The New England Society for Tea Fetishism

I have no internet access at work and I'm so tired at the end of the day that I don't really feel like walking down to the computer lab to post. But here I am. Aren't you happy? I take the bus to work so I get up at 6:40 so I can catch the 7:50 bus to Bridgehampton Commons which is about a five minute walk from where I'm working--Marders, a landscaping outfit. I'm supposed to be working the phones but for the past three days I've been up in accounting (or estimating, whatever they like to call it) entering freight costs into the computer and filing things like crazy. There is no down time except for my lunch break. Marders is right next to an outlet center and I spent my first day's pay on a pair of jeans and a button-down shirt at Express. I was a little stressed out.

I take the bus with about thirty five-foot-tall Mexican landscapers. They are all the same height. It's freaky.

I swear I had other stuff to blog about but my brain is blank. I need to sleep. I let my friend Carrie's brother sleep in my extra bed last night. I haven't had a roommate since Hood. It's hard to sleep in a room with someone when you're used to having your own room again.

Just thought I'd warn you.

I had just this side of too much to drink last night, considering I have to be at work all day today. But I got about five hours of sleep, which is decent considering the amount of sleep I've worked with on this job before. It was the last poetry reading at the Tidewater for like, ever, so I decided I could indulge, especially since I'm starting work on Monday (yay money!). Pete and I did a drink exchange, me buying us a round of Stoli Ohranj shots and him buying me a drink. Several free shots of peppermint schnapps were sent round. Jeff mixed one of my cape codders so that it was barely pink. I read a short piece I did for memoir writing. Dave, who used to be in the writing program, was there and played some songs on his guitar. Then we had a Radiohead singalong. I love these people.

So, in between turns during a game of darts I went to put a dollar in the jukebox and who taps me on the shoulder but Tim. I was just about to type "Long story short," but this is me we're talking about here. I tried to make the nice for a little bit, answering the "Haven't heard from you in a while" with stuff about school and looking for a job, but then I let him know that he wasn't my favorite person right now and he pulled the old I-didn't-mean-to-hurt-your-feelings thing. After Amber came by and gave him the cold shoulder he brought out the everybody-hates-me-and-I-don't-know-why schtick. And I was just standing there trying to explain myself as best I could while halfway to drunk. I told him that you don't make someone feel special when you're trying to get with other girls. There may have been some talk about expectations, but I honestly don't remember much of what he said, partly because we were standing in front of the jukebox and the music was loud, but mostly because I was chanting in my head, "Don't let him make himself a victim in this."

He said something about having a lot of friends or liking to have a lot of different friends and whatnot. I once knew a guy who liked to have a lot of different friends. His name was Tony, and he was a gentleman. He paid for me when we went to the movies or out to eat. He drove a long way, both ways, to see me. He gave me a hug hello and a hug goodbye. But he never did anything to lead me on or make me feel like I was the only girl he wanted to be with.

The girl he was up to shennanigans with at the party was there with him. He asked if I'd met her and I said "Yes, at the party." It was after that exchange that I heard the words, "I was drunk," come out of his mouth. If ever there were a sorrier excuse for anything, ever, I haven't heard it. I was tired of hearing him try to apologize by not really apologizing, so I told him that whatever had happened (or whatever he thought had happened) I was going to need some time (probably from now until time ends). So he went back to the bar and sat there the entire night.

And I hung out with everyone else and had a great time. Also, I'm done with classes. Forever! Hahahahaha!!

I don't think I did. A few weeks ago when we went on the great table search of ought five, we were driving down a semi-country-ish road when either Shawn or George or Tracy (just one, all three, I can't remember--I was scrunched in the teeny tiny backseat of George's pickup) saw a dead squirrel and another squirrel hovering over it, doing god only knows what. In all actuality, he was probably cannabalizing his little friend. As Kirsten of Wolle will tell you, squirrels partake of the flesh. However, I like to think that the squirrel was nudging his friend, thinking something along the lines of "Tom! Speak to me Tom!" or even "Ha, ha, Tom, very funny. Get up--we gotta find those nut we buried last November. Tom? Tom? Tommy?"

Squirrel death humor is the wave of the future. It's going to be bigger than Rick Jame, bitch.

It's quite strange to have the dashboard come up and see "Elvis has left the building . . . " above "Paperbag Writer." So, as you know, Amy has appointed me as the "bearer." Not a pretty job, but nothing that she wouldn't do for me if our situations were reversed.

Still waiting with baited breath for this phone call about my job. Is that the right use of that idiom? It always makes me think of chum. Damn Discovery Channel. If I don't get a call by 3pm today, I think I'll give them a ring. I don't want to seem pushy or anything, but Erica did tell me she'd call me on Monday.

Whenever I have nothing to do this place is like a ghost town, but when I have to buckle down and finish my Modern Poetry final I come into work with a project already on my desk. Murphy's Law. That Murphy guy is a dick. And here I am wasting more time blogging. It's going to be a late night tonight.

