Paige and I were talking the other day and we were laughing at a particular blog. In this blog a gentleman will write something, most likely a nonsensical sentence, and receive about 70 comments, all from ladies about how much they want him. We agree we like the person and we like the blog, but we just don't get the online harem.
For your pleasure, we provide you with this example:
Post: I pooped today and it was Easter egg green.
Comment1: Oh I love masturbating to your photo! I'm. Doing. It. Right. Now!
Comment2: Can I come over and watch you poop while giving you a blow job?
Comment3: Poo makes me horny.
Comment4: When I pooped today I thought of you. We should get together for sex.
Wednesday, June 29, 2005
The Breyer
I brought my lunch to work today...and ate it before my lunch hour. I still wanted to use my lunch hour so I decided to spend it shopping. It was really relaxing to spend an hour browsing racks and looking at nothing in particular. I didn't know how much money I had in my checking account so I didn't want to buy anything.
And then I saw it. On clearance.
It was a set of Breyer horses comprising of Seabiscuit and whatever horse he ran against. I don't have a thing for Seabiscuit. I don't have a thing for War Monger, or whatever the opposing horse's name was. But when I was little, I LOVED Breyer horses.
Being $20-70 a piece, they were too expensive for me to have a collection of them. I think I have 2. 3 at the most. I tried telling my parents that they were collectibles (which they are) and some are worth a lot of money (which is true,) but this was not enough to convince my mother with her single parent teacher's salary that I should have them. I did get
my dad to buy me one, once. I think I had to save for the other one. One Christmas my dad even bought me this couple hundred dollar horse barn to house my Breyers, but alas, they never came.
So here is this set sitting on the shelf. War Monger's ears are chipped, which is why it's on clearance. I held the bright yellow box and deliberated whether a 24-year-old should still buy toys, whether the horse with the chipped ears is worth it, and remembered the empty barn in my closet at my mother's house.
I almost ran to the check out with plastic in hand.
My mother is meeting me at work on Friday morning to pick up Nikita for the weekend because I'm going to spend July 4th with Baby's family. When she's loading up the dog, I'm going to hand her the bag with the bright yellow box and ask her to put it in my closet. I know she's going to roll her eyes and moan at me, giving me some lecture about being a pack rat, or buying small things when I should be saving my money for something big. Or both.
You can bet your money that the next time I'm at the house and have a few hours to kill, I'm going to open that box, set up my barn, and give those horses a home.
And then I saw it. On clearance.
It was a set of Breyer horses comprising of Seabiscuit and whatever horse he ran against. I don't have a thing for Seabiscuit. I don't have a thing for War Monger, or whatever the opposing horse's name was. But when I was little, I LOVED Breyer horses.
Being $20-70 a piece, they were too expensive for me to have a collection of them. I think I have 2. 3 at the most. I tried telling my parents that they were collectibles (which they are) and some are worth a lot of money (which is true,) but this was not enough to convince my mother with her single parent teacher's salary that I should have them. I did get
my dad to buy me one, once. I think I had to save for the other one. One Christmas my dad even bought me this couple hundred dollar horse barn to house my Breyers, but alas, they never came. So here is this set sitting on the shelf. War Monger's ears are chipped, which is why it's on clearance. I held the bright yellow box and deliberated whether a 24-year-old should still buy toys, whether the horse with the chipped ears is worth it, and remembered the empty barn in my closet at my mother's house.
I almost ran to the check out with plastic in hand.
My mother is meeting me at work on Friday morning to pick up Nikita for the weekend because I'm going to spend July 4th with Baby's family. When she's loading up the dog, I'm going to hand her the bag with the bright yellow box and ask her to put it in my closet. I know she's going to roll her eyes and moan at me, giving me some lecture about being a pack rat, or buying small things when I should be saving my money for something big. Or both.
You can bet your money that the next time I'm at the house and have a few hours to kill, I'm going to open that box, set up my barn, and give those horses a home.
Tuesday, June 28, 2005
So long, farewell...
I had my LAST interview today with the owner of my prospective job. He asked good questions and the interview was going really well until this:
About 4 hours later I received a call from them. I got the job! I start July 18th. I put in my two-weeks notice immediately with my current company. It was sad, I felt like I was breaking up with them: "No it's not you, it's me. I just think this solution will be better for me where I am in my life right now. I'm going to miss you and remember the good times. No, don't cry."
Okay so they didn't actually cry, but I might when it's time for me to actually leave. I don't know why. I'm not good at leaving people and I'm terrible at rejecting people. We'll see how this turns out.
I left the interview not as confident as I had been all along. I thought the interview went well right up to that point. It was just weird to sit through that.Owner: So that's all the questions I have for you.
Jamie: Okay.
Owner: So did [the lady who has been interviewing you] tell you the next step in the process?
Jamie: No... (Thinking, 'You're the owner, isn't that up to you?')
Owner: Well, I don't know either. Let me go ask.
Gets up and leaves, meanwhile Jamie is sitting alone and staring at his desk. He is gone for a minute or two.
Owner: That's it for now. She'll call you in a day or so. If she hasn't by then, give us a call.
Jamie: Okay.
About 4 hours later I received a call from them. I got the job! I start July 18th. I put in my two-weeks notice immediately with my current company. It was sad, I felt like I was breaking up with them: "No it's not you, it's me. I just think this solution will be better for me where I am in my life right now. I'm going to miss you and remember the good times. No, don't cry."
Okay so they didn't actually cry, but I might when it's time for me to actually leave. I don't know why. I'm not good at leaving people and I'm terrible at rejecting people. We'll see how this turns out.
Monday, June 27, 2005
La femme Nikita
So this is my dog Nikita even though no one asked to see her. She is a red and white husky and no, she isn't red or sable colored. There aren't brown huskies. Every time I walk her, I always hear, "What a beautiful dog!" I'm waiting for the day I hear, "What a beautiful girl walking a beautiful dog!"
Coincidence? It's fate dahlin'!
So things were taking a turn for the worse Friday at work. I got back from lunch and decided I needed to post. About anything. By 3:30, I finally had enough inspiration to bang something out. (There was no work done in between.) Then someone from the warehouse came up to the office to tell me that the truck drivers were complaining about the way I staple my bills of ladings. Could I please staple them differently? The truck drivers have a hard time understanding the BOLs when I staple the back to back. I didn't know that the way a paper is cosmetically attached makes a form difficult to understand, but, hey, they're truck drivers. Homos. Everyone is so sensitive that I have to 4 times more work to appease everyone.
Then I stepped outside to dump my watered down Coke in the bushes. In the flash of a second I was outside, a truck stops on the road 20 yards from where I'm pouring, to "woot" at me. It was such bad timing that I almost started screaming obscenities from the front door of my office building.
So I go inside and yell a little bit to my coworkers about sensitive people, dumb truck drivers, and crappy people in pick-up trucks.
I sit down and bring up the blog just out ofboredom habit. Oh a girl named Lauren left a comment. I bet she thinks it's funny that I mention a Lauren a few posts earlier. Oh, she's directing me to the same post. Okay... I check the comments and, holy crap, it's her! Turns out she had been reading my site on the sly for months. When I composed the post, I wondered what she would think if she ever read it, but I quickly dismissed the thought. Besides, I didn't even use her last name.
What a wonderful turn of events! (Insert bad Count impression) 2, I have 2 friends now! Ha ha ha!
Then I stepped outside to dump my watered down Coke in the bushes. In the flash of a second I was outside, a truck stops on the road 20 yards from where I'm pouring, to "woot" at me. It was such bad timing that I almost started screaming obscenities from the front door of my office building.
