My Twenty-Something Quasi-Soap

Die, you scumbag, die. Die.Die.Die.Die.Die.Die.Die.Die.Die. I hate you and you will get your comeuppance one day. Yes, your uppance will come. You try digging through all these dusty old file and try to find pointless information and then be told that you didn't record enough stuff down and you have to go back through the files. Now. And by the way, you have to finish the f-ing write ups too. Now. I soooo should just leave effective this Thursday, but I need the money. I hope you get what you deserve, you moronic excuse for a VP. Grrrrrrr. Now I feel a little bit better.

If I wasn't already leaving this stupid job, I would quit. Today. I hate my boss and I want to punch him in the face and throw a knee to his balls. But he doesn't have any. He's a spineless bastard and I hate him and I can't wait until I leave here and I hope we don't find someone else to take over the position so he'll end up curled up under his desk in the fetal position crying because he doesn't know what to do with himself and his head's about to explode and that's what he deserves because karma's a fucking bitch. Making me try to write these stupid write ups about sites that I know nothing about, then flipping the script and telling me to fill out a different form after I've been spending all this time on these f-ing write ups (in between reading the news and other stuff) just pisses me off because I have wasted my time on stupid crap. ::deep breath:: I feel better now. I just needed to vent.

It's a little too warm in my room. It's also almost too quiet, but I don't want to turn on the AC because it would be too loud. I came home to a house with almost all the f-ing lights on, and I was mad. Then I realized that there's no point in lecturing...I'm leaving here in a few days. So now I'm just waiting for my brain to slow down and be quiet...which it never will be, but I need it to be. My stomach was all messed up last week. It was fine this weekend, now it's all messed up again. I think I know why. I don't want to admit it, but I know why. But I could be wrong. My half empty room is still a disaster and it has to be cleared out by Thursday night. But when I got home every night last week...I was too exhausted to do anything. My brain won't slow down and my stomach won't settle...and it's too damn quiet in here. I'll just take a deep breath and try to find something to calm me down.

Ok, time for the reveal of the big mystery from the last blog: I'm moving to Florida. Yes. Florida. It's a long story. Something that I was going to explain now. But my stomach is messed up and I am tired and slightly cranky, and typing in a position that will give me carpal tunnel. But I had to break the news. More when I have time...too busy packing and all that jazz. Peace out.

Earlier this year I said that 2007 was gonna be a big year. Later I said that it was going to be big, but I didn't realize how big it was going to get. Now it's freakishly huge. But I can't announce it to the Blogosphere yet. There's people who I still have to call and stuff because I know they'd be pissed if they heard it from my blog as opposed to hearing it from me directly. Yes, I know that you want to hear the good news, and you're always waiting with baited breath for a new post from me and that you'll just die if you don't find out what's going on. ("I'll just die if I don't get this recipe." Saw the original Stepford Wives movie last night. It was a lot lamer than I expected it to be. Why do movies from the 70's suck until the very end?) Ok, so I'm totally overestimating your interest in my random bitchings and what not. But I can't say anything yet. I want to, but I can't yet. Ooooooohhhh, I'm so excited...

The beginning of the end has arrived here at my job. My boss (and everyone else here) finally got what they wanted, and they went and fired our director of construction. This morning. As opposed to Friday. Bastards. He's a good guy, the now former director of construction. He knows how to get stores built, how to deal with the people that were actually doing the construction, and when to bust some balls and get the job done. He's a realist - a pragmatist. He has a great sense of humor. But mostly, he's the right guy for the job. Unfortunately, every decision he's ever made has been scrutinized and challenged and criticized by people who don't have a fucking clue about the work that he does. He is not a "yes man," bowing and scraping to the powers that be. If something ain't gonna work, he'll tell you in no uncertain terms that it ain't gonna work. And because my boss is a spineless sniveling ignorant piece of crap who looks dumber and dumber ev...

I feel like Bloo in any given episode of Foster's Home . Every possible thing that I could be doing right now is too boring to do. I'm essentially putzing about the internet and incessantly looking at the clock. 2 more hours...that's it. Just two more flippin hours... I am ready to go out and do some shopping (yeah friends and family hook up coupons!) and maybe get my nails done and play some more Guitar Hero and just be free from this place for 3 days. Tomorrow is going to be a most awesome day. It's going to be me, my sister (finally done with her exams and done with college!), Guitar Hero, the Wii...and a bottomless pitcher of margaritas. I. Can't. Wait. I've been looking forward to General Drunken Silliness day for about 2 months now. The job hunt continues and is still very difficult. And discouraging. But I'm keeping at it...it will have to get better. Soon.

Not even the fact that Thursday means "Loaf on the couch and watch awesomest shows ever" can lift my spirits enough to get out of the fact that I still have one more day of work to go. Bugger it all, is what I say. So I managed to hold myself together at Shoestring until the very end when the last show was over. I lost it for a little bit, but came through ok. I miss all of them already, and it hasn't even been a week yet! Today is a quiet and boring day. "El jefe" is out of the office, hence the quiet. My job is boring, hence the boring. So I'm killing time here before going back to the NY Times and surfing about. Dammit, it really feels like today should be Friday! Even after full well knowing that last night was karaoke night, I still feel that I'm not going to work tomorrow because it will be Saturday. Hmmm...anything soap-opera-y going on right now....(thinking)... Oh! The Real World: Bayshore Edition Season 2 is nearing its end and I won't be r...

