My first day at work

I saw that I never posted this…what an idiot.  It’s dated September 9, 2009.

A lot has happened since I came to Philly.  First of all, I found a place to live.  I did have to get my mom to co-sign for me because my credit is so terrible.  That wasn’t really any news to me but it was to my mom.  She just couldn’t believe that I would need a co-signer.  Then when I told her I was worried about running low on money she suggested I find plasma donation centers and that Mr. D should look into day labor.  Whatever. The more I think about it, the more irritated I get.  I’ve never asked her for money and I wasn’t even asking her for money.  I should tell her Mr. D has found a way to earn some extra cash…working at a jack-shack for homo dudes. She’s probably say, “Well that’s wonderful.  He probably makes some extra spending money.”

But that’s not the most interesting part of my recent adventures.  That title goes to my first day of work, which was yesterday. On my first day, my bosses were tied up in meetings all day. I was left with the temp, who had been holding down the fort for about a month. She took her task of “training” me very seriously.  I put training in parentheses because she in no fashion trained me on anything I didn’t already know or couldn’t have figured out. Not that she wasn’t helpful, she was, a little.  But, she was mostly annoying as fuck.

Some highlights from the day:

• As I was writing an e-mail, she stopped me abruptly and said, “Whoa. Let’s not have any commas in e-mails.  They are really distracting.” I asked her if that was an organizational request or preference and she said, “Oh no.  I just think commas are distracting.”
• She kept stressing the importance of “polishing the tables” before meetings. Which I think means cleaning them.  Still not sure and don’t care.
• She asked our boss if we should “suit up” for a meeting. This was met with a serious stare down from the  boss and shock on both the boss’s face and  mine.
• She kept saying we are administrators and we have to act like them.  Are we?  Do administrators say redonkulous?
• She also told me that I could pass the time with Facebook and checking my e-mail.
• She suggested that I take my computer’s wallpaper very seriously. That I not rush myself trying or let anyone else rush me. ”I’ve caught people looking at this flower and I know it cheers them up.”

I’m glad she was only there for a day.  I would have definitely made her cry by day two.

Don’t you know anything!?! Answer, yes. What?

Tomorrow D and I are going to take our holiday pic.  We’re aiming for cheesy, horrible, ridiculous, embarrassing, thoughtful, poignant, timely, and funny with a little pine scent thrown in.

I won’t ruin it for my friends who read this blog and will hopefully get this pic in the mail soon.

In the mean time, we’re sitting around at home on a Saturday night with no place to go.  That’s not entirely true.  We’ve already done so much today and now we’re tired.  My old bones just aren’t what they used to be. And by “so much” I’m referring to eating pizza, walking to breakfast, eating ice cream, doing laundry, and cleaning the kitchen.

I’ve been really busy at work and trying really hard to keep my job. See, I fucked up hugely early in the beginning of a very important week for my organization. Well, as it turned out I didn’t fuck up, but the damage was already done and my ego and reputation damaged.  I won’t bore my very intelligent readers with the filth of the details and I also don’t care to relive.  But, I will tell you that the conversation between my boss and me ended with the boss saying, “Well, we just lost a million dollars.” Then the boss stormed off. It was terrible.  I felt like the biggest piece of shit and after cleaning the tears off my face in the bathroom, I started planning my escape and move back home, 1500 miles away. Doom and gloom filled my stomach.

This whole catastrophe was exacerbated because I missed phone calls and text messages from my bosses because my cell phone was off because I left my charger at a friend’s house  in a city many miles away and because I was too cheap to buy another one because I was waiting for another friend to FedEx the charger to me when she returned to work, which wasn’t for a few days and I thought that would be fine because I wouldn’t need my phone right away.  Poor judgement on my part and not the excuse I gave to the boss.

Turns out I didn’t cost us a million dollars, but as I said, damage done and I am still working on my “punishment” as the boss put it.

On to lighter notes. I’m reading a book called “Woe is I” and hoping to improve my grammar skills.  This desire was prompted because I’m expected to proofread and alphabetize shit at work and I need to polish these skills. I went to my neighborhood used book store and found the aforementioned title along with a few other gems.

“The I Hate to Cook Book” by Peg Braken, 1960.  (By the way, putting a period after the title of a book and other bibliographic information is grammatically correct.) What sold me on this book was Peg herself.  In the intro chapter she writes,

“Some women, it is said, like to cook. This book is not for them.  This book is for those of us who want to fold our dishwater hands around a dry Martini instead of a wet flounder…” 

For this I dropped my hard-earned $1. Peg has written some other fabulously title books.  I’m not sure if any are available online, since Peg ’s writing career was in the sixties.

I also picked up a book on etiquette.  This was prompted after I behaved inappropriately around a group of Japanese business men and women.  I’m pretty sure I acted like the  charming southern lady I am, but to our Japanese guests that “charm” came across as a loud silly American.  Which, I am. 

What I learned and what my boss later explained:

1. You don’t shake Japanese business people’s hands. (I not only shook their hands, but introduced myself and asked them to take a seat and offered then some hot chocolate.  They don’t sit while they wait, because they shouldn’t have to wait. Whatevs…)

2. Don’t forget your business cards and slightly bow.  No handshake you silly American.

3. It’s best to have a small souvenir type gift.

4. Always wrap the gift. They won’t unwrap the gift until in private.  (that’s the point)

5. If there is to be a formal meeting at a conference table, identify each participants status within the organization. The head person will sit at the head of the table followed in succession. Most importantly know your status and do not sit in someone elses spot. (I was so low on this totem pole, I didn’t even sit at the table and there was plenty of room.)

