Thoughts Underground

cringe

2006-01-10T09:07:00.000-05:00

I have some sort of charm that attracts freaks. At the office I'm currently temping in, I have been singled out by the chester-molester-middle-aged-creep. Everytime he passes my desk he stops to chat, and I'm not talking the normal "How you doing today?" Yesterday he spent about 20 minutes asking me why I don't have a boyfriend and what I look for in a man. I painfully rummaged up some character traits, and then he asked, "What about goofy? Do you like goofy?" Apparently he considers himself goofy. Then he told me he likes his wife because she has big boobs. I wish I was joking, but he actually said that. [I'd like to make a side note, that asking someone why they don't have a boyfriend is really irritating. What the fuck do you think? I don't have a boyfriend because I prefer to live a sad and lonely life?] When two other guys passed by my desk and witnessed the scene they said jokingly, "Stop harassing the temp." Once they were out of sight he said under his breath, "Fuck you both." He said it with complete seriousness. I'm so glad I have a sign on me that says "Office rejects welcome."

Here's the catch, though. His wife is the head of the internship program at the National Endowment for the Arts and he's told me it's his mission to get me employed there. So, I have to humor his sick mind. I temped here for a day about a month ago and he told me he hasn't stopped thinking of me. I hope he meant in an employment kind of way. So now I have to wonder. Does he actually have the means of getting me a job at the NEA, or is he just using it as an excuse to win my affection?

He's kind of oblivious, too. He asked me twice in one day whether or not I have siblings. First of all, why does he care? Second of all, I already answered the question. When I told him he had already asked me that, he said "Oh. Well, I think I have a mild case of schizophrenia." [I'd like to make another side note to say that schizophrenia seems to be everyone's justification for a little abnormality. Being forgetfull is not schizophrenic. Being indecisive is not schizophrenic. Changing moods is not schizophrenic. Schizophrenia consists of two things. 1) hallucinations, and 2) delusions. It's the inability to distinguish what is real. It's not multiple personality disorder, either.]

I've yet to see him today, but I'm bracing myself for some more uncomfortable flirtation. In terms of inappropriate office chit chat, this guy is right up there with the woman who told me she wanted to abort all four of her children.

stop bitching

2006-01-09T10:43:00.000-05:00

While I was on my lunch break the other day I had an encounter in the street. There was a girl soliciting people, trying to sell art propaganda. She lives in a commune in West Virginia with artists of every kind. She was selling a magazine they publish, clothing that they silk screen with sayings like, "Stop Bitching Start a Revolution," and some bumper stickers and books. While I normally avoid solicitors, I decided to stop and see what she was all about. She was so perky and eager to talk about their "mission." When she saw that I didn't share her enthusiasm she looked at me with what seemed like pity. I'm sorry, but not all of us can live in an art-induced bubble of idealism. It's called the working world. I ended up buying a magazine and after reading came to the conclusion that this commune is nothing short of a cult. They live by one man's teachings, named Zendik. The whole magazine is excerpts from him. I found that creepy. He calls his philosophy Life Art, and says that it does not bring enlightenment, it IS enlightenment. Anyways, my irritation lies with this girl. She was so damn happy and had to project this blind happiness on all of us who actually have bills to pay. Who put on uncomfortable clothes and sit at a desk from 9-5. Give me art that stems from this world. Cold, depressed, bitter reality. Okay, I'm not really that cynical, I was just disappointed that she couldn't understand why I wasn't high on life with her. What kind of artist is she? But maybe I should stop bitching and start a revolution.

"wholesome values"

2005-12-13T03:44:00.000-05:00

A musician is not allowed to come out with a "greatest hits" album if his debut album is from 1999. Apparently Ja Rule just came out with one? Has he really had that many hits? Create something new.

I've decided on my ideal job...working for the National Inquirer. How much fun it would be to create stories like "Jessica Simpon's true past is uncovered---her father the preacher was sexually abusive!" Buying into people's stupidity has always been the secret to success, right? I mean it worked for our president.

