Monday, June 27, 2005
How many calories is that?
I've had my weekly grande caramel frapuccino and am practically humming with the caffeine. I got it on my way back from the post office, found that my straw was split down the middle, and then downed the whole thing when I got home. I also have two blisters and two mosquito bites. Do you pop blisters or do you just let them sit for a while?
What can you say about work (that won't get you fired)? It's so strange--it's like, totally chaotic and yet incredibly monotonous at the same time. Probably because it's the exact same kind of chaos every single day. I'm even getting used to people hemming and hawing and sighing and blathering on about how mad they are at the company (usually said as "I'm just so disappointed in you guys") to me as if there is anything I can do about it. Still, it's not a bad place to work, what with all the nice people, pizza Fridays, and free lunch on Saturdays.
And there's an art gallery on the premises that just had its grand opening on Saturday, complete with pretty gentlemen and ladies with trays full of little crab cakes and sushi and shrimp and mini-spinachy puffs. And free booze! Lots of shmoozing, too. Some of the paintings and sculptures were from local artists and others were by freakin' Jean-Michel Basquiat and mother-effin' Roy Lichtenstein. Very cool.
It's starting to get rather stinking hot around here. And by stinking hot I mean that by the end of the day I usually stink. I need to train my skin not to mind having my legs shaved every three or four days so I can be half-naked most of the time and stay cool. The downside to the half-nakedness is that 200-pound black men sitting next to me on the bus start making idle chit-chat and then start saying stuff like "I've been lookin' for a woman like you," and "When am I going to see you again," and "You should come to (wherever the flip he said he lived) and visit me." Tres creepy, yo.
What can you say about work (that won't get you fired)? It's so strange--it's like, totally chaotic and yet incredibly monotonous at the same time. Probably because it's the exact same kind of chaos every single day. I'm even getting used to people hemming and hawing and sighing and blathering on about how mad they are at the company (usually said as "I'm just so disappointed in you guys") to me as if there is anything I can do about it. Still, it's not a bad place to work, what with all the nice people, pizza Fridays, and free lunch on Saturdays.
And there's an art gallery on the premises that just had its grand opening on Saturday, complete with pretty gentlemen and ladies with trays full of little crab cakes and sushi and shrimp and mini-spinachy puffs. And free booze! Lots of shmoozing, too. Some of the paintings and sculptures were from local artists and others were by freakin' Jean-Michel Basquiat and mother-effin' Roy Lichtenstein. Very cool.
It's starting to get rather stinking hot around here. And by stinking hot I mean that by the end of the day I usually stink. I need to train my skin not to mind having my legs shaved every three or four days so I can be half-naked most of the time and stay cool. The downside to the half-nakedness is that 200-pound black men sitting next to me on the bus start making idle chit-chat and then start saying stuff like "I've been lookin' for a woman like you," and "When am I going to see you again," and "You should come to (wherever the flip he said he lived) and visit me." Tres creepy, yo.
Monday, June 20, 2005
I'm not dead
But I bet my statcounter is. I'm blogging from George's computer at home. I'd do it from work but something about cookies won't let me sign onto anything at my work computer, including e-mail, and I don't want to screw around with anything and get in trouble (althought the IT guy seems to like me fine). Yesterday and today are my days off which I usually spend alternately parked in front of the television, sunbathing, and cleaning things furiously. Yesterday was an exception, though. I got to go to the beach and get dive-bombed by pissed-off plovers. Plovers are dicks. George and I were no where near their nests. And last night we all went out to see Batman Begins, which was quite a good movie. Today was a cleaning the whole freakin' bathroom day. And a walk to the post-office day. And a skip lunch and drink a grande caramel frapuccino day. Frankly, I'm pooped.
Work is work, but at least it's interesting. Since I answer the phones I'd say I talk to around a hundred people a day. Most of them are decent. Some of them are trying really hard to kill me with the force of their mind. One guy even warned me that he was about to speak to me in a threatening manner, and told me about his big important job, and that he was very disappointed in the company I work for. As if I give a shit where he works. I'm just the receptionist. I'm still getting paid on Friday whether or not you get a refund for your dead tree.
But still, it's a good job. Everyone who works there is at least tolerable and most of them are downright friendly. One of the best people there, Emily M., just left for another job which sucks because, well, she was really cool, and also because she gets a thousand calls a day and now I have to tell all these progressively angrier customers that she doesn't work there anymore.
So that's my life. That and finding something new wrong with the apartment every other day. It's like an adventure that never ends.
Work is work, but at least it's interesting. Since I answer the phones I'd say I talk to around a hundred people a day. Most of them are decent. Some of them are trying really hard to kill me with the force of their mind. One guy even warned me that he was about to speak to me in a threatening manner, and told me about his big important job, and that he was very disappointed in the company I work for. As if I give a shit where he works. I'm just the receptionist. I'm still getting paid on Friday whether or not you get a refund for your dead tree.
But still, it's a good job. Everyone who works there is at least tolerable and most of them are downright friendly. One of the best people there, Emily M., just left for another job which sucks because, well, she was really cool, and also because she gets a thousand calls a day and now I have to tell all these progressively angrier customers that she doesn't work there anymore.
So that's my life. That and finding something new wrong with the apartment every other day. It's like an adventure that never ends.
