Monday, January 31, 2005

Stop sucking

I still haven't heard from The Boss Man. I think he has ripped my heart out of my chest and left me with indescribable pain. It's just awful. Supposedly, I will hear from him tomorrow or Tuesday. I'm not holding my breath.

Just spoke with Pam, the super bubbly recruiter who continues to be my best friend. Not that I mind...God Bless her for having that much energy all the time. I don't care if it's all an act or even if it's drugs. It makes me feel special. She said she's still trying to get a hold of The Boss Man. I have a feeling that, it being the week before the Stupid Bowl (no, I didn't stutter), that he's pulling his hair out and hoping that he makes it through.

I would like the torture to end soon. Just tell me whether or not I have a new job. Please. Then I can move out of my ridiculous apartment and maybe, just maybe, be a little bit more motivated to get out bed in the morning. I've started setting my alarm for an HOUR before I actually have to get in the shower. It's like I've entered some parallel universe and I've been drugged once it's time to get out of bed and drag myself across the street.

Speaking of my shithole...a new idiot moved into the single downstairs. Unbeknownst to him, we each have designated parking spots in our small driveway. When I came home last night, his shitbox Toyota was in mine. I'll have to knock on his door (maybe with a housewarming gift) and set him straight. It's a good thing that no one pissed me off too much when I got home last night because I was spitting fire. The only thing I could think to do was crawl into my bed and pass out. It seems to have done the trick.

Keep your eyes open for further installments of the Employee Profile series. I have to go drop off the dirty clothes that have been sitting in my backseat for about a month now.

Wednesday, January 26, 2005

Woe is most certainly me

I visited The Boss Man again yesterday. My interview (#3) was scheduled for 8:15. Being the insanely anal person that I am, I planned out my morning like this: set alarm for 6am. Actually sit up in bed at 6:18, actually stand up from bed at 6:20, make bed to 6:23, stumble around room until 6:25, get in shower at 6:30. Then out of shower at cereal...7am...dry hair, make-up, put on clothes...brings us to 7:30 AT WHICH TIME, I started the car. I gave myself 45 minutes to get to where I needed to go. Good ole MapQuest said it was only 20 minutes but with traffic, all this can never be too careful. So, I knew I was close at 7:50 so I stopped for a coffee. This, at the time, seemed to be a large mistake.

I walked into Dunkin Donuts and was met by a moderately sized line. I didn't panic, as I still had plenty of time. I got out of there and back into the car within 7 minutes. I had a little trouble getting through some traffic but finally arrived and then...had no idea where to park. I was pretty close to being in the "city" and, because there is snow EVERYWHERE, I just pulled over on the street because it was exactly 8:15. So I run up to the entrance, go inside and...completely panic.

The office is a complete shithole. There is trash all over the floor. This place hasn't seen a vacuum in what must be a year. There is food from yesterday out on a couple of desks. There are piles of trash and paper everywhere. My instinct tells me to turn around and run. But my father taught me never to judge anything by its appearance. So I stay...and wait.

The Boss Man doesn't actually get there until almost 9, which gave me plenty of time to take it all in. I was trying to formulate what I would say if he asked me what I thought of the office. I'm a terrible liar. All those body language things that people do when they lie...I most certainly do. I have no poker face. I had no idea what would come out of my mouth if he asked me. Don't even get me started on the "conference room" (scary basement with low ceilings) and the "bathroom" (hole in the wall with a trash can that hasn't been emptied in at least two weeks and a toilet that never stops running).

We talk for about 45 minutes before he cannot stand to be away from the action anymore. I sit there for another hour or so and just observe, while he occasionally asks me questions and tries to make me feel important. He has his cell phone to one ear and the office phone to the other. He uses the word "shithole" to describe the office and his section of the place in particular. I've never wanted to clean so badly in my life. Well...there was that apartment that Allie and I stayed in Chicago which was...nauseating. But least he's aware. And I still want this job. I check to see if I have a fever. I must really like this guy.