So I go inside and yell a little bit to my coworkers about sensitive people, dumb truck drivers, and crappy people in pick-up trucks.
I sit down and bring up the blog just out of
What a wonderful turn of events! (Insert bad Count impression) 2, I have 2 friends now! Ha ha ha!
Saturday, June 25, 2005
The memorial
I woke up really early Friday morning, even though I didn't have to go to work because I was terrified I'd sleep through the memorial service and I'd receive all sorts of grief from my family for missing it. My father calls around 11AM to tell me it was at 4PM. I told him I was upset I didn't know earlier and he just figured he'd call and I would show up. I really wanted to help in any way I could.
The service was small and nice. I saw some relatives I hadn't seen in years. I saw some relatives I have never met before. Afterwards my parents hosted a reception/party at their house with some beer and really good food.
Jennifer showed up straight from the hospital with baby Graham. It was the first time I had ever seen a newborn. I made a big deal over it to make up for the fact she was completely overshadowed. I scored an invite to her house sometime.
It was nice seeing everyone. If I had known there would be a freaking party afterwards, I would have brought my bathing suit.
The service was small and nice. I saw some relatives I hadn't seen in years. I saw some relatives I have never met before. Afterwards my parents hosted a reception/party at their house with some beer and really good food.
Jennifer showed up straight from the hospital with baby Graham. It was the first time I had ever seen a newborn. I made a big deal over it to make up for the fact she was completely overshadowed. I scored an invite to her house sometime.
It was nice seeing everyone. If I had known there would be a freaking party afterwards, I would have brought my bathing suit.
Thursday, June 23, 2005
Is this normal?
It's late Thursday night and I haven't heard from my family yet. I know the memorial service is tomorrow, but I haven't called the house since I was told not to. Any time I wanted information, I would call my father's cell phone, which he only uses while working. I was told to be at the service tomorrow, but I don't know where or what time it is. I can't call the house. I took tomorrow off of work. What if it is in the morning and I sleep through it? Why hasn't anyone called me?
Wednesday, June 22, 2005
It's not an emergency, but this is important
I'm upset, but I'm going to tell this the best way I can:
My sister went into labor at 4:00PM today. I was really excited because it's her first baby. I called at 5:30PM to get a status check, and my step-mother was driving her to the hospital. This is really it! Our family is a pro at babies and grandbabies by now, 2 of my other brothers have 5 children between them. It's nothing new, but this time it's special because it's my step-mother's only daughter giving birth to her first baby. All the other times, we were the in-laws.
At 7:30PM, my father called. I knew by the tone of his voice something was wrong. My step-mother's father just passed away. He was living with my dad and step-mom. One of my brothers found him and tried to give him CPR but it was too late. To make it even worse, my step-grandfather's sister drove up from Florida for a visit. She arrived 15 minutes after he passed away.
So my brother Drake had to call my step-mom. She had to leave her daughter at the hospital, giving birth, to come home and deal with her father's death. I don't know if Jennifer, my sister, knows about her grandfather or not. I hope she doesn't know right now because she doesn't need to be upset while trying to give birth. She needs to focus on the task at hand. But I bet my step-mom had a hell of a time explaining while she had to leave the hospital during Jennifer's labor without being honest. I know I would be pissed if my mom tried to leave me without giving me a reason. Even at that, I think any reason, short of death, would not be good enough.
So it's an all-around crapfest.
He was my step-grandfather but I had seen him weekly when he moved in with my dad and step-mom last year. It was during this time, 15 years after I first met him, that I got to know him. He was very nice although I remember being frightened of him when I was little. He loved my dog. He was an old man but he would offer to dog-sit for my dog even when my dad and step-mom weren't there. He would tell me stories of him serving the army in Greenland or Iceland and every man in the army were issued a Malamute and he would say how my dog reminded him of those days. I liked those stories.
I'm glad I got to know him. I never really got to know my step-mom's mom before she passed away. Although the death saddens me, I am far more worried about my sister and the baby at the moment. My father is telling me not to call, there is already too much chaos going on at the house, but he would call me and keep me informed of any new developments.
I feel completely useless right now. I think I'm going to go get drunk.
Update:
Jennifer had the baby at 4:30AM. I asked my father if everything turned out ok and if the baby's healthy but he didn't know, so I'm going to assume no news is good news.
My sister went into labor at 4:00PM today. I was really excited because it's her first baby. I called at 5:30PM to get a status check, and my step-mother was driving her to the hospital. This is really it! Our family is a pro at babies and grandbabies by now, 2 of my other brothers have 5 children between them. It's nothing new, but this time it's special because it's my step-mother's only daughter giving birth to her first baby. All the other times, we were the in-laws.
At 7:30PM, my father called. I knew by the tone of his voice something was wrong. My step-mother's father just passed away. He was living with my dad and step-mom. One of my brothers found him and tried to give him CPR but it was too late. To make it even worse, my step-grandfather's sister drove up from Florida for a visit. She arrived 15 minutes after he passed away.
So my brother Drake had to call my step-mom. She had to leave her daughter at the hospital, giving birth, to come home and deal with her father's death. I don't know if Jennifer, my sister, knows about her grandfather or not. I hope she doesn't know right now because she doesn't need to be upset while trying to give birth. She needs to focus on the task at hand. But I bet my step-mom had a hell of a time explaining while she had to leave the hospital during Jennifer's labor without being honest. I know I would be pissed if my mom tried to leave me without giving me a reason. Even at that, I think any reason, short of death, would not be good enough.
So it's an all-around crapfest.
He was my step-grandfather but I had seen him weekly when he moved in with my dad and step-mom last year. It was during this time, 15 years after I first met him, that I got to know him. He was very nice although I remember being frightened of him when I was little. He loved my dog. He was an old man but he would offer to dog-sit for my dog even when my dad and step-mom weren't there. He would tell me stories of him serving the army in Greenland or Iceland and every man in the army were issued a Malamute and he would say how my dog reminded him of those days. I liked those stories.
I'm glad I got to know him. I never really got to know my step-mom's mom before she passed away. Although the death saddens me, I am far more worried about my sister and the baby at the moment. My father is telling me not to call, there is already too much chaos going on at the house, but he would call me and keep me informed of any new developments.
I feel completely useless right now. I think I'm going to go get drunk.
Update:
Jennifer had the baby at 4:30AM. I asked my father if everything turned out ok and if the baby's healthy but he didn't know, so I'm going to assume no news is good news.
Franks and Beans
My boss had me artistically write the name of a restaurant on the back of a chair as a part of some new options we're offering. I hope this doesn't mean that if someone chooses this option I'll have to do each chair. Anyways, the name of the restaurant? (I'm assuming)
At least I hope it's the name of a restaurant. What if it's a strip club or, worse yet, a gay bar?
So I have the maturity level of a 6th grader and I can't believe I'm writing "wiener" on the back of a chair... and getting paid for it. Last time I felt like this I was a freshman in college and taking geology. I'd chosen a potentially-cute boy for my lab partner and I loved the fact he read a lot. I tried to get with him all semester. (Ooh that's actually another good story I'll have to reveal later.) I remember a lecture my professor gave on the amount of trash that orbits around the earth. Parts of shuttles, bad satellites, etc. She said that if we keep releasing garbage into space, we will eventually have rings like Saturn, but instead of ice it will be trash. Then she said this: "There are 2 types of garbage- floaters and sinkers." I chuckled and repeated in my best Beavis and Butthead impression (which wasn't an intended impression, but more of a coincidence) "Heh heh, floaters and sinkers heh heh."
He looked at me like I just left a floater/sinker in the chair.