Speaking of the Republican party I have some scary information about what lengths they will go to to infiltrate the country. Apparently, they are unhappy with the liberal "bias" of our press. So, they have created an entire national internship program for young Republicans to start taking over the system. That's what Fox News if for. Leave the rest of us alone. One such intern is currently working at my mom's office. She graduated from Princeton and thinks she's God's gift to the world. It just goes to show how much more organized the conservative party is. That's why they run the country. They're ruthless in a way liberals are not. Perhaps because liberals have a conscience. In my understanding there are only two reasons why someone is a conservative: 1) they're ignorant, or 2) they're self-serving. I think the majority of our country falls under category number one. If you are poor and really understood Bush's policies towards welfare, health care, etc. there's no reason in hell you should be voting for him. But unfortunately, they are sold by his wholesome "values." Can someone please tell me what these wholesome values are? They're obviously not life and freedom. Okay, okay, I'll stop the political lecturing.

job shmob

2005-12-06T02:11:00.000-05:00

Creating a resume is a true act of creativity. Especially when it comes to titles. You could have been working at McDonalds, but with the right wording you were the "associate salesman" who "balanced monetary transactions" and "assisted in the distribution of food." And cover letters. Is it really necessary to say that you're an "organized and flexible worker, with a desire to contribute to the company...?" I mean, you're clearly not going to write that you're lazy and irresponsible, no matter how lazy and irresponsible you really are, so what's the point?

These are my thoughts on the job searching process, which I now so diligently have undertaken. But the most depressing part is reading the employment section of the paper, where the number of shitty jobs that you know someone will have to take are in abundance. Like being a customer service rep for "towing services," or doing data entry for a "database management firm" (fancy words for we-enter-numbers-into-a-computer-that-have-no-purpose). My favorite job is the "Baker's Assistant," in which experience is mandatory. They can't risk having someone in the kitchen who doesn't know how to roll out dough.

And then you see it. The one job in the entire paper that appeals to some fraction of your being and you read that it requires 4-6 years experience. And all you have is a B.A. with some summer internships. Oh, the sweetness of life.

The Facebook

2005-12-02T03:03:00.000-05:00

I have no life. I am pathetic. It's 4 a.m. and I have just spent the last two hours browsing the Facebook. It's endless entertainment. I thought I would make some observations:

To those people who have no picture and three words in their profile I say stop being so high and mighty and give us something to read. I'm bored. I didn't pull up your profile to learn your email address. I pulled it up so I could stalk. (I heard that friendster has a new feature that lets you see who has viewed your profile. Say it isn't so! What harsh punishment for wanting to know your crush's favorite movie.)

Another observation: What the hell does "I don't even know what a quail looks like," mean? If you don't know what I'm talking about go open your list of "friends" and scroll to the bottom. My only explanation is that it is an intentional absurdity created only to cause confusion and possibly humor. I most definitely am confused.

Another thing: If you're out of college and your picture involves you drinking alcohol you're lame. It was barely tolerable when you were in college. I'm sorry.

Another thing: I do not deny that I am lame.

Another thing: If you list more than five artists under "favorite music" you're annoying. Pick one. No one wants to read an endless list that includes basically every decent musician throughout history. Not even a stalker at 4 a.m.

Another thing: The previous rule goes for all other "favorite" lists.

Another thing: Humor is far more enjoyable than truth.

Another thing: To those people who have friends at every college in the country I say well done. You clearly understand the value of facebook.

And finally: When it is someone's birthday, in the very least, post a message on their wall. There is nothing more exciting than discovering you've been facebooked.

Family Ties

2005-11-29T01:46:00.000-05:00

Thanksgiving is always a lovely holiday. My grandmother, in particular, makes it so. She always manages to steer conversation towards inappropriate ends. For example, my two older sisters were being interrogated by the family for not having gotten pregnant yet (they're 27 and 31). People were telling them that the older they get the harder it will be to conceive, and my grandmother tactfully said, "Oh, that's nonsense. I got pregnant at 42 and had an abortion." Nobody batted an eye, of course, because we've heard worse. Later, she let us all know that she was wearing her good Nordstrom's bra, along with a thong. I think that was my favorite outburst of the night. Another time, she made a reference to her son that committed suicide about 12 years ago by waving her hand and saying, "What are ya gonna do. Ha!" She's my favorite person in the extended family. She wears leopard print pants and gives my sisters and me skimpy lingerie for Christmas. My grandfather doesn't fall short of second when he toasts our Thanksgiving meal, "To Hell! May the stay there be as good as the way there!" He's half deaf, half blind, yet downs martinis like water and chain smokes. My grandparents are what I want to be when I'm 80. After having lived that long why not be outrageous and debauched?

