I'm Worried About Me

We got a new intern, and he's rather scrumptious. I just found out that he's legal in all senses of the word (21). Please make sure I'm not left alone with him. I could really embarrass myself.

I've already caught myself doing a lot of extra, can't-help-it smiling.


You're Driving Me Nuts!

I'm convinced I should just start a web page of things that annoy the crap out of me. I envision this page could go on for years. Perhaps I could get others to join in. There could even be feedback. I couldn't possibly be the first person to envision such a dreamy place in cyberspace, could I?

(1) I work in the aviation business. People use the phonetic alphabet a lot in the industry mainly because of N-numbers or registration numbers; all aircraft are identified by it. An example of an N-number is N-187JS, which you would say as "1-8-7-Juliet-Sierra." Now, I understand if people don't know the phoenetic alphabet. I never knew it until I worked here; however, people that own an aircraft should know it. If they don't, they most certainly should not make up the few letters that they don't know. Either stick to the common man's A is for Apple, B is for Boy, or use the correct phonetic alphabet (e.g., Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, etc.). Dude, when you mix them up & say them quickly to me, I can't get what you're saying. I have to mentally picture what your saying & then my brain is thinking, "Okay, G is Golf. But what? N as in Nancy? Is it Nancy? No, wait. It's November." And by this time, you have spelled out your entire e-mail address to me, and I only have the first two letters and have missed the last twenty.

(2) Get a fax machine that works. Don't call me and ask me to fax you something, and then, tie up the line for the next eight hours. Don't beg me for a quick fax and then get on the internet with your behind-the-times phone connection. People still use those?

(3) Don't call me ANY name UNLESS you know it's me.

(4) Please don't take the time to rearrange my desk. If you think an object should be scooted a little to the left or a little to the right, remember that those aren't your objects. If it's a nervous, obsessive habit of yours that you cannot control, please refer to the scowl on my face as you move the object back to where it was. It's my crap. If you want to keep all of your digits, I suggest you heed my expressions and interpret them correctly.

(5) Taking your anger out on me because you didn't know the meaning of "amortized." Granted, I don't think most people on the planet understand what I mean when I say that we amortize loans. I'm always willing to explain. But man, if you do some simple math and multiply your payment amount by the number of payments, should the bank be getting less back than you borrowed? Does that make sense to anyone out there?

*For the record, I was going to stop at a nice number of five, but I got another one.

(6) If your name is something like "Grzeskowiak" or "Pathoumphone" don't even make me ask you how to spell that. If you do make me ask, don't get annoyed that your family never chose something a little easier on the tongue.

Hot Topics to Come:
--Bathroom Etiquette
--College Requirements
--Health Insurance
--Car Insurance
--Buying an Automobile


A Weekend of Memories

My life has managed to become a strange series of episodic events. I headed out Friday night to meet up with a few friends of a friend. Lamenting that I miss having a guy who can always be "the driver," I was the one picking up everyone. We headed downtown to get our groove on. Since I've never attempted to parallel park in my (nearly) decade of driving, why attempt it with two witnesses in the car? I chose the higher route--a parking garage. By the time we emerged from the garage, we noticed all the gates had been pulled. Getting into and getting out of the garage looked quite challenging, but since we were already late, I said we could postpone the panicking.

So, two hours later, we are headed back to the car. I leave one girlfriend at the gate. Maybe she will catch someone on their way out and the muscle the gates to stay open. My other friend and I head for the car. We pull to the exit hoping something magical will open the gate and arm. Seeing no action, we both get out and start looking around. After a few minutes, I resort the saying "Help! We're going to die in here!" to onlookers on the other side of the street. I can see that they clearly see me, but are probably noting I that I didn't sound serious enough because, well, I didn't. All of the sudden, a truck emerges from the ramp behind us. We are looking at this guy with hope and skepticism. Does he know how to get us out? Are we just going to be trapped together? (Does anyone else hear Enrique singing "Hero?") He pulls into the other lane to leave, and we're like, "Dude, how do you get out of here?" And he's all, "Yeah, you press the button." And we're like, "Dude, we don't have a button." And he's like, "There's one over here, man." And when he says "man," we're all completely aware he's think we're idiots, but he can't help from thinking we're funny. Little does he know, my friend was seriously looking at me as though I might have to be her next meal. It's a good thing she pigged out on some Rendezvous ribs.

