Rant

Depeche Disappointment

I have tickets to see Depeche Mode in concert tonight. It was to be a crazy adventure of late night concert madness on a 'school night,' but alas the concert was canceled. All due to something insignificant like the lead singer being on doctor's orders to rest his voice for a few days. Whatever. I was all ready for concert goodness and crazy lack of sleep meanderings through my work day tomorrow. But instead I'll have an evening to do the much needed processing of photos from a client shoot this past Sunday and actually feel rested for work tomorrow. Something tells me that this is all one of those "works out for the best" scenarios, but I oh so wanted to see Depeche Mode in concert. *sigh*

So What Gives?

I had a photo shoot scheduled for late tonight. I was going to shoot a sexy guy in various forms of leather and undress in an amazing looking one-way tunnel at midnight to avoid traffic and little things like indecent exposure charges. I was feeling like an edgy, adventurous, guerilla photographer and so excited to find a way to use an awesome setting. A few hours ago the model bailed on the shoot, though wants to reschedule. I'm all sullen at home instead of pushing the boundaries of art and legality.

Tomorrow I had a paying shoot for which I've done tons of brainstorming/planning and blocked out several hours. That client also wants to reschedule. Beyond losing that modest income it also sounded like a fun shoot with several different settings/outfits.

My biggest annoyance isn't the loss of artsy shots or a paying gig, but more that I now have nothing to do tonight or with my day tomorrow. Grrrrrr.

Wee Hours

I've not been best friends with the whole sleeping thing recently. Obsessing about the romantic notion of true love lost keeps me up till the wee hours of the morning (hello wee hours of the morning) then having a lot of chronic pain makes me toss and turn when I can finally get to sleep. Tonight episodes of Smallville are keeping me company. Such a poorly written show, but my addiction to all things superhero keeps me watching it. Even the really bad vampire episode for Halloween. So I wile away the early morning hours with my superhero addiction. Meanwhile I actually have to go to work tomorrow. Not work as in "I have a job", but as in the numb-nuts who are wrapping up things at my last company didn't keep the carefully laid instructions I left for them to finalize 1099 forms. So I'll put in a few hours helping them wrap that up, make some money, then return to my life as an unemployed hopeless romantic with chronic pain issues and a weakness for men in tights.

I Cawn't Feewl Mah Liwps

Note to self: confirm that your friend doesn't have de-sensitizing lube *before* applying to your nether regions. Numb privates do not a good time make.

Help Me Out Here

Ok, so it'll come as no surprise to anyone that I'm a big 'ol wuss. I can't handle horror movies or movies that depict a lot of personal violation. Heck, I need therapy every time I see someone get a hang nail. And dark comedies are for me an exercise in high blood pressure and mental trauma. Seeing Hollywood portray horrific violence or appalling human behavior not only makes me squeamish, but upsets me to the point of pacing around the house in a grumpy rage. I try the whole self-talk routine of "it's not real, they are just actors, that person isn't really having an affair while maliciously deceiving her husband, spying on her neighbor, taking a hit out on her best friend and locking her child in the basement." Sadly that little reality check seems to do nothing to dissuade my fury or avoid triggering my superhero complex which wants to right what is so obviously wrong. So, as I said: big 'ol wuss.

What I'd love some help understanding is why some people actually really enjoy watching that kind of stuff. I'm not trying to be judgmental, I just genuinely don't get it. What's fun about seeing a man's child get tortured while he is forced to watch? What's entertaining about seeing a women get raped only for the perpetrator to get away with it? What's the draw to watch a person treat friends and family like disposable pawns in their own selfish endeavors?

Now, if the story is about a person finding triumph through adversity I'm all for it. Or perhaps instead the 'victim' finds some purpose/hope in life in spite of the crap they have to deal with. I don't want to pretend that life is all perfect and happy. In fact, I can be more painfully realistic than most people I know. But when a story is all about enjoying the hateful ways we human beings can act... I just don't get it.

It honestly scares me that people enjoy watching those kinds of things. What does that say about them that they find delight in the soap opera adventures of deceit, murder and violation? What am I missing here? Can someone help me out of my big 'ol wuss mentality and into the wonderful world of death, mayhem and moral degradation?

Restore What?

After a major hard drive scare when the Geek Squad told me all my file were lost forever, I went to some real techies and had every single file back within a couple of hours. I can't say my computer is back to normal yet though. I have to rebuild the whole system including reinstalling programs. Because my original computer was having problems I bought a used computer from work that I'll build from scratch. Of course that means I have to actually find the motivation to wipe the hard drive, install windows and install every last bit of software I use and restore all my files. So far, avoidance has prevailed. At some point I'll finally get off this crappy work laptop and have my computer working again. Meanwhile, I'm using it as an excuse to not get anything done. Kinda brilliant I thought.

Black Poetry

I've been all mopey the last two days my men being away having fun without me, being stuck at work with nothing to do, and feeling insecure in general. And I got to thinking: if I were a angst-ridden teen goth, what would I do with all those messed up feelings? Well, first, I'd start a blog on LiveJournal, then I'd write poetry. Lots and lots of overly dramatic, depressing poetry. You know: puppies dying. The world coming to a bloody, violent end. That kind of stuff. I'm never quite sure how your best friend saying she thought your shoes looked like something from the retard factory equates to suicidal rants, but who I am I to judge? Instead I'll give it a try. Maybe those angsty teens know something I don't...

Black is the color of my soul. It slowly swirls into a vortex of depression that whispers my name in mocking tones. Loneliness is the only comfort I find. Abandonment is my only reprieve from the oppression of those who claim to love. I lie back to let this dark world run it's rough hands over my body as it rips my innocence from me. I vow not to shed a tear as I wait for my final breath to release me from this prison.

Hm. So on one hand I find the drama of it therapeutic in a "omg, I need to get a life" sort of way. On the other hand... damn that's depressing shit. I think I'll stick to my sugar addiction. It's a much more fun way to do self-therapy.

Bored Bear

With my ultra-light work schedule you'd think it'd be hard to find things to complain about, but I have a particular talent for finding the single gray cloud on an otherwise sunny day...

Mike and Michael are off to Guerneville today for the Lazy Bear event. I was supposed to head up with them, but the one time this job feels the need for me to actually be present is this week. Auditors are here to tell us everything we did wrong for 2nd quarter. Last time around they didn't ask a single thing from me and so far they've asked nothing this time around either. Still I have to dutifully sit here in the office on the off chance that they might need something.

I'm accomplishing the light bit of work I have, putzing around in the internet, burning cds, and doing other things to pass the time in the office when I could be enjoying naked pool time with throngs of fat, hairy men. I'm trying not to be bitter. Ok, I'm not trying all that hard.

I'm hoping to head up to Lazy Bear tomorrow night after work (assuming the auditors don't decide to drag things out another day). Meanwhile I'm bored and lonely. Does anyone want to play rock, paper, scissors?

Sinus Circus

Had I not been stuck at home with an annoying sinus cold this is the fun I would have had yesterday:

Morning coffee with a good friend who is also in a triad relationship. - Nothing like comparing triadic notes at the gayest Starbucks on the planet.
Lunch with Mike and Bob. - I was looking forward to meeting Bob and curbing my irrational jealousy of this rekindled friendship.
Drinks in the Castro with friends. - Stories from the Mykonos cruise, meeting another blast from Mike's past, shooting the shit with newly forming friendships and enjoying a night on the town.

That's the day I would have liked to have had yesterday. Instead I was at home alone all day/night. At least the only thing I missed today was a casual dinner with friends next door. My hopes for tomorrow is to not miss a thing. Here's hoping.

You Will Be Assimilated

We had our second wave of layoffs today. I'm part of a skeleton crew keeping things afloat until we're bought out which is likely 2-6 months away. It's been odd around here lately anyway, but now it's just surreal and sad. I'm generally glad I'm still on board this sinking ship, but secretly envy those who knew 2 months ago that today was the day. I hate not knowing when I'll finally, inevitably be out of work again. I'm now 1 of 15. Resistance is futile.

Define "Perfect"

Mike, Michael and I spent the weekend in San Diego, "the only area in the United States with perfect weather." Apparently the weather gods were in a cantankerous mood this Memorial Day because it was mostly rainy, cloudy and chilly while we were there. That meant no beach time for this bum and isn't beach baking the number one reason to visit southern California? This is the second time I've been there and not been able to hit the infamous nude beach, Blacks Beach. Grrrr.

We did navigate the rain to walk around the Gaslamp Quarter one morning (major yawn), Coronado Island (the "amazing views" obscured in fog) and Old Town (aka the tourist convention). Balboa Park was nice and we saw some good art. Saturday night we went back to the Gaslamp Quarter to get dinner and it was loudly humming with diners, clubbers and game goers. We didn't participate in any of the nightlife while we were there, but if the puke on the sidewalk that we had to step over is any indication, I'd guess San Diego nightlife is pretty happening. I'm not sure I want that kind of nightlife to happen to me, but it's "happening" nevertheless.

It was nice to get away for a few days, but we were all glad to have been able to change our flight to be back home Sunday afternoon instead of later that night. I've had a lot of people tell me how much they love San Diego. Either they are on the payroll of the San Diego tourism bureau or they've experienced a whole different side of the city. With what I've seen on two different trips, I can't say I'm inclined to go back.

Don't Look Down

I work at a biotech company that is facilitating drug studies for prostate cancer. About 6 months ago one of our three drug studies failed. It was by far the largest and most promising of our studies. Our stock has plummeted and employees have been abandoning ship with reasonable concerns that the company will go belly up. This is why I've had so little to do at work the last couple of months.

At our peak we had about 70 employees. As of last week we had 38 due to employees finding other jobs. Now we're in the midst of layoffs. After this Thursday we'll be down to about 23 people. After July 15th, down to a 15 person skeleton crew to keep the company alive long enough to be bought out or miraculously acquire some successful new drug study. I'm part of that skeleton crew which sounds like it would work out well for me financially, but it's still kinda crazy working some place that is slowly plummeting to its death.

Groggy Revival

That whole lack of sleep thing the last few weeks totally killed my blogging inspiration. I mean, how many ways can I say "I just want to get some damned sleep!" before I start sounding like a bitch & moan thesaurus? I finally got some sleep over the weekend and was feeling nearly normal again, but the last few days I've been back to pain and not sleeping great again. Today is my Friday so hopefully I'll find some more rest this weekend. Of course on this "Friday" the auditors have arrived to review first quarter financials. I'm so not happy to see them.

ErgoBead Head Rest

My upper back/neck pain issues have been worse lately and as a result I'm not sleeping much through the night. That's left me quite grumpy and lethargic which makes it particularly hard to find ways to pass the time at a job that currently has very little to keep me busy. I'm practicing my balance skills of sleeping while sitting upright because the excuse "I was meditating" doesn't really fly when I have to wipe the drool from my cushioned wrist pad (which is looking particularly inviting this morning).

Ways to Waste Time

Work is slow. Well, that's a bit of an understatement. It may be more accurate to say that I could fit an entire week's work of work into one day. A day where I came in late and left early and didn't even work that hard while I was here. It's really driving me batty. I'm a productivity addict with nearly 10 hours of unproductive time every day. I've been working hard to find things to do at the office and have been bringing lots of personal projects just to fill up the time. Last Thursday I polished my shoes and filed my nails. That's how bad it's gotten. Add to that the complete unknown of whether I'll still have a job in 3 months and I'm feeling more than just a bit crazy in the head. I've told my supervisor that "my work load is lightening" and I can help him with other things, but nothing has come from that yet. If only I could bring my PS2 to the office. I'd have that Ratchet and Clank game finished by now.

I Hate Beaurocracy

"We are considering several possibilities that could play out in the next month or could take up to a year and may or may not become something viable that we'd choose to consider at this present juncture in our understanding of the facts that have been presented."

So... can you just tell me if I'm still going to have a job next month?

Tough Loving

I've been doing phone therapy on and off with a therapist I saw in Homer before my grand move to California. I love her to pieces and our phone sessions have seemed to work well. Still, I thought it might be better to see someone local fully equipped with eye contact, hand gestures and office visits.

A close friend of mine is a therapist and recommended someone that I've now seen a few times. This guy is good or rather he's good for me in the same way that triathlons and brussel sprouts are good for me: a miserable and unpleasant road to health that makes Damon a grumpy boy. If I can survive the painful blows that our counseling sessions have been so far I might actually grow from the experience.

Of course, I'd have to actually still be seeing him for that to find out if that would be the case.

Our therapy conversations went something like this (liberally paraphrased by yours truly):

me: I've been really depressed lately.

him: That's cuz you're fucked up in the head.

me: Um, okay. I guess I can see that...

him: No, really. I mean it.
him: We gotta fix that shit.

me: But, there seems to be so much difficult stuff to deal with right now.

him: Well the whole world is messed up. There are recessions, wars, conflicts, lost loves...
him: And children?
him: They die.

me: So I should stop hoping for things to get better?

him: Yep.

Yellow Submarine

I'm apparently working on a sinking ship. The biotech company I work at was doing three drug studies for prostate cancer. One of the studies, the biggest one, was shut down due to a little thing like people dying. With over a third of our company's efforts gone, the word is the company will be bought out within the next 6 months or otherwise cease to exist. People are quitting on a near daily basis and I find myself wondering exactly what it would feel like to drown with a biotech company. Due to the terms of my hire last September I can't feasible start looking for other work now. Besides, there's a potential that I could get a nice severance package if I stay till the bitter end. Here's hoping for that. Meanwhile, I think I'm going to start coming to work in a life vest.

Aspirations

In my next life I'm going to be a slacker. Sounds like a much more relaxed existence.

Age-ist Much?

We have auditors here to nit-pick through ever piece of paper that finance touched for the last year. This is the first time I've been through a year end audit and I'm honestly annoyed beyond levels I thought possible. I thought I was pretty damned anal-retentive, but I could never compare with the minute detail fanaticism of an auditor. Beyond that they seem to really have no clue as to what they are doing and I'd swear they're all between the ages of 12 and 12½. Then, of course, my brilliantly flawless filing system is a mess with 20 different people needing to look at invoices all at the same time so that now I can't find what the auditors were looking for in the first place. They probably formed those invoices into origami coasters during yesterday's craft hour. Which of course means they are now creased and covered in kool-aid stains.

Snarky

It was recently suggested that perhaps the sarcastic label no longer applies to me and my "I love my life" attitude. It was even suggested by my snarky comments were at an all time low. I was of course outraged at the accusations and was determined to post an entry dripping with cynicism. And I'd do just that too... if I could actually find anything to bitch about. This whole positive outlook thing is really putting a cramp in my blogging style.

Bearless

I've been in a foul mood since I woke up. Some might think I'm grumpy because I've been fighting a virus for the last three weeks and while I feel so much better it's still keeping me at near death-like energy levels. Others might think I'm grumpy due to self-perpetuated never-ending change, drama and adventure in my life. Still others might surmise that my grumpiness is because this productivity addict got nothing at all done this weekend.

In truth I'm grumpy because I didn't have any gummy bears this weekend. Like all weekend. I mean, how can I be expected to function at peak hallmark level moods without my daily dose of sugar and food coloring?

The Fun I Never Had

So last week I was attacked by the evil venusian death flu that is threatening to take over the universe. The timing wasn't so great what with a killer work week and plans to fly to DC for the weekend. My battle with the cold wasn't going well so I bailed on my DC trip which left me free to take a road trip with Michael and Mike... which I also had to bailed on. That left me free to go with some fun dances in SF this weekend... that wasn't happening either so I figured I'd hang out with some friends I haven't seen in awhile...

Yeah. You getting the pattern here? Nothing people. I did absolutely nothing but fill up the coffee table with snot rags while sitting at home all by myself (cuz my men were on a road trip). Fortunately my men returned a day early so they could "wipe my feverish brow." Still, a weekend of lost opportunities doesn't make for a happy Damon.

Pulling Out My Abacus

Because I work at a public company we're having to do all kinds of crazy controls, jumping through hoops and killing entire forests with extra paperwork so that we can be "compliant" with a public company's system of checks and balances. Part of that is splitting duties into multiple parts so that what used to take one person 30 minutes to do, now takes 3.5 people 6.25 hours to get done. To this end our IT department has been putting limitations on my access to certain parts of our financial software to ensure everything meets compliance. On Monday I noticed that I could no longer select checks for a check run. Being the guy who pays the bills, this is a major part of my job duties. IT says that is what our auditors want, but are trying to see if there's some way I can still do my job or if I just need to "compliantly" twiddle my thumbs. This morning I come in to find I can't even log into our finance software because that permission has been cut off. Lovely. If they want to pay me to post blog entries while they try to get a clue, I'm perfectly fine with that.

Not That I'm Complaining or Anything

A few things on my mind:

3+ weeks of no internet at home
after hours and hours of multi-tiered tech support I now have internet back to the house, but my computer continues it's vow of internet celibacy
my celibate computer is now frozen too (frigid bitch)
work is kicking my ass with "OMG Emergencies" every other minute
having to look for a new place to live
having to seriously cut spending to find a place to live that isn't a cardboard box
having to find a multiple roommate situation to be able to afford my deluxe cardboard box

But I wouldn't really say that all this has left me a moody basket case of volatile emotions or anything. My friends, coworkers and the clerk at Walgreens might say that. But I wouldn't.

On the Move

For the last year a friend has been letting me stay in the basement apartment of his house. It's been a perfect location and good situation all around. Now that I'm settled into the city and a good job he said he'd like to have me start looking for another place. Since the housing market is the main factor that drives people out of San Francisco I can't say I'm feeling thrilled about having to find a place. And while my friend has gone far above and beyond generosity, I have to admit the feeling of rejection. I mean, why wouldn't he want me to crash in his basement for ever and ever? Surely he'll miss the warm glow of my presence, my clothes in his washer/dryer and the way I mooched off his wireless internet. Right? Ah well. Moving on to new adventures seems to be what I'm good at.