(Having mentioned abortion earlier, I thought I would take the time to reveal the secret of all women: abortion. Five women in my family have had abortions. I won't name who they are for reasons of privacy, but I will say that most of them happened before Roe v. Wade and were horrific. I would prefer to think that everyone reading this is pro choice, so I won't preach about self-righteous Christian fundamentalists. My point is only that you'd be surprised by how many women you know have secretly had abortions. Start by asking your mother.)

Back to the topic of Thanksgiving. It's always a wonderful thing when family get together to reminisce about abortion, suicide, and hell.

moment of bitter...cold

2005-11-18T18:10:00.000-05:00

who conspired to have us lose an hour of daylight in the winter? as if the cold isn't bad enough. when i was little i thought that snow was nature's way of creating beauty out of misery, but now i think anything below 60 degrees is just evil. it's days like these that i wish a woman's hairless body wasn't the standard of beauty. just another conspiracy.

psychiatrists are just drug dealers. pharmaceutical bitches. i've been trying to find a new pdoc since i moved back home and this morning's meeting was just another testament to thier stupidity. i say i suffer from fatigue and he suggests narcaleptic medicine. that would move the number of pills i take daily up to 5, nevermind the absolute stupidity of taking narcaleptic meds. and they're the ones who diagnosis drug abuse as a debilitating illness. haha.

VIP

2005-11-10T16:38:00.000-05:00

i currently have the privaledge of being stuck in the Lima airport for the next eight hours. it's a hellish lay-over, which i have made slightly more tolerable by paying the wopping $35 to stay in the VIP lounge. it's a big room with sofas, cable tv, internet, free snacks and drinks, nice facilities, and a room with reclining chairs for sleeping. it's pretty dead. there are only four other people here and i've enjoyed watching one of the staff women clean the same countertop about four times now. she's even shined each apple in the bowl individually.

for those of you who don't know, VIP services are a phenomenon here in South America (which they pronounce VEEP). for example, their equivalent to Greyhound has a VEEP section that makes the bus something to look forward to. it's the first floor on a double decker bus, and the enormous chairs recline a full 90 degrees. there's even an attendent to bring you drinks. it's amazing. now i know how those people i resent in first class on airplanes feel.

the act of traveling sucks. i feel dirty and groggy and still have about 20 hours before i'll be home. but i have two ridilin and two sleeping pills left to utilize my time wisely. well, they just put out new mini-sandwiches, so i gotta go. they go fast.

buenos aires

2005-11-07T19:03:00.000-05:00

I've been in Buenos Aires for a couple of days now, and it has replaced Madrid as my favorite city. It looks just like a European city, but the people are so incredibly friendly that it is almost eerie. Everyone from the taxi drivers to shopkeepers to strangers on the street are so nice, to the point of abnormality. Anytime I say "thank you" it is immediately followed by profuse insistence that it was a pleasure on the other person's behalf. I have to laugh at myself when I get impatient by slow service because i become the perfect example of why Americans are rude and unhappy. Yes, we're efficient and productive, but at the cost of civility.

I was in a really touristy part of town today and saw the most random celebrity - Mike Tyson. My mom and I saw a crowd of people all hovering around something, and as we approached I was frightened to see who it was. My mom asked me if I wanted to take a picture with him, and I told her she was crazy. I'm not getting near a rapist, ear-bitting madman. Why is he so adored? He beats people up for a living? I guess it's a testosterone thing that I'll never understand.

I have so much more to say about my travels, but right now I'm exhausted from a day of shopping. Such a hard life. When I get home I'll be unemployed, so I'm going to enjoy my last few carefree days. But it's a very good thing that I quit my job because my boss groped me before I left - grabbed my ass. That's a whole other story. Until next time...

riches to rags

2005-10-25T15:30:00.000-04:00

I've been in el campo with Dani for a couple days now. He's in a really rural town that just recently got electricity. There's a lot to get used to, like the latrine, the flees, the food, the smell of animal shit everywhere (which is nothing compared to the latrine), and the altitude. But overall i'm glad to be here. I have so much respect for Peace Corps volunteers. But el campo has its charms as well. The people are warm and friendly, unlike in the city, the scenery is beautiful, and the overall simplicity of life is refreshing.