He tells me he's so sorry he kept me for so long, that he wants to talk more later and can he call me later on tonight? Sure...and he never does.

I continue to be discouraged and wonder if this was all worth it.

And last night I had a nightmare about the office. The trash was chasing me through the streets.

I had to clean the toilet when I woke up. It's just...horrible.

Monday, January 24, 2005

More sound wisdom from The Doll

For some reason, I'm completely unmotivated to do work today. I wonder why.
So, I've decided to put a few gems in here for your enjoyment.

In an email from The Doll to the entire company:

I've run across a couple of job descriptions lately where the word 'that' was used to refer to a 'person.' Please note: never use 'that' to refer to a person. Always use 'who'. Human beings must not be referred to as 'that'.


And here's another one:

Can we make a standard, that from now on, anytime we set a time in an ad we do NOT use ":00", except to make it consistent with other times, like ":30". Examples:3pm - 6pm
3:15pm - 6:00pm, in which we have made the 6:00 consistent with the way the 3:15 looks.

It's a lot cleaner to read without the extra zeros...unless the client insists.


His nuggets of wisdom surely are astounding. And there are both from the same day!


Everything's coming up Stephanie

Oh yes. Despite it all, I'm feeling exceptionally good today. I'm not letting anything get me down. Here are all the things I COULD be upset/stressed out/freaked out about but BOY am I just letting it all roll right off my back. Look out!

1. I have my third and final interview with The Boss Man tomorrow morning...and I'm ready. I think I have a great chance at this. And, as my step mother pointed out (see #2), I should give myself a hearty pat on the back for making it this far.

2. I talked to my step mother for 45 minutes last night on the phone. This is probably the longest conversation we have EVER had. It is kind of sad, but at the same time...wonderful. She listened to my woes and gave me some sound advice. For the first time in my entire life, I finally realized that if I open up, she'll open up and it feels so amazingly good. Oh the sentimental goopiness!

3. Even though we have received over 2 feet of snow here in good ole Beantown, I had some help shoveling out my parking spot and my car is doing just fine. So what if Christian (see "Stereotypes make everything easier") was home all weekend and didn't even bother to move his car for the plow truck or even touch the stairs to the door with a shovel? I made it home OK from the boyfriend's and, even though my back is killing me, at least I can walk. Actually, I slipped on my walk to work this morning but no major damage was done. I think about it now, and it's just really funny. I hope I gave anyone who saw a good chuckle.

4. My clothes fit again! All of my hard work and vegetable eating has really paid off. I'm thrilled about it and it has really boosted my confidence level. So what if I have to deprive myself of all the foods that I love? At least I look good!

5. I have a few....problems on my face BUT they are slowly going away. I hate when I get pimples around my mouth that look like cold sores because then everyone looks at you and are thinking "Where has that girl's mouth been?" And then I hate when I really DO get cold sores because then I really have to admit that I have oral herpes. And don't even get me started on the stuff they make to "cure" these things. Who came up with it? They said "Let's make the some god awful, smelly, shiny, cakey shit to treat these so that they look even WORSE while they are healing. That's the best idea EVER!" It's pretty...gross. But it's ok...because I know that I'm not a dirty whore. That's all that matters.

6. I've noticed that I use the "..." quite a bit in this here blog. I hope it isn't bothering anyone. And if it is...stop reading. I don't like you anyway.

7. I'm dealing with some relationship issues, but who isn't? I know the boyfriend reads this occasionally, so I'm not going to get too into it (maybe it needs a whole OTHER blog that he won't know about) but let's just say that we had a good talk and things are looking up. I'm only mildly alarmed, which is better than majorly alarmed, which is what usually happens because I'm overly emotional and dramatic...sometimes. And let's also just say that this is a great opportunity for me to work out some of my "issues." I know I'm making my therapist proud. So what if he told me that I'm lazy and fat and I need a haircut?**

In closing, it just occurred to me that I wanted this to be way funnier and wittier than it is. I tried to make lemonade and I think it came out a little watery. *heavy sigh*

Maybe later I'll get some better material.