Work Surfing

My home internet is provided by my landlord friend via a wireless network. Well, the internet has been down for over two weeks now. Over Thanksgiving weekend I figured out that it's a problem with the internet service provider and have been urging my friend to call and get it figured out (since it's his account an all). He's not been too motivated to get it fixed, meanwhile I'm having seizures and foaming at the mouth with home internet withdrawal. On Thursday I was like, "give me you account number, user name and password and I'll take care of it." He said he'd go ahead and call them. Enter the weekend. The weekend which I spent almost entirely at home sick without the warm company of my internet. Sunday comes and I ask him his internet bill so I could get information from that to call. He only gets bills via internet so would print it off for me on Monday morning. I asked him for it this morning and he said he'll call them when he gets home tonight.

Does this man not realize the mental duress he's causing me with denying access to my chatting and surfing addiction? I mean really. I've had to do things like read books, watch movies, frame artwork and actually talk to real people just to stay sane. This isn't humane I tell you. Pretty soon I may actually have to pay for my own internet instead of mooching off of him.

It's hard to believe such oppression still exists in the world.

45 Long Minutes

I'm ready to leave work for the day. So ready in fact that I'm not even interested in goofing off doing personal things just to pass the time. At this point it's a matter biding my time until it's "I'm leaving a little early" as opposed to "I'm taking the afternoon off work." By my estimation I'd say that's another 45 minutes. I'm thinking of spending that time jogging up and down the halls screaming "the little green men have taken all my marbles and they won't give them back!!"

Fondue Emergency

I made it to Cincinnati. The first thing once I get off the plane? A message from my boss wanting to know who ordered the chocolate fondue fountain at work because they want to make sure it gets moved to the new location.

...

Are you serious? You called me on vacation to ask about a frickin' fondue fountain?

Ripe

Work's been kicking my ass for the last week. I had a huge project dumped in my lap last Thursday. So big, in fact, that they brought in a temp to do my regular duties while I work on the special project. So I'm working on this gawdawful project, supervising & training a temp, closing 3rd quarter financials, packing my office for our big move at the end of this week, and preparing to leave on Thursday morning for my trip to Cincinnati. Add to that dealing with extra doses of grieving/anxiety/craziness this week and I'm well on my way to becoming a grumpy old man at the ripe age of 35. I tell you what, getting on that plane and flying away from this place for a few days is going to feel damned fine.

Things Happen

Ok. Things happen. Events and interactions and meetings and stuff. You know: things. Not anything in specific mind you, but general things. Sometimes I will blog about things. Other times I feel it's best to spare my blogging community from the drama of things. Blogging about these general things might include words like "appalling," "ridiculous," "scape-goat" and "don't let the door hit you on the way out." But since I'm not inclined to blog about things today I'll just leave it at "wtf?"

You know. Generally speaking.

Fit for a Queen

Dude. My workplace pays for all sorts of crazy shit. Not only do they provide a fully stocked kitchen for our wanton perusal, but they pay for new keyboards, fans and what not without consideration to whether those things are really necessary. They have fully catered staff meetings and parties all the time. Today I got a flu shot and found that the company is going to reimburse me for it. It's such a different world coming from non-profit companies who can't even pay the electricity to the for-profit biotech world which seems to have a hard time deciding how to spend all it's money. Not that me or my many benefits are complaining or nothing. Afterall, I'm worth it.

Offensive Behavior

Someone just called me nice. "Really nice" in fact. Am I wrong to be offended by that? I mean, I have a reputation to uphold as an edgy, sarcastic guy who doesn't let anything or anyone get in his way. Cuz, you know, I'm so edgy and shit. I'm downright abrasive sometimes. Well, ok, I *could* be downright abrasive if I wanted to and then... watch out! Cuz, I'm a bad-ass and you don't want to get in my way. And... um... just cuz I've been all like "I love my life" lately doesn't mean that there isn't still sarcasm at the very blackened core of my soul. Yep. I'm jaded and bitter as hell. I'm a raging time bomb of fury warping the minds of your helpless offspring with my corrupt and not-so-nice ways!! <insert heavy metal scream here>

Multi-Tasking Is Hazardous to Your Health

Ok, I admit it. I'm a chronic multi-tasker. I'm obsessed with doing at least 4 things at once. And that's on a lazy day. Last night I cooked a teriyaki chicken stir-fry while checking e-mail, listening to an audio book and unpacking from my weekend. While I waited for the oiled pan to heat up I stepped into the other room to finish reading an e-mail. In the mere moments I was away, the pan decided to turn into a pot of flaming death. Fortunately I had just purchased a small sack of flour (the first flour I've owned in over a year). In a comedic routine of sheer panic I tore at the sack of flour until it exploded into the raging fire. With the flame extinguished I stood in clouds of smoke, covered in flour, wondering if the blackened pan would ever be usable again. I guess this should be a lesson to me: multi-tasking kills. Just say no.

Elimination

My root canal went well. Less than a hour, the pain wasn't too bad and I was able to watch The Incredibles while I was being tortured. Sadly the other crud I've been fighting all week hasn't gone nearly as well. I see my doctor again today and will insist that he give me a stomach/intestine/energy transplant immediately, cuz the current stomach/intestine/energy group is so getting voted off the island.

Drill Me

So today is the day of my much anticipated root canal. If the procedure is indeed as easy as everyone is trying to coerce me into believing, I should have a nice relaxing afternoon once it's all done. If not... I'm going to hunt down these con artists who call themselves friends and fill their toothpaste tubes with battery acid.

So Polite It Hurts

So there's this guy at work who likes to say hello to the same person like 200 million times a day. He'll pass by my cubicle and say, "hello Damon" in his syrupy southern drawl. He'll pass by an hour or two later and say it again like it's the first time he'd seen me that day. Then he'll pass me in the hall and say it again when we see each other in the copy room. Maybe he's been gloriously liberated of his short term memory or maybe he just misses me terribly in those long minutes we are apart. But it's not just me. I've heard he does it to others as well. And it's not like were bosom buddies or anything. I avoid conversations with him at all costs.

Yesterday he was in the kitchen with another co-worker. When I entered he gave me his standardized greeting of the hour. I went about re-stocking the fridge with sodas and organizing some of the shelves while I waited for my lunch to heat. I guess I delayed long enough for this guy's short term memory to be reset because before we'd both left the kitchen once again I heard "hello Damon." I wanted to slap him. Instead I've just taken to ignoring him. Maybe he'll soon realize his southern hospitality is lost on me and stop being so damned polite.

It's a Girl!

Have you seen the movie Alien? You know, with the pregnant puss pocket of alien goodness bursting from underneath someone's skin? Well, I got that going on in my mouth. There's this little alien growing inside my gums creating quite a sore, swollen pocket of fun. I'm going to see a second dentist about it this afternoon to verify that I need the much hoped for root canal. Of course if they do that does that mean I wouldn't get to feel my alien love child burst from my mouth in a dramatic explosion of blood and flesh? Cuz, missing that would just be sad.

My Evil Brother Doesn't Want Me to Sleep

I'm grumpy from a fitful night of sleep. Things that kept me from blissful and much needed sleep: the excessive heat, the cat banging on the screen door to be let out, the dying cell phone battery crying for help and the dream of my older brother hijacking an online Christmas card my mom made for me so he could log his own version of my online dating profile. Thanks a lot John. Because of you I didn't get any sleep.

Take a Whiff

My supervisor/friend is self-admittedly in serious need of an attitude adjustment (he's also in serious need of getting laid, but that's another post). His attitude adjustment epiphany has obviously not found itself into any modicum of behavioral change because he's currently keeping a tally of how many times someone comes into his office to ask a question. At the end of the day he declares with righteous indignation the number of interruptions he's had to suffer in the course of the day. Besides being offended at being considered a nuisance for doing my job, wading through all the negative energy he's pumping out ain't helping my mood in the least. Add to that his continually stopping by my cubicle to bitch to me about all his other coworkers and I'd say I'm swimming in a sea of bad karma. It may not be my bad karma, but you can't sit that close to rancid stench and not pick up a little stink yourself.

I Ain't So Proud

So my first Pride ever was rather disappointing. I'm thinking that I didn't choose well when it came to events. Friday night Mike, Michael and I were convinced into attending a uniform/leather ball which turned out to be in a grand ballroom with a huge classic swing band. The space and music was actually great, but having about 100+ guys walking around this classy, well-lit place in fetish wear just made the whole thing far too surreal. And I'm not talking about the kind of surrealism that finds itself on the wall of a museum. I'm talking about the kind of surrealism that makes a serial killer cuddle with his blood-stained, headless teddy bear while saying things like "mommy likes it when I'm a good boy."

Saturday evening the three of us decided to check out the infamous Pink Party in the Castro. Beyond the lesbians peeing on the street in front of my apartment, the throngs of drugged out hets whose "best friend is gay," and the complete inability to formulate a thought over the chaotic roar of the crowd... it was amazing. Amazingly horrific that is. I lasted all of 10 minutes before the rending of flesh from bone ensued.

Later Saturday we decided to hit "the big dance" of the weekend. It's odd how a dance can feel so much like one giant commercial advertisement seared directly into your synaptic pathways. I still haven't been able to get that "kill the prime minister of Malaysia" voice out of my head. For additional money - because the $50 entrance fee wasn't enough - you can be one of the cool crowd and hang out in one of the specially reserved spaces for people who want to feel elite. Apparently elite people get chairs. Who knew. Even more exciting were the white, female, rapper djs shouting out bad rhymes which defied all attempts at dancing.

I didn't make it to the parade on Sunday because I was a drama duty as well as just so tired of the crowds. Did you know that the number of people in the city more than doubles during Pride? Next year I've decided to approach Pride differently: I find out where every last big event is taking place and then avoid those areas at all costs. Either that or I'm getting an IV drip of valium to wheel around with me.

Lunch Just Doesn't Pay

I was invited out to lunch today by my supervisor and several other people from work. While my consultant/hourly-wage self doesn't normal take lunches, I thought it'd be fun to socialize a bit. What I neglected to factor in was that everyone else going is salaried and was planning to steal every last out-of-work minute as they could because, hey, they're getting paid for it anyway. I on the other hand was not. I returned to the office 2.5 unpaid hrs later pissed because all I got for that income loss was the privilege of hanging out with three bitchy queens and their two fag hags. As if I weren't going to get enough of that this weekend anyway.

Procrastination Woes

Why'd I have to be so good about getting caught up on my regular work? Cuz, see, now all I have left to do are a bunch of messy projects that have no urgency and are high on the annoyance thermometer. I've rather enjoyed letting those projects sit in a drawer feeling completely neglected and forgotten. Now they are gleefully begging for my attention and all I can think is, "maybe I could spend the rest of the day rearranging my paper clips."

Bad Boy Bangs

Apparently bangs combed over the eyes makes one evil. I saw Peter Parker and his bad boy bangs on Monday. As much as I'm a sucker for superhero movies, the recent Spider-Man movie took hokey to a whole new level. If I comb my bangs over my eyes will I too get black clothes, say hurtful things to my girlfriend and suddenly develop mad piano/dance skillz while behaving like a slimey Casanova with random women on the street? Ooh, eeeeeevil.

Navel Gazing

Self-Discovery Through Art. A workshop with such a title brings up visions of mantras, incense, and a large wall mural personifying my inner chakra's primal need for Reese peanut butter cups. Instead the class was more like "fill the page with color and don't try to create anything worth looking at." That was fun and relaxing, but where's my epiphany? I'm pretty sure the syllabus said something about free epiphany with purchase. It was kinda like the first time I realized adult cereals don't come with toys in the bottom. You mean I just poured that entire box of Raisin Nut Bran all over the counter for nothing? Grrrrrr.

Well, in spite of my missing epiphany I did enjoy the whole "use your non-dominant hand" exercise and loved making a Mandala. It was fun to be all artsy and stuff even if I didn't discover that in a previous life I was the pet monkey of King Tut.

Heavenly

Dear Nice Tech Support Lady,

Thanks for the blissful hour and a half chat this afternoon. Don't worry that we didn't resolve any of the four issues I brought to you. Who needs productivity or return for that lovely hourly rate when I can simply soak in your bubbling personality and charming wit? Hearing your voice was a delightful treat and I wouldn't have wanted to spend my afternoon any other way. And that overpriced, under-equipped abacus software you support? Gives me all kinds of warm fuzzies.

Eternally yours,
Damon

Where's the Gun to the Head Module?

There's this financial software we use at work: Microsoft Great Plains. And by "use" I mean we kick and scream until we finally accept the fact that it's not going to do what we want without elaborate blood offerings and white-out induced spirit quests. The thing about the software is that in addition to being proudly anti-user-friendly the creators have chosen to hack the program in many useless bits which can almost, nearly function independently. They then turn around and charge large sums of money for each hacked off piece and make reassembling this puzzle so complex that it requires highly paid professionals, a lucky rabbit's foot and the proper lunar alignment to make it work.

To actually track accounts payable (a crazy notion, I know) we had to buy a additional "module." To track spending by project code: new module. To be able to modify a vendor's ID: new module. To combine vendor records: new module. To enter purchase orders to match the newly purchased accounts payable module: new module. To pick your nose while running reports: new module.

I think the core $10,000 software package is something akin to a digitized abacus.

Part of the Process

Yesterday I spent 5 hours processing photos from last weekend's shoot. 5 hours correcting lighting, color balance, cropping, and making black and white versions. I have 65 great photos to show for my work, but me thinks I need to learn how to attend to these things subtleties *in* the camera, cuz I soooo didn't get paid enough to put in that many hours. What? Oh, yeah, I almost forgot to mention: this was my first paid photoshoot. Yay me.

My Purifier Needs a Makeover

So, is it possible that the crackling, sparking, flash of light thing that my new air purifier is doing is just an indication that it doubles as a bug zapper? Or perhaps it has aspirations to be a strobe light? Cuz, it certainly can't be that this $500 over sized eye-sore is defective, right? And next time I buy what Consumer Reports says is the best model out there, I'm going to ask that they factor a queer eye vote in the stats. This thing is so ugly it makes the rest of my appliances weep in pity.

D.E.B.

I've been at this new "accountant" job for about 2 months now (I'm changing jobs next week, but that exciting news would completely derail this rant so I'll save it for later). When I finally got all the checks for the previous 3 months entered into the system I proudly announced that I was done. I was then informed that there's a year and a half of credit card payments to be entered.

"We didn't want to give you everything all at once and overwhelm you." <doh> Alright. Wish I would have had a sense of the big picture, but I can deal with that. So I got those entered and was finally done!

"Oh by the way, you still have this pile of *other* credit payments to enter." Ooookay. <grrr> Those are entered... so... I'm done, right?

"I forgot to mention that you have a stack of wire transfers to be entered." <wtf!> I'm so gonna hurt someone. Ok, wire transfers entered. Checks were entered. Credit cards were entered (both of them). All caught up. Now I can start doing my real job. It's about frickin' time. <whew>

"And, um... we've been holding on to a lot of the checks that have come in because we didn't want to overwhelm you with them..." <steam pouring from my ears> Three *hundred* check entries later... I'm so done with this job. Where's the door?

"And... here's the box of mailed checks that we've not even opened. There's probably only a hundred of them." <evil eyes promising a slow painful death>

Aside from my desire to set the remaining checks ablaze, I'm scared to finish these entries because they might start opening up more file cabinets, boxes and even pulling shit out of their pockets that no one felt the need to accomplish for the last year. Apparently in the case of this job, it turns out that "accountant" equals "data entry bitch."

Ask and You Shall Receive

All weekend I was still dragging from this flu-like-what-cha-ma-call-it. There were many things I wanted to get done including shaking my booty to throbbing dance floor beats (a very important to-do indeed), but instead I watched videos, napped frequently and filled up the remains of my free time with the obligatory "I hate being sick" bitching and moaning. I just wanted to be able to get a few things done. All weekend I prayed for some amount of productivity. This morning, I started to have a productive cough. Next time I'm going to be more specific with my prayers...

Trigger Happy

So I think I might be grumpy today. It's not one of the things that's like a perpetual cloud of gloom over me all day. It's more like I'm all fine one moment and then ready to start my new career as an psychotic murderer the next. "What do you mean you used the last of my staples?! YOU MUST DIE A SLOW AND PAINFUL DEATH!!!" Yep, that's me today. So... anyone wanna hang out?

Tell Me About Your Childhood

How pathetic is it that I can't even tell the difference between being depressed and the exhaustion of a cold? And to think I paid for those three hours of therapy for nothing...

Lord Makalotamoolah

This 2nd job and it's constantly shifting "OMG NOW *THIS* IS TOP PRIORITY" routine is starting to make Damon one very grumpy boy. I need to tap into my inner money whore and remember how much I'm getting paid for this pleasure. Anyone know any rain dances to invoke the god of greed? No? How about chants to magically produce high quantities of Valium?

A Picture of Hope

Friend: "You're in your drama decade."
Me: "What?"

Friend: "Your drama decade."
Me: "Um... okay."

Friend: "My thirties were full of drama. And you're only half way through."

Gimme VD Already

I started my day thinking, "I'll just ignore Valentines Day. No reason to obsess about it either way. I'll just let the day go by like any other so my hopelessly romantic self doesn't focus on the fact I can't do the snuggly romantic thing with whom I'd like." Great plan. Brilliant plan in fact. It's just a day. Nothing to worry about.

Enter the rest of the world...

I completely neglected to take into account the incessant barrage of plasticized "HAPPY VALENTINES DAY!!!!!!!!" greetings from everyone, their dog and their dog's fleas (I did get one of the flea's phone numbers... woof).

So, fine, happy day of love and romance and candy and whips and chains. Well, maybe not so much with the last two, but if you're into that, happy day of that too. Me? I'm pouring my gushing passion into my two lovely jobs. Maybe tonight I'll get lucky and get off early. Yes, I said "lucky" and "get off." It was an innuendo. Try to keep up.