It can be difficult being a "gringa," though. Everyone assumes I'm wealthy and can get them a job in the states. A child came up to me in the market and asked me to buy him something. I want to help, but as soon as I help a stranger there will just be more expecting the same. I don't have unlimited money and I can't exactly be invisible.

I'm just focusing on helping Dani's host family. They asked me to be their son's "madrina," or godmother. Dani's the godfather. It is exciting for them to have us here because otherwise there would be no Baptism. They wouldn't be able to afford it, but us "gringos" can provide the funds. So on Sunday I was part of my first Baptism. It was followed by a party that puts college frat boys to shame. These campesinos drank straight from 1 pm to midnight. When the beer runs out they turn to rubbing alcohol. I can't even describe how wasted they were. It was truly insane. As I tried to fall asleep I was kept awake by Dani's host father who was sitting outside our door mumbling and singing to himself. Most of these people can't afford to buy alcohol, so when they drink they drink like high school girls experiencing it for the first time - loud and obnoxious, with no idea as to their actual tolerance. They drink until they pass out, or until there is literally not a drop left.

Right now Dani and I are spending a couple of days in Huaraz, a city about an hour away. I'm glad I got to experience rural living before coming here because now taking a hot shower and watching cable t.v. are luxurious. Huarez has a decent number of American ex-pats, so there are cute little bohemian coffee shops and such. We were even able to find old copies of The New Yorker at one such place this afternoon. I'm soaking up every last minute of it. Tomorrow it's back on the stuffy crowded bus - let me emphasis that no one wears deoderant - and into the stark contrast of a campesino's life.

Buenas

2005-10-19T19:47:00.000-04:00

Greetings from afar. I just arrived in Lima, Peru, where I am visiting an old Middlebury friend in the Peace Corps. After a good eight hours of sleep on the plane, thanks to modern medicine, I am refreshed to be in a new place. I feel alive. My friend Dani and I just settled into a hotel and will head to his site tomorrow.

Some woman on the street called me "señora" and asked to be my house cleaner. Apparently I blend into the category of rich Peruvian wife. My friend tells me he avoids the harrasement by letting the words "peace corps" slip loudly from his mouth. If they only knew I have massive student loans to pay and am an aspiring artist. Yet, I can´t deny the fact that this is all relative. In reality I am a rich American.

magic pills

2005-10-14T16:52:00.000-04:00

I am convinced a person's mood and mental capacity is determined entirely by their chemical make-up of seratonin, dopamine, neuropenefron, and whatever other chemicals are in our brain (I'm not a neurologist). From my experience in taking the following psychiatric drugs: Prozac, Lexipro, Paxil, Wellbutrin, Zyprexa, Risperdol, Abilifi, Ridilin, and Aderal I have concluded that as long as I fuck with the balance in my brain I will experience different moods and mental capacities accordingly.

For example, the chemical balance that prozac creates in my brain must be another person's natural chemical balance. How else could there be happy people without drugs? And here I must classify two types of depression, which many people do not understand. One type of depression is rational. It is the result of an unfortunate event or experience - by external factors. The other type is not rational at all. It is the result merely of a person's chemical make-up. They could have just won the lottery, but if their levels of seratonin are that low they will be depressed for reasons out of their control. But luckily we have solved the problem! Medicate! Let's all be happy, industrious, balanced people until we conform into the same person.

Another example is Ridilin. I naturally do not have an inclination to read. I wish I could, but the number of books I've actually finished is too embarrassing to say. But luckily there's a wonderful little pill that makes whatever I'm reading so interesting that I forget anything outside its pages exists. I know many people who love to read. So they must have a natural chemical balance similar to that which Ridilin creates in my brain. Now, I know that reducing a person to these terms - saying that they are who they are because of those neuron reactions - is a loose explanation, but let us focus solely on "mood" and "mental capacity." I am not making this argument for personality, although there probably is some overlap. We can completely medicate our mood with anti-depressants, stimulants, and mood "stabilizers," like Lithium. When I refer to "mental capacity" I mean a person's ability to concentrate, think rationally (distinguish delusion from reality), and express themselves.

