The department I work in is literally stuffed in the corner of the building I work in.

There are 8 cubes along the two walls of the corner we are jammed in. A couple of people have big cubes and the rest of us are rammed in 4ft x 2 ft cubes. Add a file cabinet and a computer to that and you have a little more than 2 feet in which to cram yourself in and attempt to move around.

Three of us have a window seat. I am one of those people.
I guess I should feel lucky that we get a glimpse of the outside world, but I feel like we are merely fish in a bowl.
… desperately trying to figure out a way to freedom.
… tapping on the glass for recognition.

Tap-tap
Look at me.

Tap-tap
Take me with you.

Tap-tap
This isn’t my life.

So, because we are in the corner, and because we are a call center, we have our own door.
We also have our own weather, apparently.

Today it was kind of cold outside. Not, like ‘wear a coat’ cold, but like ‘wear long sleeves’ cold.

My department was ‘wear a coat’ cold.

I swear it was about 50 degrees in there today.

At one point I swiveled around in my seat to face the backs of all my co-workers, (being careful not to knock my knees on my file cabinet), and completely out of nowhere said, “Ok. Are you kidding me? It’s so cold in here I am actually getting angry!” as my red nose dribbled clear fluid and my fingertips turned blue.

We’re like creatures in a zoo in that place; tethered to our cube by our headset and expected to perform for the public in even the worst conditions. We are not even granted the luxury of little things … like heat.

I remember working on the 4^th of July. Since it was a holiday, no one else was in the building except me.
Well, they neglected to even bother turning the air conditioning on that day. It was so hot in there I slowly but surely wound up in just my headset, bra and panties lying on the floor in front of the fan … and panting.

… and dying a little inside.

I called the only other people around (who were maintenance and security) to try to get the problem solved, and though there were many good intentions uttered, nothing came to fruition and I spent 8 hours sweating and gasping for air. Oh! And answering phones politely. Don’t forget that!

The three calls I got all day, I mean.

And today, while I was cupping my hands and breathing into them like you do on a cold autumn night to create some temporary warmth … while I was warming one hand inside the other and rubbing them together to try to get some friction going … while I was putting my cold hand intermittently on the back of my warm neck and then between my legs to keep them at a normal temperature so I was able to use them for typing … (which you are expected to do even if you have been bitten by a spider and any pinkie movement causes excruciating pain) I was thinking, Isn’t this why Unions were created?

When the phrase ‘I can’t work under these conditions’ chants through your head over and over you start to wonder what the hell you can do about it.

Shut up.
Quit your complaining and put a sweater and a wrist brace on.
You're fine.

Oh. And don't forget to be polite on the phone!

So, yeah, we’re cold … or … yeah, we’re hot.
Oh well.
We are trapped.
This is office life.

Welcome to Hell.

 

Here’s something I bet you didn’t know (unless you have experienced it):

When you wear flip-flops in the rain, your ass gets wet.

I think it is from the flip … or the flop.

 

I have a question to pose, and I wonder if anyone has a really good answer.

 

How come nobody in the 70’s could act … and why were these people continually hired?

I know you have watched 70’s sitcoms.

Remember The Jeffersons?

That Weezy couldn’t act her way out of a wet paper bag, and it always bugged the hell out of me.  

 

Well, as you know (maybe), I am an addict of MST3K.

For those of you who do not know what this is, I will give a brief explanation of the show.

 

A guy (Mike Nelson – or Joel Robinson) and two robots (Tom Servo and Crow T. Robot) watch really bad movies and make fun of them.

It’s no longer on TV, but I have tons and tons of them on DVD.

Anyway, there are a few movies from the 70’s thrown in the mix. What I have noticed in these movies is that no one can act to save their soul. I realize that they are taking the worst of the worst in order to make the show funny, but they rank on movies from the 50’s and 60’s too, and at least those people seemed like they were in the movie … and not like they were reading their lines off of a cue card.

 

Maybe it was because everyone was on drugs in the 70’s.

I don’t know.

 

What I really wanted to discuss today has nothing to do with the above two tid-bits at all.

 

Have you heard of this product called Warm Delights ™ by Betty Crocker®?

Ok – it is a little bowl with a dessert mix in it. You add water, throw it in the microwave for 45 seconds and you have a hot dessert.

I saw these things on sale in the supermarket during my insatiable chocolate craving episode and I said, “What’s this now?” as I stopped and stared at the display … weighing myself mentally.

I said, “Um … ok” and grabbed the Peanut Butter Fudge Brownie one and quickly and ashamedly threw it in my cart.

 

So, that night I was thinking “I gutta try this.”

So I did.

 

Can I just tell you that it comes with frosting? You squirt this chocolate goo all over your hot brownie and just ram your face in the bowl.

Actually, I think you are supposed to use a fork or something, but why get all technical.

It was absolutely delicious.

 

Umm ... yeah.

After the frenzy I looked at the nutritional information.

The bowl is one serving.

One serving has 400 calories and 14g of fat.

 

So I was thinking – WHO are they marketing this item too?

Who can eat like that on a regular basis?

Granted, I bought one in a weak moment, but it’s not like I could possibly purchase one a week and expect to still be able to wear clothing anymore.

Are they marketing this dessert to naked people? Or incredibly obese people?

Kids couldn’t eat this treat regularly. There is so much sugar in it their heads would explode. Besides, no one wants their kids to get hooked on something like that and wind up fat and unhealthy.

 

The way everything is today, most people make a genuine effort to eat healthy. None of us are perfect, of course. We all occasionally do things like buy a microwavable dessert and jam our faces in the thing.

I was just wondering how these kinds of things continue to be marketed, that’s all.

 

I told my friend J about it and she goes, “Who buys that?”