**I'm totally kidding...kind of.

Saturday, January 22, 2005

All backed up

So I'm at the boyfriend's in one of the worst snow storms ever...and he's not here. I'm slightly worried but also know that he's very resourceful and intelligent and has 4 wheel drive. I'm a worrier, I know.

I'm also worried about seeing the Boss Man again. I've been here for about 2 hours now, trying to figure out how the hell I'm going to impress him. I've typed out some notes in an attempt to look like I have my shit together. I mean, I do have my shit together but I'm not sure if it's the shit he's looking for.

I have to take advantage of this computer time since when the boyfriend comes home, he'll play his "game" which I just won't get into now. It's all about me, after all.

Anyway...I've made a spread sheet and a word doc with all sorts of fancy language and bullets. I feel like I have yet to have the epiphany I need to have in order to make this whole thing look like I've really put in some effort. I've never done so much for a job that I don't even have yet. I think it's actually a good sign. If this doesn't work out, something else will come along. Right? RIGHT??

I'm keeping busy, trying not to get cabin fever. My big adventure for the day was going to Dunkin Donuts. That was before it started snowing...4 hours ago.

I hope he brings food back with him. There's nothing to eat in this bachelor lair.

I'm really hoping for some inspiration...and soon. I'm about to give up and watch Lifetime.


Friday, January 21, 2005

My bad habits

For your enjoyment...

First of all, I'm a cuticle biter not to be confused with a nail biter. I basically pick and tear and chew at my cuticles either until I'm bleeding or the pain is too much to handle. It's more a nervous habit, something I do without even realizing I'm doing it. Because of this, I have to have a pair of nail clippers with me at all times, in case I need to take care of an emergency situation. This is only part of my girl scout arsenal. I'll make a great mom, needless to say.

My sister has this same habit. If we catch each other doing it, we slap, yell and just try and discourage the activity in general. Because, like I said, it can be unconscious at times. My boyfriend, we'll call him "Jared," also finds this habit fairly annoying (as he does most of my bad habits...and ditto) likes to point out that my thumbs have become unrecognizable. Because I have no cuticles on my thumbs (they get the brunt of the abuse) they have ridges in the nails and are terribly thin and just gross in general. I know he means well but I still find it a little...hurtful. He will also slap, yell and tease me in an attempt to get me to stop. Thanks dear.

You'd think will all of this negative reinforcement, I would cease and desist. But I can't help it. If no one is there to stop me and I don't even know I'm doing it, bad things happen. My hands, as a result, usually look like they were just put through a meat grinder. Once every couple of months, I will thoroughly moisturize in an attempt to undo some of the damage that I have done. It's usually a very futile effort. They look semi-OK for a few days and then go to shit again. It's...tedious.

Moving on...I'm terribly gassy. This most often translates into belching. This isn't your run of the mill, girly little burp. This is an all out, feel the bass on the rip of this belch. While some find it amusing in certain settings, others are less than thrilled that I can belch like a 400 pound man. Jared is one of these people. In an attempt to appease him, I try to keep it under wraps when we hang out. HOWEVER....if certain foods and beverages are involved, they are sometimes uncontrollable. And I'm not just giving that as an excuse. Even a closed, covered mouth version of these belches can shake the ground beneath you. Lately, I've been hiccuping and burping at the same time, which usually results in a loud, scary, high pitched yelp. It's mildly alarming. I made an old lady in CVS jump the other day.

Don't I sound like a complete train wreck yet?

In other news, I hate my job.

Wednesday, January 19, 2005

And now...the freak out

So my second and final interview with The Boss Man has been scheduled for Tuesday. That gives me a whole five days to stress, obsess and just be a big ole freak. My friends and loved ones are thrilled.

These are the reasons I'm freaking out:

1. If I get this job, it will change my life. I know that sounds dramatic, but listen to this: It's $15k more a year than I'm making now. That's alot of money to this poor, lowly, basically still entry level girl. I know money isn't everything but a job that I really like and enjoy PLUS more money might be damn near close.