So, the moral of this entry is that a person's character should not be judged according to their mood and mental capacity because they are factors out of their control. The End.

still breathing

2005-10-12T17:05:00.000-04:00

i want to apologize for neglecting my blog. my motivation has died. this is part of the greater pattern of my life: enthusiasm, action, distraction, apathy. i need to get my hands on some stimulants. enter that medication-induced fantasy world of motivation. where i take on such roles as avid reader, writer, and listener. for now i'm just going to simmer in sloth.

beautiful people

2005-09-20T22:13:00.000-04:00

On Saturday I spent 8 quality hours watching America's Next Top Model marathon on VH1. I wish I could say I just stumbled upon it, but I'd been looking forward to it for over a week. Maybe what makes it good reality t.v. is the fact that they're all beautiful people, and who doesn't like to look at beautiful people? But then again, what reality t.v. show doesn't have beautiful people, not counting the men that Queer Eye manages to "convert." But come on, all they really do is give him a hair cut and a couple new outfits. You know he'll be wearing those tapered jeans again in about a week. And he'll never actually use all those hair products, let alone maintain the cut. He's just not a metrosexual. I don't care how many exfoliators he uses. It's like telling a gay guy to go without looking in the mirror.

So back to America's Next Top Model. It was an old season, so I won't keep the winner from you. It came down to the blond girl-next-door and the exotic biracial high fashionesque mohawked girl. The latter was the winner, and I was fine with the choice since I liked them both the same. But Ben, who I talked with once it was over, thought their choice was so stereotypical. Since when did blond hair and blue eyes become the alternative model? Let's face it. As long as a person is tall and waifish it doesn't matter what the rest of her looks like. They put so much make-up and wild hair-styles on these runway girls that anyone could look like them (given that they're already tall and skinny, with a body that resembles a 10 yr. old boy). Just give yourself raccoon eyes and teased out hair and you're a high fashion runway model.

Someone once told me a theory about why runway models are so skinny: Most designers are gay men, therefore they fantasize about little boy bodies, hence the waif. On the first season of America's Next Top Model one of the finalists was a med student. She believed that our female standard of beauty is merely the result of higher estrogen levels. She says that if we increase a baby's estrogen they will develop the following traits: small nose, small brow, big lips, etc. She was the most modelesque-looking contestant, but she didn't win because she constantly talked about how arbitrary beauty is. When the other girls were talking about how much they deserved to win, she replied with, "I don't think it's anyone's God-given right to be a model." If she didn't want to admit to the world that she was superficial enough to be a model then why the hell did she go on the show?
A model scout once told my sister that she should be a model (she's tall and naturally thin) and she replied, "I'm not going to the contribute the 13 yr. old's eating disorders."

re-living college

2005-09-15T22:29:00.000-04:00

last night sarah abu and i were in g-town and we decided to stroll over to the georgetown campus. school's back in session, so we got to see it in full form. there is nothing more satisfying than walking into a college library once you've graduated. all those stressed out people with coffee tumblers and droopy eyes...what relief that i'm not one of them. we then sat outside to people watch. i don't know if i'm just being arrogant, but they all seemed to think they were sooo important. to the jappy girls wearing high heals to the library i wanted to say, "Get over yourself." i find that i say this to myself daily. examples:

1) my boss has to make every call on speaker phone because he can't bother picking up a receiver. and to top it off he has his speaker phone on the loudest it can possibly be, so the whole office gets to be part of his call. get over yourself.
2) some guy on a motorcycle has an exceptionally loud engine and has to let everyone know it. get over yourself.
3) some punk in front of me on the street is walking in such an unnatural way he looks injured rather than gansta. he also spits on the ground. get over yourself.

being on the georgetown campus made me realize how happy i am to be out of college. i paid my dues of analyzing shit that doesn't need to be analyzed, memorizing useless information, and sitting through lectures that function as sleeping pills. did i learn anything at college? yes, i learned how to bullshit. how to interpret simple images in a poem to mean masturbation, childbirth, and menstrual flow. how to describe these images with synonymous words like "portrays," "reveals," "demonstrates," "depicts." i can't tell you how many times i've used those words.

as sarah and i were leaving the campus we got to see the topper: a guy wearing a sideways baseball cap, a t-shirt over a long sleeved shirt, cargo shorts, and flip flops. all he needed was a Busch lite in his hand and a poster of Jon Beluchi from Animal House on his wall. my first vow when i graduated was never to drink another Busch lite again. i'm over it.

up yours mr. smiley face

2005-09-12T12:22:00.000-04:00

I am always told by people that I look sad and should smile. This annoys me because a) I'm not sad, and b) fuck you for telling me how to be. I was asked by a guy at a bar on Saturday why I had been "pouting" all night. I told him I hadn't been pouting and was in fact having a good time. I can't help it if my natural expression doesn't make me look like a bubbling bundle of joy. My whole life I have been told this. To name a few: a security guard in Junior High as I walked to class, couriers who deliver mail to the office, customers I served at the restaurant (they actually left me a note saying I should smile more, which they wrote next to a big smiley face).

