On Cubicle Life

Recently took a part-time job to provide some semblance of organization to a harried executive (read: doing brainless shit she doesn't want to do) so that I can help defray my drinking expenses until our company makes billions, or even better, MILLIONS, of dollars. After being in this environment again for just a couple days, I forgot just how much I office life bugs the living shit out of me. Granted, it's definitely my fault for sacrificing the chance to work a gig that's a little more mentally taxing and instead choosing this place for its flexible schedule and prime location (5 minutes away from the apartment--gotta love it.)

BUT, I still feel I must vent. It is just scary how many businesses out there are just seething with worthless pools of human incompetence and indolence. Enough with the voluntary idiocy already, learn how to change the settings so that your document can be printed on legal paper! It's 2005, you fool! If you choose to waste a precious 30 seconds to point out an error that would take you 3 nanoseconds to correct yourself, you cannot fault me for thinking you a gormless twit. I will look at you with a sweet smile as I hand you my TPS report, all the while envisioning your death by evisceration, Hannibal-style.

Talk to me in a month to see if I made it past the first paycheck.

"Hold the Wheel and Drive..."

Have been obsessed lately with an Incubus song from a few years back, "Drive"--it has been on continuous play on my mp3 player (courtesy of my favorite simian, nannermonkey) for a while.

"And if I decide to waiver my chance to be one of the hive
Will I choose water over wine and hold my own and drive?

It's driven me before and it seems to be the way everyone else gets around.
Lately I'm beginning to find that when I drive myself my light it is found."

Pretty relevant for me these days...which I guess owes to my obsession with the tune. That, & it took me a while to get the melody for the stanzas right. I think I could karaoke it like a champ now tho. Hardee har.

Milestones

This past Sunday, it was me and another 10,000+ runners that took to the Philly streets with our fleet feet (well, some with more flight than others) for the Jefferson Distance Run. It was a memorable race for me, it being my first half-marathon (13.1 miles, baby) with the weather just perfect and with a picture postcard course through downtown and around Fairmount Park's scenic West River and Kelly Drives. I've run in quite a few races, but none as long this, and I know I'll look back on this particular one often, to revel again in those moments (2 hrs and 8 mins, to be exact!) that I felt so alive, healthy, and so content with the world. The final approach to the finish line, with the majestic Philadelphia Museum of Art in full view, will be a memory I will no doubt conjure up with a smile for years to come.

Musings on some Recent Reads

Read Dan Brown's "Angels and Demons" a couple weeks ago, a made-for-Hollywood followup to his widely popular "DaVinci Code." A decent enough plot, but I guess I would have rathered waiting for the movie. The pat way in which the protagonist (a ruggedly handsome--of course!, middle-aged Harvard professor with expertise in the ancient Illuminati cult that has suddenly resurrected itself and is terrorizing the Catholic Church in the 21st century) ends up saving Vatican City from imminent disaster was, shall I say,...a little too formulaic. Not only is this hero a pseudo-Jesus figure that saves the Catholic religion from complete disintegration, the novel ends with his bopping the attractive, brainy marine biologist/nuclear physicist who assisted him in fending off the bad guys during the entire crisis. Warner Brothers is no doubt peeing their pants to get this on the big screen. 2006 or 2007, look for it. Mark my words.

On the other hand, my sister's risk at the bargain buy ($3.98!) "L'heure Verte," or "The Green Hour," was a winner. I actually haven't finished it, but I was enamoured with the bicoastal settings of New York and Paris and the main character's indecision between settling with Mr. Perfect (the confident, attractive, wealthy Eric, who lacks that certain "something" to really move her) and her soul mate, an idealistic wanna-be revolutionary who thrives on transience and the unknown. I completely identify with Dominique, with her transparent facade of strength, who knowingly self-inflicts drama and unhappiness on herself. Never want what you can have, spaketh they. An interesting note, "The Green Hour" refers to the Parisian equivalent of happy hour when poets, artists, lovers, and young idealists toasted to life with absinthe (illegal in the US), the mildly hallucinogenic licorice-flavored liquor, also know as "La Fee Verte," or "The Green Fairy." Watch "Eurotrip" for an extremely sickening scene involving the intoxicating spirit. By the way, having imbibed this particular liquor whilst on a recent trip to Paris, I can say its effects are verily overrated. That, or they gave us stupid Americans some worthless watered-down version (not an entirely unreasonable assumption.)