Yes. That was my question.

 

Well, I bought it.

 

(are you kidding me? Look at this thing!)

I remember hearing once that every step we take is a little act of faith.

Every time we lift a foot from the ground, we fall a little … and we have faith that our other foot knows what to do to prevent catastrophe.

We have faith that each time we lift one foot and start falling to the ground, our other foot will automatically take up the slack and keep us from landing with a thud.

We don’t know for sure that the other foot will come through for us every time. Occasionally that foot betrays us and we wind up sprawled on a sidewalk somewhere.

But we have enough faith in the process to not fear that every step we take may lead to an embarrassing and painful spill.

It’s not really the foot we have faith in, or the leg, or the part of the brain that controls the walking process … it’s ourselves we have faith in.

Do you know what stops most of us from accomplishing our dreams?
Ourselves.

We are all self-sabotagers.
We don’t mean to be.
We just don’t know any better.

Every time we say, "I’ll never …" or "I can’t …"  we are telling the whole world that we can’t accomplish what we think we really want to accomplish.

We are doubting ourselves.
We are making excuses.
We are listening to that part of our brain that likes to f*ck with us.

Life is not a soap opera or a drama.

No one is throwing obstacles in our way except for us.

There is not some grand scheme conjured up by bad guys to derail us from our utmost desires.

If there is some villain who thwarts your every move, following you around and crushing all of your hopes and dreams … you should write a book about it and make millions from it.

Odds are, that is not what’s happening in your life to keep you from your goals.

Blaming others and making excuses for our own failures is just a cop out.
It’s easy to place blame on everyone around us.
It’s too easy, because it almost always seems rational and justified.
The problem is that to truly find the reason behind mistakes in your life, or obstacles that you cannot seem to overcome is to look inside.

YOU are the only one in control of your life.
If you don’t like something, only you can change it.
You can’t sit around waiting for other people to change so that they can make you happy.
It ain’t gonna happen.
You need to take control of your own dreams and your own happiness.

It can’t always be – not enough money – not enough time – not enough love … Or – if only I had money – of only I were married – if only I were thinner – if only I had a better job …

THEN I will …

No.

Not then.

Now.

Take control now. Stop waiting for everything you think will make your life perfect, grab it by the friggin horns and make your life happen. If you want something then go get it. If you need something to change then change it. It’s all up to you.

Do I sound preachy, here?

See, the thing is: I write this blog for me. I do it because I love to write, I love to make people laugh … and maybe, if I’m lucky, I can get them to think a little bit.

But mostly I write because it is what I do.
It is how I cope.
It is how I make myself laugh.
And a lot of times, it is also how I make myself think.

Then one or two people come to my space, read my entries, have a good laugh and say, “You go girl! Way to rant!” and I feel validated and go to bed happy.

This is what I have figured out about my current situation: I can either decide to let work make me miserable and piss and whine like an impotent jerk about it, or I can choose to accept it as a learning experience and remember that it is a temporary situation that I have set up for myself and that really it’s not all that bad.

I can choose to be miserable, or I can choose to be happy. And if I ultimately decide that I need to remove myself from the situation, I can choose to do that.

The only traps in life are bear traps --- oh --- and the traps we set for ourselves.

We are wily when it comes to sabotaging our own happiness. You gutta watch out for that!

Sometimes I forget that … and I need to write an entire blog entry to remind myself.

I need to remember to have faith in myself.
I have to remember that it is faith in me that keeps me from falling down all the time.

I have to remember that I am the one who controls my life and my happiness and that I am the only one who can make my dreams come true.

People at work can say and do and think what they want about me. It doesn’t matter a bit in the grand scheme of things. I will be the one walking with confidence through the rest of my life because I know that other foot will always do what it is supposed to do.

 

Oh – and just so you guys don’t think I’ve lost my edge or anything:

Does anyone else get creeped out by that juice that comes out of the squeeze mustard bottle before the mustard makes its way to the nozzle?

That shit’s nasty.

 

Is anyone else having trouble accessing their archives?

I wonder if there is someone we can contact to tell them about all of our “Windows Live Spaces” woes.

 

Anyway …

 

This morning I woke up slightly terrified.

My cat plays with his little toys all night long. He loves to bring them up into the bed with him. It is not uncommon for me to wake up amidst several little mice-like creatures scattered about my bed.

This morning I woke up with one under my stomach.

I wasn’t sure what it was, exactly. I just knew I was lying on something, so I reached under me and pulled out a very realistic looking mouse, which, to my sleep muddled mind, was a little too realistic.

A scream started to form before I realized what it was … and then felt really silly and dramatic for a second.

So I threw it on the floor laughing at myself.

When I went out to the living room, I saw there were little mice-like creatures everywhere! He must have gone crazy last night.

I wonder if he can be trained to pick up his toys and put them back in the toy box.

 

So I thought I would give you guys some updates instead of ranting fresh today.

I’ve been a little too negative lately, according to my mum, so I thought I would try to lighten things up bit.

I hope that’s ok.

 

For those of you who have been with me from the start, I have to report that there has been NO CHANGE on the status of my sandwich.

Can you believe that??? I guess 3 emails really can't make a difference.

People going to Panera looking forward to the delicious Garden Veggie sandwich still have to suffer through this horrible substitution sandwich called a Mediterranean Veggie sandwich. If you can manage to choke the thing back and enjoy it, you have a stronger stomach than I do.

That sandwich sucks.

 

I never mentioned anything about the umbrella graveyard again, either.

In case anyone was at all curious, all of the dead umbrellas were gone the next day. Apparently someone was assigned the task of either burying or disposing of all of those umbrellas.

 

I still don't dance in public.