The interview went well. I think. It was kind of short, with the woman, Erica, telling me about the job and me nodding and saying, "Uh-huh." It seems like a decent place to work. Erica was nice. I'll be in the back office so I won't have to dress up. And if I get an employee discount I'll waste a bunch of money on pretty glass vases and a whole host of smelly soaps and candles.

I thought Tim hadn't called because he knew he was a jerk, but he called yesterday while I was at brunch and left a ver casual message asking me to call him. Since I threw out his number last Sunday that's pretty much impossible.

I should get a call about the job today. I'll let you know what happens.

I sent out a resume to Marders, a landscaping place in Bridgehampton, yesterday morning. They had an ad for a receptionist in the Independent. They called me back this morning (half an hour after I woke up, I might add) and asked if I could come in for an interview. So that's where I'll be at 2pm tomorrow afternoon. $14.95 an hour is friggin' awesome, but this would be year-round with possible benefits and not from midnight to 8am, and from what Alice says it's a lot more than landscaping and therefore probably a great place to have an employee discount. I would give you a link, but the website is little more than a couple words on a green background right now.

And now I'm like, hair up or hair down? Should I wear pants or a skirt? If I wear a skirt I'll have to shave. Why don't I have any grown-up clothes? What are they going to ask me? Ahhhhh!!

Deep breaths. But they called me back in less than 24 hours, so I think they must already like me. I just hope I can relax, not sweat too profusely, and not trip over my own tongue.

My brain is turning to mush. I answer the phone at work "Hello?" and in my room I have the overwhelming urge to say, "Advising," when I pick up the handset.

I saw The Phantom of the Opera last night. The beginning was slightly painful. Big cheese factor, but what did I expect? Not only is it Phantom, it's directed by Joel Schumacher, which means it's highly stylistic and all the statues were naked. This is the man who put nipples on the Batsuit. But I got into it after about thirty minutes. Minnie Driver was funny. And ohhhh, the Phantom. Even when his mask was off at the end I was still like, "Call me." Not so much with the guy who played Raoul, although he does look better without the semi-pageboy wig. All in all, not a bad way to spend an evening.

So may I direct your attention to the links on the right? If you're really bored I suggest a look at the current post on The Daily Howler. It's nothing they haven't said before, but if you haven't been reading up on the whole Social Security debate, it's a good place to start. From there, if you want to read more, you can visit their incomparable archives.

That is such a great post title. Too bad I have nothing relevant to go with it.

I had this corn and potato chowder for lunch today. It was soooo rich it was like cream. On top of that I had a Tropicana smoothie . I am in dairy overload. It's a good thing that I switched to soy milk for the cereal I eat every night for dinner. Mmmm . . . slightly walnut-flavored milk-substitute.

"If you don't like my peaches, baby, why do you shake my tree?" Jazz is weird. I listen to it all day on the camps radio station, WLIU. I would much prefer the local progressive station but I'm not sure that my office mates would appreciate The Grateful Dead, Tori Amos, and Snow Patrol. I was almost on my way out the door the other day when "Friend of the Devil" came on and I had to stand in the middle of my room and listen to the whole thing.

This is cool. And slightly creepy, for some reason.

I was on the imdb message boards this morning because I'm still mourning the demise of the Fametracker Forums. It's hard being both and internet and a pop culture addict. I read a list of people's favorite horror movie deaths. Not a great way to start your day. I felt oogy.

MFA reading tonight and possible trip to the Tide. Professor Reeves is the one reading. He'll probably come out to the Tide after and schmooze up a storm. Maybe he'll buy a round of drinks. Or not.

ETA: This is a good blog post for all those sane Christians out there who are sick of the Fundies using and abusing our religion to further their whacked-out political machinations.

Other than Scrubs. I got a package from Amy today. Thank you, Amy! Not only did it contain a dvd of the first two episodes of Buffy, it also had sugar packets with scenic pictures of New England on them. Did you take the security stickers off or were they already gone? Anyhow, it makes for easy access.

Too bad he's such a giant douche.

You know, sometimes you give someone the benefit of the doubt because you want to believe that he's a nice person and you seem to have so much in common with him and just enough not in common to make things interesting and then it turns out that everything your friends told you is true. (Amy--"Everything he says . . . is TRUE.") So I'm rather pissed but not devastated. I was keeping my distance just in case something like this happened.

What happened, you ask? Well, I don't want to air all this out on the internet, but I'll just say that I went to the party at his house last night, the other girl I mentioned before was there, and it became very apparent that they are more than just friends. So I got drunk, ignored him the entire night, and had a good time with Jeff and Amber and a bunch of other people (Also, I beat him to the bathroom once and yelled "HA! right in his face). At first I was kind of like, "Well, maybe I misinterpreted things or maybe I was expecting things that weren't actually going to happen." But a guy doesn't tell a girl that it's a good sign that his dog really likes her, or that he'll drive her to work every day, or that he wants to get books or puzzles or whatnot so she'll feel comfortable in his house, or compliment what she's wearing all the time, or make a future date to go to the racetrack in Riverhead because he wants her to like nascar because he does, or fall asleep holding her hand, and a whole bunch of other stuff when he's boning some other girl. So excuse me for buying into it just a little.

So, Tim--big douchebag.