2. Getting this job would mean freedom from my current hell hole of an apartment as well as freedom from ever having another roommate ever again (Well, at least until I get married or start living with my boyfriend or...TANGENT)

3. I am up against one other person for this job. They have 5 more years experience (even though they want twice as much money).

4. This job would allow me to buy several things that I desperately need tires, a new computer and the iPod that I have always wanted. The last one I may NOT desperately need but when I think about it, the need exponentially increases. And plus, the bitch at the gym that I HATE has one and wears it on her stupid little arm band, strutting around and god dammit! I know I could look that cute too if I had one!

5. The Boss Man took his entire staff to game four of the World Series last year. Woah.

Some people I talk to think I have it in the bag. As my boyfriend pointed out: "Hun, you're a shoe in! You're half the price...and he's Jewish!" And of course my sister is on my side, as usual...and all my friends. But then when I want an honest opinion, I talk to people I know who are "in the business" and they bring me back to reality. The Boss Man might think the extra cash is worth the extra experience. SO I have to sell up the things that I have done and make myself look amazingly brilliant and wonderful.

Any ideas?

Boss Man, if you're out there...MOLD will NOT regret it.

Just give me a minute...

Alright. I needed a couple of minutes to...relax. I'm getting all worked up at how incompetent the majority of people I deal with continue to be. I'm not so close to going home and getting the hairspray and the blowtorch but I was approaching that point so...despite the fact that I have a million things to do, I thought it would be wise to just...breathe and type and vent.

First of all, I'm tired of feeling like a babysitter. It may be my job to do certain things for my client. That is what I am here for. But to do these things two or more times is NOT my job. It's not my fault you "lost" that email or you "accidently threw out" those notes I sent you on that ad. You're a big girl/boy and, since you most likely get paid a sh*tload more than I do, you should be much more organized and therefore not let important documents that you need just disappear into thin air. Check your old emails. The information is there. Do not ask me to send it to you again...for the third time.

Secondly...if I call and ask you for information, do not just pull something our of your ass in order to make yourself look good. If you don't know the answer, have someone call me who does. I don't have time to stroke your ego or make you feel better about yourself. Just answer my f*cking questions...correctly...the first time.

And lastly...since the Doll does not have anything better to do than to send the entire company emails asking who created a folder in the company directory, he should just go home. Stop snooping around in things that do not matter and just go. You are completely useless anyway.

Alright...I feel better. And that's really all that matters.

Tuesday, January 18, 2005

Have we met?: I meet The Boss Man

So I had my second interview for this (new) job yesterday. It went well and the big boss of the company that I hope to work for wants to see me back again. So...yay. I'm not getting my hopes up because doing that tends to lead to the almost always inevitable...disappointment.

While trying to picture what the owner of a very successful small business might look like, I know I went with stereotypes. Can you blame me? While the recruiter (Pam..LUV her even though I know she's just kissing my ass to make her commission) was describing his personality, I let my imagination run wild. I pictured this work horse entrepeneur to always be wearing a dress shirt and slacks, with his tie halfway loosened and shirt sleeves rolled up. Definitely a fancy watch and very shiny shoes. I thought he'd be a little on the tubby side (what with the working long hours and fast food meals), never married (what with the working long hours and fast food meals) and very...tall. And balding...because of the stress.

Needless to say, I was WAY off. And I didn't even get ONE thing right.

When I walked into meet The Boss Man, he didn't stand up but did extend his hand. Even while sitting, I knew he was short. He was wearing a sweater and jeans, looking stylish but in now way tubby. Not balding but instead a full head of very healthy hair. He did, however, look fairly haggard, as if he hadn't slept in days. Come to find out...he hasn't. He IS married and even has a little baby at home. And when he finally did stand up...I towered over him. I'm a tall girl, I know but I mean the friggin Jolly Green Giant. He's no taller than 5'3" and I am not exaggerating. He's also...Jewish.

(Here is where I COULD write a tangent about how I picture his wife to look but I...won't. It's hard but I'll get through it.)

