I took a much-needed staycation, turning a normal weekend into a 6-day relaxation.
Upon my return to work, my main printing station was broken, but all of my coworkers were happy to have me back, welcoming me and occasionally wishing me happy birthday.
Except one humanoid-manifestation of a wet blanket, who didn't greet me before complaining about how he desperately needs a vacation and he's "just doing what he can" to "get by" til he can leave.
... The guy gets over 5 weeks of vacation while I only get 10 days.
That pissed me off, within hour one of my being back. Couldn't be happy for me.
I'm so grateful to have feeling back in my hands but here I am back to being stuck in a room with this self-absorbed negative Nancy 9 hours a day.
Tuesday, November 20, 2018
Thursday, October 25, 2018
cinderella's if.
The Cinderella effect.
It's hard enough asking for any time off, no matter how little it is, however far in advance. Some bosses like to half-jokingly say "no" straight away. One boss straight-up wouldn't let me go to a friend's wedding.
If I get past obstacle one of getting the initial ok, it's usually fitted with the dangling-carrot-of-a-caviat "If you get all your work done, you may attend the ball."
And then the shitstorm.
What follows tends to be an overwhelming tidal wave of exceptionally-urgent assignments under the specialty jurisdiction of one Yerl Ookin-Atter. Sudden waves of inspiration come to the salespeople, with clients crawling out of every nook and cranny begging for complex projects with exorbitant rush fees, each desperate to have their products ASAP-NOWNOW, which of course leads to cut corners in the production line, skipping the sample/proofing process to plunge haphazardly into mindlessly-expedited production requiring specific complicated instructions that only find order in my little brain-noggin. But that carrot dangles away, and it's juuuust close enough that I feel-- what's the word, motivated? And it's after I plan ahead and catch a good rhythm that I see the request for redo's, changed quantities, red instead of green, reasons why an order cannot be completed at this time, last-minute adjustments, and all other obstacles that will block my path to salvation.
... I'm pretty sure that's a curse, to say, "If you... then you may have your reward."
.... Using earned vacation days is a reward?
Granted, this is first world problems, but 1. I spent childhood in school to prep for college. 2. I spent young adulthood in college prepping for work. 3. I spend adulthood in work to get enough money to eat to live longer to work longer, with occasional breaks here and there before spending the majority of my time working, even though I can't afford a house, I can't afford renting a one-bedroom apartment alone, and I spend a decent amount of money on the vehicle used to get me to and from work, which is the majority of my life, for which all previous years have built me up. I can stop the work when my mind and body are thoroughly broken and useless to society.
... Ain't that funny?
It's hard enough asking for any time off, no matter how little it is, however far in advance. Some bosses like to half-jokingly say "no" straight away. One boss straight-up wouldn't let me go to a friend's wedding.
If I get past obstacle one of getting the initial ok, it's usually fitted with the dangling-carrot-of-a-caviat "If you get all your work done, you may attend the ball."
And then the shitstorm.
What follows tends to be an overwhelming tidal wave of exceptionally-urgent assignments under the specialty jurisdiction of one Yerl Ookin-Atter. Sudden waves of inspiration come to the salespeople, with clients crawling out of every nook and cranny begging for complex projects with exorbitant rush fees, each desperate to have their products ASAP-NOWNOW, which of course leads to cut corners in the production line, skipping the sample/proofing process to plunge haphazardly into mindlessly-expedited production requiring specific complicated instructions that only find order in my little brain-noggin. But that carrot dangles away, and it's juuuust close enough that I feel-- what's the word, motivated? And it's after I plan ahead and catch a good rhythm that I see the request for redo's, changed quantities, red instead of green, reasons why an order cannot be completed at this time, last-minute adjustments, and all other obstacles that will block my path to salvation.
... I'm pretty sure that's a curse, to say, "If you... then you may have your reward."
.... Using earned vacation days is a reward?
Granted, this is first world problems, but 1. I spent childhood in school to prep for college. 2. I spent young adulthood in college prepping for work. 3. I spend adulthood in work to get enough money to eat to live longer to work longer, with occasional breaks here and there before spending the majority of my time working, even though I can't afford a house, I can't afford renting a one-bedroom apartment alone, and I spend a decent amount of money on the vehicle used to get me to and from work, which is the majority of my life, for which all previous years have built me up. I can stop the work when my mind and body are thoroughly broken and useless to society.
... Ain't that funny?
dead. stop.
Commute drivers.
In heavy traffic, there's always that one driver who leads you into a false sense of traffic flow, accelerating up to 40 mph, waiting until the moment you let your guard down, then-- RRRT!
In heavy traffic, there's always that one driver who leads you into a false sense of traffic flow, accelerating up to 40 mph, waiting until the moment you let your guard down, then-- RRRT!
Dead stop.
And you think, "Okay, maybe that was my bad. I'll give 'em distance this time and stay alert." Accelerating cautiously. "Finally traffic seems to be picking up again." 40 mph. "Oh does this guy want in on my lane-- HOLYCRAP!"
Dead stop.
"Okay guy. Come on dude. Not cool bro. Now I'm giving you space-- Oh ho ho! Looks like you finally put space between you and the dude in-frunna-ya. Bout time! Okay, lessee if you've learned your lesson. Oh, look, an In-N-Out Burger--- DAMMIT WHY!?! WHY?!!!!!?!!!?!"
Dead stop well before the car in front of him.
"Okay guy. Come on dude. Not cool bro. Now I'm giving you space-- Oh ho ho! Looks like you finally put space between you and the dude in-frunna-ya. Bout time! Okay, lessee if you've learned your lesson. Oh, look, an In-N-Out Burger--- DAMMIT WHY!?! WHY?!!!!!?!!!?!"
Dead stop well before the car in front of him.
Monday, August 13, 2018
oo.naw.naw.naw.
Havana oo nana...
I just don't understand the Jeffrey bridge, you guys. You've got this young, sultry, swept-off-her-feet voice singing about falling head-over-heels, and then
On my drive to work today, I allowed my still-waking-up low energy to filter through a chill mood, instead of the high-blood-pressure "don'tchu play games with ME, Prius muddabucka" "dammit I'm late again" mentality. Head-bopping to a cheerful dose of Kpop, I witnessed the little sedan in the next lane blow its back tire, but attempt to continue along, while other cars crept up its bumper and cut across to another lane with a "Y U SO SLOW!?!" attitude. I put on my blinker, safely merged behind that distressed car, and slowly drove a safe distance behind it, blinking my emergency flashers to let others know to go around. When she finally had some extra road room, she pulled to the side of the road, and I drove on past, glancing back at the older lady with the beat-up three-wheeled sedan.