I can't even find words to explain how irritated I get from people telling me this. What if I went around telling people to sneeze or to sweat. These are involuntary acts, just like a real smile. I can't smile on command, and the last feeling I have when someone tells me to is happiness.
Why do people care if I smile anyways? Is it for their own sense of happiness, or are they genuinely concerned about me? I can understand the customers at the restaurant because they were paying for a pleasant dining experience. And I would say that the rest are just guys trying to flirt with me, but the security guard was a woman.

I think it's arrogant to tell someone to smile. How do you know their mother didn't just die? But it's not only rude, it's insulting. In essence you're telling someone to change who they are, and what better way to make someone smile.

nip 'n tuck

2005-09-09T12:37:00.000-04:00

I just saw a real-life face lift for the first time on a friend's mother, and the image is still haunting me. Her skin is so tightly pulled back that she looks freakish. My friend defends her mother by saying she works in a field with all men where she has to be persuasive (politics). But why don't these men have to look attractive for the woman? Why is she the one who has to mutilate her body so that she can do better business. Before I entered the corporate world I would have said that that entire notion is bullshit, about an attractive woman being more successful. But now that I work in an office with practically all men, and being that I'm their secretary, I have learned to use my appearance in my favor. I've heard from the other two women in the office that the pres. and v.p. (both men) can have horrid tempers. One of these women wears khakis and t-shirts to work, and the pres. is always telling her to dress more femininely. I've decided to wear make-up and dress cutely in the hopes that he won't explode at me for forgetting to put sugar in his coffee. So far so good. But like I said, this could be total bullshit.

I wonder if plastic surgeons get the same satisfaction while stretching skin as I get while covering a bowl with Saran wrap and smoothing the creases. We can spend so much time packaging things only to tear them apart later. And so much of the packaging is unnecessarily difficult to open. In the words of Ellen Degeneres, "Whoever packages CD's must be angry angry people."

tow-tal frustration

2005-09-09T09:56:00.000-04:00

Problem: My car breaks down at 11 p.m. one block away from my house. It dies so suddenly that I'm not able to steer it to the side of the road.
Solution: Call AAA
Ordeal: After navigating through an endless stream of pre-recorded AAA operators I reach a live person whose immediate apology that I'm having car trouble is so sincere I think it's still the recording. She tells me that my estimated time-frame for service is two hours. I tell her that my car is in the middle of the street and she conveniently changes my status to "priority." I later conclude that this is just one of those catch phrases they teach customer service reps for those bothersome customers that say anything more than "okay." This revelation hits me when the clock strikes 2 a.m. and there's no sign of AAA. (You may ask why I don't just go home, since I am only a block away from my house? I can't because the car is obstructing traffic and will be towed to Siberia).

So, I'm sitting in my car for three hours. Now, I know I should appreciate those good Samaritans who stop to offer me help, but after yelling out my window, "AAA is on their way" every five minutes I just want people to leave me alone. I keep my window up and avoid eye contact, but they're unavoidable. What really bothers me is when people try to diagnosis the problem after I've said AAA is coming. They ask me questions like, "Is there gas in the car?" Do you think I'm that stupid? Yes, there's gas in the car. A full tank in fact, which if lost these days would be tragic.

Another bothersome part of my night is the fact that my car has broken down near a police station. So, in between the good Samaritans I have to deal with the cops. I find I'm at that age where my image of the cops is slowly changing from evil to semi-evil, since I'm no longer worried about getting busted for underage drinking. But even in their efforts to help I am suspicious.

Finally AAA arrives. There are two men, one who does all the work and one who seems slightly slow. The slow one mumbles something to me, which I can't hear. "What?" I say. "Wateyerasat?" he replies. I can't understand if he has made a statement or asked a question, so I don't respond. After a long silence he says it again, and again I ask "What?" This goes on about four more times, until finally I understand: "What year is it?" I tell him I don't know because it's a friend's car (craig's mom). Some time passes and then he asks, "Wateyerasat?" So now I'm beginning to wonder how slow he actually is.

