dishes tomorrow!
Why am I still awake? Because tomorrow is Saturday and I can and will sleep in? Great friend from home is here with her old college friends. She's coming for brunch in the morning-afternoon. I have a feeling that it's going to be more like afternoon. She doesn't exactly rise with the sun. She's more akin to rising as the sun starts to make it's descent. Maybe subconsciously I'm protecting my hunger and hoping that when I wake up, it'll be sometime closer to when she's ready to eat. Because if there's one thing I have to say about brunch that's negative, it's the time frame is so wide on when brunch actually ends, people seem to drag their heels, usually hungover, and my stomach eats itself, or worse, I give in and cook some eggs, thus dulling the initial pleasure of the coveted brunch when it finally does roll around.
Well, I'll leave you with something comical.
Last night, I was talking to my very paranoid and protective mother on the phone. I think she was trying to convince me to move home, (so I can meet a nice man and my house can act as a storage garage for her parent's old furniture), and as always I told her, "We'll see what happens." (Man, I need to post about my huge upcoming decision.) I was in a cab and halfway talking to her and halfway helping this guy navigate through Brooklyn. Here's what she heard. She freaked !
"I just don't know yet. I'm actually starting to---take a left here---get to a point where I can fully support myself, --three blocks up---and to where I feel comfortable here."
"But it's so dangerous!"
"Mom don't be silly---there, you can drop me off behind that dumpster!"
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