Episode Deux…
I locked myself out of the house, and sadly this is not the first time. This is a first time as for me not being able to get back into the house. My father is away in Alaska. My mother, sister, and brother-in-law are in Bumbleville, MO at a family reunion. I have 12,000 square feet all to my sweet self, but five floors, 10-15 doors, and 4 garage doors is a lot to keep under one chick's watch, especially one that constantly locks and re-locks doors. I also have three animals to look after, which isn't that taxing. I usually decide to lock the garage door when I stay by myself. We typically leave that door unlocked, as I'm sure most families do here in the South. The bad thing about locking this particular door is that the handle will continue to turn from the inside as though it's unlocked--clearly a problem to the forgetful mind. I ALWAYS lock myself out. But fear not, I just hike to the other end of the property, punch in the garage code, and voila, I'm in.

So, I have a healthy cookie for breakfast. I feed the cats. I walk outside to feed the dog. Feeling good about myself, I turn around to go back inside the house. The door's locked. I'm thinking, "Crap, now I have to walk all the way around. Yeah, why do I always do this to myself?" So, I start my hike. Thirty minutes later when I reach the other end of the house, I punch in the codes for the garage doors. Nothing's happening. I try again. Nothing. I'm remembering my parents saying something about applying seals to the garage doors and not to open the door. I'm thinking the bastards locked both of them. I'm so screwed.

Thankfully, my mother & father were smart enough to put telephones in the garages. Oh, I should probably clear up the garage thing. We have a three-car (one single, two double) on one side of the house. On the lower end of the house, we have two more single garages, which happen to be the locked ones. I can only get into the 3-car garage. So, my parents really thought of everything (except their daughter's ability to always lock herself out of the house). I call my girlfriend who is still in bed. I say, "Hey, um, I got myself a little sit-e-ation here. I locked myself out of the house. Dude, I have to be in the shower in an hour & be at work in 3. There's a spare key somewhere in this garage, and I have no idea where that would be." She is strangely good at finding things for people. If you lose something, this is the girl you want on your side. We start calling family. I make over a dozen phone calls to relatives' mobile phones. I tell each of them that I'm only 25 and shouldn't be left alone. I'm clearly not responsible enough to live by myself. What were they thinking leaving me like this? I also have a low tolerance for heat, and I'm beginning to melt. I get nothing but voicemail, so I'm forced to be creative leaving the same message on more than five different mobile phones. At one point, I promised to flash my brother-in-law both breasts in broad daylight. He's been asking since I was sixteen, perhaps younger. I was growing more desperate with each passing HOUR, and yes, I said hour.

I call into work. I tell my manager that there's a good chance I won't make it in, or at the very least, I'll be pretty late. She asks me what I'm wearing. "Well, not a lot. I'm in a tank top (with big pink sequined lips), matching underwear, and a short, white robe, oh, and my cool Adidas sandals." She says, "Oh, so we're not just talking that you're not in dress code colors." I tell her, "Well, we're a little beyond dress code here; however, we might sell more if I come in like this." I have a unique situation. So, she pretty much lets me off the hook, though I can tell she's stifling laughter.

So, my partner in crime shows up. I've been forced to clean, because what else is a girl to do? I've combed through the tool cabinet, which smells an awful lot like poop, and I've given the lube rack a good look over. (And another note on the tool cabinet, there were some strange devices in there. A turkey baster? I'm not even going to ask.) So, I start to clean out my friend's car. I offer a much-needed vacuum while she starts combing the garage for the infamous key. I'm closing in on the third hour. My spirits were comical and now they're quickly bubbling into anger, with the F word thrown in...a lot. Finally, as we close on the fourth hour, she finds that damn key. Where was it? Where was it you ask? In a freaking magnetic box on the BACK of the tool chest, which will have to be rehidden now.