I only dance when I'm alone in my room putting on my makeup.

(please don't tell anyone that)

 

My roommate and I both bought new toothbrushes after the little mishap in the bathroom. I'm happy to report that the medicine cabinet door has remained in place since said incident and has not become some kind of permanent menace in my daily life.

The roomate is also grateful for my door fixing abilities.

 

The escalator at work still remains in the 'down' position.

The few times I've seen it in the 'up' position I've wanted to run to my computer and blog about it ... but something always stops me from doing that. It is probably that:

1.) My MSN Space is blocked at work.

2.) Nobody really cares except me.

 

People still tell me to 'calm down' when I rant. In fact, today I wound up telling this other T-Guy, who I am somewhat friendly with, the story about Whiney from Friday (because another girl I work with takes the commuter rail earlier in the day and told him to ask me about it).

So I told him the whole thing, and he tells me to 'calm down' ... and asked me if I needed a drink.

Come on! If I had a drink I would have thrown it in his face.

I walked away from him (sort of playfully shaking my head) as he yelled, "Thank You, by the way!" at me, presumably for sticking up for his ilk.

That whole 'calm down' thing made me want to punch him in the face, though.

 

I still have not found that special someone with all of the qualities essential in a good man. You know, someone who dresses like a grownup, knows what to say, and acts like a gentleman (and not like a Neanderthal).

Oh -- and smart enough to hold a conversation without boring me to death or resorting to TV or The Sox as conversational fall back.

I'm seriously beginning to think that man only exists in my mind.

 

In case anyone at all ever wondered:

Yes. Gray eyebrow hairs have become an ongoing problem.

If I keep plucking them I will definitely have to resort to the old 'pencil trick'.

That's all I'm going to say about that.

It depresses me.

I knew it wasn't a one time deal!

 

Also, in case anyone ever wondered, I have yet to bring my car from mechanic to mechanic to see how much they would charge me to take that alarm out.

It has been behaving lately, for the most part, and I am a surprisingly good procrastinator.

 

And - oh yeah - my arm still hurts from the spider bite.

Some days just typing is excruciating.

... damn spider ...

 

Well, Blogarinos, that's about all I have for today. I hope I have answered what I'm sure were some of your burning questions about the life of Anchra.

I had plenty of things at work I could have ranted about today, but I decided to give myself a break and try to have a positive attitude about stuff that totally sucks.

Or maybe we could call it denial.

If I don't think about it and I don't write about it, then it doesn't exist!

Besides, I think Mandy offered me a job!

That means I may have to move to Canada sometime in the next couple of months, but ... hey! What the hell?

I don't seem to have too much going on here.

I promise not to punch anyone in the face.

 

Oh - and speaking of problems with Windows Live Spaces and punching people ... did anyone else notice that their Space was unavailable? It took me almost 3 hours to post this blog because everytime I hit 'publish' it would tell me that my space was temporarily unavailable and then it would not save it.

Umm .. I take that back Mandy.

Maybe I would.

I'm probably not a good candidate for face-to-face interactions anymore.

 

Ya know what we used to do when we were in school?

We used to have fights.

 

Remember? It would be scheduled for 3 o’clock at a predetermined location.

For us, it was usually at “The Fair Grounds”.

 

You know what would happen at 3 o’clock at The Fair Grounds? A crowd of kids would show up to watch one kid kick the other kid’s ass. We were usually pretty sure who would win, but basically one kid would kick the crap out of another kid because the other kid probably really deserved it.

 

Why is this system not still in effect for grown ups?

Just a good fair fight.

No weapons or cheating.

Just one person designating a location for the other person to meet him there and take the whooping he deserves.

 

When we were in school, the person challenged to the fight always showed up – even if he knew it was a losing battle, because there was always a chance that a miracle could occur and he could actually win OR, more importantly, if he did not show up the rest of the kids in school would have no respect for him and call him a pussy.

 

Besides, it was just kids fighting one on one. It wasn’t like anyone ever put anyone in the hospital. It was usually set up so that one kid could just punch that other kid in the face. A resulting broken nose or loose tooth was just a bonus.

It was usually split lips and black eyes.

 

I’m not talking about bullies - who just suck and want to beat up everyone because they have a horrible abusive father and an alcoholic mother who works at Hooters - I’m talking about the fights that got set up for other reasons like, for instance, one person kissing the other person’s girlfriend or one person ratting on the other person and getting them in a lot of trouble.

 

In both cases, the kid probably deserved a punch in the face.

 

We were kids.

No one called a cop. No one sued anyone.

The worst that would happen is that one kid’s parents would speak to the other kid’s parents.

No one really got in too much trouble for these incidents and maybe that one kid learned a thing or two about himself.

 

I only bring this up because it seems to me that some people could really benefit from a good punch in the face.

 

If we take every experience in our lives and learn a lesson from them, then this does not sound as violent or crazy as it may seem.

I am not being judgmental, here. People are who they are. There is no changing anyone in life. It doesn’t happen. That doesn’t mean that you can’t assist them in learning a little something that would possibly spark the desire to change for themselves … even if they just change for no other reason than to not continually get their ass kicked.

 

I only mean that I believe we should help people to learn and grow throughout their lives. Some people need a good life changing pounding in order to learn anything.

 

Now, I am far too weak and wimpy to run around challenging people to fights, but that does not stop me from firmly believing that some people really need to have their ass kicked.

Since I am not nearly physically menacing enough to be threatening in that particular way, I choose to kick people’s asses with words instead.

 

Here is what prompted this line of thought:

 

As I was getting on the train Friday, I sat in front of a guy who was making a call on his cell phone … which is, in itself, unremarkable.

The conversation I heard, however, pushed that button that has been partially pushed all week (see previous rant).