Of course I was mortified for making a poo joke in front of this intellectual. I'm beginning to think I will never grow out of this.
Wieners
At least I hope it's the name of a restaurant. What if it's a strip club or, worse yet, a gay bar?
So I have the maturity level of a 6th grader and I can't believe I'm writing "wiener" on the back of a chair... and getting paid for it. Last time I felt like this I was a freshman in college and taking geology. I'd chosen a potentially-cute boy for my lab partner and I loved the fact he read a lot. I tried to get with him all semester. (Ooh that's actually another good story I'll have to reveal later.) I remember a lecture my professor gave on the amount of trash that orbits around the earth. Parts of shuttles, bad satellites, etc. She said that if we keep releasing garbage into space, we will eventually have rings like Saturn, but instead of ice it will be trash. Then she said this: "There are 2 types of garbage- floaters and sinkers." I chuckled and repeated in my best Beavis and Butthead impression (which wasn't an intended impression, but more of a coincidence) "Heh heh, floaters and sinkers heh heh."
He looked at me like I just left a floater/sinker in the chair.
Of course I was mortified for making a poo joke in front of this intellectual. I'm beginning to think I will never grow out of this.
Constipated
Baby's coming up this weekend. Yea! He hasn't been up in a month now so I'm very excited. I think I want to spend one day doing something date-like and the other just relaxing. The dilemma is I have no idea want I want to do for our day date.
Here are ideas I've been throwing around:
- Taking the dogs to Stone Mountain and watching the laser show
- Going up to Chattanooga for the day to see the aquarium and Rock City (This seems like a bit much though)
- A picnic? Somewhere?
- Putt-putt (But there is no course in Athens)
- Shopping in Commerce
Does anyone have ANY suggestions for a good day date?
Tuesday, June 21, 2005
Um, the Real World if you're drunk with Daddy's credit card
I pour myself a glass of wine and anticipate a longstanding tradition of mine, The Real World. I started watching the show since practically the beginning and I've kept watching it because, every season, the kids get stupider and stupider. See? I just used the word kids which illustrates my point:
It hit me tonight when the kids are introducing themselves and I am older than all of them; I might even be too old to be on the show now. I sat there thinking, God, they look young. Sign number 1. Sign number 2 is when they all meet each other while heading towards the house and I thought, I can't believe she's traveling in sweat pants, everyone knows you dress up when you fly.
Just when I'm convinced that I need to put some distance between the Real World and me, someone gets sucker-punched, almost arrested, and needing surgery. I love this show!
I am too old for the Real World.
It hit me tonight when the kids are introducing themselves and I am older than all of them; I might even be too old to be on the show now. I sat there thinking, God, they look young. Sign number 1. Sign number 2 is when they all meet each other while heading towards the house and I thought, I can't believe she's traveling in sweat pants, everyone knows you dress up when you fly.
Just when I'm convinced that I need to put some distance between the Real World and me, someone gets sucker-punched, almost arrested, and needing surgery. I love this show!
Monday, June 20, 2005
Weekend stats
I spent Friday afternoon swimming with my niece. Nothing like having to explain a belly button ring to a 4-year-old.
Saturday I went to my mother's house where Baby came up. We all went out to eat at Henry's, a wonderful Cajun cafe in Acworth. Ate myself silly and got slightly drunk on my second glass of wine. This is when I proclaimed to the entire table, "People are more racist in Mississippi then they are here in Georgia!" I got my brother a shovel for his birthday. (He just bought his first house so it makes sense now, but I also enjoy telling people I gave him a shovel for his birthday. "For digging up or burying," I explained.)
I spent Sunday at my father's house. Gave him a coupon for a meal at my apartment and he seemed to really like it. We spent the day drinking beer and laying out by the pool (where I put lotion on everywhere but my face.) It was really nice because no was in a hurry to get to someone else's house. We usually spend every holiday on the way to someone else's house to visit, so this was an almost startling feeling.
So that was my weekend, short and sweet.
Saturday I went to my mother's house where Baby came up. We all went out to eat at Henry's, a wonderful Cajun cafe in Acworth. Ate myself silly and got slightly drunk on my second glass of wine. This is when I proclaimed to the entire table, "People are more racist in Mississippi then they are here in Georgia!" I got my brother a shovel for his birthday. (He just bought his first house so it makes sense now, but I also enjoy telling people I gave him a shovel for his birthday. "For digging up or burying," I explained.)
I spent Sunday at my father's house. Gave him a coupon for a meal at my apartment and he seemed to really like it. We spent the day drinking beer and laying out by the pool (where I put lotion on everywhere but my face.) It was really nice because no was in a hurry to get to someone else's house. We usually spend every holiday on the way to someone else's house to visit, so this was an almost startling feeling.
So that was my weekend, short and sweet.
Quote of the Day
We are not encouraging our dogs to puke up their breakfasts and foraging for lunches
--My father, after the dog threw up and stole food off the counter
--My father, after the dog threw up and stole food off the counter
I also found a R.L Stine book, part 2
I was also staring at my bookcase this weekend, trying to figure out what I'm going to do. I'm moving in August and was trying to at least get things organized to pack. Like winter clothes, I can go ahead and leave those at my mother's house because I know I won't need them until after I move, plus four months.
I had almost decided to box up the books I've read and keep the ones I haven't out until the last minute. But there are a couple of books I was thinking of re-reading this summer and I don't want to limit myself. And if I do this and box up most of the books, then I'll be breaking up my shelving system. I have signed and first editions together, then inside that category I have them in alphabetical order by author. Then I have fiction, poetry, journals and reference books, all also alphabetized by author. What if I need my encyclopedia of American writers? What if I need my copy of Lolita or Pride and Prejudice to reference my current book, Reading Lolita in Tehran?
I didn't think it would be this difficult. If your Shakespeare book is anything like mine then it is in the closet. Mine is too heavy for my shelves. So is my Chaucer.
All of my embarrassing books are in my bookcase at my mother's house. I spent the night there Saturday night and I needed something to read. I had to pull from my massive Baby Sitter's Club books. I have 1-38 and probably another scattered 20 up to number 100 that I bought at a book fair in 1996 for nostalgic purposes. So I read Baby Sitter's Club book number 100 Saturday night. If anyone is curious, it was titled, Kristy's Worst Idea, which plays off book number 1, Kristy's Great Idea. I fell asleep so I never found out exactly how terrible her idea was.
Within the last 3 years, I found out that Ann M. Martin is a fake name like Dr. Seuss. Ann M. Martin is, in fact, a man. I'm still disappointed when I think about it. I will admit I have been itching to read some Judy Blume recently. I have never read the greats that people still talk about like Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret. So you're not alone Jenn!
I had almost decided to box up the books I've read and keep the ones I haven't out until the last minute. But there are a couple of books I was thinking of re-reading this summer and I don't want to limit myself. And if I do this and box up most of the books, then I'll be breaking up my shelving system. I have signed and first editions together, then inside that category I have them in alphabetical order by author. Then I have fiction, poetry, journals and reference books, all also alphabetized by author. What if I need my encyclopedia of American writers? What if I need my copy of Lolita or Pride and Prejudice to reference my current book, Reading Lolita in Tehran?
I didn't think it would be this difficult. If your Shakespeare book is anything like mine then it is in the closet. Mine is too heavy for my shelves. So is my Chaucer.
All of my embarrassing books are in my bookcase at my mother's house. I spent the night there Saturday night and I needed something to read. I had to pull from my massive Baby Sitter's Club books. I have 1-38 and probably another scattered 20 up to number 100 that I bought at a book fair in 1996 for nostalgic purposes. So I read Baby Sitter's Club book number 100 Saturday night. If anyone is curious, it was titled, Kristy's Worst Idea, which plays off book number 1, Kristy's Great Idea. I fell asleep so I never found out exactly how terrible her idea was.