So, my friend and I part ways. We were both sweaty, tired, and in need of a shower. I, of course, have to wait for hot water because the timed thing has been off since 10:30, and well, now it's almost 3:00. I jump in the shower and call work. I tell them I think I can be there by four, but then they say they're slow, & I don't need to come in. Slightly relieved, but feeling no love, I snuggle in for a nap. I've had a long day. And sadly, no one from my family has even called me yet. I decide not to leave the, "I'm just kidding" or the, "This had been a test of the Emergency Broadcast System, which you all have failed miserably" message on their phones.

Do you see why my life is episodic? I thought so.



Yes, I officially possess a new talent. I can control the weather or at least the rain. Okay, well maybe not so much the rain, as in I can't stop it, but I can definitely bring it on like no other. I might have inherited my talent causing it to be genetic. I decided on a late night run to Walmart, which I am so not a fan of. I parked near the door to the regular Walmart, as in not the food store. The doors were locked. (What's up with that? Some twenty-four hour service.) Anyway, I hiked to the other side, remarking it could be much worse--extreme heat or, and dare I say it, pouring down rain. Thirty minutes later, there was a frigging thunderstorm, which I had to run through all the way to the other end of the monstrous parking lot. Me, who abhors running, holding my breasts in place, furrowing that my hair is not obeying anymore, and trying desperately to keep my sandals on.

See, I can cause a thunderstorm. If only I could use my talents for something worthy and get some monetary gain from it all. I'll share my secret. All I have to do is consider the possibility of lying out for some much need tanning or wash my car. Tonight's experience brings me to a whole new level.

On another note. A conversation that got me tickled.

R: "Are you still trying to get that job?"

Me: "No. The market is really bad right now."

R: "Okay. We aren't the kind of people who talk about the market."

What made that funny is just how true it is. I'm so not the kind of person to talk about any market.


In Demand

Well, I finished (add a big, heartfelt "Finally!" there) with my first chapter in Dreamweaver. Was that candy-ass chapter supposed to help me? All that entire chapter did was see if I could follow directions. I don't think I learned a damn thing. Not to mention, I was very frustrated with the so-called directions. Whoever wrote and EDITED that book should be shot & killed. Seriously, did anyone read that chapter? That chapter is precisely the reason my major was invented. To think I have a whole book I will have to get through. That is so not motivating. I think I'd rather have my eyelashes plucked.

That book reminded me of the computer class my college required me to take. It made no difference how long you had been using a computer or what level you were on. I was in a class where they were teaching people how to open and save files! Did I mention this was college? Dude, I learned that in the fourth grade. Is it any wonder I have a problem following directions and waiting on the rest of the class? In first grade, I was almost held back because of my poor scores on the state's standardized tests. I think the teacher figured out I was going ahead and working on the next sections before time and/or receiving direction. I think my impatience caused me to do poorly because I wasn't a dumb kid. I was just bored off my ass. When I want to learn, I want to learn, damn it.

My mentor needs to live much, much closer. I cannot stress that enough.


Top 10 Ways I See Myself Going

(1) Alcohol asphyxiation thanks to my need to clean & sterilize.
(2) Shot with my last words consisting of "my fiance."
(3) Run over in a parking lot for darting in front of yet, another car.
(4) Tornado.
(5) Toxic inhalation of Downy's Clean Breeze scented products.
(6) Broken neck via the polished brick staircase to my office.
(7) Spontaneous combustion because that's always a possibility.
(8) I die waiting because it really does kill me.
(9) Calcium cyst the size of Texas. No explanation necessary.
(10) I turn into a Pringle.


Who's in charge?

I don't want it to ever be said that I don't have a heart. I brought Miss Muff'n cake to share with my co-workers, the ungrateful ones I posted about earlier. See? I am nice and probably a little too forgiving.

I had something else to say here, but I've forgotten. I know it wasn't relevant to the cake sharing, but I'm certain it was important regardless.