 

What I heard so annoyed me that I couldn’t keep my mouth shut.

 

He was calling the MBTA, with the train number and the conductor’s name, to complain.

His story, which we all heard, was (basically) that he had been on a very important call and the conductor demanded that he interrupt his call for a second to pay his fare.

He said that the conductor was on a ‘power trip’, and that he was ‘very rude’.

 

Ok – one thing you learn immediately about the commuter rail is that the conductors are no nonsense when it comes to paying the fare. You pay when they get to you or you are an asshole.

Seriously.

These guys are busy. They don’t have time to wait for you to fart around for a half an hour.

 

Another thing I noticed was that my train was particularly busy that day and there was only one conductor taking tickets because it is not a rush hour train.

The conductor is a guy I see every day. He is a nice guy. He does his job well and he does not screw around.

He always has a smile for me and does not attempt any small talk besides, “Hi.”, “It’s cooler on the other side of the train.” And “Thank you.”

… which is fine with me.

 

So, since I see him every single day, I consider him to be one of my ‘people’.

 

Anyway, I listened to this jackass complain to the MBTA about his incident and all I could think of is that he was one of those people. The ones who always complain because they think they are special and when someone treats them like everybody else, they get all indignant and whiney and need to start trouble.

I don’t like those people and I don’t understand them.

If you can’t deal with life and all it has to dish out to you without whining to an authority figure, you should probably be punched in the face.

 

While he was finishing up his phone call, the conductor came by collecting fare stubs (which they put in the seat slots so they know you have paid). I did not have one because I had just gotten on the train. My Monthly pass was there instead.

 

The conductor collected Whiney’s stub and said, “Thank you” to me.

 

The conversation went like this:

 

Whiney: Did he just take that yellow ticket?

Me: Yeah, I dunno. I guess.

Whiney: He probably thought it was yours.

Me: No. He didn’t. He knows what he’s doing.

Whiney: (holding up useless fare stub) That’s why I got two.

Me: Whatever. The guy does this everyday. He knows what he’s doing.

Whiney: Oh – there’s a whole other chapter you don’t know about.

Me: Yeah I do. We all do. We heard you. I’m just saying that the guy does a good job and to give him a break.

Whiney: Oh. Sorry. I didn’t realize you worked for Mass Transit Authority.

Me: (getting irritated) No. I take this train every day. I see this guy every day. I know he does a good job. I’m just saying it must get frustrating for him to have to deal with people like you all day and maybe you should give him a break.

Whiney: (stares at me, gets uncomfortable and looks away)

Me: You want my name so you can complain to someone? You made an enemy out of the conductor, so you can’t complain to him. Maybe you could call Mass Transit and tell them. Oh wait! They don’t care either! There’s no one you can call to get me in trouble, is there?

 

Whiney got off at the next stop.

 

I really wished I could have not said a word and punched him in the face instead, but maybe, in some small way, I have made a difference in this asshole’s life.

 

Let’s talk a little bit about fear.

People seem to be so afraid to say things or think things or do things that may ‘offend’ other people. Have people in this country become so rigidly ‘PC’ that they are paralyzed to the point of being unable to speak their mind or stand up for what they believe in?

See, my problem with the whole corporate world is that they all goose step to the tune of whoever is running the show.
I can’t live that way.
I can’t be some sheep who is easily and brainlessly led to slaughter (or misery) with the rest of the herd.

 

My company has rules about what to do in case of a bird flu epidemic, for crying out loud! When the hell is the bird flu ever going to start killing mass human beings (instead of just f*ckin birds!) and make its way into Boston --- and my company specifically? Is this really a scenario that deserves a booklet explaining step by step instruction on what we should do?

We have a written procedure about what to do in case the press decides to start asking questions about anything.
We have written instructions about what kind of nail polish and hair color is acceptable for the work place.
We have a dress code.
We have rules for smoking, rules for eating, rules for speaking … we have rules for just about everything imaginable.

You want to know what I think?
I think we have ruined this country with political correctness bullshit.
I think all these rules are a by-product of said bullshit.
I think the corporate world is run by Satan.
I think we should all walk away from these companies and find a niche for ourselves to be happy in.

I think we should live without so much fear.

I think when someone hands me a booklet about what to do in case of a bird flu epidemic and I laugh at it and say, “Oh – I’m sure this will be useful the next time I’m in Japan … and I’m a bird.”, my boss shouldn’t try to justify it and spout out propaganda designed to make me afraid of the bird flu boogey man. She should realize that it is a crazy nonsensical waste of paper, and chuckle at it like I do.

The problem with political correctness, is that it makes people terrified to state the obvious. Why-oh-why should I have to struggle to describe someone, when a blunt description would do the job?

Me: “You know the guy.”
Other: “Which guy?”
Me: “You know, he’s got curly hair and brown eyes? He sits down a lot? He’s kind of dark? He’s married to Lou? I think his name is Bob.”

Other: “No. I don’t know that guy.”

Why can’t I just say, “You know Bob, the gay black dude in the wheelchair?”
To which the other person would say, “Oh! Yeah! I know that guy. His name is Bob?”

What is offensive about that?
Is it the word “dude”? Cuz I can call him “guy” instead.

Why is it wrong to call a spade ‘a spade’? Why do I have to call it ‘the card with the black shovel-looking thing on it’ ?

I question everything and have contempt for rules that seem to exist just for the sake of having rules about stuff.
I get in trouble a lot and accused of not being a ‘team player’.
I’m told that I do my job well, ‘but’ this and ‘but’ that.