... A part of me felt proud of myself for what I consider "helping" that lady, but a louder voice in my mind held the opinion that it was silly and unnecessary.
I like to help people. I like to consider myself, well, considerate, and empathetic. I'm not sure where I personally draw the line between being helpful and wasting my time/resources. I like to think of myself as fairly efficient, but that doesn't always coincide with the whole considerate thing.
...
... I mean, I get that a rapper like Ludacris comes off as too assertive/aggressive, and that Young Thug style is a lot more smoky and chill, but what about B.o.B or Snoop Dogg or Luis Fonsi or T.I.? I mean, I guess it makes Cabello's clear voice sound even better, but... c'mon.
EDIT: 10/25
Oh of course there's a way better remix:
I just don't understand the Jeffrey bridge, you guys. You've got this young, sultry, swept-off-her-feet voice singing about falling head-over-heels, and then
(Jefferyyy)Just graduated, fresh on campus, mmFresh out East Atlanta with no manners, damn...Bump on her bumper like a traffic jamHey, I was quick to pay that girl like Uncle Sam (here you go, ay)Back it on me, shawty cravin' on meGet to diggin' on me (on me)She waited on me (then what?)Shawty cakin' on me, got the bacon on me (wait up)This is history in the makin' on me (on me)Point blank, close range, that beIf it cost a million, that's me (that's me)I was gettin' mula, man they feel meIt sounds like some guy chillin' at home toying with a free autotune app. He listens to this young lady in love yet torn, and then, "Humpty-hump. Yeah, you want me. I'm Jeffery. You're a tasty piece of ass. I have money!" Now, I'm no good at slang, but according to Urban Dictionary, "pay that girl" could either mean a) to ignore, b) to like something (maybe as in pay it a compliment?), or c) to literally give the young woman money for some kind of not-so-wholesome service. Regardless, I'm just not a fan of this guy's little.... rap-thing.
On my drive to work today, I allowed my still-waking-up low energy to filter through a chill mood, instead of the high-blood-pressure "don'tchu play games with ME, Prius muddabucka" "dammit I'm late again" mentality. Head-bopping to a cheerful dose of Kpop, I witnessed the little sedan in the next lane blow its back tire, but attempt to continue along, while other cars crept up its bumper and cut across to another lane with a "Y U SO SLOW!?!" attitude. I put on my blinker, safely merged behind that distressed car, and slowly drove a safe distance behind it, blinking my emergency flashers to let others know to go around. When she finally had some extra road room, she pulled to the side of the road, and I drove on past, glancing back at the older lady with the beat-up three-wheeled sedan.
... A part of me felt proud of myself for what I consider "helping" that lady, but a louder voice in my mind held the opinion that it was silly and unnecessary.
I like to help people. I like to consider myself, well, considerate, and empathetic. I'm not sure where I personally draw the line between being helpful and wasting my time/resources. I like to think of myself as fairly efficient, but that doesn't always coincide with the whole considerate thing.
...
... I mean, I get that a rapper like Ludacris comes off as too assertive/aggressive, and that Young Thug style is a lot more smoky and chill, but what about B.o.B or Snoop Dogg or Luis Fonsi or T.I.? I mean, I guess it makes Cabello's clear voice sound even better, but... c'mon.
EDIT: 10/25
Oh of course there's a way better remix:
Grass is Greener
Jerome is upset because he is no longer in the warm womb where he came to exist. He is cold, hungry, and ferociously uncomfortable.
Jack is upset because a wheel has popped off his toy firetruck, which is baked in happy memories of his grandfather whom he misses more than he understands.
Jesse is upset that he doesn't have a date for the big school dance. He'd been focusing so hard on improving his facial complexion, smelling ok, working a part-time job to afford renting a suit and purchasing a corsage, and trying not to be too embarrassingly awkward around Theresa, to realize his poor grades won't allow him to graduate with the rest of his class.
... Oh, and Jesse's best friend told Theresa that Jesse's not into girls, swooping in on the rebound.
Jim is upset that his new wife is unable to conceive. His natural instinct is to blame her for withholding such important information, even though she hadn't known until after the honeymoon. Jim counts the days until the divorce is finalized while he continues to sleep with his arms around the woman he once loved.
John is upset that his partner is leaving him. Already teetering on clinical depression, he racks his brain for just one reason why they weren't perfect together. He obsesses day and night, but manages to respect his ex's request to ask no questions. The chaos inside eats away at John's self-esteem, his identity, and ultimately his sanity.
Jai is upset that his beautiful, healthy baby boy has a strong wail that blasts day and night. As much as he loves his new family, he jumps at any opportunity to work more hours or sit in traffic just a little longer to enjoy the peace. He rationalizes that the child needs his mother at this stage of life, and he'll step back in when he becomes "more helpful".
Jack is upset because a wheel has popped off his toy firetruck, which is baked in happy memories of his grandfather whom he misses more than he understands.
Jesse is upset that he doesn't have a date for the big school dance. He'd been focusing so hard on improving his facial complexion, smelling ok, working a part-time job to afford renting a suit and purchasing a corsage, and trying not to be too embarrassingly awkward around Theresa, to realize his poor grades won't allow him to graduate with the rest of his class.
... Oh, and Jesse's best friend told Theresa that Jesse's not into girls, swooping in on the rebound.
Jim is upset that his new wife is unable to conceive. His natural instinct is to blame her for withholding such important information, even though she hadn't known until after the honeymoon. Jim counts the days until the divorce is finalized while he continues to sleep with his arms around the woman he once loved.
John is upset that his partner is leaving him. Already teetering on clinical depression, he racks his brain for just one reason why they weren't perfect together. He obsesses day and night, but manages to respect his ex's request to ask no questions. The chaos inside eats away at John's self-esteem, his identity, and ultimately his sanity.
Jai is upset that his beautiful, healthy baby boy has a strong wail that blasts day and night. As much as he loves his new family, he jumps at any opportunity to work more hours or sit in traffic just a little longer to enjoy the peace. He rationalizes that the child needs his mother at this stage of life, and he'll step back in when he becomes "more helpful".
Saturday, August 4, 2018
toy. crap. brilliant.
I came home from work to greet my handsome cat.
He seemed normal, albeit a little apprehensive-- though I could just be reading into things.
Then I saw it-- one small hard kitty poop with a sprig of hair, sitting on my carpet.
My first thought was the same as any cat-owner: What have I done to displease you?!
I refilled his food bowl, cleaned the heck out of his food/water station, rendered his litterbox spotless (without losing his natural scent, of course)...