Mad props and respect to Sondheim for today's title. It popped into my head today whilst I was viewing pictures from the Kentucky Derby. All hat pictures. Is one required to wear a hat at the Derby? I only pose this question so that in the event I actually achieve my post-grad goal of winning the lottery and living as a dilettante for the rest of my days, I'll be properly attired for an outing at Churchill Downs. Despite all of the nasty (understatement) history that's associated with the South, nothing would thrill me more than wearing a silly hat and drinking a mint julep at the Derby. Because I can. Or will. Eventually. Hopefully. My current goal is to send out at least one resume a day until I have a new job. While my current job is nowhere close to the atrocities suffered at MoMis or The Evil Place (see summers of 2005 and 2004 respectively as I have neither the time nor the patience to provide proper linkage), it is verging on an appropriate nickname. "The Office...

That's where I'm at today with work and this job. I'm over it. Can you believe that they're playing "Pin the Tail on the Donkey" in the break room right now? It's part of the Cinco de Mayo "fiesta" they're having. Maybe I'll go grab a virgin margarita, take it out back and spike it. That will make getting through today easier. Why are weekends so short? We're 1/3 done with the run of Shoestring and I haven't cried yet. I'll probably lose it at the cast party. Man, I hate it when they do events at work with free food. People always encourage you to eat. I never want to. Cheesy office events drvive me nuts. They feel so forced. We had a Superbowl "party" and a March Madness "shootout." I quote these simply to highlight the ultimate cheese factor and fakenosity of it all. It's Friday. I'll make up words if I want to, dammit. Oh well, the new job search continues. I think I'll take lunch early. ROTF...

I...am exhausted. Did the preview of the Shoestring show today, mostly while breathing through one nostril and suppressing my coughs as best I could. I've been struck down with a nasty case of allergic rhinitis, which feels like a sinus infection but it's not. I went home early from work on Thursday and called out on Friday. I have a doctor's note that will allow me to stay home on Monday, if need be. But I'm feeling a lot better than I did two days ago, so I'll probably be back on Monday. Good glory, this is totally boring and mundane. The Passion of the Wii continues here at the Bungalow. I had lots of free time yesterday, and I spent most of it playing Super Paper Mario. It is a wicked awesome game. It's a perfect blend of the side scrolling classic and interesting RPG. I heart this game. I will admit that I cheat sometimes and find a walk-through online to help me when I'm stuck, but I only do that so I don't get so frustrated with the game that I wa...

...seems like the Supreme Court took advantage of the Va. Tech tragedy to make their official decision on "partial-birth abortions." (I use quotation because there is no such medical term as a partial-birth abortion. It was penned by the anti-abortionists.) The procedure has been officially banned, and there is no allowance for an instance where the procedure would be medically necessary. I am pissed. Honestly, people need to realize that the government should not be dictating what I can choose to do to my body. The decisions I make should be my own, and between me and my doctor (and my family, when applicable). Some right-wing, red state, Confederate-flying redneck from West Bumblefuck does not get to tell me whether or not I can have an abortion. They can disagree with it. By all means, call me whatever you want, but you don't get to make the decision, and you shouldn't influence the people who make the the laws that control that decision. For a while I had been jok...

When they say that history repeats itself, they weren't kidding. My mom called me yesterday morning from her walk-in closet. She was going through a bunch of stuff and found an old fanny pack with ticket stubs and a receipt for funnel cakes from Great Adventure back in 1998. That made her realize that we've been living back in NJ for almost ten years now. We're on the phone reminiscing about old times, not so long ago, while Virginia Tech was in a state of chaos not unlike the happenings of eight years ago in Columbine. At that same time, the Raritan River was wreaking havoc on a town no more than ten minutes away from my parents' house and another city no more than ten minutes from my job, in a disaster similar to the flooding of '99, eight years ago, after Hurricane Floyd. While the these disconnected things happened at different times, in different years, it just feels strange to me how two years of my life (1998-1999) were ones of personal upheaval while things ...

...pissed off. Frustrated. Irritated. Hating my job. Congested. Tired. Not wanting to be here. The bright side is that today is Wednesday. And I have already decided what I want for lunch. Two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches from P.B. Loco, aka the best peanut butter and jelly cafe concept that I have ever seen . I'm getting two sandwiches because I have a buy one get one free coupon. But work, yeah, it sucks today. A lot. Without going into tons of detail - I'm essentially fighting with a person at a different company because they owe us money but they have all these stipulations attached with giving it to us. Which has had me e-mailing and calling our contractor back and forth for over a month now, trying to get all of this straightened out, while the CFO keeps breathing down my back about it and my boss uses a tone with me that I don't like. Like he knows that I'm not incompetent, but he has no other choice but to speak to me like I am because he feels that's ...