Happy day. May VD burn within your loins.

Well Isn't That Special

Um, who decided that all the Chicago art galleries would be closed on Mondays and didn't tell me? Grrrrr. I guess I'll have to find some other way to amuse myself, like stealing ice cream cones from small children.

Wonderland

Chicago in January... I woke up this morning and looked out the window to see snow gently falling from the sky. I felt a stirring inside and thought, "wow, this the wonder and awe that so many people experience with the sight of snow." But it was just gas. I guess everyone can't love the snow.

No Pedicure?

A friend went to a "dental spa" today in the Castro that included a facial as part of the routine dental work. The best part... his insurance paid for it all. Welcome to the land of the queer.

Driving Me Crazy

So I commute to Mountain View for work. It's something like 10 towns away from San Francisco, but since they build towns upon towns here, that's not necessarily saying a lot. I think it's about 40 miles. Of course, during commute traffic that could take at least an hour and a half each way. For some crazy reason I've decide to get ahead of commute traffic and leave at 6am. While this makes for a 30-40 minute drive, it also means I have to be up by 5:30am. Fortunately it's just three days a week at the moment or I might have to do the whole head-spinny, green vomit routine on my coworkers.

IE Conspiracy

Apparently there is a conspiracy with the new Internet Explorer to keep you, my loyal fans, from commenting on my blog. If you use the overstuffed and over-glorified IE7 it won't let you click in any of the fields on my comment form. Never fear because you can stick it to IE by the simple use of a tab to get to those fields. So tab one for the little guy and send a message to IE that we won't be stopped, we won't be deterred, we won't be silenced!! *insert crowd roar here*

Liquid Sunshine

Ok, I can't tell you the details cuz it'd be way inappropriate even for my blog, but suffice it to say that it was just nasty. Like one of those instances where you used to love cottage cheese and then one time it was like insectoid-fuzzy-green-cottage-cheese and now you can't ever eat cottage cheese again no matter how fresh you know it is. In fact you're so phobic about cottage cheese that even getting near the stuff induces dry heaves to the point all your friends are convinced you have epilepsy. Yeah, its like that. And, no, I'm not going to tell you about it no matter how much you beg. Cuz, believe me, you really don't want to know. I can't even believe you got me to talk about it. You're such a sick, sick person.

With a Side of Cheese

My body is all achey. The kind of ache when you have a flu or when you have that lactic acid response after an intense workout or when you fall into a vat of ache-all-over serum. It makes me the king of the grump parade. I'm not sure if this amusing little scenario is due to physical therapy, rehearsals, some alien flu that doesn't involve any other symptoms, or just the change in seasons here. Whatever the cause I'm feeling oh so incredibly whiney and thought I'd share. Cuz, you know, I'm thoughtful like that.

Stop

Supervisor away [stop]
Temp replacement denied [stop]
Head meeting wall repeatedly at high velocities [stop]

Myositis

Awhile back I saw my doctor for what I've been calling tendonitis. He clarified my diagnosis by calling it myositis. I looked that up when I went home and found it curious that the words "auto immune disease" were immediate following the words "Myositis is an". This was particularly curious because my doc gave me this diagnosis based only on my descriptions of my condition. No tests. The man didn't even touch me (hard to believe, I know).

I saw him again yesterday and questioned his diagnosis. He was like, "Oh, I was just using the word in a very general sense to indicate muscle inflamation and not refering to the common disease associated with the name." Oh right. Why would I have assumed he meant the most common usage of the term? Silly me.

Of course, now that I don't have some death-inducing disease I suppose I should return all the stuff I charged to my credit card and should probably tell my boss that I didn't really mean it when I called him a "whore-mongering son of a she-devil without a moral fiber in his being."

When Friends Try to Be Helpful

For an Executive Assistant position in the biotech company at which my friend Michael works...

Me: "What should I wear to the interview?"

Michael: "Spandex shorts and a tank top, preferably something with a rainbow flag design."

That'll Be Ruling Out the Face Shots

Something to add to my list of questions to a model before signing them up for a photo shoot:

"Do you currently or have you at any time in the past utilized a facial expression?"

The Adventures of Online Dating

"Hey boi! I am looking for a male slave(s) to train to serve ME. VERY interested in slave training you..."

I hate when my schedule, location, values, independence and self-respect won't allow me to take advantage of such amazing offers.

It's Like Glee in a Bottle

This place is just the bestest place to work. Everyday I'm flooded with reasons to love this job and to have every confidence that I'll still the job tomorrow. Never is there a worry that my head will be on the chopping block or that the powers that be will make some random decision to hinder my ability to accomplish the given tasks. Their recent mandate for everyone to cut back to 36hrs/wk is simply their concern for how much personal time we have to focus on the things that really matter in life: like how to pay our bills.

Not That I'm Keeping Track

9 people have been fired from my workplace in the last 2 weeks. None were given notice or severance. Most remaining employees were forced to cut back hours. The phrase "unstable work environment" comes to mind.

Carpe Away

At Lazy Bear I was completely disappointed with the lack of grabbing my ass that went on. I mean, what's with that? I've had this problem at other events as well in spite of my "HEY THERE, LOOK AT ME!!!" tendencies (I did earn the nickname of "Gecko Boy" at the event... some of you will know what that means). It's not like guys aren't checking me out and they certainly seem to be interested.

After much discussion on the topic, I've determined that some people might actually see more to me than my chiseled physique and strikingly handsome features (as Madonna may say: Because I'm livin' in a delusional world and I am a delusional girl). I mean to say, they might actually have respect for me or something. Well, naturally I'm appalled and offended at the very thought and must find a way to remedy this gross injustice. To that end I'm going to start wearing a sign that says "Carpe Ass-um."

I Ain't Touching That

I should have known it was going to be a freaky day when it started with a clown asking me to remove the box from between her legs.

Like, Totally Man

The more I learn about health issues in the California's central valley, the more freaked out I become. I'd already heard that the valley has worse air quality than L.A. due to being a valley and having so many farming chemicals in the air. I'd also heard that people who've never had allergy or respiratory problems often develop them after moving to this area.

This morning I discovered that the valley has it's own special brand of pneumonia called valley fever. And no, that's not the condition in which you say "totally tubular" a lot. It's a serious condition which can be life threatening. While it's not limited to the central valley, it is certainly prevalent here. And with this summer being hotter than normal, all that tasty air sludge is bubbling over with glee. My body doesn't know what to do with this toxic soup after breathing crystal clear Alaskan air it's whole life.

No big deal. I'll just be huddled in the corner gasping for some semblance of real air amidst the coughing, sneezing, wheezing and eventual dying. At least I won't be bored.

Be Careful What You Wish For

One of the big reasons I wanted to live in California was for the warmer weather. Well, it was 100° at 8pm last night. I believe it got up to 110° during the day. I've never sweat so much in my entire life and I've definitely gotten my "warmer" weather. Perhaps next time I should be a little more specific.

Grow an Opinion so I Can Bludgeon You With It

Me: "So are we still on for tonight?"
Him: "Yep. Where do you want to eat?"
Me: "I don't know restaurants in San Francisco. Since you live there, do you have any recommendations?"
Him: "There are tons of good places to eat in the city."
Me: "Ooookay. Well, I really like Asian or maybe someplace that has good salads."
Him: "There are tons of Asian places in the city."
Me: "..."
Me: "Do any favorites come to mind?"
Him: "Well, what part of the city do you want to meet in?"
Me: "I don't know the city very well. What part of the city are you in?"
Him: "We can meet anywhere."

This is the point in the conversation where I should have said:
"Tell ya what, you eat wherever you want, I'll eat wherever I want and we'll just call the whole thing off."

Butch with a Lisp

I had this guy last weekend tell me with a swish about how he created this water feature from scratch, building things out of scrap metal and rocks and other manly materials. When, with a hand on his hip, "it was really butch" came out of his lisping lips I nearly died laughing. If you have to actually say that something is butch, it's pretty obvious it's nothing even close to that.

// Cuz Tuck suggested I post this he somehow thinks he deserves the credit. Whatever. //

Feel Like a Petrie Dish

This whole triple digit heat outside and 24-7 a/c cooled inside existence is evidently sending my Alaskan blood into shock. I've been fighting a cold since last Thursday. My routine of vitamin C, herbs, zinc, tons of fluids and rest has kept the symptoms from getting too severe, but I'm still wiped out and not getting over it. Having a cold when it's over 100° outside just seems wrong.

Like Shaving with Barbed Wire

You know how painful it can be to watch someone on stage who can't act, can't remember their lines and frequently messes up their songs? Well, imagine seeing this performance 16 times (not to mention the countless rehearsals prior to that). It's a joy I tell you. A pure and utter joy.

Light This

After a glorious opening weekend... apparently this show has used up it's talent. The last two nights have just been off and while the show hasn't been horrible, I've been embarrassed with how things went.

During performances there is a quite bright beacon of light on me so the orchestra and the singers can see cues, tempos, etc. Well, last night it didn't come on so I was conducting in near blackness. I sent the bass player to get the light turned on. He came back to the pit and told me they couldn't turn on the light until intermission then he held up a flashlight and said the stage crew had said to use that.

...

Now mind you, I'm a resourceful person, but I couldn't for the life of me think of what I could do with that flashlight other than bludgeon the idiot that sent it into the pit.

Productivity at Work

I'm not entirely certain, but I think we just had an hour long meeting which can be summarized into "there are problems, but we're not going to do anything about it." Cool. Thanks for wasting my time and paving the road to a brighter future. We're having another meeting next Thursday. Maybe I'm psychic because I feel nearly certain that I know what the outcome of that meeting will be.

Counting Down the Days

I love myself some micromanagement. Give me a big heaping dose of it please! Cuz, there's nothing funner than having someone stand over my shoulder and telling me how to do every detail of my job. Gee, that's a swell feeling.

Pull My Strings

Things I love more than life itself:

someone reading over my shoulder to make sure I've played the music correctly
someone making random comments like "are you really going to do the song that way?"
someone taking it upon themselves to sit at the piano and teaching my soloist to sing her song differently
this someone being the person who writes my checks and has ultimate authority over the show

Seduction By Stalking

So being in the performing arts field I'm used to people being a bit "ga-ga" over the whole talent/stage persona. People seem to think that being good in music is somehow more sacred and special than being good in business or in interpersonal interaction or whatever. Considering my line of work, it's not like my ego's going to complain about that twisted logic. Well, in this musical I've had one teen girl that's all like "you're so talented and funny and a lot of fun to work with..." All while batting her eyes and swooning. Ok, that's sweet. Whatever.

Well, enter teen boy... He's been going out of his way to be near me and it's getting really creepy. Yesterday I was sitting at the piano in the pit and he slides to the edge of the stage on his side, head propped up on his elbow, other hand on his hip and he says (are you ready for this?) "Play something for me Damon." After much internal deliberation and tremendous effort to stiffle an avalanche of sniggering, I crafted my response: "no." The unedited, internal version was something in the realm of things that are best not posted on a blog.

Welcome to My Box

I've found an apartment and start moving in this weekend. It's cute with laminant floors, fresh paint. It's in a duplex with front and back porches and a back yard. Nice and cute. The only ever so slight draw back of the place is that it's a tad bit on the small side. Not quite the nearly 2000 sq ft place in which I've been living. It's a studio apartment with two rooms, each 11'x11'. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't think that quite adds up to 2000 sq ft. Oh, and there's two stove top burners but no oven. And only a half-sized fridge.

I'll likely put my bed in the room with the kitchenette and my computer, piano keyboard, and chair in the front room. So I'll basically be living in a bedroomette and studyette. And cooking a hell of a lot of stir fries.

Am I crazy? Damn straight. Is it a budgetary decision? You better believe it. Well, that and it's a few blocks from my work, one block from the Thai restaurant (the most important consideration), month-to-month rent and it's just a short term plan as I'd like to move into the Bay Area this fall.

Now I just need to pick up a few incidentals. You know things like a bed, a tv, a chair, bedding, towels, silverware, and let's not forget TP. Fortunately Curt's willing to loan me whatever I need as I get myself set up. Still, for some odd reason the word "overwhelmed" is swimming through my brain this morning. Odd.

Bitter, Party of One

So the new guy at work is gladly filling the unoffical role of supervisor for the graphics department. The only snag with that plan... he doesn't come in until 12noon. Guess who has to put out all the fires, problems, changes during the morning hours??

<insert snarky title here>

Work's whooping my ass this week and I don't mean in the "spank me harder you hot stud of a man" sort of way. We're short 48 hours of staffing this week with a co-worker on vacation and that's in addition to being short-staffed anyway (heh, he said "short-staffed"). I came into work almost an hour and a half early today and have spent most of the morning putting out fires. Today we're running a two-for-one special at Grumpy-R-Us.

Vortex of Marketing

Casinos/hotels - or hotesinos because they are, in fact, one in the same - in Vegas have mastered the unique scientific feat of creating buildings without exits. Well, technically they have exits, but force fields fueled by raw marketing power continually repel you from those exits and increase in strength the harder you try to get to those exits. You can't get out. It's a scientific fact.

Curt and I tried to leave our hotesino to walk the area. We dutifully head toward the nearest "exit here" sign. 5 blocks later led by a trail of exit signs, through twists, turns and hoardes of shops, buffets and slot machines we found we had passed through our hotesino, across an overpass and into the next hotesino now one level higher with even less clue how to get out. In a panic we realized that the only "exits" we could find were emergency exits with huge warnings stating something like 'the world will end if you try to use this door.'

Finally we ditched the exit sign approach and headed for what seemed like the edge of the building on the lower floor. And I say "seemed" because buildings in Vegas don't operate on the same scientific principles as they do in the rest of the universe. There is exponentially more space inside each hotesino than the actual physical space it occupies. If you don't believe me... try to get out of one.

Another block or two of roulette, craps and buffets and we finally found the a sidewalk bathed in the dank, alcohol rich air of Vegas' great outdoors. The panic calmed and we set about our task of avoiding the multitude of drunks and "all girls, all live" pimps as we walked up "The Strip."

After we'd had our fill of blinking lights, video billboards and many other technical feats created with the express purpose of wasting money wantonly, we decided we were too tired to walk the entire way back to the hotesino. We headed for the huge sign on the front of another hotesino labeled "Tram to South Strip." This would drop us off a mere two blocks from our hotesino and the bed we were so ready to sleep in. We headed into this hotesino with the promise of a nice ride back because, apparently, we hadn't yet learned our lesson regarding the spacial anomaly that is a hotesino.

To reach the tram we traveled several blocks winding our way through shops, blackjack, drunks and a plethora of cigarette smoke before we even saw the first semblance of a tram. We could have been half way back to our hotesino by then. Once we got off the tram - in yet another hotesino not even remotely our own - we were fighting back anxiety attacks and determined to find the nearest exit even if we had to create it ourselves by chiseling our way through the floor with a rusty penny and a stick of gum.

We surprisingly found an exit right away only to discover that it fed into a busy street that bascially promised certain death. I have to admit that we contemplated that option long and hard before heading back into the fray.

Just when I was about to turn into a sobbing mess and succomb to my fate of being the eternal bitch of the hotesino buffet gods we turned a corner and came face to face with huge picture windows which deceptively made it feel that there was indeed a world outside of this glittering existence. Staring at the thing I wanted most in the world with only a thin invisible wall keeping it from me, I lost all grasp on sanity and things became a blur. I think Curt must have torn me away from licking that oversized glass barrier, hoisted me over his shoulder and jumped through it because somehow we ended up back at our hotesino.

I still have nightmares about being chased by hungry slot machines screaming "ALL LIVE! ALL THE TIME! ALL LIVE! ALL THE TIME!"

Ultimate Shame

I don't know how it happened exactly. In fact, I'd like to pretend it never happened at all. You see, somehow I was sitting on the couch watching t.v. and then it happened. The horror of it all kept me from being able to change the course of events. I sat in stunned silence trying to comprehend what had possessed me, trying to determine who's invisible hands were guiding me down this wretched path. After enduring my 60 minutes of personal torment and shame, it was over as quickly as it began. With a click of the remote I hung my head low and vowed Curt to never tell a soul that I had not only watched, but actually enjoyed an episode of Wife Swap.

Oh the Drama

Management doesn't really think they want to hire a supervisor for the graphics department. They really just want all the staff to kind of pick up the slack and make sure things get done. BRILLIANT plan. Basically we'll all do extra work, but not get paid anymore plus there'll be no one to go to with problems, no one to lead the department out of the chaos, no one to interface with the multitude of outside departments...

Oh, wait. You know how in groups a leader sort of informally emerges from one of the fold? Yeah. That'd be me so far. So now I see my options as fight to #1. get paid to be official supervisor, #2. be the unofficial supervisor without the pay or #3. run from the newspaper screaming obscenities while throwing Molotov cocktails over my shoulder. Here's hoping for the sudden appearance of a door number 4...

Affirming Terminology for the Modern Terrestrial Being

"Heterosexism," "ableism" and whole host of other "isms" were terms that were bountifully tossed about in a church service I attended yesterday. The Oakland Easy Bay Gay Men's Chorus (the choir I've joined) was invited to sing at a church in Oakland as they were having a service to celebrate the fact that they are "open and affirming."

I felt like I needed a handy gay friendly, politically correct dictionary with me to sort through the all the terminology of the service.

Make Your Move

Does everyone but me thrive on the "Reply to All" button? Do you just sit around salivating over the opportunity to hit that most sacred of all buttons? I so can't stand the whole decision-by-committee routine in the first place, and when it becomes an e-mail free-for-all of useless opinions I feel the need to go e-postal on your ass. You've been warned. The next move is yours.

I Don't Wanna Grow Up

Do you remember as a kid, how everything that was touted as being "important" was boring as hell? Yeah. Like the arduously important church sermons that seemed to go on for hours while I imagined that my left piggy toe has been asked to dance with the singing frog in his latest cartoon debut. For some reason it was "important" that my leg not be in the mist of a spasmatic fit of gleeful abandon when the pastor got to "bow your head in a moment of reflection."