Now, before you get all "So what? So what if he's Jewish?" just calm down. My first real (yes, I said it...I'm being punished, don't worry) boyfriend is SUPER Jew Jewish. Like..."I am fluent in Hebrew and my mother grew up in a little hut in Israel" Jewish. So...I know my Jews...inside and OUT.

See how distracted I am? Focus!!

So anyway...

I feel like I knew him already, like I'd met him at some sort of art opening that my parents dragged me to and we hit it off. Not in a "let's go to my place and TALK" hit if off but like a "I probably wouldn't want to kill you as MUCH as I would other people I have to see all day, every day" kind of hit it off. It was nice...and eerily familiar. I think he got the same vibe, which is why it's now me and ONE OTHER PERSON up for this job.

So, I'm trying to figure out who they are so I can call them and pretend to be the president of a competing company with a counter offer they can't refuse. I need them out of the picture...and fast.

For whatever reason, as open minded as I think I am, he was no where near what I was expecting...and I'm very glad for it. I thought he'd be some a-hole, still living in the 1950's who just needs a glorified secretary. OH WAIT...that's my CURRENT boss. Ugh. No no...The Boss Man is very funny, scattered (I can organize anything!!) and has a personality larger than life. He seems like an honest, hard working guy who takes care of his employees. I really want this job. Really really really want it.

Friday, January 14, 2005

Little Voice

This is the second installation of employee profiles. This one is about FRANK. Technically, he's "a step above me" in the latter of hierarchy but I personally consider him my equal and some days (alright, most days) I'm superior.

Frank has no nickname because it's almost as if he doesn't need one. The tone of the voice that I use to say his name is enough to distinguish him from any other name I say. There is no one word to describe him except...LOUD.

For his New Year's Resolution (see "Portrait of THE DOLL"), Frank has said he will try to use his "little voice" more often. For those of you who don't work with short, spikey-haired, loud Italian men, their voices carry...all the way throughout the office. He doesn't know how to whisper. I've actually had him try.

I think the volume of his voice is supposed to be making up for a deflated ego, small weeney (ew!), mother issues or problems at home. On the other hand, his short stature is probably to blame. For a man, he could technically be considered a dwarf. A loud, red-faced dwarf.

Frank also has a little bit of a temper. "Short fuse" is an understatement. About once every few weeks, he will throw papers or call someone a c*cksucker or completely lose his cool and then lock himself in his office for an hour. Then The Doll will go in and they will have a heart-to-heart and then Frank apologizes at the next company meeting...for losing his temper. It's an endless cycle. And by the way he swears, you would think he was a sailor or some sort of pirate in his past life. I have never heard anyone say the F-word more times in 5 minutes.

Moving on. Frank is a text book sexual harasser. He used to come up behind me and start massaging my shoulders while I was sitting at my desk. He made that mistake only once after which I enfored the "No touching in my personal space" rule. ewwwwwww. I catch him looking at my boobs quite a bit. In his defense, they are large and at eye level. I would almost never try to get him in trouble for his sexual harassment unless it made me really uncomfortable. It just makes me squirm, like a small animal has just crawled up my ass.

I've never met anyone more dramatic. If he is missing an email, a voice mail, a piece of paper, the whole office knows about it in a matter or seconds. Everything is the biggest deal ever. Nothing is minor and nothing is a non-emergency. I feel like I'm constantly on terror alert. Not only that, but he's an "interrupter." Any conversation with Frank is Frank talking and me attempting to talk. If I get an entire sentence out all at once, it's a good day.

I have pondered how Frank would react in an ACTUAL emergency. Would he go stone-faced? Would his head explode? Would his eyes pop out of their sockets? Whatever it is, I want to be present when it happens.

Added to all of the above, he is completely two-faced. Not only will he throw you under the bus, he'll do it in a company meeting and without even being prompted. He'll go on and on about how much he can't stand the Doll but then brown nose for hours. Part of me feels bad because he will never work anywhere else. But part of me just wants to kick him in the face and tell him to calm the f*ck down.