... aaaand as a sort of afterthought, I cleaned up his little "message".
Kinda impressive that he could will a single one out.... hm....
I wake up to my cat meowing out of boredom. I get up and squint at the toy he had dragged into the room (look what the cat dragged in, har har...) and the dark object beside it. He started to bat at the object, flicked it into the hall, and I recognized it as another hairy poop. (Honestly, part of me was relived that he didn't bring in a bug that large.) I quickly substituted it with a normal cat toy and cleaned it up. He then proceeded to check both areas where he'd left... his new favorite toys..?
Oh, God, no...
I realized his little sprig of hair made for easy carrying, the little ball was perfect for movement, and the weight wasn't too heavy to carry but substantial enough for captivating interaction.
... My normally-clever cat... had discovered the attributes of the perfect cat toy...
... in his poo.
He seemed normal, albeit a little apprehensive-- though I could just be reading into things.
Then I saw it-- one small hard kitty poop with a sprig of hair, sitting on my carpet.
My first thought was the same as any cat-owner: What have I done to displease you?!
I refilled his food bowl, cleaned the heck out of his food/water station, rendered his litterbox spotless (without losing his natural scent, of course)...
... aaaand as a sort of afterthought, I cleaned up his little "message".
Kinda impressive that he could will a single one out.... hm....
I wake up to my cat meowing out of boredom. I get up and squint at the toy he had dragged into the room (look what the cat dragged in, har har...) and the dark object beside it. He started to bat at the object, flicked it into the hall, and I recognized it as another hairy poop. (Honestly, part of me was relived that he didn't bring in a bug that large.) I quickly substituted it with a normal cat toy and cleaned it up. He then proceeded to check both areas where he'd left... his new favorite toys..?
Oh, God, no...
I realized his little sprig of hair made for easy carrying, the little ball was perfect for movement, and the weight wasn't too heavy to carry but substantial enough for captivating interaction.
... My normally-clever cat... had discovered the attributes of the perfect cat toy...
... in his poo.
friday. lights. action.
Friday nights tend to be date nights for a lot of couples. It's a time for celebrating the end of the work week. It's a great night to check out a hot new restaurant.
I arrived at the hot pot restaurant before the dinner rush. However, this trendy establishment relied on an iPad merely to place a patron's name on the waiting list. The lanky host seemed confused when the app faltered, and crashed again and again, no matter how insistent he pressed the screen. After a phone call and a brisk walk to fetch help, the young man returned to point at the broken thing and quickly explain the situation in Chinese. More touch-screen prodding ensued, escalating to a full tablet restart. When this didn't seem to solve the problem, the two disappeared down the hall to heatedly discuss their options.
Meanwhile, a couple entered the restaurant, the young woman stepping right up to the tablet to experience a couple of rounds of the growing-fad-of-a-game "Crash da App". To avoid letting the cycle continue, I stumbled over my own foot and awkwardly brought the couple up to speed. They nodded and sat down. Instantly, three more couples and a family reunion of about 20 people all materialized in the blink of an eye. Children chased each other, 30-something-year-olds embraced smiling elders, bundled newborns were introduced, reservation times were reaffirmed, doves sprung into flight sprinkling shimmering confetti over a cheery crowd chanting, "We want food! We want food!"
--- The lanky host returned (!!!) ... with a piece of binder paper. He fumbled with a pen, scribbled words, looked at me uneasily, and asked for my name and the number of members in my party. He added two more names before the app miraculously reopened, as if there were never a problem in the first place.
I managed to snag a seat in the waiting area, and I awaited the arrival of my sister and her daughter. A stool remained available around the corner from where I sat, in a tight squeeze between wall partition and a cocktail table. A young couple ambled around the table with some effort, and I barely watched in my peripheral vision as I played a mindless game on my phone, secretly hoping to earn the envy of the toddler next to me. (Setting them goals high!) When the couple quietly remarked how crowded it was as the young woman slid slowly onto the only available seat, I silently assumed my fluffy potato body was taking up a bulky amount of room, and that girly was probably in uncomfortable shoes and clothes to do some impressin'. Scoffity-scoff-scoff.
My sister arrived just in time to have our little party of 2-and-a-baybeh seated. I glanced back at the young couple to discover that the girl had a cast on her lower leg, instantly hoisting the flag declaring me an asshole.
We assembled ourselves in a small booth beside a moving conveyor belt of food. My sister created a mountain between her torso and the moving plates of food using her baby-wrangling supply sack and accompanying car seat. Baby sat across from the conveyor belt, with a backdrop of about 40-feet-square's worth of unoffensive live sports at a brightness setting of "The Sun".
Although Baby was a good distance from grabbable edibles, she sat nearly within stretching-distance to our active electric stovetops and accompanying bubbling broths. Keeping an eye on her to make sure she didn't try to reach for my dangerous territory, I tried to focus on an awesome, quality dinner while maintaining an active conversation with one of my favorite people in the world. I watched the conveyor belt for items I wanted to cook in my broth and consume. I began to notice a pattern: three dishes of each ingredient within reach of multiple tables, then only two dishes of dessert-- one orange cake, one tiramisu. At first I tried to be considerate of other tables, glancing across at the twelve people piled into a booth modestly built for four, children hopping around, teens glued to their glowing screens, eyes glancing disinterested at dish after dish. I tested the waters, allowing one tiramisu to pass, and then another. Neither were touched. I humbly accepted the responsibility of collecting and enjoying all of the tiramisu. I built a civilization of tiramisu in my tummy, and it was divine.
Of course things easily became a little overwhelming. My sister couldn't reach the conveyor belt ('member Mt. Diapers'n'things?) so I had to continue to offer to swipe, pass, shuffle-- block the baby from hot counter-- damn that wall of tv's is bright-- ADD TO TIRAMISU EMPIRE-- you need more of this kind of noodle?-- oo! My kobe beef is ready to fish out of my broth! -- Sure, I'll have more water, thank you -- OMG Baby sauce dish is not for you! -- oh there's the bok choy, yoink! -- So how's the husband? -- No one cares that this is my 17th tiramisu right? -- Where did you find a spoon, Baby? -- Argh, couldn't they find a channel of dark colors instead of bright sunlit whateverball?! -- Yeah, dude, that sucks-- Oh yes, thank you for water. Boy, they're diligent here, aren't they? We've gotta tip 'em-- Prawns! Got 'em! Yes! Here ya go! -- Oh I never started cooking my noodles-- TIRIMISU-- NO, Baby!
... I don't remember if I felt full after that experience, but I wouldn't mind going back. Thems was good eats.