Well we're learning a really "important" song in choir. The piece is based on four texts of Thomas Jefferson and boldly proclaims the need for freedom. And by boldly I mean smacking the audience upside the head with every painstakingly important syllable. How necessary is it to separate every syllable of the word ci-vi-liz-a-tion into a two measure chant of epic boredom? At first I wanted to hurt myself every time we rehearsed the piece. Now I just want to hurt the director...

Culturification

Last night I saw Theatre District in San Fransisco. While I may have been the only one in our group that enjoyed it, I thought it was cleverly written, funny and had interesting character relationships (which, in my opinion, is what the entire thing was about: relationships). I'm really glad I got to see this show (which no one else liked). Prior to the show I had dinner with Curt (who didn't like it), four of his friends (most of whom didn't like it, but one was the director and another his partner so, you know, they were like contractually obligated to like it) and the playwright, Richard Kramer, who's written for tv shows such as Thirty Something and My So Called Life. Going out on a limb: I'd guess that Richard liked the play. All in all, it was a fun evening and I was really moved by a great play. I'd recommend it to you, but... you wouldn't like it.

Start Your Day

I started my day with Buttons & Bows because, really, what better way to start one's day?

Teacher: Grilled, Not Fried

The family of a potential new student came over last night to meet me. It became quite the intensive interview as the father pulled out a list of questions for me. He asked for references, how long I planned to stay in the area, etc. I kept trying to engage the student-to-be, but the father kept answering for her and continuing his barrage of questions. While his approach was overbearing, it was refreshing to see a parent being so thorough in finding a quality piano teacher for his child. Most parents are like "You teach? When can we start?"

Birthing Property All Around the Valley

If your business's name was Preferred Real Estate Group would you go by the acronym: PREG? No? Me either.

Home Bound

This furnace replacement process has cost a lot more than the money we've had to shell out. I've had to arrange time to be stuck at home a total number of seven times now with each red-tape stage of the process. Today I found out that I'll now need to have at least two more appointments. Grrrrr.

Sing a Song

9am-4pm. On a Saturday. Working intensely. Yes, I did in fact have a choir rehearsal that lasted all day on the weekend. My voice isn't too happy at the moment and the rest of me is downright grumpy.

Whistle While You Waft

The whistler who sits next to me? Yeah. He doesn't bathe.

Lia 6.0: Haunted Dreams

On our cruise we were haunted by the demon of endless torment wrapped in the disguise of a girl child, Lia. This seemingly adorable six year old greeted us and everyone on her stateroom floor with chicken scratched love notes when we arrived on the ship. Her deceptive charms soon vanished. We rather quickly came to the conclusion that the entire Lia clan were on the ship with the express directive to torment us and keep us from the sleep we so desperately needed. The gleeful jungle gym in the hallway at all hours and crossing paths with them an innordinate number of times on the ship was just the beginning. Soon we were running into Lia's family on land as well.

On the day we drove to catch our volcano tour - a considerable distance from the port - we had to wait for our volcano tour. As we sat waitng to get on our tour van, Lia's father climbed out of a taxi followed by his little 'angels.' I have no idea the cost of a cab from Taraunga to Rotorua, but evidently no price tag is too great for their commitment to our perpetual torment.

In Napier we were enjoying Marineland before my big dolphin swim experience when directly behind us we heard some man yell "Lia!" Before we even turned around we knew that they had found us once again.

The final evidence of the twisted plot against us was when we were flipping through tv channels in our cabin and santa invited a little girl into his lap who announced herself as Lia. Our lovely shipmate had found her way into our stateroom as well.

I wouldn't be the least bit surprised to discover that Lia's family had followed us back to California, bought up the house next door, and got a job at the newspaper where I work with the primary duty of scratching her fingernails on a chalkboard all day.

Paying the Bills

3 reporters were fired yesterday, a full-time graphics employee was cut back to half-time and I'm not allowed to go over my 20 hours. And to think I came to work this morning with the plan to offer to work close to full-time. I'm leaving wondering if I should start looking for other jobs....

Wayward Jackets

New Zealand Trip - Day 6
Our tuxedo jackets have been on a tour of the ship the last 2 days. We're hoping they find their way back to the ship to join us for our first formal dinner.

All My Bags Are Packed

Three ad reps were fired yesterday. Bah-bye.

Whistle While You Work

You know some people like to hum and others like to whistle? Some people seem to find comfort in whistling while they work. Some people seem to find comfort is whistling out of tune while they work. Some people who sit two feet away from my computer seem to like to whistle all freakin' day long as a constant pecking at my brain drawing that ever so small flow of patience right out of me.

Take the High Road

My supervisor went to turn in two weeks notice yesterday to work for a competitor. She wasn't allowed two weeks or even to finish out her day. She was told to leave immediately. Then the boss called the graphics department into his office and proceeded to trash the supervisor as well as the business to which she was going. Besides losing a supervisor we all enjoyed we had a big 'ol dose of the lack of character that runs this newspaper. He's got a history of behaving this way and reacting especially childishly when when it comes to his competitors. Gotta say that my experience thus far is not leaving me feeling all that positive toward the newspaper industry.

Human Experimentation

New Zealand Trip - Day 5
I'm in the midst of a 3 week experiment to discover how sleep deprivation affects my 'no violence' resolve. Side note: the family with the 'no discipline' resolve seem to think the hall outside my room is a jungle gym... which opens at 6am.

Death Defying

Our furnace kicked the proverbial bucket on Monday. It breathed it's last warm, raspy breath sometime around 5am. The new furnace can't be installed until Thursday so we've been living with a space heater following us around the house. What's really freaking me out is that we only need the space heater for comfort. In Alaska, if a furnace went out this time of year it became a matter of life and death (or at least a few bursted water pipes). It just seems wrong to not be tempting fate with this lack of heating thing. I guess I just need a near death experience to make me feel at home.

White Trash Roadtrip

Saturday I went again to see Curt a stage production of A Christmas Carol and to join he and some of his aquaintances for dinner afterwards. At intermission I went to say hello to the group of people who had come to see him perform. I walked down the aisle in what was a really nice theatre, making my way to their row. As I got to their seats I see all nine of them with paper plates in their laps buttering pumpkin bread with plastic knifes and chowing down gleefully. Now, we're not talking about them nibbling on a cookie they had stashed in their pocket, but having a full blown dessert buffet with gingerbread butter spread and everything. I smiled, nodded and returned to my seat.

I'll Tell You Where to Put That Deposit

Even though I have familial connections with Wells Fargo bank, I have been utterly appalled at their lack of customer service and inability to follow through with what they say they will do. After a stupid incident involving me mistakenly trying to deposit a sizable check written from the very same account (instead of my Alaska bank, which is what I was meaning to do). That set off all kinds of alarms (understandably) and of course I'm now considered a hardened criminal.

Accounts were frozen, ATM cards were canceled... it was a fun filled ride, let me assure you. I understand why my error was such a big deal so no angst there. After speaking with three different representatives and them subsequently each speaking with a phone support person, I was passed off to the manager who assured me he'd get back to me the next day. A week later he assured me he'd clear up the problem within 24 hours. Another week passes before I go back in to sit down with him, rehash the incident and promise on the life of my first born iguana that'd I'd never do it again. 3 days later my account was released.

Or so I thought.

What was actually released was one joint account that Curt and I share because evidently my name had become the mark of the devil and anything that bore that name must be terminated (thank God I don't write my name on my underwear anymore). My individual account was still as frozen as my sister's golashes in January. Another call to the manager, more waiting on the phone, more getting back to me... finally that account was thawed as well. I only had to wait a few more weeks to get my ATM cards back...

But wait, there's more.

We just discovered that the savings portion of both those accounts were not, in fact, defrosted and had been pending closure "in 10 days" for the last month and a half. Meanwhile the savings accounts are racking up monthly fees even though we had been told they'd be completely free.

Curt literally spent an hour (that's 60 whole minutes for those on the slow learners program) on the phone just getting that savings thawed enough to close it.

Fortunately they did notify us about all these problems and closures and... wait. Nope. Didn't happen. A week after finally getting everything cleared I get a letter stating there was a problem with my deposit.

No shit.

Curt had the grand pleasure of receiving no notices whatsoever (not even jointly). It's all part of the paper reduction act, I'm sure. "We now screw you online to save our precious trees."

Glad we could help the environment.

Whew. Okay, that wore me out. I'm gonna sit down now. Talk amongst yourselves.

Next to Godliness

Evidently it's been a good financial week at the paper because for the first time since I've been here the men's bathroom actually has some handsoap. I feel like royalty.

Bah

I'm sitting here at my part-time job and we're listening to Christmas music. All the 50's, sappy, syrupy voiced classics which inspire me to want to shoot myself in the head. In fact, I think as I sit here the Christmas spirit is slowly being sucked from my very being. Quick someone give me either an ancient Silent Night or even a Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer. This golden age crap is constipating my merriment.

Global Warming

Would it be considered innappropriate work behavior for an ad rep to grab his cahones and say "What do you think you call these?" in a room full of people of both genders? Having worked at home for several months now, perhaps the sexual harassment laws have changed...

Tell Me Something

When the conversation started with an ad rep saying, "I really am a nice person, I am," I knew the conversation wasn't going to go well.

Name That Stereotype

Why in the name of my creative left pinky are people so predictable? This morning at an "open and affirming" church (i.e. they cater to queers) it was all women in mullets and men with lisps. And, no, I don't consider getting your mullet permed as some grand break from the cookie cutter that stamped you out. I'm in desperate need for some originality. Anyone? Anyone!?!

That Might Just Be Me

If I were, perhaps, a person working on a customer's kitchen tile I may not be terribly inclined to be trashing the last client for whom I worked. I may also not be inclined to schedule a day to work on said kitchen and then tell the customer that I could still do it on that day, but it'd involve "more work that I'd like to do." After canceling the first work day, I might also not be inclined to show up an hour and a half late for my next two days of work. But even with all that, I'm nearly certain that while at the customer's house, with the customer there, I wouldn't pee with the bathroom door open.

But that might just be me.

Middle America

Does the average American truly prefer their movies/books to have predictable plotlines and cliche endings? Do they want their logos and brochures squeezed from a can? Do they really enjoy having their music mass produced with only slight lyric and label changes?

In spite of mounting evidence to the contrary, I've remained blissfully hopeful that the world at large really prefers creativity, diversity and uniqueness. As a person loathing anything cliche or ordinary I simply can't stand the thought of living in a world where there's a formula for "art" and where the most used/obvious aesthetics are the ones the consumer will choose every single time.

I understand the comfort concept, but am personally offended when watching a movie that has the standard five characters and three plot twists. When character #3 (the angsty street kid who's never known real love) gets killed off by a "shocking" turn of events I want to shoot myself repeatedly with my 2.5 horse battery powered nail gun. When we think all is finally safe, but the evil villian rises once more I want to bludgeon the tv with my rusty pocket-sized collapsable tire iron. And the moment when we find that the villian's side-kick was actually a tormented youth and truly wants to be redeemed... well, that's when I decide to get a sex change, become a nun and move to some remote location where the incessant monotonous drone of the mediocrity of society can't reach my muted vow of poverty.

Polyester and Pepperoni

Yesterday I met with the head of an opera company to see if they could find use of my piano skills. The guy was really slimey. It's hard to describe exactly, but he just came across as a disgusting person. The type you picture slobbering pizza all over his polyester suit coat while trying to sell you a car. This area and the concept of opera so don't go together, but when you see the scary head of this organization it all becomes clear. It's like white trash trying to put on a high class dinner, but they can't figure out where to place the spam fork.

We walked into the paper bomb that is his office, he reclined in his desk chair, threw his feet up on one of the piles of papers on his desk and proceeded to tell me why he is God's gift to the universe. I tried to ignore the hay dangling from the bottom of his size 12 hiking boots. In the process of giving me the disertation on all things him, he deftly trashed every other person which he passed by in the story. A feat worthy of some sort of award, I'm sure.

After I was asked to sight-read some impossibly difficult score - and butchering it appropriately - the director/god-of-the-pizza-stain said they often cast their opera roles cross-gendered. So Juliet may be a guy or whatever (his non-opera example, not mine). I'm not so disturbed with them being adaptive to their resources, but the fact that he seemed so pleased with this gender bending, concerned me greatly. It was at this point I felt the need to slowly back out of the room and not overly excite the plump, crazy man behind the desk.

Raise Your Smoothie High

I'm stuck at home again today waiting on the plumbing to be finished in the kitchen. This is the 6th day over the last 3 weeks I've been home bound to get this project done. Curt had said he could work it out to work from home for some of these days, but I can't see having him do that just so I'm free to run and grab a smoothie whenever I feel like it. Well, there are much more important errands than smoothies, but they are all flexible so it makes much more sense that I continue overseeing the project like I have from the beginning. Besides I'm seeking on Oscar for my portrayal of a Californian metrosexual martyr who presses past the oppression of kitchen remodeling to become a beacon of hope to all who would seek smoothie fulfillment.

More Class Than You Can Shake a Stick At

I've been shopping around for a tuxedo and thought that I'd take a look on eBay. Let's just say that the vintage tux look ain't got my name written anywhere on it, not even on it's nasty, rust colored collar.

Edge of Your Seat Suspense

Oh my God. Iron Chef America. It's on the Food Network as I type. They're in the midst of the Battle Black Bass, which is apparently the most tense, exciting event since the parting of the Red Sea.

The announcer is all like, "I don't believe it. The chef is fleshing out a coconut. WHAT IS HE GOING TO USE THAT FOR?!! We'll just have to wait to find out."

And then I'm all like, "wtf?"

And then he's all like, "There's just 15 minutes left in the competition. Will the chef's be able to complete their dishes in time?!"

Then I'm all like, <click>

Charbroiled Perspectives

We just had to turn on the heater for the first time this season and I'm extremely depressed that it's gotten so "cold." I guess my Alaskan roots were left in the dust along with my parkas and bunny boots.

Adjustment Anxiety

I'll have an order of crazies please, with a side of irrationality, mongo sized. Does a blunt object with with my meal?

Learning Pains

I'm back home again with a hefty note to self:

When one is carrying two 40lb bags plus a shoulder bag, and when one is planning to take the train to where one parked one's car just 5 days prior, one should make sure one recalls where that car is parked. Toting nearly 100lbs of luggage around 3 big ass parking lots sorting through the plethora of silver cars isn't really the most fun way to end a long trip. Or, so I've heard.

Security Warning

This lovely little car of ours is very secure. We're talking high level security here. So high, in fact, that whether I can actually get in the thing depends on the celestial variance brought on by the exact alignment of the moon with the rain clouds hovering over top the vehicle.

If I try to open the car with the key the alarm goes off. Key: bad. Little push button unlocker: good. And by alarm we're not just talking about any ol' "beep, beep" here. It's an all out bring on the air national guard series of varying alarms guaranteed to make you soil yourself (the dry cleaning bill alone is killing me).

Try to open the trunk before you've unlocked the car: alarm. Leaving the car unlocked for 2 minutes without putting the key in the ignition makes the car lock itself again so if you have the trunk open, say for something crazy like loading groceries, the alarm goes off when you finally close the trunk.

And heaven forbid that you should be extra safe and push the lock button twice when leaving the thing. Lordy be it doesn't like that. Bells, whistles and an entire brass band of alarms.

What's extra special is that the remote has a range of about 3.35 feet and it doesn't activate if you push the button too quickly. But whatever the freak you do, for the love of all that is sacred, never EVER push the lock button twice. Trust me on this one. You don't want to do it. And even more importantly your neighbors don't want you to do it when you get home from dancing at 2am.

Fortunately the resounding alarm can be turned off with a push of a button... or so I'm told. One push of the unlock button didn't do it. Twelve pushes didn't do it either. Rapidly trying every button combination known to man (and a few known only to left handed martians) didn't do it either. Apparently it requires standing on one foot while yodeling the national anthem backwards and pressing the unlock button very slowly from outside the vehicle at an exact right angle to the carburetor's left nut.

All this and I have yet to try the panic button. I sooooo don't want to know what that button does.

Gluton for Punishment

There's a guy covering in our department at the temp job this morning. From the moment I got here he's been talking about how hungry he is and brainstorming the list of foods he'd like to eat. Every five minutes comes another plea for someone to go get some food. I swear this guy is a food-aholic or something. Shut up already about the food! Finally the person training me left at 11am to get lunch because this guy simply couldn't wait any longer. Whatever. I can't wait to see what's on the bitch menu for afternoon snacks.

Respecting the Middle Man

While I'm ashamed to admit it, I've always assumed that people who worked in warehouses were dull, lacking in skills and lacking in ambition. This temp job has brought me in contact with some very interesting people who work extremely hard utlizing skills that are beyond me. I've come to respect these people and will no longer mock them under my breath as I pass them in the lunch room... unless, of course, that supervisor is still wearing that now 4-day-old yellow and blue herribone polo shirt with that neon green hard hat. I mean, how many days can you get out of one disgusting outfit? I'm all for respecting the warehouse worker, but a guy's gotta have some moral loop holes or he'll just go mad.

You Didn't Hear It From Me

Is the representative at an employment agency supposed to tell me that I am wasting my time? Is she supposed to tell me that while she could help me, perhaps I'd rather work in a hotel or at a restaurant? Is she supposed to be completely wasted when she tells me all of this information? Maybe I'm a bit jaded, but I didn't stay to find out what other tidbits of wisdom she might have to offer.

Meaty

I had my first In & Out Burger yesterday. "I'd like two Double-Doubles with fries please." How many places can have only five items on the menu and still keep the drive-thru packed up like grandma Ethel when she's off her FiberCon?