Ahh, I remember. Yeah, I have a beef with one of the two idiots who designed the keypad on the telephone and the other idiot who designed the 10-key pad on computers, calculators, etc. Why on earth were they switched? Why is there just not one common keypad? I have the worst time dialing phone numbers. For awhile, I thought I was an idiot and just couldn't dial telephone numbers, but I now realize I tend to not look at the keypad on the phone. I dial while looking at the number instead, which leaves my fingers to go by memory; however, my fingers' memory is more in tune with the keypad on the computer. I dial and don't even realize I'm doing it backwards. Does anyone know how frustrating it is to have to dial a phone number over again, and sadly, sometimes more than that? [Someone give me an "Amen!"] Even though my brain knows to reverse the keypad, my fingers don't listen, which certainly adds to the frustration.

I would have discovered the 10-key pad design problem long ago if I had gotten to test it. If I were ruler of the world, this is at the top of my list to change.


Shouting From the Rooftops

How to know when you're too old to live with your parents, even if you are paying rent:

A guest mistakes you for your father's wife when you are clearly the daughter. I've never wished to look more like my dad than right now.
Play Nice They Said

I have been told my entire life that I didn't work well with others, at least in the sense that I don't follow directions or take orders kindly. In fact, my parents placed bets on how many jobs I would lose due to an inability to get along with management. To their bewilderment, I haven't ever been fired. Okay, that might be a slight exaggeration. I was let go once, but only under the pretense that the company didn't have any hours for me, which was a complete lie, but I don't want to drudge up the past because that's not what this post is all about.

Either way, growing up with people constantly telling you that you have a problem with authority should send up some red flags, but nevertheless, it really didn't. I kind of just shrugged it off. I've always thought the problem wasn't me, it was them. That's my flawed thinking. I am one who suffers from an I'm-always-right syndrome. What sucks about this syndrome is no matter how many people tell you that you are indeed wrong, you still don't get it. You will maybe concede that perhaps the transgression wasn't your brightest moment, but you did the best with what you had at that particular time.

So, given that I always think I'm right, I'm starting to think I definitely need to be my own boss. That was something else I was told all my life. "Go to college. You're going to need it because you can only work for yourself." So, now that those young, frivolous college days are over, I've reluctantly entered the corporate world. I use the word "reluctantly" because I've managed to place myself square in the middle of a dead-end job that actually doesn't even require a degree. You could say I sold myself short, really short. Lucky for me though, since I don't mix well with others, I joined a small team of seven. Really five, though, because one person was part time, and the other was never around. So, five people. It shouldn't be that hard to get along with everyone. My department's five has dwindled down to three, including myself. My odds should be going up. Probability would tell me so. The more people you rid from my social and workable field, the better my chances are of not getting fired, right? [Sigh.] It's just not so.

When there were five, I asked stupid questions. I asked questions like why does this certain "task" even need to be designated as such? It would seem to me that everyone could contribute, and there wouldn't be a need for an actual job responsibility for some schmuck. I was the schmuck, but that was only more motivation for my mind to create reasons the job didn't need to exist, especially when the job was relatively, oh what's the word, stupid. I pleaded with the five to see things as I saw them. Most of them agreed everyone should just do their part, all but two that is. I tried begging, reasoning, intimidating, prodding, parenting, and even reverse psychology. I could not convince the group. So, I remained the schmuck (with a four-year degree).

A year later, and things have changed drastically. If you can say nothing good about working with me, the very least you can say is that I always make things better and more efficient. In fact, at every job I've ever held, I think I leave it a better place. Talking two people into changing is much easier than convincing five. [That is a mathematical truth.] But alas, I'm still the schmuck. I learned this all over again yesterday.

When there is a job that no one wants to do, I say make it a group effort. It seems fair to me. In fact, my parents work like that. Who likes to clean windows? No one, but double up the help, and the long-avoided task doesn't seem nearly as bad. After seeing no one take the initiative, I quickly realize this project is going to land on top of me. I'm cringing in my cubicle before people even realize something has to be done. The planning stage is always a group effort. I have noticed that. I'm always one for the planning. Just give me the scope of the project. I will definitely head off the hardships and get you the bottom line. I'm so all about the planning.

So the plan is laid out. It's a bad one, and I can see that right off the bat, but no one likes to hear that their idea sucks. So, I either pretend that it works and go about my own way, or I face confronting them. In this situation, I fake a "Let's see when we get there," knowing I'll end up not only doing it, but also doing it my way. Good speculation on my part.