I arrived at the hot pot restaurant before the dinner rush. However, this trendy establishment relied on an iPad merely to place a patron's name on the waiting list. The lanky host seemed confused when the app faltered, and crashed again and again, no matter how insistent he pressed the screen. After a phone call and a brisk walk to fetch help, the young man returned to point at the broken thing and quickly explain the situation in Chinese. More touch-screen prodding ensued, escalating to a full tablet restart. When this didn't seem to solve the problem, the two disappeared down the hall to heatedly discuss their options.
Meanwhile, a couple entered the restaurant, the young woman stepping right up to the tablet to experience a couple of rounds of the growing-fad-of-a-game "Crash da App". To avoid letting the cycle continue, I stumbled over my own foot and awkwardly brought the couple up to speed. They nodded and sat down. Instantly, three more couples and a family reunion of about 20 people all materialized in the blink of an eye. Children chased each other, 30-something-year-olds embraced smiling elders, bundled newborns were introduced, reservation times were reaffirmed, doves sprung into flight sprinkling shimmering confetti over a cheery crowd chanting, "We want food! We want food!"
--- The lanky host returned (!!!) ... with a piece of binder paper. He fumbled with a pen, scribbled words, looked at me uneasily, and asked for my name and the number of members in my party. He added two more names before the app miraculously reopened, as if there were never a problem in the first place.
I managed to snag a seat in the waiting area, and I awaited the arrival of my sister and her daughter. A stool remained available around the corner from where I sat, in a tight squeeze between wall partition and a cocktail table. A young couple ambled around the table with some effort, and I barely watched in my peripheral vision as I played a mindless game on my phone, secretly hoping to earn the envy of the toddler next to me. (Setting them goals high!) When the couple quietly remarked how crowded it was as the young woman slid slowly onto the only available seat, I silently assumed my fluffy potato body was taking up a bulky amount of room, and that girly was probably in uncomfortable shoes and clothes to do some impressin'. Scoffity-scoff-scoff.
My sister arrived just in time to have our little party of 2-and-a-baybeh seated. I glanced back at the young couple to discover that the girl had a cast on her lower leg, instantly hoisting the flag declaring me an asshole.
We assembled ourselves in a small booth beside a moving conveyor belt of food. My sister created a mountain between her torso and the moving plates of food using her baby-wrangling supply sack and accompanying car seat. Baby sat across from the conveyor belt, with a backdrop of about 40-feet-square's worth of unoffensive live sports at a brightness setting of "The Sun".
Although Baby was a good distance from grabbable edibles, she sat nearly within stretching-distance to our active electric stovetops and accompanying bubbling broths. Keeping an eye on her to make sure she didn't try to reach for my dangerous territory, I tried to focus on an awesome, quality dinner while maintaining an active conversation with one of my favorite people in the world. I watched the conveyor belt for items I wanted to cook in my broth and consume. I began to notice a pattern: three dishes of each ingredient within reach of multiple tables, then only two dishes of dessert-- one orange cake, one tiramisu. At first I tried to be considerate of other tables, glancing across at the twelve people piled into a booth modestly built for four, children hopping around, teens glued to their glowing screens, eyes glancing disinterested at dish after dish. I tested the waters, allowing one tiramisu to pass, and then another. Neither were touched. I humbly accepted the responsibility of collecting and enjoying all of the tiramisu. I built a civilization of tiramisu in my tummy, and it was divine.
Of course things easily became a little overwhelming. My sister couldn't reach the conveyor belt ('member Mt. Diapers'n'things?) so I had to continue to offer to swipe, pass, shuffle-- block the baby from hot counter-- damn that wall of tv's is bright-- ADD TO TIRAMISU EMPIRE-- you need more of this kind of noodle?-- oo! My kobe beef is ready to fish out of my broth! -- Sure, I'll have more water, thank you -- OMG Baby sauce dish is not for you! -- oh there's the bok choy, yoink! -- So how's the husband? -- No one cares that this is my 17th tiramisu right? -- Where did you find a spoon, Baby? -- Argh, couldn't they find a channel of dark colors instead of bright sunlit whateverball?! -- Yeah, dude, that sucks-- Oh yes, thank you for water. Boy, they're diligent here, aren't they? We've gotta tip 'em-- Prawns! Got 'em! Yes! Here ya go! -- Oh I never started cooking my noodles-- TIRIMISU-- NO, Baby!
... I don't remember if I felt full after that experience, but I wouldn't mind going back. Thems was good eats.
tone. run. ouch.
An Amazon review I've written for a sports bra:
... and strategize to sit. ... in the moving-est lane.
... while silently judging others...
... and applying make-up...
... sometimes listening to Bollywood...
... brainstorming ways to remind other drivers that we're frail little squishy human bodies in our low-emission tanks...
... irrationally hating all red Priuses...
-- AND I REALIZED!!!!!! .. guys... In the morning, I look for the one asshole who isn't a total jerk, cleverly weaving from gap to gap while still using their turn signal and managing not to cut people off-- I mean, you still kinda hate the guy, but you're also a little impressed and you think to yourself, "Damn, if I were smarter, I'd be following that guy. Then maybe I wouldn't be as late to work!"
... In the evening, that same feller becomes demoted to impatient asshole, and I find a stable driver who won't stop short (usually a semi or an old pick-up full of tools), and I relax behind them while allowing my crazy little wound-up multitasking brain to wander.
I mentally prepare a to-do/idea list a hundred items long, but rarely have a chance to write them down even though I keep notebook paper and a pen in my car at all times.
I park.
Catch up on messages.
Chill with the strays after making a couple of scattered treat piles.
And happily allow myself to be judged by passers-by who are convinced that I'm a homeless crazy cat witch.
I knew buying this thing would be a gamble. This bra is ridiculously tight. Trying to squeeze my fluffy marshmallow torso into this thing is hilariously awful. Perhaps it could be marketed as an arm exfoliator; during my feeble efforts, it certainly took away some of my skin cells. Finally, securing a cellphone in a kangaroo pouch located between one's shoulderblades adds an element of annoyance unless the rhythmic slapping on the back happens to motivate you.Every morning, I awaken from an uneventful yet oddly realistic and thus immersive dream to somehow drag myself out of bed, slap myself with a cup of coffee, rub soap on my greasy self, leisurely pet my darling cat, close my eyes and meditate on the option to attempt a morning workout, reawaken to realize I'm officially running late, utilize adrenaline rush to get to my car, sit and listen to the nagging beep of the key sitting inactive in the ignition whilst I gingerly feed the stray cats whom I call Little One and Little Scrappy Cat (taking care to scatter the treats so they don't fight), resume adrenaline rush to speed to the toll booth to sit.