If I'm making In & Out Burger sound like a 'thing' that's because I guess it is. It was certainly better than Burger Crack or McDrivles. The problem for me was a horrid realization that In & Out Burger was likely the inspiration for the Double Meat Palace in Buffy the Vampire Slayer. As I sat in the drive through I couldn't help but wonder if meat of the day was Hispanic or Caucasian.

Come One, Come All

A comment I made to Valette: "What's with this whole blogging revolution in our family? It was just supposed to be you and me desperately trying to be you. I feel slighted."

Bossco's
Prudhoeman
All Askan Gal

California Dreaming - Day 3 (the horrors)

Sunday involved a nude beach. Just one comment: if that rather rotund gentleman had bent over to pick up his sunscreen one more time I think I might have hurt someone.

Brown Mustard Wash

With all that's going on these last few days in the grand 'ol state of Alaska, I think I'm on the verge of jumping the couch and clothing myself in fax paper while I sing the national anthem to the special lint friends that live in my pocket.

// my personal research assistant: Jay //

In the Anal Sense?

When researching ending my cell service in Alaska I was told I needed to call the "Retention Services Department." With a name like that, me thinks it's not going to be as easy as telling them I'm through. By the very definition of the department's name I can most certainly expect many a sales pitch before they actually do what I ask. I'm so looking forward to this call...

Share the Love

You know how grade school boys show girls how much they love them by beating the crap out of them? Let's just say that when framed in that perspective I'm feeling so incredibly loved at work since I told them I was leaving.

Nutritional Advice

Man should not live on energy bars alone. And if man decides to ignore this ever-so-basic principle, man should expect to have the most wicked, god awful gas. The kind which causes little children to sob uncontrollably and drives catholic nuns to take solace in a case of whiskey.

We Love Our Beans

Welcome to Tracy, CA home of the ever famous Dry Bean Festival. With such a claim to fame I'm guessing their city slogan is "Tracy: where the bay area rednecks converge."

I Feel Like the Postman

Ok, what the freak is up with this weather?! It's not that it's unpredictable. In fact, I can almost time my day according to when the clouds clear, when the sun comes out, when the rain rolls in and finally when the thunder and lighting arrives. Each and every lunch hour I drive with my truck windows down basking in the sun. And each day at 4pm I'm frantically running outside to roll the windows back up to hold back the deluge of water crashing in. Rather than having sunny or rainy days we're having blocks of time for each weather option. It's highly effecient and no weather pattern feels left out. Gee, aren't we a cozy, happy little weather family. Grrrrr.

Be Our Guest

Welcome to the Rits Carltin, the hotel of champions and their pet llamas. We hope you enjoy your stay. For your sleeping pleasure we offer you a nicely padded block of concrete with freshly fluffed pillows and nearly clean sheets. To enhance the camaraderie of our guests you will be afforded the luxury of hearing every word, throat clearing and crotch itch of our your next door neighbors. Have a secret to share? The whole wing will gladly listen. For your added enjoyment the building will sound like it's falling apart all night long and the metal walkway above you will soothe you with what will seem like the endless lullaby of small foreign vehicles crashing into the elderly. After your refreshing night of relaxation you will find the shower so mesmerizing that having to dry off with a wash cloth will be so utterly delightful that you'll adopt this highly effecient method at home. We're thrilled you've chosen to stay at the Rits Carltin. Please let us know if there is anything we can do to improve the quality of your visit. Our office hours are 11:00am to 11:01am. Have a good day!

I'm the One that Jaded You

If you weren't my annoying father and you "accidentally" almost put the remaining watermelon in a heated oven instead of the fridge... would I find you funny?

Didn't think so.

Pavlov's Dog Has Gas

Why is it that when we walk into a room filled with chemical smells we're all like, "Mmmmmm, smells clean" and if that chemical smell has the slightest tinge of pine we're like, "Fresh as the spring breeze!!"? This thought occured to me upon entering the work bathroom and being swallowed in a cloud of cleaning chemicals which are still gleefully eating away at my nasal passages and threatening to turn my future children into 5 armed creatures who say things like, "Daddy, can we PLEEEEZ have toxic waste for dinner again?"

Such get over it!

Ok. Is it just me or is it such a confusing pair of words that I can't really be held responsible? For some reason I always mix up the words "just" and "such." The words really aren't that similar are they? Is there some earthly reason why my brain should think the two words are the same or is this some throw back to those ritual mutilations we had back in grade school?!

How did that happen?

If I were to accidently saturated this pile of paperwork with lighter fluid and inadvertently skim the whole thing with a grenade launcher... do you think anyone would notice?

Fleeing my homeland?

Oddly enough, since the incident with my father, I've been having frequent dreams of painful, emotional confrontations with him. So much for dreams being all cryptic and crap. What happened to poetic dreams of mountains too difficult to move or being stuffed into the bottom of a glass bottle filled with the stomach acid of a llama (you know, that old standard)? The most recent dream did involve me being attacked by bees during the confrontation so at least I got a tad bit of poetry. I guess they just don't make dreams like they used to. <sigh>

On special consignment

My lovely sister was nice enough to lend me her cold while she was visiting this past weekend. Believe me, I'm going to try to find a way to repay this loan with interest.

Their alive captain!

I propose that if your nose hairs are long enough to be curling around the outside of your nostrils... they need to be trimmed. But maybe that's just me.

Sphincter say what?

It's interesting to note that I can still be moved to sobbing uncontrollably by my asshole of a father. Yep. Interesting.

Best of intentions

Through the power of positive thinking I will change this creepy ass day into a golden ray of sunshine. I will not dwell on the daunting pile of paperwork on my desk nor the boss who gleefully contributes to said pile. Instead I will imagine a rainbow of happiness circling over my head, showering me with light. I will tune out the droaning, sniveling voice of the office-assistant-of-doom and open my ears to hear the melodious incantations of mother earth...

<cracks open tightly shut eyes> Is it working? Cuz, I'm sooooo not continuing this touchy-feely crap if it's not making my mood a hell of a lot better. Postive thinking, my eye! I'll show you where you can put that rainbow of happiness...

Mono, mono you're so fine...

Infectious mononucleosis - also called "mono" or "the kissing disease" - is an acute infection of the lymphatic system caused by the Epstein-Barr Virus (EBV). It is usually characterized by fatigue, fever, sore throat, and swollen glands in the neck.

Grrrrrr

Committee Meetings

I'm an effeciency addict. Right now I'm going through withdrawls.

Grand returns

Returning to work would be a whole lot more fun if, you know, work were actually fun in the first place.

Where's Ripley when you need her?

Some might foolishly assume the large, tender growth on the side of my neck is simply a swollen limph node from this wicked sore throat I've acquired. I, on the other hand, realize this to be an alien embryonic pod growing just below my jawline. At any moment I expect a snot covered, two mouthed creature with an excellent dental plan to burst through my skin, cocoon all my friends and eat my coworkers for a crunchy midnight snack. I wish it would just hurry up; the suspense is killing me.

A Far as the Eye Can See

Does someone want to explain to me why a street that is merely three-quarters of a mile long would be split into an East Pioneer Ave and a West Pioneer Ave??

Prop me up

I had the brilliant notion to join a friend for his regular gym workout on Saturday. It was pecs, triceps and abs day.

The fact that I can no longer lift my arms above stomach level is a decent indication that I went a tad too far in my first weight workout in years. The fact that I can no longer wear pullover shirts, style my hair or carry a stapler without fits of whimpering is a constant reality check that one should take these things slowly. Putting on clothing brings me near tears and I'm faced with the same problem when it comes time to take them off at night. I'm seriously considering just wearing this set of clothes for the rest of the week.

With such a kick ass, tough-as-nails workout I'd feel like a total stud if I weren't spending so much time whining like a girl.

Selling out to the land of ribbons and curls

I've just spent the last hour or so painting a "Gallery Open" sign for my office. A fun project if it weren't for the fact that it involves the color baby pink. I had free reign to do whatever I wanted with the sign... as long as it involved the specific teal and pink that adores our main sign. Besides being a rather special 80s color combination, it includes that special shade of pink that should be reserved for little girls, pigs and delicate flowers. Give me fuschia or magenta or hot pink, but I'm begging you: do not make me hold a brush full of baby pink paint in between these trembling artistic fingers. It is things like this that drive a man to drink.

Piss poor job

Ah the joys of a bar bathroom in good ol' Homer, Alaska. One toilet, one unrinal and one sink all in one little room. How many peeing guys can this one little room accomodate? Would you believe they were limiting it to 3 guys at a time? So much for resourcefulness.

Yada yada

My office assitant has been talking straight for the last 10 minutes. I'm not exaggerating. I'm not making it up. I have not said one word, but simply sat here and listened to the damn longest run on sentence in the history of office assistants. And it's not just fluff. She's telling me some deep, personal stuff like it's no matter:

Her husband was abusive, her church is judgemental, her nephew is gay, her adopted child was talken away, she attempted suicide years ago, she's currently not going to church, she likes this morning radio show, what life was like in California, she's going to try a new church, God's been awesome to her, she's not overly religious, she was becoming an atheist before God changed her life around, her son belongs to the masons and there's nothing wrong with it...

I'm trying really hard to be sympathetic with some pretty serious life traumas, but the flapping of her trap is making it extremely difficult.

Beauty is in the staunchly raised nose of the beholder

My work has an artist couple in residency this week. Beautiful tapestries and impressive classical guitar. Unfortunately they are a bit of a cliche cartoon couple. She's the snobby bitch and he's the annoying comedian. The thing they have in common: condescension and lots of it. Having now met them I'm seriously considering ditching their collaborative performance on Friday night.

On a jet plane (I wish)

Homer to Anchorage: It's not so much that we experienced hideous turbulence as it is that we fully utilized the air space around us.

Anchorage to Valdez: In order to give ample time for me to make my connection - 10 feet away - the airlines was generous enough to extend my meager 1 hour layover into a roomy 5 hour layover. Those people are just swell!

Doh!

Looks to me like they provide services I wouldn't want for my kids...

A tad bit grumpy perhaps?

Feeling short on patience this morning and my office assistant isn't helping in the least. If she says, "All-ooh-righty then. We'll just do it" in her sing-songy fashion one more freakin' time I think I may have to toss my 50lb monitor over the divider wall. She thinks she comes across in an I'd-like-to-teach-the-world-to-sing sort of way. In truth it's more like a transform-an-otherwise-mild-mannered-individual- into-an-mouth-foaming-psycho-killer-with-a-computer-monitor sort of way. Believe me, the monitor would be sacrificed for a good cause.

Eating crow

Ok, well, my diva moment's over. The two performances of the variety show happened today. The evening show went much better than the matinee, but both went pretty well. As much as I bitched about rehearsals, disorganization, etc... in the end I'm so glad I did it. I had forgotten how alive and 'right' I feel when performing. It's definitely a talent that God has given me and something to which he has called me. I need to do more of it. So next time I'm moaning about annoying rehearsals just remind me that the performance will make it all worth while. I will likely slap you upside the head for this reminder, but that doesn't mean I need it any less.

I like being in the spotlight, but...

I'm not so sure that it's a good idea to put a professional, anal-retentive, perfectionistic musician into an amateur, community talent show setting. Said diva may self-destruct when in "dress rehearsal" new musicians are being added to ensembles, people are still trying to decide on their musical arrangement and the artistic director is undecided on the location for entrances and exits. My favorite moment was when I sat in the spotlight throughout the entirety of someone else's piece because the lighting crew couldn't figure out that the female voice, guitar and conga drums weren't actually coming from the piano.

In truth, the performers all have a tremendous amount of talent. I'm in awe at several of the acts. Sadly very few of these gifted musicians are skilled in professionalism on stage or in their preparation.

<sigh> I may be a diva, but working with the "little people" can be so trying.

Grumbly grumble flit

Managing the needs of the business all week while the rest of the staff is out sick and then having 3+ hour exhausting rehearsals each night... might tend to make one grumpy. You know, just maybe.

Here's Johnny!

This Saturday the arts council is putting on a variety show of local talent. The show will be done with an old time radio theme. The emcee will serve as the radio show host complete with cheesey jokes and melodramatic introductions. I'll kind of be the Doc Severinsen of the show; the musical sidekick to the host. I'll play prelude music, list the sponsors, and introduce the host. I'll also be playing some interlude spots while some groups are being set-up and possibly do some hokey banter with the host now and then. This leaves me at the piano for the entire show.

I had my first rehearsal last night and by rehearsal I mean sitting around waiting for some semblance of a clue as to what I was to be specifically doing during the show. The complete disorganization of the directors left me sitting around stewing at the big fat waste of time. Here's hoping that tonight and tomorrow's rehearsals go much better.

Office assistants say the darndest things

"Could you help me with my printer?"

"Sure. What's wrong with it?"

"It's on the floor."

"Huh?"

(nonchalantly) "I was moving stuff on my desk and then 'crash!' the printer fell on the floor behind the desk."

"..."

"Could you get it for me?"

Speaking hypothetically, of course

When one sets out to make fried rice, one should remember to not only rinse the rice before cooking, but to also make sure one does not seriously overcook said rice. If one does not heed this advice one will end up with a mushy substance that more closely resembles fried rice pudding.

One is not pleased.

Sing out loud, sing out strong!

dee deet da dee dee dee deeeee
put on a happy face
blue skies are gonna clear up
put on a happy face

dee deet da dee dee dee deeeee
put on a happy face
blue skies are gonna clear up
put on a happy face

Apparently my office assistant doesn't know any more of this song. Sad, really, that she's so enamoured with it today. Sad in the sense that I might be forced to rip her vocal cords from her throat.

Where's the wonderland??

Homer got dumped with a major snowfall last night. On top of that we had winds creating serious drifts. Beside the pesky difficulty knowing where the road actually was this morning, I got to work just fine. Well... I got the parking lot just fine. That is when I my truck decided to tackle a 3 foot snow drift. It lost. After getting the office opened and ready for some morning workshops... I set to digging out my truck. It was a bit like the commercial that joat posted except that I was, indeed, digging out my own vehicle. Well, that and the fact that the digging I was engaged in was remove snow from underneath the vehicle. 20 minutes later I was cold, sore and grumpy... but my truck was free. I really don't enjoy snow... so why do I live in Alaska? Well okay, there's the whole born here thing, but dude, I'm so moving somewhere warm.

For women who find comfort in the monotonous

"Was your ex-husband abusive to you?"

"As often as he could."

"Why did you stay with him?"

"Why does any woman stay through that?"

I swear the above conversation is a mandatory inclusion in any Lifetime movie. I caught this particular conversation while eating lunch in the living room with my mom. Two women are going away for the weekend at a cabin in the woods. A huge snow storm is on it's way in. The abusive ex-husband was just released from prison...

Those 5 minutes pretty much told me the plot of the rest of the movie. And while the instant knowledge of the entire story isn't nearly as scarring as actually watching the cliche plotline unfold... it was still pretty damn scarring.

"...and they thought I was the best thing since sliced bread, and then..."

Is it considered an out of body experience when you're listening to someone ramble on and you see an image of yourself repeatedly stabbing yourself in the eye with a long, sharp skewer? The things I put up with just to be polite.

In a china shop

I'm rapidly growing to hate my part-time office assistant. She's part of a senior-citizen-returning-to-the-workforce program and she's returning with a bang. Loud, disrespectful, lazy and inflexible. All in all, a joy to work with. Good to know that I've not lost all fuel for the rant section of my blog...

Work it

Hm. Evidently my excitement with being full-time at work was a tad premature. I worked full days last week since my trainer was out of town, but this week in back to half-time hours (afternoons). As of next week I'll be officially working full-time. The time off is nice, but I do have to work everyday (including Friday) so the light schedule doesn't allow me to get away and do any of the partying that I've come to know and love. <sigh>

Chat like your teeth have fallen out

I'm chatting with someone who, I swear, must type one letter per minute. I could take in a movie waiting for his next reply!

Sing along

I experienced my first night of karaoke about 2 months ago with Andrew and Jennifer. Listening wasn't as painful as I thought it would be. In fact, I enjoyed it a lot. I found myself very drawn to sing, but my professional performer side couldn't bear the thought of getting up there without any rehearsal (pathetic I know). I've been to karaoke night a few times since always promising that I'm going to sing... always chickening out. So it's gotten to the point where I'm actually spending work hours looking for songs to sing so I can rehearse a bit before I next end up at karaoke night...

Somehow I think I'm killing the entire spirit of karaoke. May the karaoke gods smite me down and wipe this anally obsessive smirk from my face!!

Got it bad

I'm kinda foaming at the mouth for more of the same kind of fun I've been having in Anchorage... I wonder how long until I start gnawing my party-friendly arms off.

Pulling my designer hair out

At my new job I have to design flyers, tickets, postcards, etc. for arts events. Yay! I get to use a bit of my graphic design skills... Of course, since I work at a small non-profit, I have to do all this with Publisher. For a graphic artist, Publisher is likened to slowly stabbing a long, barbed skewer into one's eye. Being asked to do the simplest of photo corrections without even the most basic software... is like transfering the procedure to the other eye.

Destiny

My truck seems pretty adamant about entering retirement. Perhaps I should euthanize the sucker and call it done.

Plot Lines

After my truck was brought back from an early retirement in an Anchorage church parking lot, I headed on the road to Homer for another grand adventure. The plot in this sequel began with immediate action as relentless 90 mile-per-hour winds threatened to throw the truck into the rocky cliffs of Turnagain Arm. This was coupled with a rain which seemed to enjoy grabbing at my tires and blurring my vision. As I got into the mountains the wind died down... as did the last threads of daylight. The rain, on the other hand, only increased.

By the time I got to Sterling there were pools of water littering the road, each one trying to suck the truck into its grasp. On one four lane stretch of road I tried to move into the outer lane to pass a car. What looked like a small skim of water covering that lane was evidently a mini ocean because the truck was gracefully thrown into a sideways skid. This became a double pirouette across the yellow lines followed by a moon walk as I shot backwards toward the opposite side of the road. The whole routine ended with the truck perfectly parallel to the white line on the opposite curb just outside of the lane of traffic. Still facing toward home I started the truck again and drove off. This time I proceeded at a slower pace with no efforts at passing even the slowest of grandmothers.

keep reading...