Within the last 3 years, I found out that Ann M. Martin is a fake name like Dr. Seuss. Ann M. Martin is, in fact, a man. I'm still disappointed when I think about it. I will admit I have been itching to read some Judy Blume recently. I have never read the greats that people still talk about like Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret. So you're not alone Jenn!
Friday, June 17, 2005
I Hate Tom Cruise
I think Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes are taking this publicity stunt a bit far. Let's do a quick recap:
In April they begin "dating."
*This is just months after Katie and Chris Klein end their long standing engagement.
*This is after Cruise interviewed several other ladies for her position including Jessica Alba and Jennifer Garner.
Katie announces something to the extent that she's waiting until she's married for anything physical with Cruise.
Katie appears with herpes on her face.
Cruise goes on the Oprah show, scaring Oprah and women in the audience with his poop-throwing monkey antics. He drags Katie on stage.
(Ever notice how he drags her everywhere and yet she has nothing to say? It's called being a "beard.")
Katie joins his cult, Scientology, a religion based on a science fiction writing.
Katie ditches her agent and gets Tom's which I believe is his sister or sister-in-law.
After 6 weeks he proposes.
This entire thing sickens me. I actually refuse to watch old episodes on "Dawson's Creek" anymore. The show is tainted! I know there are people out there that are beginning to believe in this relationship, but I will not be swayed! Between Brad and Angelina and Tom and Katie, I am so sick of Hollywood. I am sick of the fakeness and publicity stunts. You know what I heard today? That Katie Homes is barely even in the new "Batman" movie; her part is tiny. They are supposed to be the royalty of America, yet I despise them!
Give me Michael Stipe sitting next to me at Clocked in Athens any day.
In April they begin "dating."
*This is just months after Katie and Chris Klein end their long standing engagement.
*This is after Cruise interviewed several other ladies for her position including Jessica Alba and Jennifer Garner.
Katie announces something to the extent that she's waiting until she's married for anything physical with Cruise.
Katie appears with herpes on her face.
Cruise goes on the Oprah show, scaring Oprah and women in the audience with his poop-throwing monkey antics. He drags Katie on stage.
(Ever notice how he drags her everywhere and yet she has nothing to say? It's called being a "beard.")
Katie joins his cult, Scientology, a religion based on a science fiction writing.
Katie ditches her agent and gets Tom's which I believe is his sister or sister-in-law.
After 6 weeks he proposes.
This entire thing sickens me. I actually refuse to watch old episodes on "Dawson's Creek" anymore. The show is tainted! I know there are people out there that are beginning to believe in this relationship, but I will not be swayed! Between Brad and Angelina and Tom and Katie, I am so sick of Hollywood. I am sick of the fakeness and publicity stunts. You know what I heard today? That Katie Homes is barely even in the new "Batman" movie; her part is tiny. They are supposed to be the royalty of America, yet I despise them!
Give me Michael Stipe sitting next to me at Clocked in Athens any day.
Call me later. No. Don't.
I had such a crappy day today.
I wonder if all my customers took asshole pills this morning.
I have never in my life worked with a bunch of whiny finks. One lady hangs up on me, calls my boss, and I get yanked into his office to describe what happened. It doesn't matter what I'll say, he won't believe me anyways. May as well just start saying everything I normally say after the customer hangs up to him/her. More conversations will go like this:
I wonder if all my customers took asshole pills this morning.
I have never in my life worked with a bunch of whiny finks. One lady hangs up on me, calls my boss, and I get yanked into his office to describe what happened. It doesn't matter what I'll say, he won't believe me anyways. May as well just start saying everything I normally say after the customer hangs up to him/her. More conversations will go like this:
Angry Customer: (fed up with earlier conversation) Don't you know what a bucket seat is?
Jamie: (wave of appropriate responses floods mind. Quickly chooses best one.) Yes sir, I lost my virginity in one!
Thursday, June 16, 2005
I should have called the lady back and asked her to title this post for me
One thing I never imagined in the working world is the number of complaints you get from retarded people. These people are so stupid: I really think they should actually qualify for mental retardation. My favorite will always be this. I have yet to hear a story that tops that.
But I literally just took this call at work:
Can you picture this? Imagine eating dinner at a nice restaurant. All of a sudden a man 3 tables behind you throws his hands up in the air and screams while what looks like him being yanked under the table, Jaws style. He disappears under the table cloth. A lady 2 tables to your left mimics the same being dragged under water motions. Another man at the table next to you. It's becoming an epidemic. Random people throughout the restaurant are screaming and disappearing under the table cloths, accumulating many injuries. Obviously. A broken knee, stitches, a whole battery of lawsuits awaits.
Cracks my ass up. I'll be laughing at this all day.
But I literally just took this call at work:
This dialogue continued a little while longer, with me repeating "people are falling out of the chairs" as many times as possible. I was hoping she would catch on to exactly how retarded this sounded, but she never caught on, keeping her serious tone with how she was going to sue.Jamie: Hello?
Moron: Yes we have a problem with some chairs you sent us.
Jamie: What's the problem?
Moron: We've received complaints that the seats on the chairs lean
forward.
Jamie: I don't understand...
Moron: Our customers are falling out of the chairs.
Jamie: What?!
Moron: The seats on the chairs lean forward too much, causing our
customers to fall out of them.
Jamie: Fall out of the chair...
Moron: Yes. We're worried that it's going to result in us getting
sued. If that happens, we'll sue you.
Jamie: Because people are falling out of the chairs...
Moron: Yes.
Jamie: Do they land?
Moron: Pardon me?
Jamie: Well, are they falling to the ground? Or are they able to catch
themselves in time?
Moron: I don't know.
Can you picture this? Imagine eating dinner at a nice restaurant. All of a sudden a man 3 tables behind you throws his hands up in the air and screams while what looks like him being yanked under the table, Jaws style. He disappears under the table cloth. A lady 2 tables to your left mimics the same being dragged under water motions. Another man at the table next to you. It's becoming an epidemic. Random people throughout the restaurant are screaming and disappearing under the table cloths, accumulating many injuries. Obviously. A broken knee, stitches, a whole battery of lawsuits awaits.
Cracks my ass up. I'll be laughing at this all day.
Wednesday, June 15, 2005
Wait you were a groomsman in the wedding and you didn't know who the bride was?
I'll eventually get off this high school kick and join the real world once again. But this just happened and I thought it would be a good post.
This is a picture of one of my best friends in high school. For about 2 years we did everything together. I drifted away from our circle of friends our senior year of high school because I was going through a lot of personal problems. We probably didn't speak the last few months of high school and all of a sudden we were graduated and I haven't had contact with her since. Before the following story transpired, I had been thinking about her recently and thinking about looking her up.
Flash to 2 weeks ago. I was on-line one night and received an instant message from a boy I dated my freshman year of college. He was inviting me to a barbecue he was having later on that weekend. As habit, I clicked on his information button and in his info box was his website.
Okay, now this is me: Ooh, he has a new website. Let me see....Okay this one says A Town so that must be Atlanta. I'll click on it. Pictures...Mmmm. People I don't know. More people I don't know. Drunk people I don't know. Wait. Stop. Is that? Is that...Lauren? IS THAT LAUREN?!
I made a quick call to Brandon and he didn't answer his cell phone. Then I called Jenn, who also was friends with her, and I made her navigate through the pages. "No...I don't think that's her," she says, "Pretty dress though."