... and strategize to sit. ... in the moving-est lane.
... while silently judging others...
... and applying make-up...
... sometimes listening to Bollywood...
... brainstorming ways to remind other drivers that we're frail little squishy human bodies in our low-emission tanks...
... irrationally hating all red Priuses...
-- AND I REALIZED!!!!!! .. guys... In the morning, I look for the one asshole who isn't a total jerk, cleverly weaving from gap to gap while still using their turn signal and managing not to cut people off-- I mean, you still kinda hate the guy, but you're also a little impressed and you think to yourself, "Damn, if I were smarter, I'd be following that guy. Then maybe I wouldn't be as late to work!"
... In the evening, that same feller becomes demoted to impatient asshole, and I find a stable driver who won't stop short (usually a semi or an old pick-up full of tools), and I relax behind them while allowing my crazy little wound-up multitasking brain to wander.
I mentally prepare a to-do/idea list a hundred items long, but rarely have a chance to write them down even though I keep notebook paper and a pen in my car at all times.
I park.
Catch up on messages.
Chill with the strays after making a couple of scattered treat piles.
And happily allow myself to be judged by passers-by who are convinced that I'm a homeless crazy cat witch.
Saturday, July 28, 2018
pho. pun. fun.
When I was little, the trip to my doctor's office passed a restaurant called Phuket, which is apparently a gorgeous province in Thailand. Of course, in the English language, this is phuking hilarious.
I had a terrible song stuck in my head at work one day. To take my mind off of this earworm, I started to think of names for Pho restaurants. (Yes, I just jumped to Vietnamese cuisine, 1,145 miles away.)
- Pho-Eva Yarn (Noodles and sewing supplies)
- Girls Just Wanna Have Pho
- She'll Have Pho, Pho, Pho Now Her Daddy Took Her T-bone Away
- Don't Chew Pho Get It (Don Chu Pho Get About Me)
- One Two Three Pho
- One Pho In The Door
- What Is It Good Pho
- Fufu's Faux Pho
- Pho du FaFa
- Poor Un-Pho-Tunate Seoul (More like a news article about a Vietnamese restaurant closing in South Korea.)
- Pho Fo' You, Ewe
(Psst. Hey. Yeah, no, you're doing great. Just one little thing: ... Pho is pronounced "fuh".)
....
I saw a Smart Car speeding down the highway, and the Benny Hill theme played in my head.
(Haha. It'd be awesome if they had that on YouTube.)
Thank you, ZeInternet.
dootdoodoo. dootdoo. doodoodoo
I need to talk about "Baby Shark."
My sister wanted me to cut and color her hair. I wanted to cut and color my sister's hair. We never have enough time for me to properly infuse my sister's head with the full potential of my amateur cosmetology prowess. I thought we had it rough with our tight schedules and lack of patience. There has to be a special breed of salon masters who specialize in cutting new parents' hair while they're holding on to a bored squirmy child.
Enter Baby Shark. We listened to this song on a loop for literally hours. Here's the crazy part: I never got sick of it. I love this stupid song. My darling baby niece loves this stupid song. My sister puts a soothing, happy bounciness to this song when she sings it with a dimpled smile to her daughter. I thought the best song in the world was "Good Vibrations" from the Beach Boys, but it might have just been bested by a baby shark (dootdoodoo dootdoo doodoodoo).
My dad is the type of man who listens carefully for a spark of passion in your conversation, researches it, masters the knowledge, and educates you further on what you already love. If you mention a band's music video, for example, he will research the band, the video, other videos by the band, other bands under the same record label, news about the band, individual band members' solo projects, etc.
... My sister has just introduced my dad to "Baby Shark."
cuckoo. g'joob.
Over a text conversation, my sister asked how I was doing. I let her know that the small fold in the back of my throat, lovingly referred to as my "throat vajayjay", had captured a large ball of partially-digested food (why is it always white?!) in the back of the trap instead of the usual nook of the front fold. I can usually massage the folds until the blob pops out, but it usually results in a serious gag reflex, and sometimes minor residual irritation that disappears within an hour. Although this particular swabbing was an eventual success, it challenged me to the point of disturbing and evicting the contents of my stomach.
Side note: The more information I gift upon the question "how are you", the more likely it is that I treasure our relationship. An individual could read a Soozn one-word answer as curt and testing, like a moat guarding a wall guarding an army guarding a titan guarding a plasma forcefield guarding a mutant army guarding another moat (this one's on fire) guarding a fence (covered in spikes decorated a la Vlad the Impaler) guarding a chihuahua guard dog guarding a fortress. Either that, or a Soozn could be feeling lazy.
I asked my sister how she was doing. She complained of a sharp pain in her abdomen. A few hours later, she finished her shift at work, picked up her 9-month-old daughter, and drove herself to the ER. After an uninvited tour of San Francisco and what can only be a practical joke (thanks Google Maps!), I finally arrived at the hospital in time to hold the beautiful, crying baby while my sister received an ultrasound. (It would appear that my niece is far-sighted, and can only truly appreciate my presence from at least a foot away.)
We awaited results and I did my best to keep both mother and child entertained, making balloon puppets out of gloves, sharing string beans, hiccuping, singing, clapping, hopping around with tupperware-- y'know, the usual auntie bag of tricks. Since the past three years have been filled with multiple hospital trips for all of the members of my immediate family, I tend to travel daily with a cell charger, deodorant, water, snacks, and aspirin. (I've considered keeping an overnight bag in the trunk of my car, but then it'd sit there and get smelly and I'd have to eventually wash it-- it just seemed like too much of a hassle.)
A staff member arrived to request the copayment, and my sister had her hands full of bored, squirmy princess whilst hooked to an IV drip that was being tugged and tested in the fray. I was called-upon to fetch currency from the shirt breast pocket, and in doing so, I retrieved... an egg.
(I just asked my boyfriend what game he's playing on his PC. The name went in one ear and out the other. Is there a random video game title generator out there? Super Dungeon Wrangler Fighting Battleground Zero Six Turbo Rally Force Dungeon Master Hero -ville...)
My sister's husband arrived before my hospital volunteer shift arrived at its 3-hour mark... after I'd worked a hectic 10-hour shift. I took my leave and returned home (a 1.5-hour drive), just in time to scarf down some dinner and get my 6 hours of rest before my hectic understaffed Friday.
I've. Earned. This.