Hm

The truck took a day off. It has really been bogged down with all that starting and running lately and decided it was high time for a vacation. I'm hoping my younger brother can coax it into coming out of retirement so I can get back to Homer tomorrow.

Nearly forgot my severed duck wing

If you walked into an office and someone asked, "Is this your set of severed duck wings?" would you be inclined to take them home just because they had your husband's first name on it?

Inappropriate much?

So if you were in a group of colleagues, meeting at one member's home, and you were a guy who had to pee, and the bathroom was only about 10 feet away from the meeting... don't you think you'd close the door?

The wicked witch rides again

I'm getting so freakin' tired of being treated like an incompetent child at work. My boss left today for a week long trip which means she won't be here for the construction of next week's newspaper (yay us!). She was in an extremely bitchy mood this morning and was throwing around loaded guilt statements left and right. Before she left, she told me to "make sure to put a good photo on the front page."

"Okay, will do."
"Don't put anything bad or boring on the front page."

"Oooookay."

"Cause I don't want any full face shots or anything like that. I want something good. I don't want any bad shots like you guys have tried to run before."

"Um, I always choose good stuff for the front page. Everyone else agrees. You are the one that has a problem with what we choose. I can't read your mind."

"I know you can't read my mind. I don't want to argue. I just want you to put something good on the front page."

(more sarcastic, argumentative responses from me)

(her getting really annoyed and continuing to tell me to put something good on the front page)

"Yes ma'am."

(more explaining that she wants something good on the front page)

sarcasm heavy "Ok. Yes ma'am. Will do."

In the end she left really pissed off (which pleased me to no end). I'm tired of being shown such disrespect. I need to find another job. Sadly that means either taking a severe pay cut (cause McDonald's doesn't pay very much) or moving to another town. I'm not sure what I'm going to do.

Let's have a talk, shall we?

The term "camera-ready" is used when you bring me an ad that is completely and totally laid out and ready to drop into the space you've paid for in the newspaper. An ad on which you spent hours choosing a font, adding a crappy piece of clip art and finding the exact correct spacing... is not camera-ready if you expect me to lay it out again to fit the proper space. What it is is a pain in the ass. You want your 6"x4" ad to look exactly as you created it, but I'm supposed to fit that into a 1"x2" space. God forbid I don't have the font (I deleted comic sans from my machine my first day here) or crappy piece of clip art you used. I know you honestly believe that you are saving me time. If you could just take the few extra minutes it takes to use a ruler, this might be the case. As it is I'm left to plot your slow and painful demise. Now I'm a creative guy, but I've run out of options for giving you inflamed, pus-filled lesions in your genital area.

Office Memo

In our continual effort to strive for the lowest possible productivity and the absolutely highest in annoyance... all news articles and edits will be submitted to production via Etch-a-Sketch from now on. The reporter who suffers from Parkinson's disease will not be exempt from this new policy. Thank you. --The Management

Memories

I'm rapidly remembering why I don't like Homer winters. It's been raining, snowing, freezing, thawing and sleeting all week, in random order. One day there was snow covering my feet, the next day it was mud. Can't the damn weather just make up it's mind?! Oh, and the other reason I hate Homer winters: when things do freeze the roads are like well-oiled glass and since Homer's built into a mountain, nearly everything involves driving on hills with winding roads. Get back home everyday... a near death experience. Ah, the adventures of the place I live.

The Walking Forehead

Dude. Mr. Forehead just paid us a visit. This guy has the largest forehead I've ever seen; it's like Mt. Everest. His forehead is nearly the same height as the rest of his face and his face is rectangular so the forehead doesn't even taper off at the top. It's just damn huge. He's like the walking forehead. Worst of all he always has his hair up and away from his enormous gourd. Today it was pulled back in a ponytail adding the lovely title of "forehead pimp" to my impression of him. The man is so desperately in need of some bangs; some reeeeally long bangs.

Deadlines Smeadlines

Well, it's now official: we have absolutely no freakin' deadlines for advertising in the paper. I was of the understanding that camera-ready ads could still be added on Tuesday, the day before publication, but that ads wouldn't be designed on Tuesday. Silly me for believing such a simple tale. Forget that the actual "deadline" is Friday at 5pm and forget the fact that the paper is due at the printers by 2pm on Tuesday.

I accepted an ad today that involved simple layout and sized it according to one filler I knew I could easily remove, even though the customer wanted it to be a 1/4 page ad (which is a damn lot of space to reorganize). Since the paper is already completely laid out and it is several days past deadline I thought I was doing a tremendous service to the customer by getting his ad in at all. I also thought I had found a brilliant way to do it without having to re-layout the paper.

When my boss arrived she had a fit about us turning away a large ad. She said that we never, ever, in our wildest dreams turn away an ad no matter what time it is. In fact, she's told me that if an ad comes in after the finalized paper has been submitted to the printers... we stop the presses and re-layout stuff to fit in that ad.

I've never worked in such a money hungry environment. I can't say that greed makes for a very pleasant aura. It's kinda sticky.

So Exciting!!!!!!!!!

Sit down and listen up. This in an intervention. I'm here to tell the world, specifically advertisers, that you are sadly abusing exclamation marks. A little in moderation is good, but when used in excess they turn into a meaningless cry for help. I can't hear what you are saying over the shrill scream of your addiction. You substitute exclamation points for more healthy activities such as good writing and good design. This is a serious addiction which will only lead you down a road of pushing people away and desensitizing them to your message. First, you need to admit you have a problem. Second, you need to stop using so many exclamation points. Actually... do the second step first. I don't really care about the first one.

There's an excellent article on this wide-spread addiction at GreenvilleOnline.com.

"It's shaped like a bludgeoning device," says Doug Fisher, a University of South Carolina communications professor. "I think sometimes that's what people are trying to do, bludgeon you into paying attention, but too many of them knock you senseless, and you don't pay attention at all."
"...if you use too many, it's like crying wolf." –Roz Canty

"If you have to use punctuation or some other gimmick to convey that feeling, then it suggests that there's something wrong with what you've written," says Melinda Menzer, a Furman University English professor.

"Exclamation points are like laughing at your own joke." –F. Scott Fitzgerald

Just In Case You Had a Modicum of Breathing Room...

In addition to my regular duties, my boss has been having me design ads for the extra insert, which she agreed to do because I didn't have time. Well, today there is a note on my desk telling me to design the entire insert and, by the way, it has to be completed by Monday at 12noon. Greeeeat. Mondays are such open days for me anyway. It turns out that my boss designed maybe half the ads for the thing and did nothing on actual layout. I'm so furious right now. I want to sabatoge the whole process by goofing off the next two days and then handing the whole thing to my boss on Monday. The problem is I don't think I could stick to my guns and I'd end up stuck with all the last minute work. Frag me. So do I bitch to her again that I don't have time for this? Do I try to throw together a crappy insert just to get it done? Do I just go home and never come back? Hmm... that last one is sounding quite pleasant.

P.S. I just told my boss that I didn't feel I had time for it and that I understood that she would be taking care of it. She told me, "I think you're ready to take this on."

douche bag of an inebriated dog

Campaigns are for Wusses

I've finally figured it out. I've discovered how to survive at my job and not be stressed out all the time. I just need to let this place break my spirit into tiny enough pieces that there's nothing more to break. Basically if I stop caring about my job and the quality of work I do, it will be smooth sailing from here on out. Whew. I'm glad I finally got that figured out.

And to think that mere months ago, I was on an anti-cynicism campaign. Silly me.

Queen of Menses

I'm getting reeeeally tired of the possibly menopausal, yo-yo mood swings of the person sitting across from me. I thought I was an emotional diva, but nothing compares to the sighing, stomping, bitching, and schizo behavior of my beloved co-worker. She likes to pawn off her job responsibilities, bitch about things like paper clips, and she is the queen of turning the aura of any room into black sludge.

Ponderings

Will every Monday be filled with the desire to find another job? Will every Tuesday be filled with the desire to tear someone's head off?

These are the things I ponder.

Hm

Now my home computer is totally down again. I've got two viruses which Norton can't seem to delete. I finally just turned it off and walked away last night. I don't know if I have the strength to start again from scratch. I may end up taking the thing to the local computer geeks.

Don't pity me too much. I have a computer at work, plus my mom's computer is only 10 feet from my bedroom. I'm sure I'll find some way to survive.

Update on the Boss from Hell

Evidently she isn't originally from hell, she just grew up there.

Immediately after my rant (see last post) I had like a 30 minute conversation with my boss where I laid it all out: her being nitpicky, negative, condescending, untrusting, etc. Oddly enough, she's okay with talking through these type of things. She has sensed tension between us and was concerned about it. She agreed that she wasn't a very affirming type of person and said she would try to do more of that. She told me that I'm doing great and that the things she complains about are like 5% of the stuff I still haven't gotten, but that she feels I'm doing great with the other 95%. The conversation ended with her agreeing to try to do better with her approach when giving criticism and me agreeing to try to be less sensitive about it. I can't say that I'm all "I have the bestest job in the whole wide world," but I'm definitely feeling a lot better about stuff. I still don't think the newspaper biz is the life for me. We'll see how long I last.

For Lynne

I've been away for awhile, not from this ever joyful life we like to refer to as a newspaper, but from the internet. My home computer crashed on Thursday and I've been working on it since. The entire weekend was spent sitting in front of the thing deleting partitions, installing windows, installing software, re-deleting partitions, installing windows... All the while I got caught up on my reading. It's sorta back up and running, but I still have a crap load of programs that still need re-installed.

I'm currently writing from work as I have some down time after getting my 4th paper out... 40 minutes early. Yay! The stress level was much lower this go round. I've decided to just let it happen and not worry about getting things done on time. I'll do what I can and live with whatever doesn't get done. Since I bitched to my boss last week, she helped me with several things and everything got done ahead of schedule.

That's not to say that there wasn't some amount of stress, of course, my stress this week has to do with feeling continually demeaned by my lovely boss and spoken to like I've never heard of things like dominant elements, stylesheets, or layouts. The condescension is made worse by the fact that my boss completely sucks at design. She's spouting off terms that she hardly understands and bitching about style rules that she turns around and breaks while "helping" me layout the paper.

She can't seem to understand why my little brain has any doubt of the "way things are done" when I have a "style guide." This guide is a reduced copy of the newspaper with hand written notes scribbled all over showing the multiple fonts, sizes, lines, etc. that are used throughout the paper. It reveals the 2 different serif fonts used for headlines and text, the 3 different san-serif fonts used for subheads, bylines, etc. This isn't including the different typestyles used for each of these fonts. Even though these are scribbled on an old copy, they have evidently been blessed with holy water and are now sacred law.

I totally respect having a consistent style, but cut me a tad bit of slack when it comes to laying out the articles and photos. It's not like I just graduated design kindergarten. I understand the principles of good design and have been using them for quite some time now. I'm the designer here; let me do my job.

They Sure Talk Funny Like

I just finished watching the UK edition of Queer Eye for the Straight Guy. While I enjoy the show I'm offended by the fact that they keep "translating" British slang into American. One of the actors will say "that looks really smart" and up on the screen comes "smart = good looking." Um, duh. Then another would say, "that would be perfect for going on a holiday" and the screen would print "holiday = vacation." The entire show is littered with these translations so us stupid Americans can laugh in amazement at the fact that there are actually other cultures in the world. Granted I didn't know that a "poofay" was an ottoman (or footstool), but since the girl was pointing at it when she said they word I'm thinking that I just might have figured it out. I'd much rather learn these kinds of things through context than having it splashed across the screen as if to say "these Brits sure are weird and you Americans are just plain stupid."

To ad insult to injury, they printed nearly a third of the dialogue on the screen just to make sure we understood what was being said. It wasn't that the actors were speaking softly, or with a slur, or with food in their mouths, or all mumbly like... Oddly enough they were speaking like they are from the UK. I think it's called an accent. I've heard people from other parts of the world have them. Go figure.

I'm sure that many Americans are loving this little elementary educational experience. To them I say, piss off (look it up you culture deprived freak).

Quotas to Meet

So I completed my 3rd newspaper. It was only a few minutes late which is weird because after the 12.5 hours I put in yesterday it was much further along than it was last week. The paper did get out essentially on time this week which is a cause for celebration. Still, the stress levels were pretty similar to last week. It was still a wash of chaos and the recurring temptation to just shoot myself and get it over with. I'm starting to wonder if the paper has a stress quota that has to be met each week: it doesn't really matter how good the paper is, additional stresses must be added so that by time the damn thing goes to press you are a ready to consider homicide as a career choice.

Time for Mr. Grumpy's Validation

While I was away at lunch my boss sat at my computer and rearranged much of the paper. She edited, formatted, and moved stuff. She shifted ads around that we had talked about just before I left for lunch. She left a few things apparently in process with lines overlapping ads, etc. Now I don't know what has been done in the paper and what hasn't. She didn't leave me a note or tell me that she had done a thing. I feel totally violated and like she doesn't trust me to do my job. I went into her office and asked if there had been a problem with the paper. She said there was no problem and that she had edited while I was at lunch. She then proceeded to tell me about all the things I'm doing wrong (would she have ever told me these things if I hadn't gone in her office?). I told her that it felt weird when she lays stuff out in the paper while I'm gone; like she didn't trust me to do my job. She said, "You shouldn't feel that way." Ooooooookay. "It's perfectly normal." By this point I'm shaking in rage. I began to explain my concerns in more depth and after being interupted several times I again said that it felt she didn't trust me to do my job. At the very least I wanted her to acknowledge my concerns. She simply said that this is the way things are done. Well thanks for quite enlightening skull fuck. You're a swell boss.

douche bag of an inebriated dog

Here's Your Sign

I love when "I'm just gonna leave that up to you" actually means "you're going to have to do all the work because I'm a lazy-ass-bum who's gonna pawn off the duties of my job onto you."

(as you can see I'm not quite over the grumpies)

P a c e Y o u r s e l f

This is like the slowest day of my life. No, it's not "like" the slowest day. It really is the slowest day. In fact, it's going by so slowly that I'm sure it's taken me like 4 hours just to write these few sentences. I'm so freakin' ready to go home. Only 1.5 hours. Let's see: that should equal about 12 hours in grumpy, sleep deprived terms. Damn.

That Time of the Month

Don't ya hate it when you are in an extremely pissy mood and someone decides that's the best time to point out all the ways that you could do your job better?
I do.

Don't ya hate it when you nearly give yourself a hernia trying to stop the venomous responses that are threatening to spew from your lips?
I do.

Does it make you feel bad when you know that these feelings have nothing to do with what the person is saying, but it is entirely about your grumpy mood?
Not me. All I want to do is tell said person what a freakin' douche bag of an inebriated dog they are. I feel quite certain that this response would make my world a better place.

Doubts

After my 12 hours yesterday and my 7 hours today the paper was still an hour late. I'm currently hating my job. If this kind of intensity and stress is just par for the course then I might just have to find myself another course.

Length Matters

Today I worked 12 hours, which doesn't include the hour I took for lunch. This job had so better get easier than this.

Timing

Today is a long day of intense deadline stress at my job. Today also happens to find me in an extremely bad mood. I only have one thing to say: pity my co-workers.

The Late Breaking News

Today my boss sat down with me and kindly informed me of all the style rules of this newspaper... the day after the paper was completed... several days after I've been laying out the paper... a week after I began this job...

...but I'm not bitter.

Lynne Predicts Accurately

The previous person who worked-in-the-production-department-laying-out-the-newspaper (they don't have an actual title for my position) just came in. We asked where he got the crosswords from since last week's puzzle doen't match the answers for this week (as found on the web for this next issue's date). It turns out that in an incredible feat of efficiency, he was recycling puzzles from previous years instead of pulling new ones from the internet. We'd had reports that the crosswords seemed to be getting easier. Now we know why.

Stylin'

Have you ever heard of this thing called styles? You know, how you assign one style to multiple paragraphs and then you can change characteristics (font, size, spacing, etc.) by simply changing the style and not having to change all the individual paragraphs? Have you heard of that? The staff at the newspaper certainly haven't. I was told they use styles, but later found out that means they paste over last week's text so it has the same font and size. Oy! I've got a lot of work to do to get this place whipped into shape. God, a little patience please.

Escape While You Still Can

"Oh, we need to buy that program still, but if you hit escape about 50 times you'll be able to get past that annoying expiration/purchase screen."

Welcome to the big time.

Cookie Dependent

At my new job there are things I have to pull off the internet each week. We have accounts. I asked about usernames and passwords: "Oh, the computer remembers those, so you don't need them. In fact, I'm not even sure if we have them written down anywhere..."

True Humiliation

While driving from Anchorage to Homer today I saw a camper truck pulling a boat behind it pass an SUV. What is worse is that a few hours later I saw a suburban pulling a boat pass a completely different SUV going uphill. I kid you not. I'm sorry, but if you are going slow enough that the "slow" vehicles are passing you then perhaps you have no right being on the road in the first place.

Now Accepting Applications

Before you hate me, I do realize that there is a positive side to my "condition," but it's really not as great a thing as you might think...

I have this thing about making best friends. Or perhaps I should say that other people have a thing about making me their best friend. It seems to happen to me often. I meet someone like two times and I'm instantly their "bestest friend in the entire world." They want to hang out with me all the time and tell me all their troubles. While a few of these are people actually tolerable, I have no interest being the best friend to the masses. If ya wanna build a friendship, I'm all over that. I'm not an Instant Best Friend. If ya add water, I'll just be wet.

So why am I cursed in such a way? I respect people and I listen. That's all. It's not like I'm handing out blow jobs or anything. I'm also a recovering co-dependent so there may be some pheromone that I emit which says, "Use me, I'm yours." I don't know.