Brandon called me back and didn't recognize my phone number or voice. (So why did he invite me out, I wondered, but that could be another entry entirely.) After I told him who I was, I asked him about the wedding pictures on his website. "Yeah, that's my buddy from high school," he says.
This is a picture of one of my best friends in high school. For about 2 years we did everything together. I drifted away from our circle of friends our senior year of high school because I was going through a lot of personal problems. We probably didn't speak the last few months of high school and all of a sudden we were graduated and I haven't had contact with her since. Before the following story transpired, I had been thinking about her recently and thinking about looking her up.
Flash to 2 weeks ago. I was on-line one night and received an instant message from a boy I dated my freshman year of college. He was inviting me to a barbecue he was having later on that weekend. As habit, I clicked on his information button and in his info box was his website.
Okay, now this is me: Ooh, he has a new website. Let me see....Okay this one says A Town so that must be Atlanta. I'll click on it. Pictures...Mmmm. People I don't know. More people I don't know. Drunk people I don't know. Wait. Stop. Is that? Is that...Lauren? IS THAT LAUREN?!
I made a quick call to Brandon and he didn't answer his cell phone. Then I called Jenn, who also was friends with her, and I made her navigate through the pages. "No...I don't think that's her," she says, "Pretty dress though."
Brandon called me back and didn't recognize my phone number or voice. (So why did he invite me out, I wondered, but that could be another entry entirely.) After I told him who I was, I asked him about the wedding pictures on his website. "Yeah, that's my buddy from high school," he says.
"Yeah, Brandon, I don't care about that, who's the girl?"Weird coincidence, right? A boy I dated in college has pictures of a one of my best friends from high school on his website. At least I know how she turned out.
"Some girl he met in college, I don't know her."
"Wait you were a groomsman in his wedding and you don't know who she is?" (Again, another post entirely. Oh, and I would die if someone was in MY WEDDING PARTY AND NOT KNOW WHO I AM.) Okay, nevermind. Did he go to Samford?"
"Yeah..."
"And is her name Lauren?"
"Yeah, but I don't know her maiden name."
"I do."
Glowing
Well I had my second interview for my new job. The lady says I have to come back yet again to meet the owner, and then I'll get a final answer. Before, in every job interview I've attended, I've been offered the job at the first meeting so this is difficult for me. I'm anxious. I think I have it. She had called me on Saturday and asked for the second interview, wanting it ASAP. I asked her how I did on all those tests I took and she said besides the spelling test, I only missed 1 question. In other words, I rocked it. This time she gave me a booklet of information on a suburb and asked me to write an article on it, so she might have more in mind for me than just proofing and answering phones. We'll see.
Baby came up and took me out on a pre-celebratory date. It's the first time I've seen him in about 2 1/2 weeks. I walked in the door and he was in my kitchen washing his hands. I walked over to kiss him and I notice he's washing his hands with my dollar liquid dish soap when I have expensive hand soap in the bathroom. Boys.
The greeting went something like this:
After dinner we had more drinks at my place and watched some Chappelle show. It was such an awesome date. I wish they can all be like that. *Sigh* So in love...
Baby came up and took me out on a pre-celebratory date. It's the first time I've seen him in about 2 1/2 weeks. I walked in the door and he was in my kitchen washing his hands. I walked over to kiss him and I notice he's washing his hands with my dollar liquid dish soap when I have expensive hand soap in the bathroom. Boys.
The greeting went something like this:
Jamie: I forgot what you looked like.It felt good to come home and have someone waiting for me. We went out and had a really nice dinner where I got drunk off the wine as usual. I'm going to feel really bad if I don't get this job because I'm going to owe him really big. He even bought Nikita a small bag of dog food and some biscuits. (I ran out of fortune cookies and was now giving her fist fulls of a stale rice cracker mix I had: she was getting pissed.)
Baby: Who are you again?
After dinner we had more drinks at my place and watched some Chappelle show. It was such an awesome date. I wish they can all be like that. *Sigh* So in love...
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
Nikita, the fortune cookie eating Russian
The way I first house trained my dog was through treats. Lots of treats. She would squat in the grass and I would praise her, bring her back inside, and give her a cookie. After a month or two of this practice, she would come back inside, run to her cookie jar, and sit and wait for me to give her a cookie. If I forgot, she would remind me by bugging me and running back and forth to the cookie jar. I thought it was cute and dogs have so little to look forward to, so I figured to keep her tradition.
Lately, it's been getting cumbersome. I've run out of dog biscuits and have begun using fortune cookies left-over from my Chinese deliveries. I can tell by the look on her face that they are no Milk Bones, but it's been keeping her at bay when I bring her back from walks.
Perhaps I should have thought this plan out more. I come home from work today and find a fortune cookie wrapper on the floor. I had ordered Chinese again (different delivery man- I was disappointed) and apparently left my fortune cookie within her reach. I searched around some more and found the fortune lying on the carpet- at least she's smart enough not to eat it. I picked the fortune up and read it to her:
"You will get a promotion."
Lately, it's been getting cumbersome. I've run out of dog biscuits and have begun using fortune cookies left-over from my Chinese deliveries. I can tell by the look on her face that they are no Milk Bones, but it's been keeping her at bay when I bring her back from walks.
Perhaps I should have thought this plan out more. I come home from work today and find a fortune cookie wrapper on the floor. I had ordered Chinese again (different delivery man- I was disappointed) and apparently left my fortune cookie within her reach. I searched around some more and found the fortune lying on the carpet- at least she's smart enough not to eat it. I picked the fortune up and read it to her:
"You will get a promotion."
Monday, June 13, 2005
Beginnings
If you're not familiar with the back story, and you're actually interested in it, you can read it here. So it looks like the original book is lost forever. Good. Less incriminating evidence. However, our senior year, we started a dismal sequel and cleverly titled it, The Book of Jamie and Jenn, but it never took off like the first one did. I found it the other weekend and I gave it to Jenn. The sequel was flimsy and disappointing, but it still had enough damning information entered by me to make me too ashamed to attend our high school reunion, if we ever get around to have one.
"Who is that girl and why did I call her a whore?" came up several times while we thumbed through the pages.
We did have a "public humiliation list" which was cute because we didn't want a repeat of the whole "hit list" fiasco.
Not remembering this girl whose bedroom manners I was so quick to publish, I questioned several people I still keep in touch with. The conversations went someting like this:
"Who is that girl and why did I call her a whore?" came up several times while we thumbed through the pages.
We did have a "public humiliation list" which was cute because we didn't want a repeat of the whole "hit list" fiasco.
Not remembering this girl whose bedroom manners I was so quick to publish, I questioned several people I still keep in touch with. The conversations went someting like this:
Jamie: Do you remember JW?Which proves, once again, that I am an excellent judge of character.
Melissa: Who?
Jamie: JW.
Melissa: I guess the name sounds familiar, why?
Jamie: Apparently in high school I wrote, "JW is a
whore."
Melissa: Yeah, that sounds about right.
The blog of Jenn and Jamie?
The post on a book my friend Jenn and I kept in high school had such a good response that I created a new site dedicated to musings and rants that follow the same immature nature that the original book did. We'll see what direction this thing takes.
I had been checking up on the new site every few hours, to see if my new baby is still sleeping. I already put a site tracker on there and ignored my ip address to see how it's doing. WTF! 41 hits in a couple of hours?! My poor Mokey blog, my original and beloved first, can't compete with these kinds of ratings. What is the variable in this situation? Does the other one have a better template? Is it just one hell of a post? I'll tell you what it is. It's effing Jennifer! Site Meter says the referrals are coming from her profile. She hasn't even posted to the damn site yet and she's bringing in all the people! Stupid ho. Apparently, if I want this blog to do better, all I need to do is attach her name to it.