... I want to say wanton. In the sense of the word meaning, in my particular emotional context, spoiled, carefree, lack of regard for authority. The now archaic or defunct definition of the word, as opposed to its current definition, lewd, lascivious, unchaste. The idea that the current definition does not apply to me, however, can be challenged. I digress. :) I guess the word comes to mind in its Shakespearean context, in reference to Juliet's behavior throughout the play. That whole "damn the world" attitude. Petulant. That's a better word. Sitting here working and looking like I care on the outside while inside there's a right wretched Veruca Salt-esque person who is throwing the ultimate shit fit because she is not happy. My inner Veruca does not want to be here at all. But I manage to function anyway. The inner Veruca, while bitching and kicking up a storm right now, knows that she will eventually get her way. In four or five days, it will be ok again. Monda...

Who am I kidding? It's Friday! Haaaayyy! So here I sit after an early lunch, with soy sauce splattered on my beloved (yet bootleg from Target) Rutgers hoodie. I might have to ban myself from eating sushi at my desk. I dropped a Philly roll into a practically full mini-cup of soy sauce, and it went "sploosh!" On my hoodie, my jeans, my monitor, my keyboard... ...and my face. Yeah...I'm a genius. In other news... I recently acquired a Nintendo Wii. That's right, bitches. I am automatically cooler than you. (Unless you also have a Wii.) I was prepared to shell out my $250 for the system (my preciously hoarded $100 from X-mas came in handy here). I was prepared to wake up at the crack of dawn on a Sunday morning and wait in the freezing cold for it. I was prepared for the afternoon spent looking for a Virtual Console controller. I was prepared to buy the extra controller and nunchuk. I was prepared for the sore muscles after a hardcore Wii Sports session. I was not pr...

Mother Nature, you are such an evil tease. Last week, the temperature got up to a blissfully needed 80 degrees. Two days later we had a wretched ice storm that sent me home early from work and kept my sister at Newark Airport for an entire day. She actually managed to get on a plane, but the de-icing process was taking so long that the airport shut down before they could hit the runway. Today the temp is hovering just around 60, and remnant of last week's storm are still around to remind us that it may technically be spring, but we're not out of the woods yet. Not until May. But the next week looks rather springy, temps in the 50's. Even though we had a relatively mild winter, February was a bitch and I'm sooo over winter. I'm ready to go ahead and start battling the pollen of spring. It makes it easier to space out on stuff because I have my allergy meds to blame and I'll just look generally miserable for about two months. But spring in NYC isn't all that b...

Immediately. Right now, I want to be somewhere under an umbrella in a lounge chair with big ass sunglasses on, a good book to read, chill music on my iPod, and someone is regularly bringing me fruity cocktails with the umbrellas in them. And I do mean regularly. No bitching roommates, no bitching co-workers/bosses, no fluorescent lighting (i keep thinking I have grey hair), no dirty dishes, no threat of catching a stomach virus, no ice, snow, or sleet, no sweaters, no well loved Princess Leia boots with a big ass hole on the top of the foot, no headaches, no dry air (and consequently dry skin), no Shoestring, no driving...none of it. And I can watch American Idol whenever I want, because if it hadn't been for me we wouldn't have a DVR in the first place, dammit. I am so over (almost) everything right now, I really am. I spend Monday-Thursday wishing it would hurry up and be Friday already. Then as soon as I get out of work on Friday, I'm running all over the place having a ...

...or it's about to, because I am about to make a statement that is rather uncharacteristic of me. Especially if you've been reading this blog over the years and know my disposition towards celebrities. Here goes... I sympathize with Britney Spears. I truly do. To be in enough distress to take clippers to your head and go the Sinead O'Connor route means you're serious. Yes, I know that even I am guilty of ripping on Britney. But humor me for a moment and try to take a walk in her shoes. For over ten years, she's been packaged and managed within an inch of her life. She's had a whole army of parents and agents and managers and label reps and trainers and stylists and PR people telling her where to go, what to do, and who to be. Practically every waking moment has been tracked by the paparazzi, and everything gets printed in the tabloids the next day. She couldn't hang out at the mall with her friends. She couldn't go to football games on Friday nights. Sh...

...reports that Barbaro, the horse that was seriously injured in the Preakness last year, was put down this morning after complications following another surgery. As eulogies abound across the Internet, I shall go against the grain (at the risk of sounding extremely cruel): It was a flippin' horse. Get over it. It should have been put out of its misery months ago. People had raised 1.2 million dollars for that freaking horse to help pay for all of the operations and equipment that it would need. We have sports writers eulogizing a freaking horse while we're losing American soldiers, human beings, every day in Iraq. But then again, in a country where dogs were saved before humans in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, I'm sadly not surprised. Trust me. I don't hate animals. I sometimes talk to my cat as if it were human. But I know it's just a cat. But honestly, people. Let's move on quickly from this. Barbaro was a horse . It was in pain. Let it go, and don'...