My car is finally towed and all is well, despite the fact that I'll have to get it towed to a garage the next day. But that's another ordeal.

Travel Treat

2005-09-06T13:40:00.000-04:00

As I rode the Metro last night I encountered a foul drunk. I was sitting minding my own business, listening to my discman when I felt something splatter onto my foot. I didn't really notice it at first until I felt it a second time. So, I turned around and saw a girl with her head between her knees vomiting right behind me. Instead of apologizing for puking on me, her friend just continued to sit there rubbing the girl's back, saying "It's okay, honey." No. It's not okay. This girl just puked on me. I jumped out of my seat as fast as I could, and luckily I was barely contaminated, but it didn't detract from the fact that not only was this girl up-chucking foul stomach fluids in a public place, but her friend seemed to think there was nothing wrong with the situation. They got off at Tenleytown, leaving the Metro car reeking and defaced (clearly AU students). But the part I can't comprehend is how they felt no remorse. The entire car had to endure her episode, while on the verge of vomiting themselves just from the rank smell. Yes, the girl was sick, but I can't feel sympathy for her irresponsibility with alcohol. Sleep with the dogs and wake up with flees. All I'm asking for is a simple apology from the friend or the girl for the vomit on my shoe. Or at least for one of them to have given me a head's up that she was sick, so I could have changed seats. Is that too much to ask? Now, I know we've all had a little too much to drink at some point, but an enclosed public facility is no place to let it all go. Hold that shit down for the sake of others. If not for us then for the janitor. And I thought I had it bad.

just another monday

2005-08-29T15:09:00.000-04:00

Monday. How depressing. The only redeeming quality about monday is that I'm rested and have had a two-day interception from the usual monotony, which makes beginning that monotony once again a bit more tolerable. Rule #1 on a Monday: avoid the calendar at all costs. Putting this day in its weekly perspective is the kiss of death. Not only does it make the wait until Friday seem unbearable, but it even ruins that anticipated joy of a Friday with the knowledge that Monday is right around the corner. Thursday is possibly the pinnacle of the week. Yes, it's still a work day, but the knowledge that Friday is coming tomorrow gives you a reason to get through the day. Thursday is also slightly better than Friday because you can still idealize the weekend. Once Friday comes those expectations diminish as you realize the weekend has come and you have nothing to do. You're going to waste away these precious days until Monday returns, sending the cycle back to point one. So there you have it. Life in a nut-shell. It's enough to turn a Monday blog entry into an existential crisis.

I have to vent about this morning's interaction with a co-worker. I work at a real estate contracting firm, and this co-worker was interested in the details of some recent condominium developments. He asked me to find the info on their websites. Well, all the websites were the same in that they wouldn't give me any info unless I "registered" i.e. gave them all my info including my dog's middle name. These condominium builders are the company's competitors, so my co-worker who gave me the assignment told me not to register as our company. He told me to create a hotmail account and then he asked if I had a cellphone! He was asking me to put down all of my personal info at these real estate sites. I'm not gonna have random real estate developers calling me at home so the man can avoid getting caught while he tries to steel their floor plans. Put your own damn cell number on the site.

Back to the grind...

The ALT+TAB Craft

2005-08-25T16:18:00.000-04:00

For those inexperienced office whores out there, the ALT+TAB is a cunning craft used to quickly conceal whatever window you have open, so that the boss doesn't see you playing solitaire, for instance. Another one to remember is holding down the Ctrl key when the computer prevents you from opening a window that has a pop-up, like AIM. That trick has been my savior.

My sister once had the fortunate opportunity of being a temp as well. She introduced me to some fabulous temp support sites. My favorite piece of advice is the following:
"Learn the 'Pleasant chuckle' for use anytime anyone says anything to you that you're not actually obligated to respond to." Ah, the pleasant chuckle. We all know it well. It's simple procedure in the working world.

I've found that at every job there's always that one person who thinks they're your best friend from day one. On my first job, this person had an over-zealous tendency to compliment every item of clothing on my body. At first, it was friendly. But then her friendliness became frightening when she started telling me about how she wanted to abort all four of her children, but her husband wouldn't let her. I'd known this woman for a week or two and this was her casual chit-chat as she passed my desk. She also told me that I HAVE to go to business school. In her mind this is the only means to success. Although her job in accounts payable is tempting, I think I'll pass.