I had been checking up on the new site every few hours, to see if my new baby is still sleeping. I already put a site tracker on there and ignored my ip address to see how it's doing. WTF! 41 hits in a couple of hours?! My poor Mokey blog, my original and beloved first, can't compete with these kinds of ratings. What is the variable in this situation? Does the other one have a better template? Is it just one hell of a post? I'll tell you what it is. It's effing Jennifer! Site Meter says the referrals are coming from her profile. She hasn't even posted to the damn site yet and she's bringing in all the people! Stupid ho. Apparently, if I want this blog to do better, all I need to do is attach her name to it.
Sunday, June 12, 2005
On starfish
I have decided to ban Angelina Jolie. I don't like most of her movies, I don't think she's a great actress, I don't care that she adopted a Cambodian child, and I just don't like her as a person, especially when I read articles like this.
I watched "Beyond Borders" this weekend- the movie that supposedly changed her life. It was alright right up until it became more about gun running than starving third world babies. But the only thought I had in my head while watching it was "Angelina Jolie's lips look like an engorged asshole."
I am not going to watch "Mr. and Mrs. Smith" because of this whole publicity stunt from Mr. Pitt- I'm going to end my marriage the same time my movie comes out so I'll get double exposure and fame.
Whatever. I'm so over Hollywood. I'm over Tom Cruise and his antics. I tried watching "Jerry Maguire" last night and in the scene where he spazes out in the office when he gets fired, I kept thinking of the similarities between that and Oprah.
Crazy damn celebrities.
I watched "Beyond Borders" this weekend- the movie that supposedly changed her life. It was alright right up until it became more about gun running than starving third world babies. But the only thought I had in my head while watching it was "Angelina Jolie's lips look like an engorged asshole."
I am not going to watch "Mr. and Mrs. Smith" because of this whole publicity stunt from Mr. Pitt- I'm going to end my marriage the same time my movie comes out so I'll get double exposure and fame.
Whatever. I'm so over Hollywood. I'm over Tom Cruise and his antics. I tried watching "Jerry Maguire" last night and in the scene where he spazes out in the office when he gets fired, I kept thinking of the similarities between that and Oprah.
Crazy damn celebrities.
Friday, June 10, 2005
Such sweet words
For today's post, I'll let Paige speak for me.
I'll be like a Snapple commercial. You had some nice things to say about me, so I'll say some nice things about you!
I'll be like a Snapple commercial. You had some nice things to say about me, so I'll say some nice things about you!
Thursday, June 09, 2005
People I have non-sexual crushes on:
Old men -the ones that remind me of my grandfather, the dearest man in the world, not the ones that rub their crotches when they look at you. (Yes, I have experienced this).
Years ago, I was driving to my then-boyfriend's house and next to me on the highway was the exact Cadillac my grandfather drove. It was piloted by an old man wearing a driving cap, very similar to my Papa. I thought, "He's just like Papa," and smiled, all warm and fuzzy. Then he cut in front of me. I gave a little toot to signify, "Hey! I'm here! But this is a friendly warning because you remind me of my grandfather who is coming into town today!" Normally, I'm a lay-on-the-horn-while-I-give-you-the-finger sort of girl, but his presence put me in a good mood. You know what he does? Gives me the bird! This sweet looking 80-year-old man wearing a driver's cap and driving a Caddy! I got to my then-boyfriend's house and burst into tears. My head was filled of visions of my grandfather giving teenage girls the bird on highways all over the east coast.
My Chinese delivery man -I love Chinese food. I order it once a week- usually on Thursdays (it goes well with Must See TV.) The guy who delivers my Chinese is an older man and very small. He asked my dog's name once and every time since then, he crouches low and calls her name. Normally people of other ethnicities are terrified of her and call her "wolf." But this tiny man, who delivers Chinese food to college kids for a living, calls for her. Granted she just stares at him, but he makes my heart melt. *Sigh*
Men who own Velcro wallets -I have no idea what the fascination is, but my heart pitter-patters every time I see a grown man open up his Velcro wallet to pay for something. Maybe it's a Peter Pan Complex or something that does it for me. I can't explain it.
Years ago, I was driving to my then-boyfriend's house and next to me on the highway was the exact Cadillac my grandfather drove. It was piloted by an old man wearing a driving cap, very similar to my Papa. I thought, "He's just like Papa," and smiled, all warm and fuzzy. Then he cut in front of me. I gave a little toot to signify, "Hey! I'm here! But this is a friendly warning because you remind me of my grandfather who is coming into town today!" Normally, I'm a lay-on-the-horn-while-I-give-you-the-finger sort of girl, but his presence put me in a good mood. You know what he does? Gives me the bird! This sweet looking 80-year-old man wearing a driver's cap and driving a Caddy! I got to my then-boyfriend's house and burst into tears. My head was filled of visions of my grandfather giving teenage girls the bird on highways all over the east coast.
My Chinese delivery man -I love Chinese food. I order it once a week- usually on Thursdays (it goes well with Must See TV.) The guy who delivers my Chinese is an older man and very small. He asked my dog's name once and every time since then, he crouches low and calls her name. Normally people of other ethnicities are terrified of her and call her "wolf." But this tiny man, who delivers Chinese food to college kids for a living, calls for her. Granted she just stares at him, but he makes my heart melt. *Sigh*
Men who own Velcro wallets -I have no idea what the fascination is, but my heart pitter-patters every time I see a grown man open up his Velcro wallet to pay for something. Maybe it's a Peter Pan Complex or something that does it for me. I can't explain it.
Wednesday, June 08, 2005
A little bit of drama on Shrinking Mokey
Remember this post from a couple of weeks ago? Haha, someone does not agree with me. Please weigh in on the subject.
Tuesday, June 07, 2005
*Sigh* I have to go to work tomorrow
I had both a doctor's appointment and my interview today so I managed to get the day off from said crap job.
My mother convinced me to go to the doctor because I had a cyst-like bump on my head and she wanted it checked out. She just had a scare with Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever and a very nasty tick. I go to the doctor and the male nurse (murse?) makes fun of me for seeing a doctor for an unusual lump on my head with a red ring around it. He asks me if I bumped my head or if I wrestle with my brother and tells me I should go home and not bother with it. Without even looking at it. Thanks. Murse.
Then the doctor comes in and looks at it and tells me what it is. I can't remember only the name was really long and had both Greek and Latin roots. He says normally it would be pigmented, but my hair is so thick that my scalp doesn't see the sun. (Seriously, when I get my hair cut, they bring out the comb with the razor teeth to thin it out.) He told me it was nothing to worry about, but also managed to fit a lecture about skin cancer in there.
Then I dropped my dog off at my dad's house and went to my interview where I was frantically trying to pick the dog hair off me. Damn arctic dog with her damn thick fur that gets everywhere. The meeting was a lot shorter than I expected but I also spent an hour and a half in testing. Spelling tests, grammar tests, math tests, and 2 different personality tests. It felt like the SATs all over again. She assured me that I qualified for the second round of interviews and that she would call me. The process is taking longer than I wanted. I'm moving in August and I haven't chosen an apartment yet because I don't know on which side of Atlanta I'll be working. I so wanted to go in tomorrow and give them my 2 weeks notice.