He makes me nervous. And I'm nervous enough already.

Stereotypes make everything easier

I grew up in a very small town where the houses were about 5 miles apart...and that was close together. It wasn't a farm in the midwest or anything, just one of the small, wooded towns that are mostly protected by the Audobon Society or some other tree hugging association. My parents are "tree huggers" so it's ok for me to joke about that sort of thing...right?

Because I grew up in a wooded bubble, all of the children in my school were white, upper middle class and still had both mom and dad living under the same roof. There were no black kids, hispanic kids or even jewish kids (ok, maybe one or two). Growing up like this, I developed a keen sense for giving everyone the benefit of the doubt and in no way believing in stereotypes, if only because I never witnessed anything to enforce them.

This is all leading up to something, I swear.

I live with two guys, Dennis and Christian. Christian's name is actually spelled with many more K's and Y's because he is EUROPEAN. Now, I have never really been exposed to someone from eastern Europe for anyy extended periods of time (see above) but I was very surprised by how well Christian was settling into his very own stereotype. It's too bad, really. He is stereotype enforcement at its finest. Let me explain.

I don't know where the stereotype of lazy, techno-listening, fast-food eating, couch surfing, slacking, welching off the American tax dollar eastern european came from but I know I heard it somewhere. Maybe it began when Christian was born. Forgive me if I sound like a bigot, or culturally unaware. You can, like I do, blame this all "The Christian Factor." Let me explain.

Christian is in this country because he goes to a fairly expensive private business college. Now, keep in mind that all foreign students have to pay their tuition up front. I know this because a friend of the family happens to work at said private business the finance department. His father is a ship captain. Who knew ship captains make so much money.

He has no job. He goes to school part-time. When he is not in class, his is on the sofa in my living room, completely horizontal. When school is not in session, things get even worse. He spends more time in the living room, on the couch, watching daytime TV and movie channels (Dennis works for a cable company) than he does doing anything else. We're not talking, 60/40 here. Were talking 99/1. He is, in a word...disgusting.

He fries prepared food that has already been fried in hot oil. In short, he eats double-fried food. He goes 4 months without doing laundry while wearing the same exact T-shirt and shorts combination to lie on the couch. You may think I'm exaggerating. I am NOT. He eats pasta out of the pot it was cooked in. He lets the trash overflow. He chain smokes Marlboro Reds. He covers up the smell of his body odor with trashy cologne. He does NOTHING unless I force him to. His record for days indoors without leaving the house is seven. No, I did not stutter.

Not only is he lazy and fat, but he's also stupid and irresponsible. He drinks and drives on a regular basis. I'm not talking "I was a little tipsy and shouldn't have driven but I did anyway." I'm talking "They had to throw me out of the bar because I was vomitting on patrons and now I'm doing to get into the Audi that daddy bought me and go 80 MPH on Storrow Drive" kind of drunk. I was hoping this would catch up with him and result in some sort of accident that would not injure him too seriously (and certainly not anyone else) but that he would get caught and learn his lesson. He is 26 years old, after all. It's time to not be in college anymore.

Well, one night, he did get into an accident. No one was seriously hurt but he managed to TOTAL his Audi. He was very drunk. Then the police showed up. Now, I have a base amount of faith in law enforcement. Actually, let me correct myself. I HAD a base amount of faith in law enforcement.

The police NOT ONLY let him go, but called him a tow truck and waited until Dennis could pick Christian up and take him 4am...on a Wednesday.

I could go on...there will be many other Christian stories to follow. Hang tight...and send me more patience.


Thursday, January 13, 2005

Portrait of THE DOLL

My first employee summary is, appropriately, the President of this *wonderful* company. I have coined him "The Doll" mostly due to his first name which I do not want to reveal here. I think those of you who are "quick" will figure out his first name based on the nickname that I have given him. It's function is so that I can make fun of him in the open as well as behind his back (which I would do anyway).

