Monday, September 24, 2012

I either just heard gunshots or an entire Birthday party's worth of balloons popping. Dallas, I love you.

Things that I strongly disliked about my job:
  • My job.
  • Speed Racer: the 60 year old man that likes to turn corners like he's on wheels running from the grim reaper.
  • The woman that sits 2 offices behind me and sounds like Eeyore. Everyday she will have a VERY personal phone call, loud enough for everyone to hear about everything from family members being addicted to pain killers to the color of the dog's bowel movement. And every other word she huffs out is spliced with a long, drawn out pause. I want to unhear everything that has ever come out of your mouth.
  • The office crazy, that is more crazy than any woman should be allowed to be. The epitome of a mean girl that wasn't aware of wearing pink on Wednesdays.
  • The Security Guard, that when I asked if he could call my extension when my pizza arrived said, "No problem I'll bring it to you. I know where you sit. I see you all the time on the security cameras." Yeaaaaah, I'm creeped out by more than your 70's style mustache now. Stop smiling.

For the record, there are many people that have made my work experience enjoyable than not, even when I didn't enjoy the job.

Things that I loved about my job:
  • That one time I walked into the breakroom to hear a guy using the microwave buttons to recreate the Jaws theme song
  • All 8 times the firefighters showed up and productivity switched to "Who can fake dead and get them to come to our department? Anyone? I'll punch you and you just stay unconscious, ok? OK."
  • Finding out that our marketing VP was in a punk band in California (back in the day) which explained the tattoo and why he looked like Spicoli on casual Fridays.
  • Walking by the conference room and all I can hear is "High Way To The Danger Zone" blaring. I was happy to be at work for that 3 minutes 36 seconds.
  • Wearing fancypants work clothes. But not actual pants. I hate pants.
  • Creeper McCreepster that stalked the women in our department for a week. He's only on this list because it helped us put all of our differences aside and we formed a pact of solidarity to let the office crazy beat him up if he bothered us again. Good times.
  • Business trips to Chicago that include deep dish pizza and watching the Blackhawks. Toews, you're a stud, but your play off beard is worse than troll hair. (I really miss the NHL)
  • Winchester. The gnome.
  • Flirting with the guys in IT so I could get a new computer. Or two. No shame.
  • Passing by the shipping coordinator in the hallways and yelling "Potatoes!" followed by a fist-bump and a salute.
  • Cajun chicken pasta heaven on Thursdays, I will miss you most of all.

Now I'm sad and hungry.

I could get all sentimental and sweet... but that's not as much fun.

Once in a while it really hits people that they don't have to experience the world in the way they have been told to.

That could sum me up. I don't hold onto that little checklist of life quite as hard as most people do. I'm not opposed to doing things out of order and making it up as I go along. I think I'd really hate my life if I just went from check point to check point and ignored all the billboards for adventures that I passed along the way. I'd also hate my life if I didn't know that you can turn ruined cake batter into cookies by adding a different ingredient to the mix.

I'm not going to elaborate any more on this analogy, but I like it. That confirms it, I really am hungry.

I've moved cities. Again. I left the job that paid my rent so I could live in a beautiful apartment in between suburbia and the city, so I could get up and go to work at the job that gave me nothing but headaches and stress. I'm all too optimistic to think that I'm ready to settle for mediocre at twenty three. Where is the purpose in my purpose driven life? Where am I finding my peace and sense of self? That job has run it's course, I'm thankful for the opportunity, don't get me wrong, but I felt like I jumped ahead too many spaces. Story of my life.

I missed out on the fun, college-having, finding-yourself experiences of beer for breakfast... and lunch, LOST marathons instead of studying, when Malibu rum starts tasting like bad decisions, and guys in pastel shorts saying "brah": My LL Bean shirts wake up an hour before me to go sailing, brah -  all that schtuff.

On to the next adventure.


Fader by The Temper Trap This song can make any Monday a dance party.

Monday, September 3, 2012

When trying to convince someone to do something never use the phrase "You can wear a cape!" as a selling point. Unless you actually have a cape.

I recently learned that this is true for both men and small children.

When the new Batman movie came out, Bert (of the Bert and Ernie roomie duo) was so very excited like a little school girl about it that he almost convinced me to go to a midnight showing on a workday. Wearing capes.

I decided that if I was going to be a sleepless grouch the next day at work, I was going to bring down as many of my corporate-world working friends as possible. And wear a cape. I'm really into this cape idea, clearly. Except, in presenting my idea to the gang, not having a cape made my argument a lot less appealing than I had for seen. The whole idea went out the window. Settle for some Dip N Dots and a Sunday matinee? Yes.

So, we saw the movie, loved it and had an all too elaborate discussion about superheros and their every day lives. What if a superhero worked as a mail man as his day job or in a deli? I give you: Salami Avenger and Night Chicken. We haven't thought this idea through.

Speaking of chickens.

I've gotten into the wonderful habit of coming home from work, coating myself in bug repellent and going for a nice heat stroke. I mean jog. This was a quick jog because, it's hot as hell in Texas, and I was chased by a chicken.

Yes, I'm sure it was a chicken. A real chicken. It made a terrifying... chicken noise and decided to CROSS THE ROAD to chase me. This jog ended with me running back to the house and slamming the door and not stopping until I had a pint of ice cream in my hand.

I wish this story ended differently.

Oh, I moved out of my Dallas apartment and to the country. Ok, so Wylie isn't complete country, but... yes. It is. Compare it to Dallas and it's a reverse Beverly Hillbilly move. Please refer to the above declaration of a chicken in my neighborhood and then disagree with me.

However, I'm only here for another week. This is just a little pit stop on my adventure, but more on that another time. I'm staying here to finish out my last days at the old corporate machine and then handing in my maracas. Literally. I have maracas and I get to shake them. It's one of the few things that I'll miss about my job.

Currently my stuff is in multiple locations and I'm living with my cousin, K and her husband and their 3 kids. And by "kids" I mean little fire breathing monsters. Pre-teen and younger, sassy, fire breathing monsters that don't get tired no matter how many times you try to turn "spinning until dizzy" into a group game.

By the way, when did a ream of copy paper and an old popcorn tin with broken crayons rattling around inside stop being considered fun? I used to be all about that. I still am.

I recently had a Birthday, so that means I've gained some wisdom in the last year, right? Well, even if that's not true, my brief move to suburbia means I'm already chocked full of more knowledge than I ever thought possible:
  • DON'T HAVE KIDS.
  • EVER.
  • Middle names are for the sole purpose of letting you know when you're really in trouble.
  • The only honest people in the world are small children and drunk people.
  • Finding a Tide To Go pen in your purse is the equivalent of winning the lottery.
  • Cleaning with kids in the house is like brushing your teeth while eating Oreos.
  • Getting older means choosing an alcoholic beverage based on calorie count rather than intoxication efficiency.
  • The people who need firecracker safety tips aren't the people who read firecracker safety tips.
The last 2 weeks of a 2 weeks notice are the least productive days you'll ever have at work. I get to the office and I'm already dog tired and by 10 am I can't look at the computer for another second without my eyes melting out of my face.

You know you need to change your sleeping habits when you wake up holding the back to your alarm clock, and the battery has been ripped out...



Mars Hotel by The Mayfield Four I'll always love this song and always wish that I didn't.