Side note: The more information I gift upon the question "how are you", the more likely it is that I treasure our relationship. An individual could read a Soozn one-word answer as curt and testing, like a moat guarding a wall guarding an army guarding a titan guarding a plasma forcefield guarding a mutant army guarding another moat (this one's on fire) guarding a fence (covered in spikes decorated a la Vlad the Impaler) guarding a chihuahua guard dog guarding a fortress. Either that, or a Soozn could be feeling lazy.
I asked my sister how she was doing. She complained of a sharp pain in her abdomen. A few hours later, she finished her shift at work, picked up her 9-month-old daughter, and drove herself to the ER. After an uninvited tour of San Francisco and what can only be a practical joke (thanks Google Maps!), I finally arrived at the hospital in time to hold the beautiful, crying baby while my sister received an ultrasound. (It would appear that my niece is far-sighted, and can only truly appreciate my presence from at least a foot away.)
We awaited results and I did my best to keep both mother and child entertained, making balloon puppets out of gloves, sharing string beans, hiccuping, singing, clapping, hopping around with tupperware-- y'know, the usual auntie bag of tricks. Since the past three years have been filled with multiple hospital trips for all of the members of my immediate family, I tend to travel daily with a cell charger, deodorant, water, snacks, and aspirin. (I've considered keeping an overnight bag in the trunk of my car, but then it'd sit there and get smelly and I'd have to eventually wash it-- it just seemed like too much of a hassle.)
A staff member arrived to request the copayment, and my sister had her hands full of bored, squirmy princess whilst hooked to an IV drip that was being tugged and tested in the fray. I was called-upon to fetch currency from the shirt breast pocket, and in doing so, I retrieved... an egg.
(I just asked my boyfriend what game he's playing on his PC. The name went in one ear and out the other. Is there a random video game title generator out there? Super Dungeon Wrangler Fighting Battleground Zero Six Turbo Rally Force Dungeon Master Hero -ville...)
My sister's husband arrived before my hospital volunteer shift arrived at its 3-hour mark... after I'd worked a hectic 10-hour shift. I took my leave and returned home (a 1.5-hour drive), just in time to scarf down some dinner and get my 6 hours of rest before my hectic understaffed Friday.
I've. Earned. This.
Friday, July 27, 2018
potato. cowboy. lunch.
One day I was a potato.
Actually......
Another day I was a turtle.
I had a pointy face and white cowboy boots and a dense yellow poster reminding parents to not let their children grow up to be monkeys whilst depicting a rodeo monkey in full cowboy garb slinging a lasso.
... It honestly frustrates me that I need to break down my beautiful poetic words to include everyone on what my expressions are attempting to convey.
I once heard a stand-up comedian describe the look of Irish people as "potatoes." This invokes an image of something round, bloated, and pocked, whilst doubling as a historical reference to the Irish Potato Famine of the mid-1800's. (The comedian was also Irish, like meeee.) Part homage to this comedian and part self-deprecation, my bored-senseless mind clung to this thought whilst it tried to distract itself from the agony of Bay Area traffic.
A few days later, I was trying on clothing, and a particular top had a rather large rounded collar, bringing attention to my odd neck, which is segmented like a fluffy marshmallow winter coat, and the tiny potato head sitting on top, like an upside-down exclamation point. (What a God-awful sundae I've just illustrated, with gobbed marshmallow and uncooked potato. I sincerely apologize.)
And the rest is quite literally history. Which brings us to today...
... It honestly frustrates me that I need to break down my beautiful poetic words to include everyone on what my expressions are attempting to convey.
I once heard a stand-up comedian describe the look of Irish people as "potatoes." This invokes an image of something round, bloated, and pocked, whilst doubling as a historical reference to the Irish Potato Famine of the mid-1800's. (The comedian was also Irish, like meeee.) Part homage to this comedian and part self-deprecation, my bored-senseless mind clung to this thought whilst it tried to distract itself from the agony of Bay Area traffic.
A few days later, I was trying on clothing, and a particular top had a rather large rounded collar, bringing attention to my odd neck, which is segmented like a fluffy marshmallow winter coat, and the tiny potato head sitting on top, like an upside-down exclamation point. (What a God-awful sundae I've just illustrated, with gobbed marshmallow and uncooked potato. I sincerely apologize.)
And the rest is quite literally history. Which brings us to today...
Soba, you're benched. I will abandon you in the trash, you disgusting garbage. Pretzels! French onion dip! You're up! Let's do this.
....
... No, no. I should at least attempt nutrients today so I can finish my shift fueled with something more tangible than mere anger.
Sunday, July 22, 2018
thai. kimchi. sunday.
Dear Thai food,
Please become sentient and crawl your way across the bridge to my place without getting cold or run-over.
My goal is to avoid leaving my apartment for any reason today, as I was social for most of yesterday and require at least one day a week in which I don't see or speak to another human unless it's attached to me (like a sister or a boyfriend).
I don't want your company, Thai food. I just want to eat you and pretend I'm getting more nutrients than the meat-and-cheese plate I had for brunch, or the half-a-bowl of off-brand Cinnamon Toast Crunch that made it beyond the Pool of Eventual Soggy-Death.
If you can drag some kimchi over with ya, you'll get a bonus reward. In fact, you can all party it up in my tum-tum until your dying day.
Which will be today. When I eat you. When you figure out self-transportation. And install that sidecar for your buddy.
Thanks.
PS- I'm *this close* to walking up to one of those fruit stand guys and asking them to sell coffee instead.
Please become sentient and crawl your way across the bridge to my place without getting cold or run-over.
My goal is to avoid leaving my apartment for any reason today, as I was social for most of yesterday and require at least one day a week in which I don't see or speak to another human unless it's attached to me (like a sister or a boyfriend).
I don't want your company, Thai food. I just want to eat you and pretend I'm getting more nutrients than the meat-and-cheese plate I had for brunch, or the half-a-bowl of off-brand Cinnamon Toast Crunch that made it beyond the Pool of Eventual Soggy-Death.
If you can drag some kimchi over with ya, you'll get a bonus reward. In fact, you can all party it up in my tum-tum until your dying day.
Which will be today. When I eat you. When you figure out self-transportation. And install that sidecar for your buddy.
Thanks.
PS- I'm *this close* to walking up to one of those fruit stand guys and asking them to sell coffee instead.
Saturday, July 21, 2018
red. prius. blast.
After my Thursday morning commute, I paused to write-vent...
Turns out that not all of my Facebook friends understand my sense of humor, or trust that I didn't really want to do horrible things to another human being. (Welcome to a big reason why I need this blog in my life.)
On Monday, I woke up before my alarm, did yoga, drank tea instead of coffee (on a 48-hour no-coffee low-stimulant streak), had a nice calm day at work, and all was well.