The Doll, our fearless leader, is a bumbling idiot who is stuck somewhere in the years between 1972 and 1988 and still runs his failing business the way he did "back when business was booming." He has no grasp on what things actually cost in this year, 2005 ("$50 for a bouquet of flowers??"), nor does he have any realistic concept of how to successfully run the business that he owns. He is a micromanager to the max and most certainly favors the men in the office, which are the majority of this paltry business. He picks apart nearly everything the three women in the office do and say while the men in the office are, most always, without fault.

Here is an excerpt from a conversation I once had to suffer through with The Doll:
ME: [mustering up a half smile] You wanted to see me?
Doll: Yes...I noticed here in one of your emails to the client that you spelled the word "their" incorrectly. Were you aware of this?
ME: [Do you have a point?] Is it spelled incorrectly in the ad?
Doll: Well, no but that's not the issue. Are you spell checking all of your emails before you send them?
ME: [Then what IS the issue?] Yes.
Doll: Well, obviously you are not if this error occured.
ME: [If you knew the answer, why did you ask me, you worthless piece of crap?]Ok.

This went on for about 5 more minutes, with him talking in circles so that he just kept repeating himself over and over, again and again; and me just sitting there, trying to find my peaceful place.

Now, I'm sure you're all asking how he has come to run a business at all if he really is, in fact, a complete and utter *clueless* moron. Well, it's a mystery to me and my coworkers as well. The business is barely pulling any sort of profit after all is said and done and, before my time here, was almost sold not once...but twice. Job security is not high on the list of reasons why I remain at this job...obviously. Then again, I don't have any other reasons except that I can throw a rock at this place from my apartment. If I could throw that rock and hit The Doll in the head well...that would be a reason as well.

Let me give you a sampling of some of the emails that I have saved over my 16 months here:

This year, for the first time, I want everyone to think about and then announce to the rest of the members of the Agency, a single New Year's Resolution: what you will strive to do better in your work role in 2005.

Give that some thought, and send it to me in an email, your personal Resolution, and we'll put them together in one document.

On Tuesday, January 4 at the Production Meeting we will announce them all (mine included).

ONE New Year's Resolution about what you will strive to do better in your work role in 2005.

Happy New Year,

The meeting that followed this charade was mind numbing and pointless. It is barely half way through the month and no one has made any sort of step towards actually following through with this, not even The Doll himself. Good Job, Doll.

Here's another:

Well, a couple of us are running around here with colds (me, Michael, Tom). So one of the best ways to keep healthy is to keep washing your hands.

I thanked him for that one. He really saved my life there.

I could go on and on and on. I have hundreds of these. I get at least one a day. None of us are too sure EXACTLY what he does in his office all day. It's most likey high level thinking of some sort...and sending pointless emails to the entire office.

When I started working here, I thought this place was a front for the Russian Mob. I'm serious. Either that or, at any moment, a short, burly man with a camera was going to jump out from behind one of the dying plants and yell "JUST KIDDING!!!"

Wednesday, January 12, 2005

you're not really religious, are you?

Oh boy oh boy oh boy. That's all I have to say about my jaunt to the gym last night.

What you first have to understand is that my gym, like many others I'm sure, is really just a decrepid night club. The outfits are the same, everyone is sweating, there is no air circulation, men are oggling women, women are oggling each other. It's super sick. Unfortunately, I signed my life away last October so I'm stuck paying for this play for another ten months. I can't very well pay for something and not use it SO I am forced to go.

Getting motivated to go the gym is challenging to begin with, especially during winter in New England. So on top of being motivated to work out I also have to be motivated to attend a gym club where, instead of body shots and martinis, there are protein shakes and tanning beds. Some days, it's more than I can today.

While on the stationary bike, head phones on, listening to Madonna's Greatest Hits Volume 2, I hear a loud noise interfere with my "Cherish" and "Why does he do that in bed?" Glamour article. It sounds almost like a speaker blaring Vanilla Ice after he went "hard core" but I soon realize it's actually a guy yelling...directly over my shoulder. I turn around, intending to give him a very dirty "you are interupting my mo" look. But when I do turn around, I see the source of the noise: a short, stalky "Do you know where the gun show is" excuse for a man. He's wearing a LARGE diamond incrusted cross hanging from a silver chain. His chest was puffed out with pride and I could hear him going on and on about how he's too "big" for the stationary bikes and needs to "wail on his pecks." I'm not fooling around here...he actually said that.