I'm thinking of cultivating a wicked case of body odor to drive away my adoring fans.

I Am My Own Rainbow

I totally believe in the power of positive thinking. I don't see it as some mystical pat answer, but I think that if you expect good things, they are more likely to turn out that way. I think it has to do with the subtle, subconcious things we do to bring about change in our lives. If I believe that I will be successful in a new career I will likely ooze that positive vibe into every action and interaction. I will talk with people like I'm successful, they will see me that way, treat me that way, and in turn help me become that way. It's all very esoteric, I know, but I think it makes a huge difference in our lives.

Not For the Faint of Eye

The other night I was adjusting the contact in my right eye. Immediately after I did this it felt like a boulder had crawled into my eye. I couldn't see clearly out of that eye anymore, yet could feel that there was definitely still something in that eye socket. The contact felt crumpled up and lodged in the upper right corner of the socket. I spent 40 minutes trying to find the wayward contact either by visual inspection or with the finger that was digging around in there. The tidal wave of saline solution didn't help, nor did the painful, but insistent blinking. In the end I made an emergency run to the eye doctor just as they were closing. The doctor had a difficult time finding anything, but eventually pulled out my contact in two jagged halves. Now I'm forced to wear glasses for a week while my eye recovers and I get a replacement for the casualty of war that once was my contact.

Word of the Day

angst
n. A feeling of anxiety or apprehension often accompanied by depression.

While Supplies Last

In case you missed it, this was porn weekend on my site. In efforts to provide a full service blog I invited a couple spam-bots to post 1830 comments advertising every possible type of porn available on the web. Sadly this was a limited time offer. Spending about 5 hours deleting comments is just one more of services that we provide here at Synaptic Waste.

Welcome to Hicksville

Homer may be an extremely active artist community, but it still has load of hick elements. A friend has a target sitting at the end of the hall in his house so he can do bb gun practice while watching the tv. Even worse, he owns a three bedroom house: the master bedroom, the spare bedroom, and the fish drying room. <hick>

Campylobacter Nightmare

It was a food poisoning fiesta at my in-laws this evening. We had chicken kabobs. It was a make-it-yourself affair with the marinated raw chicken right there on the dinner table. K made sure to give everyone a plate for the raw making and a separate plate for the eating. Even with that plan in action I sat in horror as raw chicken marinade was sloshed on raw food, napkins, forks, hands, door knobs, etc. I protected my little space and washed utensils as I went, but I was nearly sick thinking of all the bacteria going into people's mouths. The kabobs were awesome tasting, but I vote that next time the kabobs be made in the kitchen with much washing of hands before eating.

Body Worlds

Um, eew.

// my personal research assistant: toren //

Game Diva

Is it too much to ask that a game have both a good storyline and have interesting game play? Is it?

Final Fantasy X had damn gorgeous graphics and a very interesting storyline, but actually playing the game was completely boring. I'd only go through a little bit of game play, with only the few options given to me, and then there'd be a cut scene that was longer than my game play. It's not like I even had choices of where to go. Everything had to be done in the exact order and method the game pre-described. I basically felt like I was watching a movie that took an extra amount of effort to get through. Very disappointing first experience into this lauded series of games.

Soul Reaver 2 also felt like it would be a great movie, but I not only got bored waiting to play, but playing.

I really wanted to like both of these games. I played for longer than I was interested because I hoped for improvement. They both failed me miserably. <sigh>

Oh My Freakin' Word

You remember how the computer idiots I went to couldn't get my 2nd hard drive working? Windows was able to recgonize it as connected hardware, but it wasn't showing as a drive letter in explorer. Their theory was that the two drives in my old machine had been set up as one physical drive with two partitions. I don't think that's even possible, but okay. They decided they needed to competely reformat the drive so it was set-up correctly. Several days later (because it takes that long to reformat a drive, even though I've done it before in 30 minutes) they say the drive still isn't recognized in windows. This the point where I demanded my machine back.

Enter Norton Systemworks. I was running some routine scans today and Norton Disk Doctor asks me if I'm having troubles reading my 2nd hard drive. It says that there isn't a dos partition on the drive and offers to fix the problem. After less than a minute and a restart... my 2nd hard drive is working beautifully!

Have I mentioned how incompetent these people were? I'm soooo tempted to call them up and tell them that it took me 5 minutes to fix the problem they spent days on.

Damn Disgusting

My brother-in-law and his wife are trying to have a second child. Fine. Information I can handle. Tonight sister-in-law states that she's fertile. Ooookay... She says that she needs to stay up late enough so that hubby could get home and do his thing. (damn, I didn't want to know that.) And it gets worse... Mother-in-law calls father-in-law and tells him to bring brother-in-law home so he can boff sister-in-law. (...so freakin' eeeew)

Damn, hideously digusting information. I cannot believe that it was openly discussed and plotted that the children would be doing the nasty not 15 feet from where the parents sleep. What creeps me out the most is that the mother was the one who made sure it happened...

I'm so disowning this family.

Reaching New Heights

I finally have my computer back. It took demanding it back today regardless of it's condition and standing in the store 20 minutes past closing time. The 2nd hard drive is physically installed, but Windows won't recognize it as a drive letter. They did back up all the files to my primary drive; transferring them intially to a usb drive and then to my computer. The first transfer supposedly took an entire business day to complete, but the transfer to my primary drive took them less than an hour. Hm.

I basically paid them $250 to transfer a bunch of files, to hold my computer hostage for a week, and to practice new levels of ineptitude. I never got anything even close to "I'm sorry" or "I know this is taking longer than anticipated..." I'm so beyond pissed that I'm shaking. Stupid, incompetent people. I will never set foot in that store again.

Sausage Orgy

I'm totally a meat eater, but I woke up to this one morning when staying at my in-laws and thought I was gonna barf.

Quiet Please

Back at the library again. My computer is still in the shop. They people working on it are complete idiots. They might have it ready today. What the freak ever.

Nooooobody Knows...

So my computer has been in the shop since Monday. I'm having them install a 2nd hard drive, the 2nd drive from my old machine which has all my files. Because my old machine was running Win98 and because of how the drive was initially set up, it's becoming more complicated than simply dropping the drive in the machine. All the files will have to be transfered to another drive, this drive reformatted, then all the files transferred back over, but this time into a WinXP directory structure. I'm soooo glad I decided to let a professional do this, but I'm dying here without my computer. Fortunately I just got a library card (after several indentity checks) and can at least have a taste of the internet for a few moments this afternoon.

Van Helsing

I saw Van Helsing today. It was not at all what I had expected. The opening sequence which looked exactly like an old Frankenstein flick had me waiting for the punch line. I seriously thought that we were watching some hokey ad that was gonna end with Igor offering Frankenstein's monster a Starbuck's tall double-foam latte. Nope. Instead we have the beginnings of what turned out to be a very cliche film.

All the standard cheese elements were present: boy meets girl..., the bumbling sidekick who delivers one liners, the monster who is misunderstood, "No, go on without me. Save yourselves...", and on and on it went. We even had the comic relief moment when our main character finds himself in true gonad strife as the wheel of an moving carriage threatens to run over his privates. Now that's entertainment.

On the up side... Kate Beckinsale's hair was abso-freakin'-lutely gorgeous. I wanted to be a girl just so I could have her hair. Well, that and I loooove wearing leather corsets... =>

Besides Kate's hair (she wants me to call her Kate) all the costuming and sets where actually beautiful. The movie was very impressive visually. The special effects were fairly good though how they were used was often hokey. I really enjoyed Kate's acting, but wasn't terribly impressed with Hugh Jackman or Richard Roxburgh. The story wasn't bad, but it wasn't good either. It felt like a recycled story from days gone by. Sad really. To be fair, I think this movie wasn't made for me. I have a definite angst about cliches. Those who love classic horror films may love this movie. It wasn't my thing and I left feeling very dissatisfied. I had really wanted to enjoy that movie.

Metroactive Movies has a more detailed description and review if you are interested.

Urges

Before arriving at my in-laws I had decided to resist the urge to rant about personality and social differences. I want to approach them with an open mind and a positive attitude so that I can build a healthy relationship with them. If I were to point out the books on my father-in-law's bookshelves (The Big Book of John Deere Tractors and Caterpillar Chronicle) it would only serve to strengthen the dividing line between he and myself. I would only be stirring up negative feelings towards him if I were to whine about how he just read me one of his long "cute" e-mail story jokes after I boldly told him that I wasn't into those things and never read them. This type of whining and complaining I will not do. Nor will I even give a second thought to the expectation that everyone will be communicationally engaged 24/7 and that private whispers are open for public comment. It's so completely opposite of how I was raised and how I live that it's... um... socially fascinating. Uh-huh... fascinating. Because I'm just that mature of a person.

P.S. I've been thinking of reversing my schedule so that I'm sleeping while everyone else is awake. You know... just cause.

Whine and You Shall Receive

It's 8:20am. I've been at work for 20 minutes and I've completed all but one of my jobs for the day. The remaining job will be a very quick job that I can do once another staff member arrives at 9am.

Update 9:30am: I got a few more jobs to do today, but it's still not overwhelming like it has been. Praise God for lulls.

Errrrgh

I hate being so busy and so stressed. I am moving in a week and a half which entails finding a new job, wrapping up every last detail of my 14 years in Fairbanks, having lunch several times a week with people I haven't talked to in like a year, but whom I feel the need to see before leaving, preparing vehicles and belongings for a major road trip, and saying goodbye to 20+ kids who I've bonded with as their piano teacher. On top of all that my morning job is actually expecting me to work. It's been crazy busy there and I don't have time for my regular breaks let alone all the personal to-dos that I normally do at my desk.

I have a long list of things I want to post on my blog, but they all take time. This "pity me" rant will simply serve as a marker to hold my place in the bookmarks of the 3.5 people who read my blog until I can give them what they really want. Well, not what they "really want" because my host doesn't allow nudie photos, but you get my drift.

Twits

Upon trying to stream radio on my new work PC I discover that my boss didn't order speakers for it. When I asked the manager he was like, "Yep. It doesn't have speakers." Riiiight. Cause speakers are so freakin' expensive. Besides we wouldn't want the desktop publisher to be able to enjoy his time sitting at his desk. No siree.

Twit.

Drunken Stuper

Noooooobody knows the trouble I've seen.
Nnnoooooooby knows my sahrrows.

I'm so freakin' tired. This whole building-a-better-life-through-moving thing is very exhausting. If only major life changes were so... well... major.

From One Designer to Another

Web Designer: I need you to scan these at super high resolution. The best resolution you can get. We need them to look really good.

Print Designer (me): Okay. I can do that. What specific resolution are we talking about?

Web Designer: Um, I don't know. Let go up to 300dpi.

Print Designer: Riiiiiight. We'll do the "super high resolution" of 300dpi. Gotcha.

I'm glad I asked because they would have gotten files scanned at 2400dpi. Scroll much?

Three Piece

A lavender plaid suit. How... special. Special and very Alan in Wonderland.

Lord of the Diva

K and I saw Lord of the Dance Monday night. Even though Michael Flatley wasn't present, his ego was there in full force. Seeing this live really made me realize how much this show is about Mr. Flatley and his high opinion of himself. I'm sure that he sees himself as the lord of the dance. It was amusing to see that the bravado Mr. Flately showed in the video was translated into set choreography for those who would try to fill his shoes. The whole "I'm too cool to dance right now so I'm just going to strut around and be better than the other dancers" is quite a unique bit of choreography. Thankfully Mr. Flatley decided that his wanna-bes didn't need to take off their shirts like he did in the video (I'm still scarred from that experience).

Besides the larger-than-life ego, the show was pretty enjoyable. Seeing the amazingly quick foot work and hearing the awesome music was wonderful. My favorite part was the dueling fiddles. Damn, that was impressive. The main male and female leads (the good guys) were awesome dancers. The lighting was also a treat. Now if only I didn't see it in a hockey stadium...

Hypothetically Speaking

When one decides not to go to a some unknown Christian event on campus where an acquaintance is playing, and later one decides to go to a particular Christian event on campus that was advertised where one teaches piano... wouldn't you think that one might consider that these are actually one in the same event? You would think. One might have not been so smart and might have actually ended up at said event. One might have actually sat down and pointed out the formerly mentioned acquaintance before common sense caught up and slammed one upside the head. You know, hypothetically speaking.

Company Motto

"Charge the customer as much as possible."

I just heard these words from the owner. It's a nice motto. I think I should put it on all our publicity...

Diva Fit

My work computer is fried (again). I spent my entire morning yesterday trying to get it working. This morning I've been tasked to find a place to drop the files we need, re-initialize the disk, reinstall the system, and then reinstall all the software. I'm not overly qualified to fix a Mac besides the fact that fixing computers isn't my job. Do I pitch a diva fit and refuse to play computer repairman or do I suck it up and spend all my time doing stressful, unproductive computer work?

Up Yours

At work we've been tasked to "bump" or up-sell to customers. For example: "Would you like fries with your lamination?" or "Would you like to biggie size your newsletter order?" The owner just suggested to a customer to have us burn her job to a cd to make reprinting easier in the future. He gave some persuasive arguments and the customer agreed. She has no idea that she just agreed to spend an additional $10 on her job. I don't mind recommending other services to customers but I hate, hate, hate swindling them into spending more money. Grrrr.

Dictionary Lesson

Okay people. Bi-monthly can mean both every two months and twice a month. Don't ask me why. I didn't create the word. That's just the way it is. Look it up in the dictionary if you don't believe me. It's the same with bi-yearly and bi-weekly. I just love having communication problems built into the English language. Brilliant.

While we're at it, in many dictionaries irregardless is recognized as a word meaning the exact same thing as regardless (dictionary.com). It is believed to be an accidental blend of the words irrespective and regardless. It is not considered proper for use in formal communication, but is often used in casual situations. I suppose this means that it's a bastardized word that has been used so frequently that it finally had to be recognized.

Screwing up an already screwed up language as we go... Power to the people.

A Toast

To friends you can't trust and fellow Christians who feel "burdened" to tell you how to live your life. This one's for you.

Grilled or Fried?

I just had a meeting with a pastor at whose church building I would like to begin teaching piano. The meeting consisted of him grilling me on my church involvement, questioning the veracity of my home church, making judgemental statements about my musical abilities, and inviting me to attend his church. The whole thing was so churchy and condescending. What the freak is wrong with people!!?! God didn't say "Let there be judgemental people assembled together under the auspices of being holier-than-thou." Neither did God say "Let pastors who act like used car salesmen govern my people." That's not part of God's plan. I think I've just deepened my disdain of the institution of "church" quadruple-fold.

Brain Sausage

A few weeks ago I bought some turkey breakfast sausages in the health food freezer section because sausages sounded good and I thought I'd be all healthy and crap (I've avoiding pork). Since buying them I've been scared to try them so they've sat in my freezer. This morning I decided to be brave and cook them.

I really hadn't expected them to look like brain matter. They were a veiny grey color and smelled disgusting while cooking. I kept hearing my psychology teacher saying, "Brains are squishy" while he passed around a brain in a ziploc bag.

The more these lovely brain logs cooked the more queasy I became. By the time the sausages had turned to a slighty darker shade of brain I was done. There was no way I was going to eat them. The cooked brain matter went into the garbage along with the rest of it's frozen buddies. I can't say I ever envisioned how queasy one might be after a morning of cooking turkey brains. I can say that I will never experience that little adventure again. Ever.

Tell it to Me Like I'm a Five Year Old

I got a design job from a customer for whom I've done several projects. They wanted another postcard made with the exact same layout as previous cards with a new photo and text. Apparently, they were concerned that the project might not be simple enough for my tiny little brain:

Find template: Grizzly Bear.
Find zip disk: Post Card.
The file should be saved on this disk which you can use to do a cut and paste.
Find zip disk: New Photo.
This is the picture to be used in the the template.
Type the text found on enclosed sheet.
Copy back page information onto the back page of card.

Very thorough directions, but I'm having troubles because he didn't tell me how to turn on the computer...

Political Trauma

I was recently contracted to design a very complex packet for a small airline. The project would include designing folders, brochures, postcards, other misc. pieces, and some serious Photoshopping of photos. Awesome! Big money and fun stuff. Or so I thought...

One person had been assigned to interface with me. Well, I got a call from the boss yesterday and through a long conversation found out that they, in fact, only want me to layout the cover of the folders. Not only that, but really all they want is their name in the upper left hand corner and their logo in the lower right hand corner. No photos, no background color, no design at all. Suddenly my $1000+ design job turned into a $75 exercise in cutting and pasting.

To add bitterness to insult I've been researching printing options for them because they had no idea how much this was going to run them. The discussion with the boss yesterday revealed that this airline's headquarters has it's own printing company so they don't need me to do research after all... Hm.

Last night I received a call from the person I've been working with who was in full rant mode. I guess that the boss hasn't gone through any of the proper channels with headquarters to get this project approved. Also, besides HQ having a printing company they also have an entire marketing department with graphic designers who do all the work for the airline. So basically the boss is pissing off everyone in upper management and should have never hired me in the first place. I did get my measley $75 check today so I'll do the cut and paste they want and call it done.

Grrrrrrr.

Cryogenic Gonads

Whomever decided that treatment for jock itch should include a spray can of subzero, frost-inducing substance... should be shot.

Party of One

I've been teaching piano at a church of which I was a former staff member. I was just told that I have until May to find a new place to teach. This came, coincidentally, the week after my membership was removed at my request (because of my involvement in a home church). The reasons I'm being booted out are because the church's insurance doesn't cover non-member activities and the church is uncomfortable with a for-profit entity using the church building. Interesting. The profit thing didn't seem to be a problem in the past. Also, I might have been able to get my own insurance to cover liability while I'm using the building (like the non-profit organizations that use the building). Buuut no. Their reasons are fishy at best though I was assured that it had nothing to do with my membership withdrawl. Riiiiight. I'll be getting my official termination letter in the mail within the week. Fuck you too.