I also bleached my hair an unmistakable summer blonde. The dog keeps staring at me so I think she's a little freaked out, or at least she recognizes the difference. It's shocking, but I need a change of something. I told my mother my logic: a light blonde in the summer and a dark blonde in the winter and her response was classic- "What are you, a leaf?" My retort was a little less classic- "Mom, you're acting like I just told you I was pregnant." Apparently these kind of jokes aren't as funny.
My mother convinced me to go to the doctor because I had a cyst-like bump on my head and she wanted it checked out. She just had a scare with Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever and a very nasty tick. I go to the doctor and the male nurse (murse?) makes fun of me for seeing a doctor for an unusual lump on my head with a red ring around it. He asks me if I bumped my head or if I wrestle with my brother and tells me I should go home and not bother with it. Without even looking at it. Thanks. Murse.
Then the doctor comes in and looks at it and tells me what it is. I can't remember only the name was really long and had both Greek and Latin roots. He says normally it would be pigmented, but my hair is so thick that my scalp doesn't see the sun. (Seriously, when I get my hair cut, they bring out the comb with the razor teeth to thin it out.) He told me it was nothing to worry about, but also managed to fit a lecture about skin cancer in there.
Then I dropped my dog off at my dad's house and went to my interview where I was frantically trying to pick the dog hair off me. Damn arctic dog with her damn thick fur that gets everywhere. The meeting was a lot shorter than I expected but I also spent an hour and a half in testing. Spelling tests, grammar tests, math tests, and 2 different personality tests. It felt like the SATs all over again. She assured me that I qualified for the second round of interviews and that she would call me. The process is taking longer than I wanted. I'm moving in August and I haven't chosen an apartment yet because I don't know on which side of Atlanta I'll be working. I so wanted to go in tomorrow and give them my 2 weeks notice.
I also bleached my hair an unmistakable summer blonde. The dog keeps staring at me so I think she's a little freaked out, or at least she recognizes the difference. It's shocking, but I need a change of something. I told my mother my logic: a light blonde in the summer and a dark blonde in the winter and her response was classic- "What are you, a leaf?" My retort was a little less classic- "Mom, you're acting like I just told you I was pregnant." Apparently these kind of jokes aren't as funny.
Monday, June 06, 2005
My job: explained.
I need a post to answer everyone's (thoughtful) questions. So here it is. If you don't care, please skip.
My Current Situation:
Currently, I work customer service for a Chinese-owned restaurant furniture manufacturer. Obviously, customer service is not an ideal job, especially for a college graduate. My father got me the interview because he is an outside sales rep for the company. The plan was I would work there and learn the industry- the glamorous industry of pots and pans and garbage cans-
and eventually go to work for my father on the sales side and, even more eventually, help run the company after my father and step-mother retire.
Oh, and April, we are an absolute riot to go out to eat with. Imagine an adult family at a nice restaurant. My father is flipping the china over to see whose it is, my step-mother is examining the silverware, commenting on how nice/cheap the steak knife is, my brother is tilting the chair to the side to see if it's my company's, and I have my head under the table, peeking underneath the tablecloth. Newcomers are mortified. One time I made my boyfriend stand outside a bar while I had my face pressed against the adjacent restaurant's window. "That's our steak house chair," I comment.
For reasons I do not wish to fully get into, I do not trust my career to my father. I do not want to keep this job that I have begun to loathe and wait helplessly for him to decide that I've proven myself. I don't think he will ever have faith in me when it comes to work. I think he's confused how I was as a teenager to how I will always be, which even as I type seems like a bad excuse. I had 2 jobs all through high school so I don't know what he's thinking.
I have decided on my own to get another job: one that I will be happy with on the chance that my father will never ask me to come to work with him.
My (Hopeful) Future:
My dear friend Jenn from high school found me through this blog and during one e-mail in which I was venting to her about my job, she informed me that there was an opening at her job and she would put in a good word for me. So I sent her my resume and I passed the initial phone interview and have a first meeting interview tomorrow. It's for "reader services" which answers the phones, handles subscriptions, and a little editing. It's an entry-level job in the publishing industry, but it already pays more than my current one. My current crap one. The one I don't want anymore. If my father wasn't involved I'd think of creative ways to get myself fired.
Just kidding.
I'm not that evil.
Yet.
My Current Situation:
Currently, I work customer service for a Chinese-owned restaurant furniture manufacturer. Obviously, customer service is not an ideal job, especially for a college graduate. My father got me the interview because he is an outside sales rep for the company. The plan was I would work there and learn the industry- the glamorous industry of pots and pans and garbage cans-
and eventually go to work for my father on the sales side and, even more eventually, help run the company after my father and step-mother retire.
Oh, and April, we are an absolute riot to go out to eat with. Imagine an adult family at a nice restaurant. My father is flipping the china over to see whose it is, my step-mother is examining the silverware, commenting on how nice/cheap the steak knife is, my brother is tilting the chair to the side to see if it's my company's, and I have my head under the table, peeking underneath the tablecloth. Newcomers are mortified. One time I made my boyfriend stand outside a bar while I had my face pressed against the adjacent restaurant's window. "That's our steak house chair," I comment.
For reasons I do not wish to fully get into, I do not trust my career to my father. I do not want to keep this job that I have begun to loathe and wait helplessly for him to decide that I've proven myself. I don't think he will ever have faith in me when it comes to work. I think he's confused how I was as a teenager to how I will always be, which even as I type seems like a bad excuse. I had 2 jobs all through high school so I don't know what he's thinking.
I have decided on my own to get another job: one that I will be happy with on the chance that my father will never ask me to come to work with him.
My (Hopeful) Future:
My dear friend Jenn from high school found me through this blog and during one e-mail in which I was venting to her about my job, she informed me that there was an opening at her job and she would put in a good word for me. So I sent her my resume and I passed the initial phone interview and have a first meeting interview tomorrow. It's for "reader services" which answers the phones, handles subscriptions, and a little editing. It's an entry-level job in the publishing industry, but it already pays more than my current one. My current crap one. The one I don't want anymore. If my father wasn't involved I'd think of creative ways to get myself fired.
Just kidding.
I'm not that evil.
Yet.
Friday, June 03, 2005
Yesterday
Yesterday was a bit of a roller coaster:
Highlight:
Some of you may already know that I have given up on my current crap job and am looking for another (job, not crap job). This is something I don't normally do- once I make a commitment to something, I stick with it. But during a healthy rage, I sent out a resume. Yesterday I had an initial phone interview and have a face-to-face interview next week. It's for a reader's position where I'll be editing among other multifarious tasks.
I'm excited about it. I can actually use my degree and no longer have to respond to, "Oh you work in customer service? What's your next career move?"
Lowlight:
I get home and I attempt to unlock my front door to my apartment. I got through the lock in the door knob, but the door still won't open. I try again and found out the deadbolt was locked. This is especially strange since I live alone and have never used the deadbolt. I was a little freaked out. Then I realized how dirty the apartment was and thought, "I should have cleaned for the burglars." Nothing was taken, but there was a bra laying next to the kitchen and it definitely was not there when I left the apartment this morning. It could have been my dog, but she has never carried my underwear around before. She usually just chews the straps off where it lies. I checked my bra straps and there wasn't even a tooth mark.
Then I realized that I have a dog. One that the maintenance man is afraid of. He will not enter my apartment with her loose; he swears she growls at him. I tried explaining to the management that he is confusing her woo with a growl. (She is a Siberian Husky- she doesn't bark but makes a musical woo/howl melody. Say "woo" and raise your voice up and down- that's what she does.) So she was here when there was someone in my apartment. Did she protect her home? Or did she just lay under my bed?