He eventually goes away but I later have the unfortunate luck to run into him at the local organic food joint where he's buying Myoplex and hitting on the poor women behind the counter. Not only that, but it's 28 degrees outside and he's wearing a wife beater (a black one), his monstrosity of a necklace and these strange tapered pants with...high tops...and that's it. It's just god awful.

I can't even think about it anymore. I'm getting lightheaded.

Tuesday, January 11, 2005

Maybe she won't notice I have a wedgie

I had a job interview today. I had to leave work early because I had an "appointment." Good thing most of the people I work with are stupid/naive enough to believe me and not suspect a job interview. I think they would even buy a dentist 6 o'clock at night.

Anyway. I had to walk across the street, wolf down a turkey sandwich, put a suit on (ok, it's not really a "suit" per say but it serves its purpose), pack up my gym clothes and peel out of here. I was nervous about finding the place downtown. Not only that, but my car is so dirty from recent storms, sanding, nastiness, etc., that I can't really see out any window except the windshield. Oops. Again, I digress.

This interview was at a recruiting agency downtown. The financial district is such a nightmare. And for all of you that may be familiar with the "Big Dig" will know exactly what I'm talking about. So, being an neurotic as I am, I briefly got lost, parked about 2 blocks away and was STILL a half hour early. What is wrong with me.

So I sit down with this chick. She's pretty cool, in her mid 30's if I had to guess. She was wearing an absolutely terrible sweater but I forgave her for it because after all was said and done, she told me she wanted to see me for a second interview so I can meet this mysterious guy that I may eventually work for. The position sounds cool with alot of perks and way more money than I'm making now. But I listen and think that it may mean I'm this guy's sidekick (read: his b*tch). Hmmm. We'll see.

My "Job"

I work for a very small recruitment advertising company. I won't bother wasting your time or mine explaining exactly what I do because it's completely inane and 100% BS. I'm a paperpusher, a desk jockey. I take calls, make calls, use a fake phone voice and grind my teeth behind a completely false smile. I am surrounded by people who are unmotivated, uneducated and unskilled in any sort of productive communication. There are about 10 of us, give or take a hiring/firing/walking out/quitting. I'll have posts about each at later dates.

I know I'm not alone in this. I know there are so many other sufferers out there. That doesn't ease any of the pain. Hence, this self-depreciating blog.

I live across the street. Yes, RIGHT across the street. I live and work in a neighborhood I would best describe as "brown." It's bearable in the spring and summer months only due to the fact that the sun actually comes out, but fall and winter find it with an almost constant air of depression. It's a sad, sad place. It needs therapy.

For those of you scratching your head and making comments like "I wish I could walk to work" and "How bad can it be?" I will trade your two hour commute for $10K more a year any day of the week. Let's talk.

Welcome to my Nightmare

So I started this because my job is making me want to poke my eyes out on a regular basis and there needs to be some sort of outlet for it and other things that drive me insane OR I might end up walking over here one day with hairspray and a blowtorch.

I think that these, for the most part, tend to be a little too self indulgent and lame so if you notice this particular blog becoming said large pile of steaming crap, please tell me. Set me straight. I can take it. Really. I'm not overly sensitive. I swear.

It's really hard being me. And please note that this statement is meant in a serious but at the same time most sarcastic way. I'm not stuck in a wheelchair, I don't live in a cardboard box and I'm not an orphan. My life is, actually, charmed for the most part. But everyone needs something to complain about and this is how I came to starting this blog. Because, let's face it, my misery will be downright hilarious to the rest of you.

So, sit back and enjoy. I'll try to post everyday or at least until I get sick of doing it or find something better to do with my time.