Basically they are saying, “BUT you are not like the rest of us and we are not sure what to make of you because you seem to be too much of a free thinker who mocks our rules and makes us feel weird and ridiculous about taking them seriously so the only thing we can think to do is try to tame you and make you behave like the rest of us and pretend to care about nonsense because there is no grounds to fire you unless we start making things up in which case you could sue us or something and you are very smart yet unpredictable and you swear a lot but are extremely well read so we think you may know more than you lead us to believe and we would be afraid to do anything to provoke you because we are scared of you because you are different and we think it might be like poking a sleeping lion with a stick.”

 

This is why I left the corporate world last time.
Why would I think that things would be any different?
Maybe I thought that I was now different.
… and though I am different, I am not different in the right way.

I’m different in the way that I have realized that a corporate job is not a career, and that the rules they impose on us are used to try to keep us all in line and not for any other reason.

I am different in that I don’t care if they fire me, or if I get laid off or if I can’t make it to work one day and the boss gets angry - because it is only a job, and though it pays the bills, it doesn’t matter a hill of beans in the grand scheme of things.

I am different in that I know how replaceable I am and I’m comfortable with that, because that means I can find another job as easily as I found this one because everyone is just as replaceable as I am.

I am different in that I know that human beings, me specifically, were not meant to sit in a cubicle under florescent lighting with a head-set on, being miserable for eight hours a day and treated like crap by people who think they are better than I am.

I am different because I know that I am not better than anyone else and no one else is any better than I am.

Why am I suddenly ranting so vehemently?
Why am I not being in the least bit funny, you may ask?

What’s happened is that we have a new presence in the office that is like a giant white elephant in the room.
A giant white elephant with virgin ears.

The elephant is making trouble for the rest of us … me especially because of my weird “I don’t really give a f*ck – just leave me alone and don’t bother me with your nonsense” attitude.

When I am bothered by nonsense all of a sudden, I have to stop and wonder what, in my little world, has changed, and why am I now being subjected to this nonsense?

The only thing that has changed is the presence of the elephant.

Suddenly I am being gently asked to change and to care … even though I do a great job! (don’t forget that)

I guess my buttons have been pushed – the buttons that include censorship, injustice and whiney people who like to ruin everything for everyone else.

Why is everyone so afraid? Why can’t people learn to let go of the fear and live their lives without it? Why can’t people have their own opinions and thoughts without being messed with?

No one will get anywhere in life cowering from ‘the man’, watching television and spouting out tired old ideas, thought of by someone who was indeed great a hundred years ago, and brainwashed into us by the media. We need new ideas and innovative people to project them. We shouldn’t be afraid of them, we shouldn’t complain about them, and we shouldn’t call ‘Politically Incorrect’ on anyone. We need someone to come along and not agree with everyone and everything all of the time.

That whacky chick in the office who swears a lot and doesn’t seem to give a f*ck about anything?
She does.
She does give a f*ck.
… just not about what you want her to give a f*ck about.

 

… and for all of you bastards who want me to conform to your fear-based approach to life – who want me to lie down and behave and act like the rest of the sheep …

 

 

Never!

 

I kept telling J, “I can’t go out tonight.”
Over and over I said it.

Somehow she always manages to talk me into it, though. Because even when I really mean it, I don’t really mean it.

We are partial to the establishments with the outside bars. Since they have banned smoking in all bars and restaurants in Massachusetts, the only place where we can go and feel like normal human beings are the places that have gone to the trouble of shelling out the dough making an outdoor bar that people can smoke at without being arrested or fined.

Maybe it’s my up-bringing, but booze and smokes go hand in hand. Why don’t they make the non-smokers sit the f*ck outside with their wine coolers and leave us real drinkers the hell alone? Anyone too friggin wimpy to be around cigarette smoke shouldn't be drinking in a bar in the first place.

Anyway, we went to one place we frequent, deciding to grab our first drink at the indoor bar.
Immediately we were both irritated.
They only have Amstel on draft, and the beer that the extremely vacant looking blond bartender handed me had absolutely NO bubbles in it.

I drank it and it was like someone had chilled piss and served it to me.
The same thing happened to J, so we decided to head on out to the outdoor bar where we knew the bartender and could have some fun.

Things improved for a little while, but at one point this extremely strange looking little bald, pale man bellied up to the bar, nauseatingly close to J. It wasn't even like there was no where else for him to stand. There were plenty of other places, but he chose the spot as close to J as he could get. 

I swear I saw him sniffing her hair.

J got a little freaked and gave him her seat so she could escape him, even if she was forced to stand --- which she did, on my other side --- while paley bald man gaped at us, drooling and fondling his lap.

We had to go.

We decided on another place we enjoy. It was 9:30, so we figured we had plenty of time to hang out and have fun.
When we got there, it was closed.
We just stood there staring at each other with the same confused look on our faces. We were stumped … and rapidly losing our buzzes, so we went across the street to this dive to get a drink and make decisions.

There were three people sitting at the bar.
That was it.

I said, “We look way too cute to be sitting here in the dark with three bitter townie drunks. What are we going to do?”

We whacked ‘em back and took off to yet another outdoor bar.
This one had lots of people at it and the bartenders there are awesome, so things were looking up.
We both noticed this extremely drunk man. He was about our age and wearing a blue striped shirt. He staggered toward us like he was planning to approach one of us.

I spotted him heading for us and said “Weak Chin Alert” to J.
He skirted by us and sat across the bar with this extremely interesting crowd of people.

There was a very fat drunk chick, who was so big she couldn't get out of her own way, a very thin drunk chick, who was sitting next to Weak Chin, trying to ignore his advances, and a very old drunk chick, who looked like she had probably been a heavy drinker for most of her days. There was also an older drunk man with a long gray pony tail, who occasionally slow danced with the old drunk chick.