My Kind

I went to the supermarket to buy bleach for my hair because my roots needed re-bleaching:

Cashier: Isn't your hair blond enough?
Me: Well, my roots are starting to show.
Cashier: Oh. I thought you people were in to that.

"You people?" "You people!?" I guess you didn't know that my kind don't take well to being pigeon holed.

Amoeba

A person who blames someone else for not only their own psychoses, but also for all of the problems surrounding their life is truly the lowest form of human being.

Arrrrgh

I need a vacation, from my "vacation"...

The Bathroom Incident: A Follow-Up Story

Father-in-law apologized for the event later that evening. Cool. Kudos to him.

The next morning (Christmas) Guy gave k a hug and asked how she was doing after the previous night's event. She said that she was really mad. He pulled away and said something like "Fine. Be that way" and stormed off. What a loser.

He's been even more grumpy since. He was Mr. Short-Temper while passing out the presents screaming at the dogs, cursing when his coffee got knocked over, and generally radiating angst.

On the positive side, the bathroom incident and Guy's subsequent behavior really helped me to be less insecure about trying to make things work with the family and let everyone own their own issues. No matter what family obligation, no matter how much I want to make a friendship work, no matter how much I want to honor k's family... I'm not going to being belittled, abused, or disrespected. If Guy wants more from me, then he's gonna have to get over himself first.

Because of this new perspective things have been less stressful for me. It's still really emotionally draining, but I am holding my own much better.

Day 5 - All I Want for Christmas

In comparison to the infuriating events that ended the day, the rest of the day was dreamy.

k and I took the car out to brave the town fairly early this morning. The comic book store didn't get in their new shipment as expected and the number of comics they had in stock barely exceeded my own library. The bead stores we sought out weren't much better. Navigating around town is a breeze and even though the population size is probably comparable to Fairbanks, it feels like a much smaller, much hick-er place.

We had a family photo shoot this afternoon which consisted of everyone telling everyone else how it should be done. A good, hearty game of "No I'm the Boss" is always the highlight of any day.

Later Guy, Nikki, and I saw The Return of the King. It was great. The experience was tainted a bit by some talking people, a very small theater, and cold air blowing down my back. I'm excited to see it again when I can fully get into it. One comment is that, even considering the conditions, the movie didn't feel overly long to me. The 3.5 hours went by without me feeling restless at all. Impressive to say the least.

Late evening Grandpa took us all out to Applebee's for dinner. The food was tasty and the conversation was only painful for a brief period.

Tomorrow is Christmas and while I can't say that I have the slightest bit of Christmas spirit, I am excited to open presents. Beyond that it's just a matter of surviving another day. Here's hoping one of my presents is an isolation chamber.

Merry Fucking Christmas

k had a really bad day with regards to her anxiety. During dinner at a restaurant she had several panic attacks. She was really good all day about telling everyone what she was feeling and everyone was very supportive. She was especially clear about this at dinner time (in a mature and tactful way). Major kudos to k for being open and honest.

After we got home from dinner, k was on the newly installed toilet which is in the laundry/boiler/etc. room. Guy and father-in-law needed a broom that was in the room k is in. Because they thought it was funny they began to knock on the door and tell k to let them in. The knocking and telling turned into pound and yelling. Finally, Guy found a way to unlock the door and opened it...

k yelled at them, standing up for herself like I've never seen. They finally realized that perhaps they had gone too far. By the time Dana got back into our bedroom she was sobbing. Everyone in the house knows she had been pushed way over the edge and is walking on eggshells.

I'm furious and am even more ready to leave than I was before. I'm pissed that those two are so clueless as to not have even considered that k was possibly in a fragile state. Even if k was completely stable, what they did was rude and violated her space. I'm mostly angry with Guy because he always goes too far, is always freakin' annoying, and never thinks through his actions.

Day 4 - Shoot me, I think I'm done

I sat for several hours today and watched my baby niece. I fed her, burped her, changed her diaper, entertained her, held her... All this baby time makes my uncle side very happy. It doesn't do anything for my paternal side, one way or the other, which I find very interesting. I've been told Rory (my niece) really likes me. I was kind thinking... duh.

Besides the joys of being with my niece I was pretty feeling done today. Done listening to rambling stories, done with the endless games of 20 questions everytime I shift in my seat, done with being in a house of 7 adults, 1 baby, and 3 dogs, done trying tolerate the very different way this group interacts, and just plain done being social. My loner self was feeling very motivated to hide away in a corner. I found lots of ways to avoid people much to the confusion and sadness of my in-laws. Perhaps I need to actually try to do things their way while I'm here rather than just try to tolerate their differences. I'm not even sure I can...

What I'm realizing most is that this group is used to interacting as a community. If someone is going to another room for awhile, it is announced so everyone knows where everyone is. This is quite opposite to my approach of slip-out-while-no-one's-looking. Somehow announcing to the group that I need time away from the group seems to destroy the whole process of trying to get away from the group. <le sigh>

Guy made an amazing dinner tonight. He made Chicken Fettucini Alfredo (the Alfredo was made from scratch) with a side of fresh steamed vegetables. He can cook for me anytime!

Temper, Temper

Grandpa was amazingly well-tempered considering the forced stay-over in Salt Lake City and the near 12 hours of wandering around the airport waiting for his flight.

Guy was amazingly foul-tempered considering that I offered to cook dinner for him. During the cursing and yelling I was unsure as to how he was feeling. I think it was the throwing things that finally cleared things up.

Day 3 - Independent Thought

Today was long as well, but in the wanna-gnaw-off-your-leg-and-beat-someone-with-it sort of way.

Went shopping this afternoon with k, Nikki, and mother-in-law. Whaaaat an adventure. Nikki must stop and look at everything that might possibly be on sale or might possibly be of use in the next millenium. She also must buy lots of things even though she, just yesterday, had an argument with Guy about how they don't have money to buy stuff.

Mother-in-law likes to tell people what to buy. In fact, through some convoluted turn of events, K and I got birthday money from the parentals so we could spend it down here. Great. Mother-in-law decides that we want to buy clothes from TJMaxx with said money. How very gracious of her to relieve us of the burden of independent thought and opinion. And here I thought I might have to make some debilitating decision about how to spend fifty bucks. We went to TJMaxx, but were highly unimpressed. Most likely we'll be spending our money once we get back home and have been returned the full control of our brains.

This evening, I mentioned that I was thinking of starting to use a PDA. Father-in-law decides to show me his PDA. When I say "show" I mean more like give me the grand tour and tutorial. Thirty minutes after my off-handed comment I'm fully certified in PDA mechanics. Thanks Dad.

Grandpa didn't arrive tonight. The flights were canceled due to weather so this 90 year old man who is nearly deaf is stuck in Salt Lake City for the night. Father-in-law called to request that an agent help him find a hotel. Hopefully that is what is happening. We haven't heard from him yet.

On an amusing note I believe I now know what it sounds like when my mother-in-law has an orgasm. At least I'm guessing that's what happened each time she sneezed. It sounds something like, "Uh. Uh. Oh, oh, oh. Aaaah. A-choooo. OoooOoh." While I should have been highly disturbed, I found the entire production so comical that I had to stiffle my giggles.

Supportive In-Laws

"Whatever you just did, it was wrong."
This was just said to me, I kid you not.

My Sentiments Exactly

Thanks to Joat for sending me this

Muddled Reunions

Today I realized something about myself: I don't spend nearly enough time looking at the top of people's heads. I mean, how can I expect to be a decent human being if I can't even recognize a short-term acquantaince from years ago just by the top of her head?

Fringy

Is it just me or is the dangly fringe in this picture really disturbing?

Tech Support

I provided phone tech support for a customer today: "What program are you using to view the file?"
"Windows."
"Okay... What software are you using?"
"Well I'm on a state computer that's got all the latest stuff... the software is, um, well, it's a Gateway."
"Oookay. Are you looking at the file through your e-mail program?"
"Yeah. Outlook something."
"You need to save the file to your hard drive and then open it in Internet Explorer."
"Okay. I think that I know how to do that... Let's see, start menu... desktop... maybe it's on the programs thing... um, yeah. I'll call you if I have any problems."

I'm sure you will...

Punked Out

I went to a punk concert last night all by my lonesome. It was supposed to start at 8:30pm, but didn't actually get started till 9:30pm. When it did get started it was with a few filler bands who came at the last minute and wanted to play, instead of the main band I paid to see. The first band was rancid (i.e. sucked hairy donkey dick covered in rancid elephant vomit). It was a lot of indistinguishable bass, guitar and drum sounds with occasional vocals which were both too soft and too slurred to even be able to pick out an occasional vowel sound. I stood there hardly knowing anyone, already depressed, wanting a good time, listening to crappy music after standing around for an hour... and decided to leave. The advertised band was supposedly going to play at some point in the evening, but I wasn't going to count on that. I left and played loud music on my truck stereo. I went to Fred Meyer's, ate chips and hummus, and read a few of their comics. That was my fun evening out. How pathetic is that? Party on Wayne.

Sleeping with Tremors

Everyone in my dreams last night had wicked tremors, akin to Parkinson's disease. At one point in the dream I realized that I was leaning up against someone with these tremors and was being shaken myself. I found it odd that I was so close to this person. As I decided that I needed to see what was keeping me so close, I woke up to realize that one of my dogs was laying next to me obsessively chewing at a spot on his back hip.

We noticed this behavior this weekend and then found some sort of rash that looks suspiciously like ringworm. We have a vets appointment, but they couldn't get us in until tomorrow. Meanwhile the itching is getting worse to the point that he is now keeping me up. When I first realized the scratching it was 4:30am. I tried to go back to sleep, but realized at 5:30am that it hadn't stopped. Worried at what my dog might be doing to his skin I tried to distract him from the itch. No way. Next I tried to simply hold him back from itching. While he was trying to be very obedient he maintained a stiff neck arching back toward the itchy spot the entire time I was blocking access. I then told him "no." At this point I felt so bad for him because he was twitching and pacing trying to avoid biting at the itchy patch. It was like he knew that he shouldn't bite at it, but truly can't help himself.

I decided a little internet research was in order to see what I could do to reduce the itching until we see the vet. Unfortunately I came up short. We have an anti-itch dog shampoo that I think I'll try before going to work. Also, I'm going to go to the pet store at lunch to see if they have anything that will help. At the moment I'm concerned with waiting until tomorrow to see the vet. If I can't curb the scratching, then I don't think we can afford to wait that long.

Snot Snorter

My manager has evidently had a sinus cold for the last week. This has been evidenced by the incessant wet/sloppy snorts which come from his desk at regular intervals. It's not like he's just sniffling either. We're talking full blown, cocaine-esque, suck pudding through your nose, resonating snot snorting. Will someone please tell this man that his snot fetish doesn't present the most professional image to customers besides the fact that it's making ill.

A Little Light Gushing

My supervisor is a good communicator... when it comes to things that have been done wrong. When it comes to let me know things were done right... he chokes. Dude. Take a course in interpersonal communication. Heck, take two. You could use it.

Hypothetical-like

So if you were named Jeff, you worked at a place with 3 other staff members - one of whom is also named Jeff, and you were asked "who is this" do you think that you'd simply say, "this is Jeff"?

I thought not.

Pours

and then there's the 80 some pictures taken of our memorial activities which are gone without a trace...

Damn

In the last week I've missed 3 days of work. When I went in today I had something like 15 projects sitting on my desk. I only work 4 hours each day at this job and I spent all 4 of those hours trying to pump out jobs. I nearly finished all the jobs that were due today. Tomorrow has at least as many due and I already have several lined up for the day after. My week is going to totally suck.

Death Goes On

My 18 year old sister was killed in a car accident a year ago today. This year has been been plagued with the ever oppressive realization that I can't count on anything, that crappy stuff does indeed happen, and that I truly have no control over my life. I've lived a year beyond her death. Is this all there is to "surviving"? They say that life goes on. That may be true, but I'm here to tell you that death goes on as well. My sister is just as dead today as she was a year ago. She will still be dead this time next year. In 20 years she will still be dead and I will still wish she wasn't. Life goes on, but death seems to go on more tenaciously than life ever could.

Rinse, Repeat

The friends group I hang out with has become less "the group" and more "the bunch of little groups that meets at random times." This makes information sharing a bitch. I'm getting so sick of telling the same frickin' story twelve times. I think we should start an information chain. I tell Valette, Valette tells Beth, Beth tells Rebecca, Rebecca tells Jake, etc, etc. Either that or I'm gonna start passing out weekly news bulletins. I'm sure the menial details of my life warrant a weekly press run. "Damon buys soda: News at 11"

Smell Ya Later

Is it bad when I become aware that a fellow employee has arrived by the pervasive smell of cigarette smoke wafting into my office? Is it even worse when I realize that they are on the far side of the store and the stench is intense enough to ooze it's way through desks, copiers, papers, and people to make it into my office?

Optimistic

"We'd better put my copies in a bag otherwise if I got in an accident they'd fly all over."

after paying for copies with a ton of change...
"You've just saved me from drowning. If I had fallen into a lake with all the change I would have drown."

If I hear much more of this optimism I think I might be depressed.

Mantra

A counselor I saw today used the phrase "woefully lacking" in an explanation. Woefully lacking? As in, you are woefully lacking any shred of personality? I swear the man had cue cards somewhere because he sounded just like a textbook on interpersonal communication. "Ok, so what I hear you saying is..." "Hmm, thank you for sharing." "I see. So you believe that I'm an emotionless automaton without a single independent brain cell in this expansive crater I call a skull? Fascinating..."

Pig Pen

A customer just came in who stank terrible of cigarette smoke. It was as if he bathed in it for hours. After he left I'm finding that I smell like smoke now too. I was never closer that 2 feet to this guy and his stench crawled it's way over to me. Suddenly the character Pig Pen, from "Charlie Brown", doesn't look so bad.

I can't stand smelling like this so I just used our lysol bathroom freshener on my clothes. I may smell like some bastardized version of a "spring waterfall" but at least I don't smell like a walking cigarette.

Usurped

The owner of my place of work wanted me to design some tickets for his wife. Yesterday I gave him a proof. When I came in this morning, I discovered that he worked on my computer yesterday afternoon rearranging all the elements I laid out... If he wants changes, that's cool, but I should be the one making the changes especially since I get paid based on the time spent on a project. Also, our policies state that all desktop publishing work must go through me. He'll be in shortly and I'm going to have a talk with him about it...

and furthermore - 8:44am: he doesn't seem to think it's a big deal and assured me that we'd still be charging them for that time. I take that to mean that my fee will be applied even though he did the work. I will bill it accordingly. what a putz.

Bubbles

The owner at my work frequently sings a single line from some song: "tiiiii-ny bubbles..." That's all he sings. I hear it a couple times a week. Does he not know the rest of the song? Is this something he made up or worse, some cute thing he was taught as a child to warn those around him that he just passed gas? ...
I suddenly don't want to know.

Manipulation

This is digital manipulation taken to scary levels. I'm both incredibly impressed with this guy's talent and incredibly horrified at what the media is doing to warp our expectations of beauty. In the end I'm just disturbed.

Like the Putz That He Is

After working at my present job for 3 months I was just informed (by a co-worker, not my supervisor) that I not only can charge customers time and a half for rush jobs, but that I'm supposed to be doing so. Since part of my income is based on commission, this would have been useful information to have had prior to the last week of extra hours to get out several rush jobs. Can I hurt him now? Please?

Men are from whatever

So I finally decided that I needed to experience the famed book, Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus. I got an audio book version and was listening to it yesterday. There seem to be some good insights there, but I simply couldn't get through it. Framing these concepts in the context of people from different planets is brilliant in establishing the point that men and women are fundamentally different. Unfortunately this approach quickly had me feeling talked down to like I was a child. Still I persisted...

keep reading...

Grrrr

I stepped out of my office for a minute. When I return my supervisor is sitting at my computer and says that he needs to copy a few files to cd. He takes over my computer so I can't do a stitch of work for 15 minutes. I'm fine that he would need to use my computer. What's not cool is that he didn't ask, but simply took over while I was looking the other way. I'm contemplating breaking into his house and pouring fire ants into his underwear drawer. It really seems like the only logical response.

Emergency Flavor

"What flavor of emergency do you and your wife use?"
"Uhhhh... What are you talking about?"
"You know, that E-merg-en-C drink?"
"Oh. I drink whatever. It doesn't matter."
"Well, which is your favorite?"
"I... don't really have a favorite... Lately I've been drinking tangerine... but it doesn't really matter to me..."
"Do you have a flavor that you just don't like?"
"Um... I guess I don't really like raspberry much."
"Oh... Ok. That's all I needed."

Vat 'O Stupidity

Print shop of large local organization:"There are weird little markings in the corner of this file and the image is larger than the 11x17 size you wanted. What do we do?!"

This was just the first in a string of comments that made me realize that this print shop has no freakin' clue what they are doing.

My desired response: "Go blow yourself."

Designer's Nightmare

I may be a font diva, but come on.

The set-up: a sizeable arts organization in Fairbanks wants me to layout their season brochure/flyer. The director has already done a cut & paste (literally) showing me where she wants stuff placed. She was concerned about stuff fitting in one particular section...

Me: When I change the fonts we should have plenty of space.
Freaky Customer: Oh no. I want to keep this font. I really like Comic Sans. I'd like to keep all the headers and the rest of the text in Comic Sans. You have Comic Sans don't you?

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!! Comic Sans is spawn of the font demons. It's not nifty, it's not cool, and it's definitely not appropriate for a season brochure! It shouldn't even exist. Need I say it again: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!

sensitive me

I hate coming to work, getting a faint hello from my co-workers, begin working in my office, and listening to my co-workers gabbing all morning long. I feel like I'm in jr. high and being the last one picked for P.E. teams. What's even more amusing is that I really don't feel like sitting around talking about nothing, so perhaps I got the good end of this deal.