Unfortunately, in my new assignment/job I'm working for the devil. They're a commercial real estate contracting firm. You know, they're the ones that put up all those tasteful shopping centers in the middle of green pastures. I also had to write a letter today inquiring about petroleum-carbon/petroleum-chemical investments. But I get $14 an hour, so I've put idealism aside for a few weeks.

same shit different day

2005-08-24T14:49:00.000-04:00

First day on a new job. Administrative assistant...moving up in the world, woo hoo! Now I get to do more important things like make coffee and type dictations. I noticed there were two bottles of Bass in the fridge. Someone's having fun at work. I'm already up-to-date on who's the problem child of the office. The other assistant had no qualms in saying someone named Robin is the devil incarnate. Good thing I won't have any preconceptions, since I haven't met her yet.
The art work in this office is crying for help. Whoever decorated had severe inability to choose one theme or style. The walls are filled with the following: a pastel Van Gogh-like scene, an african mask, a paper-mache scultpure of a woman, a photograph of canyons, a mixed medium picture of the pyramids, sketches of Washington, D.C. landmarks, etc. Do you have an image yet? A tragic comedy.

Cubicle pondering

2005-08-22T15:00:00.000-04:00

Why does everyone in the office ask, "How you doing today?" at 8:30 a.m. The day has not yet started. I've been awake for one hour. I don't know how I'm doing. Ask me later when I'm actually able to decipher feelings and have had a day to experience.

Another exciting day at the office. My morning activity was to type up a receptionist "cheat sheet" for whoever replaces me. It was a useless project because a) how many ways can you explain how to answer and transfer a call, and b) there already exist two phone lists/guidelines. Maybe it's their way of justifying my pay. Or maybe my "superior" just wants to exercise power over me since I'm the only person below her on this corporate food chain. Needless to say, it only took about 20 minutes out of my more pressing work -- updating my blog. So no complaints.

I was watching 60 Minutes last night, which featured a look into a primitive nomadic people that live in Southeast Asia. The most fascinating part of their culture is their language. They don't have a word for "want," only give and take. They also don't have a word for "worry." To think our society worries so much that we have to diagnose it as anxiety, panic attack, stress, etc. and medicate the feelings until they disappear. Having experienced Prozac first-hand, I have to say it's remarkable how it actually treats a person's psyche, while maintaining their lucidity and functionality. It's not that anti-depressants induce happiness, they just numb feelings of emotional pain. The use of anti-depressants avoids the real problem, though, which is the state to which we've developed as a "civilized" western country. Maybe if we spent less time crammed in a cubicle and more time in nature, like the nomads, we would have no word for "depression."

Greetings

2005-08-19T19:41:00.000-04:00

Enjoying another afternoon at work, i.e. doing crosswords, reading a magazine, and exhausting all possible online activities...hence the blog. I'm temping as a receptionist. Yesterday there was a clue in the Post's crossword that said "Secretarial fill-in." How fitting. I wonder how many other temps were doing the puzzle at that same moment. A collective consciousness of boredom.
I left the almost completed puzzle on my desk as a kind of test. A test to see if my "superiors" here at work would see it and realize I'm actually a competent person, doing the receptionist bit while I figure out my life. It was an arrogant thing to do, but recognition can't hurt in the corporate world of invisibility. Anyways, the test was a failure. The only attention I got was from the male administrative assistant who filled in for me while I went to lunch. And the attention wasn't directed in the way I had hoped for, if you know what I mean. Which brings me to the constant male-female relationship predicament. Can I continue being friendly to a male colleague without him thinking it means I'm attracted to him? In an ideal world, yes. But I've found myself in too many sticky situations to think so. For some reason I always forget the obvious excuse: I have a boyfriend. I always forget it because it isn't true.

One and a half more hours until I can remove myself from this chair and computer screen. Then I get the luxury of riding D.C. public transportation in the sticky hot humidity. I find that wearing sunglasses makes the trip more enjoyable. It lets me stare at other people without them knowing it. Being incognito is a world of entertainment. All those hushed voices in the office who think I can't hear them talking shit about each other. Perhaps invisibility is a virtue.