Tuesday... 2+ cups of coffee, brought a salad that would go ignored for the entire day, went on my lunch break very late, ate an apple while sitting on line at the drive-through Taco Bell, over-ordered and nearly finished an obscenely-huge jug of Mountain Dew (Baja Blast), which contains 109 g of sugar and 4.50 mgs of caffeine per fluid ounce (coffee is 12 mgs, a latte is 9 mgs, black tea has 6mg, Diet Coke has 3.83...)
Wednesday... energy drink + chocolate + microwavable mac'n'cheese.
Thursday? Late to work, Prius jousting, old salad...
Friday. Swallowed the Book of Calm and zenned-da-puck-out. Overslept, had a donut and coffee, and grabbed productivity by the nether-yo-yos like a BAUS.
Is there a moral to this story? Y'know, beyond the fact that I have a growing hatred of Priuses?
Honestly, I don't know why I sleep so much. The caffeine dealio may be part of it, or perhaps it's interrupted REM cycles-- but really, I've loved sleep since my childhood. "Do I have to go to dance class, or can I just sleep?" "I'd like to quit gymnastics so I can just sleep instead." "Girls scouts is the worst; napping is the best. I'mma take off this ridiculous vest." "Bat mitzvah? Study Hebrew after school to earn a party, a nice dress, and moneys while I'm becoming a woman? ... Naaaah, got an SNES and sleep. I'm good." "Road trip? Oh, good! That means I get to sleep a bunch in the back seat!" Some people have "wander-lust" or "the travel bug" or whatever... My vacations consist of cleaning, organizing, couch-potatoing, and...... gosh, what was it? Oh, that's right- sleeeeeeeeeeeeeep. I live where I live, right? Since I have to live with it, I might as well improve it on the daily, enjoy the fruits of my labors, y'know?
... Crap, I'm outta coffee. Post over!
Dear entitled young Caucasian man in the red Prius,
Your little game of chicken on the merge onto the bridge did not leave me amused, nor did your ugly little finger. In my mind, I keyed your car, applied maple syrup to your car handles, cracked your windows with marbles, threw water balloons full of pee, infected you with a really terrible case of chickenpox, and stabbed you in the head at least eight times. Yet in reality, I kept my distance and glowered for the next hour.
Please learn to merge and teach others to be courteous drivers. Thank you so much.
#stopbeinganasshole #notworthit #younotalldat
Turns out that not all of my Facebook friends understand my sense of humor, or trust that I didn't really want to do horrible things to another human being. (Welcome to a big reason why I need this blog in my life.)
On Monday, I woke up before my alarm, did yoga, drank tea instead of coffee (on a 48-hour no-coffee low-stimulant streak), had a nice calm day at work, and all was well.
Tuesday... 2+ cups of coffee, brought a salad that would go ignored for the entire day, went on my lunch break very late, ate an apple while sitting on line at the drive-through Taco Bell, over-ordered and nearly finished an obscenely-huge jug of Mountain Dew (Baja Blast), which contains 109 g of sugar and 4.50 mgs of caffeine per fluid ounce (coffee is 12 mgs, a latte is 9 mgs, black tea has 6mg, Diet Coke has 3.83...)
Wednesday... energy drink + chocolate + microwavable mac'n'cheese.
Thursday? Late to work, Prius jousting, old salad...
Friday. Swallowed the Book of Calm and zenned-da-puck-out. Overslept, had a donut and coffee, and grabbed productivity by the nether-yo-yos like a BAUS.
Is there a moral to this story? Y'know, beyond the fact that I have a growing hatred of Priuses?
Honestly, I don't know why I sleep so much. The caffeine dealio may be part of it, or perhaps it's interrupted REM cycles-- but really, I've loved sleep since my childhood. "Do I have to go to dance class, or can I just sleep?" "I'd like to quit gymnastics so I can just sleep instead." "Girls scouts is the worst; napping is the best. I'mma take off this ridiculous vest." "Bat mitzvah? Study Hebrew after school to earn a party, a nice dress, and moneys while I'm becoming a woman? ... Naaaah, got an SNES and sleep. I'm good." "Road trip? Oh, good! That means I get to sleep a bunch in the back seat!" Some people have "wander-lust" or "the travel bug" or whatever... My vacations consist of cleaning, organizing, couch-potatoing, and...... gosh, what was it? Oh, that's right- sleeeeeeeeeeeeeep. I live where I live, right? Since I have to live with it, I might as well improve it on the daily, enjoy the fruits of my labors, y'know?
... Crap, I'm outta coffee. Post over!
lime. coffee. quilts.
It's all the rage...
Think of what we can build together.
... with obnoxious green bikes.
A fortress? Dare I say... a wall?
I don't know how the security of these bikes works, but creative not-so-wholesome types must be getting some interesting ideas.
What about those who don't have smartphones but want to use these bikes? What if someone pees on it? What if someone just needs to replace the wheel of their personal bike, and it just so happens to be the same style/size/whatever of these Lime bikes? Can someone affix a fruit cart to a bike and call it their business? Do these bikes have the lime logo? Does that logo include ADA-approved braille? Are there bicycles built for two? Are any of them mimics or transformers? Can you install your own personal bicycle bell? Are these ever used for street jousting? If they reach a geographical limit, do they spontaneously combust? Can you attach your own sign to these for mobile ads? Will there ever be tricycles? Unicycles?
#starbucksfail
An absolutely logical conversation. Coffee, feet, quilt, brain-eating, Pinterest, hugs... Very natural flow of ideas. Tell me you haven't heard this exact conversation in your local neighborhood coffee shop.
The idea of rentable bikes is very cool, but a) it can easily disrupt the flow of foot traffic on sidewalks and b) there's an increasing number of bike riders who don't wear helmets.
Has any troll already tried renting a bunch of bikes and leaving them all bunched together as an obnoxious barricade?
Yay green power. Let's hope for safe, responsible cyclists.
Think of what we can build together.
... with obnoxious green bikes.
A fortress? Dare I say... a wall?
I don't know how the security of these bikes works, but creative not-so-wholesome types must be getting some interesting ideas.
What about those who don't have smartphones but want to use these bikes? What if someone pees on it? What if someone just needs to replace the wheel of their personal bike, and it just so happens to be the same style/size/whatever of these Lime bikes? Can someone affix a fruit cart to a bike and call it their business? Do these bikes have the lime logo? Does that logo include ADA-approved braille? Are there bicycles built for two? Are any of them mimics or transformers? Can you install your own personal bicycle bell? Are these ever used for street jousting? If they reach a geographical limit, do they spontaneously combust? Can you attach your own sign to these for mobile ads? Will there ever be tricycles? Unicycles?