At one point, we looked over and saw Weak Chin making out with Old Drunk Chick.

J and I both shuddered and tried our best not to make any eye contact with this winner, even though his behavior was fascinating.

He had taken an interest in either J or me. We weren’t sure which one, but he continually stared over at us all night. (in between make out sessions with Grandma).

We knew that sooner or later one of us would have to get up and pee, leaving the other vulnerable to an attack from Weak Chin.

J was the first to go … even though I was pulling on her clothes as she walked away begging her not to leave me. When you gutta go, you gutta go, though. 

I sat with my drink, looking around, being extremely careful not to glance over at Weak Chin.
I was so careful that I did not notice as he came up behind me.
I suddenly heard, “Hi!” really close to my ear and I jumped and screamed out, “Ah!”
“I’m Travis” he said and forced me to shake his hand.
“You’ve been sitting here all by yourself for a really long time and I thought I would come over and say ‘Hi’. Is that ok?”

Ok – I had probably been sitting by myself for about 30 seconds. I’m sure he saw J get up and bolted over while I was alone and vulnerable.

I just stared at him with a horrified look on my face, then turned my back to him, waiting for him to go away.
… which he did …

Apparently he ran straight into J on her way out of the bathroom. He told her that he had been looking at us all night and that he had approached 'her friend' ... and that 'her friend' was really pissed off about it.

J shrugged at him and walked away.

For the rest of the night he kept looking over at me, singing to whatever song was playing at the bar, doing the drunk white man’s elbow dance, and occasionally pointing at me.

We sat through hours of this.
I just couldn’t take it anymore.

We watched, out of the corner of our eyes, mind you, the whole weird group get shut off by the bartender.

This did not stop Weak Chin in the slightest from his obnoxious pointing/staring routine.

Again, we had to go.
It was getting late anyway.

Sometimes rejection just isn’t enough for these men.
Sometimes it just makes things worse.

By no means do I expect to find the man of my dreams sitting at a bar, or anything like that, but is it really too much to ask that someone relatively normal make an appearence?

I was on vacation all last week.
I was on vacation from everything, really.
I didn’t work, I didn’t rant, I didn’t diet.

What I did was lie around in the sun and swim a lot. It was a beautiful week, by the way, and doing nothing was exactly what I needed.

The three things I designated for myself to accomplish were as follows:

1.)     Clean my apartment.
2.)     Pay stupid parking ticket.
3.)     Get Eyebrows Waxed.

I managed to get every single thing on my list done!
When on vacation, don’t aim too high. That’s my advice, here, because when you fail to come through, you become extremely disappointed in yourself.

So, today was my first day back at work.
I realized that, out of the two – work or vacation – I much prefer the whole vacation gig to the work dealie.
I think I also realized a major reason why.

When you go back to work you realize that it is all so meaningless, but that you have to pretend like it isn’t.

When you are on vacation, everything meaningless either has more meaning than you originally thought, or, at the very least, you don’t have to pretend that something completely meaningless has meaning. You can just lie back in the sun and bask in the meaninglessness of it all without anyone caring.

Also – you don’t necessarily have to wear shoes or pants while you are on vacation.

It was getting pretty late in the week and my brows were getting bushier and bushier by the second. I finally took time out of my vast, glorious nothingness to get them waxed.

I used to go to this little Asian lady who charges five bucks a wax, but who consistently tore the flesh right off my face every time she waxed me.

She also never ever recognized me, even though I went in there once a month.
Every time I went in she would ask me my name and say, “You be here before?”

It started to get annoying after about three years.

Plus, I was really getting pissed off about the tender pink flesh she left me with after every waxing. I thought the first time was just a fluke, but it happened again after that … then again. I'd have a scab after every waxing that lasted until the hair started growing back. It seemed sort of pointless.

I tried to tell her that she needs to pull the skin tighter when she pulls off the strip, but she really doesn’t speak English very well. I don’t know what she thought I said … in fact, I can’t even imagine.

I decided to abandon her after the last time she waxed me. 

I left with one eyebrow considerably thicker than the other … and a juicy red wax sore that was swollen and scabbing within 10 minutes of leaving her establishment.

I looked like a before and after picture.

Now I go to this other place. 

I always get someone different waxing me, but all of the girls are pretty good at the whole eyebrow thing. I am always forced to make ‘small talk’, but it’s usually not that bad.

(Though the lady who waxed me this time, at one point in our 'small talk' conversation, was hovering over me, staring me in the eyes, and doing the knife jab from Psycho ... with the accompanying creepy "eep, eep, eep" from said scene ... while she was discussing her mother ...)

When I decided to stop going to the little Asian lady, (who wasn't really big on the 'small talk') I went to this place to have someone fix my one thick eyebrow.

I just decided to keep going. It is close to my house and they seem to know what they are doing.

The reason I always went to the little Asian lady who can’t remember my name, instead of going to this competent place, is because the competent place charges ten dollars a wax. That’s double what the little Asian lady charges.

I think I have finally decided that it is worth the extra five dollars.
Even though I have to make weird small talk and I always get a different girl waxing me, at least my eyebrows always match and I never have scarring.

The things we women do to look presentable!
Really!
What are we crazy?
You won’t catch too many men getting things waxed.

The whole idea of waxing hair off your body seems strange and barbaric, doesn’t it? My eyebrows are the only part of my body I will subject to such self imposed torture … for now anyway. I can't really imagine waxing other parts of my body. I think the pain around my brow area is the bravest I will ever be ... but you never know!

Has anyone else noticed that the older you get, the hairier you seem to get as well? My eyebrows used to be normal little things. All of a sudden they were just completely out of control. I woke up looking like Bert from Sesame Street one day.