I was only slightly freaked out and I sat in my bed. About an hour later I ventured out and headed into the kitchen where I noticed that the back door was also dead-bolted and the back porch light was on. I forgot I even had a back porch light- that's how long it's been since I've used it. I went from slightly freaked out to full-on freaked out and ran through my apartment again, tearing the place up, looking for a note from management or maintenance to say that they've been in there.
After finding none (I was crying by this point) I ran back to my bed. I didn't know what to do because management was gone until the next day. I called everyone I knew and felt a little better after engaging that chain thingy that keeps the door shut even if it is unlocked. I decided to wait till management opens again and talking to them before I did anything else, but I never left my bed for the rest of the night.
It's amazing how unsettling it is to know that someone had been in your house.
Highlight:
While calling people, I got to have this conversation:
Ryan: So what's new with you?
Jamie: (rambling on about new job opportunity)
Ryan: That sounds great for you. And you know people there won't be Nazis about what you wear, so you could probably wear those hot pants to work.
Jamie: The hot pants plan! You read my blog!
Highlight:
Some of you may already know that I have given up on my current crap job and am looking for another (job, not crap job). This is something I don't normally do- once I make a commitment to something, I stick with it. But during a healthy rage, I sent out a resume. Yesterday I had an initial phone interview and have a face-to-face interview next week. It's for a reader's position where I'll be editing among other multifarious tasks.
I'm excited about it. I can actually use my degree and no longer have to respond to, "Oh you work in customer service? What's your next career move?"
Lowlight:
I get home and I attempt to unlock my front door to my apartment. I got through the lock in the door knob, but the door still won't open. I try again and found out the deadbolt was locked. This is especially strange since I live alone and have never used the deadbolt. I was a little freaked out. Then I realized how dirty the apartment was and thought, "I should have cleaned for the burglars." Nothing was taken, but there was a bra laying next to the kitchen and it definitely was not there when I left the apartment this morning. It could have been my dog, but she has never carried my underwear around before. She usually just chews the straps off where it lies. I checked my bra straps and there wasn't even a tooth mark.
Then I realized that I have a dog. One that the maintenance man is afraid of. He will not enter my apartment with her loose; he swears she growls at him. I tried explaining to the management that he is confusing her woo with a growl. (She is a Siberian Husky- she doesn't bark but makes a musical woo/howl melody. Say "woo" and raise your voice up and down- that's what she does.) So she was here when there was someone in my apartment. Did she protect her home? Or did she just lay under my bed?
I was only slightly freaked out and I sat in my bed. About an hour later I ventured out and headed into the kitchen where I noticed that the back door was also dead-bolted and the back porch light was on. I forgot I even had a back porch light- that's how long it's been since I've used it. I went from slightly freaked out to full-on freaked out and ran through my apartment again, tearing the place up, looking for a note from management or maintenance to say that they've been in there.
After finding none (I was crying by this point) I ran back to my bed. I didn't know what to do because management was gone until the next day. I called everyone I knew and felt a little better after engaging that chain thingy that keeps the door shut even if it is unlocked. I decided to wait till management opens again and talking to them before I did anything else, but I never left my bed for the rest of the night.
It's amazing how unsettling it is to know that someone had been in your house.
Highlight:
While calling people, I got to have this conversation:
Ryan: So what's new with you?
Jamie: (rambling on about new job opportunity)
Ryan: That sounds great for you. And you know people there won't be Nazis about what you wear, so you could probably wear those hot pants to work.
Jamie: The hot pants plan! You read my blog!
Thursday, June 02, 2005
The Book of Jenn and Jamie
In high school I made a very good friend named Jenn. She and I had a lot of shared interests: we both skipped a year of English, were thespians, and knew the same people. But this wasn't what we bonded over- it was our disdain for the same people in our class that made us such good friends.
We developed a note exchanging system comprised of a spiral notebook that we would write in and hand off when we saw each other in the halls. We titled it The Book of Jenn and Jamie. It was filled with the usual: complaints about teachers, gossip about boys, etc. There was also a list. It was titled Hit List and it was pages and pages of people we didn't like. There was one girl we disliked so much we kept repeating her name in there every few spaces.
I was a little worried about the notebook if someone found it, but it was more of a Harriet the Spy worried, as in everyone-will-hate-me-if-they-found-out-what-I-wrote-about-them-in-this-notebook. We never considered getting into any real trouble over it.
Eventually the notebook thing phased out. One of us would forget to bring it to school, etc. I think I still have it in my bookshelf at my mother's house. Our senior year, Columbine happened. Jenn sat in front of me in Economics. She turned around and mouthed to me, "Thank God we don't have that book anymore." I knew what she was talking about. Right after Columbine, students couldn't wear long coats anymore, FCA was canceled because of bomb threats, school became optional several days that year because of threats. My mom was also a teacher in the same county and called me a few times, telling me not to go to school that day because she heard something I didn't. One day we actually had to stand in the parking lot of our school for over 3 hours because an art student wrote, "Don't touch, bomb inside!" so no one would damage/take it. The GBI and bomb squad showed up. I got out of a cum test in calculus.
School became really unbearable after that point, but Columbine transpired in late April and we were graduated early June, so the seniors didn't have to deal with it that long. I heard that the threats didn't occur on college campuses because people paid to go there, ergo they didn't entertain ideas of killing everybody. And that's the way it was in college: the most tragic thing that hit our campus was September 11th.
We've both thought back about that notebook. We were both socially accepted honor students with plenty of friends, but we shared a bit of a dark side. For the record, we didn't even do so much as pull that girl's hair that we really didn't like. It was both entertainment as well as a coping mechanism. We're not bad people. If that notebook surfaced today, we'd be suspended in the very least and be interviewed by both psychiatrists and police. It's things like this that piss me off today.
We developed a note exchanging system comprised of a spiral notebook that we would write in and hand off when we saw each other in the halls. We titled it The Book of Jenn and Jamie. It was filled with the usual: complaints about teachers, gossip about boys, etc. There was also a list. It was titled Hit List and it was pages and pages of people we didn't like. There was one girl we disliked so much we kept repeating her name in there every few spaces.
I was a little worried about the notebook if someone found it, but it was more of a Harriet the Spy worried, as in everyone-will-hate-me-if-they-found-out-what-I-wrote-about-them-in-this-notebook. We never considered getting into any real trouble over it.
Eventually the notebook thing phased out. One of us would forget to bring it to school, etc. I think I still have it in my bookshelf at my mother's house. Our senior year, Columbine happened. Jenn sat in front of me in Economics. She turned around and mouthed to me, "Thank God we don't have that book anymore." I knew what she was talking about. Right after Columbine, students couldn't wear long coats anymore, FCA was canceled because of bomb threats, school became optional several days that year because of threats. My mom was also a teacher in the same county and called me a few times, telling me not to go to school that day because she heard something I didn't. One day we actually had to stand in the parking lot of our school for over 3 hours because an art student wrote, "Don't touch, bomb inside!" so no one would damage/take it. The GBI and bomb squad showed up. I got out of a cum test in calculus.
School became really unbearable after that point, but Columbine transpired in late April and we were graduated early June, so the seniors didn't have to deal with it that long. I heard that the threats didn't occur on college campuses because people paid to go there, ergo they didn't entertain ideas of killing everybody. And that's the way it was in college: the most tragic thing that hit our campus was September 11th.
We've both thought back about that notebook. We were both socially accepted honor students with plenty of friends, but we shared a bit of a dark side. For the record, we didn't even do so much as pull that girl's hair that we really didn't like. It was both entertainment as well as a coping mechanism. We're not bad people. If that notebook surfaced today, we'd be suspended in the very least and be interviewed by both psychiatrists and police. It's things like this that piss me off today.
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