Good Riddance, Blog Spammers!!!

I was able to activate the anti-blogspam option on my blog--those of you with smart-ass comments will now have to be inconvenienced by verifying a word each time you post, but hey, small price to pay to avoid sifting thru inane spammer comments. If you haven't noticed from my previous posts, I absolutely ABHOR blogspam. Much more than I detest fungus, even.

Evil Footwear

As I tend to my bloody blister which was brought on by some idiotic desire to exhibit a slight sense of fashion with some sexy, yet excruciatingly painful, snakeskin heels, I recall an episode in "Sex in the City" when Carrie walked 80 blocks (or something ridiculous like that) in some strappy Manolo Blahniks stillettos. Bullllllshit, I say. In real life, she would have been rendered crippled at block number 12.

Today I chose to break in my new heels. After about 5 blocks, blisters were forming in full force. Tinges of pain continued to plague my feet another 10 blocks later. When I finally stopped and removed my lovely new shoe from my left foot to inspect the damage, a flap of skin stuck to the shoe and was ripped away from the wound. Mother of pearl, it was flippin' hurt city! AND a nasty graphic image. I must have been a sight as I hobbled unevenly down 21st Street, late for a meeting and dripping copious amounts of blood from my left heel. Having no bandaids or other first aid supplies on my person, I found an old receipt and transformed it into a makeshift bandage. It worked for about 10 minutes before the blood fully soaked the receipt and I had to whip out an old to-do list on a scrap of paper to replace the receipt. When I finally arrived at my meeting destination, I limped to the bathroom and covered my bloody heel with a wad of toilet paper. Such are the trials some of us stupid women go through with new shoes. God help me, I'm wearing flips flops to my next business meeting.

Argh!...Get it Right, Google

Imagine my excitement as I log into Blogger.com to spew my random thoughts (as you know I am wont to do) and on Blogger's site, I am given an option to disable spam sent as comments to my blogs. (See previous post, "Blog Spammers must be Annihilated.") I choose the option while relishing the thought that, finally, I will be rid of those pesky spammers that spread their vile comments linked with their useless web ads to hundreds of thousands, maybe millions, of helpless blogs a day. But seconds later, I receive the following Google error:

Server ErrorThe server encountered a temporary error and could not complete your request. Please try again in 30 seconds.

As per Wesley, aka The Dread Pirate Roberts, "To the pain," Google! Hollow promises. Don't you know that the jokers at www.ghettohomes.net and www.cheapmailorderwives.com have won? You blow. And yet, I will continue to post in the hopes that one day...some day...I shall no longer have to suffer blogspam.

Total Catastrophe

It seems that more than twice the number of Americans may have died during and in the wake of Katrina's rampage through the South than did during the September 11 attacks. Terrorism is despicable and the decimation of the Twin Towers was horrifying, but equally horrifying is watching survivors of the hurricane begging for water, living in putrid, disease-ridden waters, and without a means to let their family members around the country know if they are alive--all this almost a week after the tempest struck. Were Lousiana and Mississippi secretly declared non-states & and allowed to be transformed into a third world nation overnight? Even Kuwait has donated a few hundred million to the rescue effort, but is there the same sense of urgency from the U.S. government and FEMA?

I know, I know, it's like beating a damn dead pony with all the anti-Bush vitriol being spewed about on the topic, but I find it more than a tad bit baffling. Baffling indeed.

Baby Sharts

Have you ever been the on the receiving end of projectile baby poo? My cousin and I were recently inducted into the "Shat-upon Club," courtesy of my sweet baby niece. My younger sister (another aunt, not the mother) has avoided gaining membership into the club by refusing to change poopy diapers. My mother is a four-time plus veteran of these attacks, Lord love her. While my mother and cousin calmly asked for a helping hand from anyone nearby after they were showered with poop and proceeded to wipe themselves off, I found myself paralyzed, being only capable of emitting banshee-like screams as I stared in disgust at the sticky stool coating my pant leg. After my sister slapped me out of shock five minutes later, I madly dashed to the shower and cleansed my person of all remnants of the spattered turds.

Baby girl, because you're barely two months old I guess I can forgive you of your involuntary bowel actions. But just know that I have a story to embarrass you with for countless times to come when you are in full control of all your bodily functions. Bwa ha ha ha ha (Dr. Evil-style)...