The Psycho knife weilding girl who waxed me kept telling me that I have “good lines”. Whatever the hell that means. She did a good job, but I noticed that next day that I had to pluck a stray hair here and there.

Well, that’s just aggravating. What the hell did I just pay her Ten Bucks for??

The whole thing is just meaningless, anyway. Whether or not I have 'good lines' or bushy eyebrows or (God forbid) a mustache, I am still the same person on the inside, right?

Wait - I am over thinking this whole thing. I am just going to let the meaninglessness of it all be, and be happy about my 'good lines'.

Hello.

 

I’m on vacation this week.

It’s not like I went anywhere special or anything. I mentioned that my mother put in a pool? Yeah - I have been pretty much spending all of my time lying in the sun and swimming.

 

It seems that the more you do the more you want to do … and the less you do the more you love doing nothing.

Well … that’s me anyway.

 

So, nothing very exciting has happened this week to piss me off enough to write a whole blog about.

 

Except this:

 

I have to go pay a whole bunch of parking tickets before I can re-new my car registration. It’s one of the chores I swore I would do while I am off from work.

I also have to clean my apartment and get my eyebrows waxed, but I am only going to talk about the stupid parking tickets right now.

 

It’s not like I am some inconsiderate double parker or like I steal all the handicapped spots or anything.

I got all of these tickets trying to park at my college.

 

My school has done its very best to try to make it so that you can not legally park your car and go to classes all in the same day.

 

The commuters outnumber the residents by about 95%, and yet we continually get the short end of the stick. The resident lot is right next to the school, for crying out loud! Those of us who actually drive in have to walk 15 miles to get from our car to our classes.

It’s friggin ridiculous.

 

A lot of time I am running so late that if I don’t park my car somewhere I am never going to make my class.

So I do.

Then I come out and find a ticket on my car.

It’s extremely infuriating.

 

That school has been bad news for me from the start. I should have seen the signs on my first day and just turned around and applied somewhere else.

 

I did not go in as a freshman. I was a transfer student. Orientation and registration for transfer students was like a big sweaty cattle call in the middle of August.

Everyone was hot and cranky.

There was no air conditioning.

The whole ordeal was unpleasant.

We went from one very hot room to another, not accomplishing anything and taking forever to do it.

I spent the day perspiring profusely, and waiting not-so-patiently to ultimately register for three classes that I didn’t really want or need.

 

I was kind of displeased with the whole thing. I found it extremely disorganized and pointless.

It sort of pissed me off, but I figured I could chalk it up as part of the learning experience.

 

The night before my first day I tried to get a good night’s sleep. But I was all jacked up because I was going to a new school, ya know?

All nervous and stuff.

 

Sometime during my somewhat fitful slumber, the electricity went out.

In the morning I sprung from the bed like my ass was on fire, and showered so fast I almost fell down. I think I still had suds in my hair when I hastily threw on whatever clothes were lying close to the door.

 

Half way to the school I flew through the Dunkin Donuts Drive-thru, ordered an ice coffee with cream and one sweet and low, paid the girl, and flew out of there.

Upon my first sip, I encountered a mouthful of sugar.

They screwed up my coffee.

No time to go back.

I just drank it.

I was badly in need of caffeine at the time.

 

I then stopped at Cumbie’s for smokes.

They didn’t have my brand.

I had to buy a different kind.

Any smoker knows what that is like … but I was in a hurry and had little time to complain or stop anywhere else.

 

When I got to the commuter lot I was absolutely horrified. I had no idea what I was in for. I drove around in circles for over a half an hour. I was making my 400^th spin around the lot when my car suddenly exploded.

 

Smoke started pouring out from under the hood.

What could I do?

I pulled into the nearest illegal spot I could find and threw the thing into park.

 

For the rest of the day, it rained every time a class let out.

As soon as I stepped out of a building, the sky would open up.

I was drenched by the time I made it to my second class, which was about a 20 minute walk from my first class … and we had 10 minutes between classes. (I swear to God this is all true). I’d have to have roller skates and a jet pack to make it from building #1 to building #2 in 10 minutes.

 

As I sat in class dripping, besides watching my head suds up from the shampoo residue, I watched the skies clear up, the sun shine brightly, and little birds frolicking on the window sill.

 

As soon as I left the building, the sky opened back up again for my 17 mile trek back to building #1 for my third class.

 

At the end of the day, I had crappy cigarettes, soggy clothes, a broken car spouting smoke at me, and blisters on my feet the size of saline breast implants.

 

It was not a good start to higher education.

 

Since that day I tend to swear loudly when I talk about where I go to college.

 

From my profile, you may see that I will be graduating in December.

Yeah.

 

Those bastards kept telling me that I was graduating last May and then at the last minute they rejected my application for graduation and told me that they made a ‘mistake’ and that I still owe 9 more credits.

 

SIGH

 

Love that place.

 

I’m not even going to go into the time they towed my car … I just can’t do it right now.

 

At any rate, tomorrow I have to go pay (ready for this amount???) $360.00 in parking tickets to those f*ckers so I can register my car.

 

That doesn’t seem right.

They should be paying me for something.

(like not mentioning the name of the school in this blog, for instance)

 

I guess most big companies get some cool free stuff from time to time.

My company got 4 tickets to see Poison at the Tweeter center for tomorrow night and raffled them off today.

Now, I wouldn’t really enjoy myself going to see Poison. I mean, I was kind of into them when I was a kid and all, but today it is just not my scene.

I don’t even own any spandex anymore.

But I knew that my uncle and my cousin would love me for life if I won the tickets.
They were raffling off 2 sets of 2 tickets for 2 different winners.

No one entered the raffle but me.

Doesn’t that crack you up?
Oh – it killed me.