Dear Starbucks,
Why did you name one of your featured drinks "triple mocha" when you've already taught the world that, in your vocabulary, "triple" refers to espresso shots, not "likesomuchchocolate"? Didn't think that would get confusing, hm?
Especially since Peets' medium drinks already have 3 espresso shots whereas your equivalent ("grande") has 2, rendering it very common for many coffee-enthusiasts to order an extra shot just to make a latte taste like something more than steamed milk. Jussayin.
#starbucksfail
An absolutely logical conversation. Coffee, feet, quilt, brain-eating, Pinterest, hugs... Very natural flow of ideas. Tell me you haven't heard this exact conversation in your local neighborhood coffee shop.
Thursday, July 19, 2018
color. shape. udon.
I helped start the GSA (gay-straight-alliance) in high school.
I took color theory in college.
Color doesn't define a gender.
A hundred years ago, the roles of pink and blue were reversed for American society, with pink for boys and blue for girls. Again, not that it really matters.
Honestly, more than half of baby-admirers don't even notice colors or patterns while guessing the sex of your child.
Baby girl could be covered in Minnie Mouse, flowers and pink glitter, in a stroller dripping with recycled baby shower "It's a GIRL!!!" decor, and some stranger's still gonna walk up and say, "Aww how cute. What's his name?"
Looks like you could use some ice for that burn.
I took color theory in college.
A hundred years ago, the roles of pink and blue were reversed for American society, with pink for boys and blue for girls. Again, not that it really matters.
Honestly, more than half of baby-admirers don't even notice colors or patterns while guessing the sex of your child.
Baby girl could be covered in Minnie Mouse, flowers and pink glitter, in a stroller dripping with recycled baby shower "It's a GIRL!!!" decor, and some stranger's still gonna walk up and say, "Aww how cute. What's his name?"
Dear TheInternet,This still hasn't happened. Nor has a photograph of Ed Sheeran eating udon. Maybe that's why he's no longer in Billboard's top 20.
I would like to place an order for one cover of Nickelback's "Photograph" covered by Ed Sheeran.
Tanksveddymooch.
DaSoozn
Looks like you could use some ice for that burn.
why. archer. purse.
I started this blog so I could share entertaining blah-de-blahs that are too verbose for Facebook culture.
'Cause you know, we only check there when we're bored or retired (lookin atchu, Ma), to check out everyone's successes (family, pets, charitable gracings, new toys, finished projects, that one time she took a jog, that one time he didn't have carbs on his plate, hardly-relevant depersonalized memes, "Look I'm outside for once", etc.) or to stalk people you "honestly couldn't care less" about.
If it's an update longer than 2 lines, it's TLDR and most likely chain-spam-kickstarter-garbage.
... Lesse what drivel I can catch you up on (GN: "drivel on which to catch you up")...
He was a GPS in his past life.
... One that only knew about highways and didn't care about traffic.
"What are you doing, you twit?"
"Oh, I was taking a side route to avoid traffic--"
"This is incorrect. Make a U-turn now."
"But this way is scenic and more relaxing--"
"Does not compute. U-turn. NOW."
I participated in a party game that involved checking off items from a list of objects kept in a purse. Items ranged from typical (keys, wallet) to atypical (mints, floss, flashlight, medication, tweezers) to "oh that's where that went!" (pet treats, knife, deodorant, slinky, anything considered alive, potato, coffee grounds, a hammer, super glue, clump of grass, etc.)
I was disappointed to win second place. Should've brought a bigger purse.
'Cause you know, we only check there when we're bored or retired (lookin atchu, Ma), to check out everyone's successes (family, pets, charitable gracings, new toys, finished projects, that one time she took a jog, that one time he didn't have carbs on his plate, hardly-relevant depersonalized memes, "Look I'm outside for once", etc.) or to stalk people you "honestly couldn't care less" about.
If it's an update longer than 2 lines, it's TLDR and most likely chain-spam-kickstarter-garbage.
... Lesse what drivel I can catch you up on (GN: "drivel on which to catch you up")...
When someone has an idea, tries, and it results in an undesirable effect, there's a huge difference between responding with, "That was a bad idea" versus, "It was worth a try".A coworker has a nasty habit of being negative, challenging everything, analyzing details until something disintegrates, and shooting down hope with his pointy little arrows of pessimism.
He was a GPS in his past life.
... One that only knew about highways and didn't care about traffic.
"What are you doing, you twit?"
"Oh, I was taking a side route to avoid traffic--"
"This is incorrect. Make a U-turn now."
"But this way is scenic and more relaxing--"
"Does not compute. U-turn. NOW."
I was disappointed to win second place. Should've brought a bigger purse.
hello.
I wrote this on my leg while I was on the toilet at work.
An undeniable roller ball pen masterpiece.
I get bored and like multitasking when I'm working. The momentum keeps me going.
It irks me when a coworker claims, "There's nothing to do." There is always something to do, some way of improving things, helping others, strategizing, cleaning, restocking, row-boating, gargling fluid, writing a note for the boss who's never there: "Thank you for all that you do and for always being there. <3"
You don't wanna know how many blogs I've had over the years. I love writing: journals, poetry, songs, short stories, long stories, observations, analysis... At one point, I wanted to be a comic strip artist, but my drawings could never keep up with my ideas and I'd wrap myself in a tortilla of impatience and resign to the first job interview that goes well.
You probably don't need a background on me; you probably know me, or you're only reading the good shit.
Either way, here's blog attempt #bajillion.
Thank you Corinne for being so positive and so supportive, and thank you Riss, my #1 fan and shared brainwaves iluffewsermerchuh.
An undeniable roller ball pen masterpiece.
I get bored and like multitasking when I'm working. The momentum keeps me going.
It irks me when a coworker claims, "There's nothing to do." There is always something to do, some way of improving things, helping others, strategizing, cleaning, restocking, row-boating, gargling fluid, writing a note for the boss who's never there: "Thank you for all that you do and for always being there. <3"
You don't wanna know how many blogs I've had over the years. I love writing: journals, poetry, songs, short stories, long stories, observations, analysis... At one point, I wanted to be a comic strip artist, but my drawings could never keep up with my ideas and I'd wrap myself in a tortilla of impatience and resign to the first job interview that goes well.
You probably don't need a background on me; you probably know me, or you're only reading the good shit.
Either way, here's blog attempt #bajillion.
Thank you Corinne for being so positive and so supportive, and thank you Riss, my #1 fan and shared brainwaves iluffewsermerchuh.
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