This next part is strictly for any of you who ever read this blog and should become some sort of manager. Never, ever, ever ask an employee or subordinate to do something within an unspecified or generalized time period when what you really mean is "right now." That is so wrong that I cannot begin to tell how wrong it truly is. Don't say on Tuesday that you'd like the garbage taken out before the weekend, when what you really mean is you want the garbage out by Tuesday evening. I don't know about the rest of the world, but that kind of information definitely affects when I plan on taking out the trash. And another thing, don't cop an attitude with me when you NEVER mentioned time being an issue.

So where am I? Yes, the project, now freshly after the "planning stage." I look around, and low and behold, no one is around to help. That doesn't really shock me. I'm the schmuck, and I shouldn't forget it. Lucky for me, one of the two people I work with is my best friend. Surely, I can goad her into helping me, right? If she refuses, I'll just throw the "I'll be pissed" thing at her. [Intimidation at its best.] Well, she's busy, all the time, and I don't really buy that for a second. I figure that I'll start without her and hopefully, she'll join me later. Later comes and goes. I give up, and decide I'm not touching anything else until SOMEBODY helps me. Okay, the boss steps in making a request. I seize the opportunity to make it a "we/us" thing. When she finally joins me, she is suddenly struck with ways it should have been done. I quickly huff "That’s not an option at this point," which I think she interpreted as my need for control when really, it was a need for "Where the hell were you a month ago?" Well, I get about an hour's worth of help, maybe more. We're about half way through, but it's progress. No telling how long I will have to wait for more help.

Just when I'm thinking of re-mentioning the project, the boss reminds me of it, with one of those quasi-polite requests. An hour later, it becomes a today request. I should have seen through the tone the first time, but I let it slide. Figuring I'll start on the project with my friend noticing & feeling guilty that I'm the only schmuck, I foolishly think I'll get some help or at least an offer soon. Quitting time rolls around quickly, and suddenly, I'm left by myself. Determined to get this damn thing done, I sweat my ass off. I make a stellar performance with all the bells and whistles. I return home exhausted & cranky, but secretly thinking tomorrow there will be a payoff. I'm imaging the astonishment, the thank you's, the "Hooray! It's finally done."

Tomorrow becomes today. I arrive and not so much as a peep. No recognition; No thank you; No, sorry we didn't help; No, how on earth did you finish. All I have to say is you people suck!

And that's how bitter is done.


I so lazy!

There are certain days when I don't feel like doing a god damn thing (excuse the harsh language). Today, regretfully, is one of those days. I think I got too much sleep last night, and consquently, it's made me a big slacker today.

Someone shake a disapproving finger in my face.


Oh, my sweet fiance

For the record, should I ever become betrothed to another and plan a wedding, if that becomes ALL I ever talk about, shoot me. Double that if the man suddenly loses his name, and I refer only to his title (i.e. my "fiance").

Please, really. Shoot me. Take me out of everyone's misery. This is me giving you permission.
"Strong like bull!"

I definitely believe in signs and the power of karma, though I'm not sure "power" is the right word for it, and karma isn't really relevant to what I have to say. I discovered that volunteering for an extra shift tonight was probably not intended for me. In less than an hour, while doing some ultra taxing dusting, I managed to pinch a finger in a ladder (leaving me with a bloody digit), get two splinters on two separate occasions, and drop a heavy object on my arm, which is now swollen. The last incident reminded me that I'm extremely grateful my grandparents wouldn't allow me to drink Kool-Aid when I visited their house oh so many years ago. Such a ruling led to my liking of skim milk, which is probably a bit of an understatement. I'm quite sure I should have suffered a few broken bones during the course of my life, but seemingly, I have managed to stay in tact thanks to all that ingested calcium. Please don't mistake that for bragging; I'm actualy giving praise for what seemed to be the worst two weeks of my childhood. It ended up being the only vacation I was ever invited to spend with them sans my parents...wait, or maybe ever. Though they can't recall much of anything anymore, they can still name every item I broke in that two-week period.

On discovering things I wish I hadn't--

I think I could cry if I only knew how. Nothing seems to sink in like it used to. [Screw the segue.]