So I won all 4 tickets.
I thought maybe no one wanted the tickets because of that time Poison killed a bunch of people when they burned down Rhode Island, but then I remembered that wasn’t Poison.

It was Great White.
(I frequently confuse my 80’s hair bands.)

One time, after the Rhode Island Club Fire, Great White was supposed to play at this little tiny club across the street from my house. Apparently, people are really mad at the remaining band members for, like, living through the fire and continuing with their lives or whatever, and there was a protest. One of our local radio stations was causing a big stink and the band cancelled the gig.

I guess that was probably a good thing. Who knows what kind of damage they could have done.

I remember listening to the radio and hearing one woman say, “They have no remorse! How can they just continue playing music after what happened?”

Yeah … this was almost 2 years after the fire. It’s not like the fire started and they stood there playing music while everyone burned to death around them.

“La La La – I can’t hear you.”

One of the band members was killed in the fire, for crying out loud.

I guess they are just plain bad luck now.

No one wants to re-live their youth THAT bad.
I’m sure they have box sets or whatever that people can buy instead, if necessary.

I’m not belittling the whole ordeal, by any means. A whole bunch of people died. The truly scary part of it was that I knew people who almost went.

We are pretty close to Rhode Island and it’s not a big deal to drive down there for a show. There were mass emails sent out to family and friends after the incident to make sure none of us had decided to re-visit our misspent youth that night or anything.

Thankfully, none of us went.

It must have been horrifically frightening.
Maybe if someone I knew had been killed, I would hold a grudge against the band too, but … I dunno. I’m not much of a grudge holder and what’s the use of blaming people for something that’s already happened?

Blaming someone does not change anything.
The outcome is still the same.

If I hated Great White and placed all the blame on them, it would not bring 100 people back to life, or stop that fire from happening … would it? Does placing blame turn back the hands of time?

I’m not saying that I love the band either.
I think they had one memorable song.
In my opinion, the night of the fire was the hottest they’d ever been.

At any rate, I'm glad the tickets are for Poison and not Great White. I feel like I can worry less about catastrophe for my friends and family at a Poison show.

Once Bitten, Twice Shy ... but Every Rose Has its Thorn, my friend.

 

(how could I have EVER confused these two bands????)

One of my friends, who cannot access my blog from home, emailed me saying, “I saw people on the news yesterday passing out at South Station.  I hoped you were okay.”

I replied, “Passing out at South Station???? What are they a bunch of wimps?”

First of all, the “news” is always a bit off. I think most of us can tell from experience that what actually happened is not what they show on the local news broadcast. I guess telling everyone that one guy stumbled over a discarded candy bar wrapper one hot day, and fell down at South Station isn’t nearly as wonderfully dramatic as : “Several people passed out today at South Station, succumbing to the heat. Paramedics were on the scene.” And then cut to the guy who fell over the Hershey wrapper, being fanned by his life partner.

I was at South Station yesterday, and though I did hear rumors that there were air conditioning problems, I never encountered any problems myself.

It reminded me of all the stupid “Bomb Scare at South Station!” stories I heard on the news last year. People I didn’t even know were talking about it like I was risking my life daily by going into the city.

I saw a couple of police dogs, and once spotted an unattended lunch cooler, but that was about the extent of the danger.

The real danger was Ping Pong the Butt Cop giving out citations to smokers outside of South Station.
If there were really bombs around every corner, why the hell would this clown be worried about a couple of nicotine addicted people milling around outside?

Yeah – those smokers.
Lunatics!

The bomb scare boogey men haunted me everywhere I went. It was starting to get annoying. I mean, Christ! If they are going to blow me up, there is nothing I can do about it. Worrying and getting all crazy isn’t going to stop it from happening.

Why can’t people stop obsessing about crap and just live their lives?

This is one of the reasons that I feel TV, and the “News” specifically, is a total waste of time. People forget to be objective and how to think for themselves. How many blog entries do you think I would make if I were investing time in a ‘program’?

I realized one day that I just did not have time to dedicate to a new show.
My old roommate used to watch that show 24.
(I’m not going to bash the show or anything, because I have never seen it.)
He kept telling me how great it was and that I should watch it.

Well, that’s one hour a week, every week, that I would have to invest in that particular show. Let’s just say I also was obligated to watch … oh I dunno ... Lost (which I hear people are crazy over) and let’s say I decided to watch American Idol too.

That is another two to three hours a week I would have to commit to television viewing… sometimes more, because American Idol (which I was into a couple of seasons ago) runs those two hour specials … plus it is on two nights a week … so the amount of time needed to be a fan of that show is ridiculously unpredictable. Plus, whenever you are hooked on some show, you almost always wind up watching the shows that surround it, just to 'kill time'.

We're talking hours and hours of television a week here.

I don’t have that kind of time.
As it is, my days are way too short.

I had to wait for all of the shows that I was into to either finally be cancelled or start to suck, before I was free from television completely.

I still have lingering addictions, like the Simpson’s and Family Guy … but for the most part I don’t watch TV at all, (I don't even have cable!) and you won’t EVER catch me watching the “news”. Even when I did watch television regularly, the most realistic 'News Show' out there was The Daily Show with John Stewart. It was so much more believable than those so-called real 'News Shows' that take themselves all seriously.

I am down to a half an hour a day or less watching TV, and that half hour is for The Simpson’s. I don’t always get that half hour in, either … and that’s ok.

As far as I know, I only get one shot at this crazy thing we call life. I'll be damned if I am going to waste it watching images flicker on a screen and being insulted by the media!

Admittedly, I do watch DVDs on occasion.

Ok … DVD’s are an obsession for another rant … like replacing one evil with another …

... at least I expect those stories to be made up!