6.  Don’t forget your business card.

7. Shhhh.  Lower your voice.

 Kisses and handshakes all around.

One more thing.  Buy Beyonce’s album “I am Sasha Fierce.”  You’ll love it.

Oh, yeah and Mr. D. has a crush on Obama.  He’s a little late to the train, but no bigs.  He watched the documentary “By The People: The Election of Barak Obama.”  It’s a dandy doc, check it.

Let’s call this…Journal Time

In journal time, I will share from my old fashioned Journal. I think we’ll have a good time.  Just sit back. Relax.  It won’t take long.

Untitled
I want to thank the Golden Girls for being my friends.

I want to thank my body for hanging in there through all the drugs, the drinks, the fries and the pies. I promise to do better.

I want to thank my dog Charlie for keeping it real, by being so uninhibited he can shit with everyone watching. I want to thank Trinity for not clawing my eyes out.

I want to thank Mr. D for takeing care with me and my feelings.

Things that are fat + cute
hippos (especially the baby ones, they’re so cute I cry)

curly dogs

Theodore, the chipmunk (he’s not fat to me, but he’s been characterized)

 

One more thing, not in my journal. I’m not sure how I feel about this lady ass.  I mean it’s fucking huge, what’s happening.

The full story…http://roissy.wordpress.com/2009/07/14/fat-or-not-fat-2/

Adventures in not-so-interesting land

I got up this morning at 5AM…well, my alarm went off at 5AM.  I hauled myself out of bed at 5:30.  I am not a morning person, it was fucking awful.

I did this so that I could be at work for an event by 7AM.  I left my house and it was dark.  Terrible, I know.  I hope you’re feeling sorry for me.  I went to the WaWa to grab a mocha-caffe-extra this and that-something or other for a $1.50 and headed to my bus stop.  Did I mention it was dark outside.  Like “darkest just before dawn” sort of dark.  I stood waiting for my bus thinking it would be so quiet on the bus this early.  I could sit without touching anyone.  I could sit without smelling anyone. 

I had my tunes turned up.  Hedwig was blasting away, “Origin of Love”.  I was really starting to perk up. 

Them my bus showed up and it was full of people.  I had to sit next to someone.  But, the worst was yet to come.

I had picked my outfit out carefully, due to the importance of this event. It was a sort of coming out party.  The press was scheduled to be there and photographs were definitely going to be taken.  Not necessarily of me, but maybe the back of my head or the side of my leg.  You never know and you must be prepared.  So, I had a great top on, hair was just so, pencil skirt in place, black tights and profesh pumps ready to perform their magic and wow my audience.

And then it happened.  My fucking purse snagged my tights and they started to run right before my very eyes. I was so pissed.  I was so pissed, I pulled them off on the fucking bus.  I felt they betrayed me. I felt, that if they couldn’t get a long with my purse or my hairy legs, then they couldn’t get along with me.

They were in the first big belly I saw (that’s these solar powered trash compactors in town).

God, this was a boring post.  I hope your lives are more interesting and if you even made it this far, I apologize for your boredom.

Thanks dad.

I told my dad that I was getting homesick.

He replied, “Go for a walk.”

I didn’t.  I drank and fell asleep.

GBF or BF. Have you had your fix?

Most modern women understand, desire, and often time envy the GBF or BF.  That is, the Gay Best Friend or Best Fag. Today, I ponder this phenomenon.

For those who enjoy a BF and give into its powerful drug, fall into two categories. If your BF’s a twink you’re a beard.  If your BF’s a bear, Levi, or leather you’re a Goldie-locks (sp?). In my ideal, I would have a bear.  Well, unless you’re Dan Savage.  I’ll be your beard, Dan. I am your beard.

Anyways, what is it about the BF/Beard or BF/GL relationship that is so effortless for both involved.  I have a theory. (don’t worry, I’m not becoming a scientist, sluts.)

For the girls, we are transported to  place and time where snobby, bitchy, slutty and hilarious are acceptable personlities and everything you strive to be. A place where judgment is in the way you greet someone.

 ”Hey. What’s happening here? What’s going on? Why are you wearing that ridiculous cardigan?”

A place where you play “dress-up” and “music video” or “dance party.”  A place where you can binge drink and eat for no good reason and never lose you’re figure (because you’re also smoking and starving yourself for weeks in between). A place where your best friend comes over to drink, bitch about people, watch tv and then pass out, not to awake until the next morning.  At which time you will eat donuts or sausage cheese biscuits and then pass out.

I don’t know what’s in it for the BF, but I suspect it’s an exact copy of the girl list. Except for one addition. A place where you don’t have to pretend you get bonners for girls.

And where is this place? Are you eager to move in? This place is where I suspect all the popular kids were in 7th and 8th grade. I was not in the group. I was an outsider. For me these two years were fucking horrible. Life changing, to say the least.

But, for the popular kids, I imagine  their average day full of drama (of their own making and control), full of bitchiness, full of posturing and definitely full of fun. Is this place many of us never experienced.  And at some point, likely around 19-22 for girls, they grown out of this phase (men never grow out of this phase- straight or gay). Society now frowns upon us for such behavior, ladies.  We’re either forced to give these behaviors up (lazy sluts) or we’re forced to move it all underground and share with a choice few (fun sluts).

That leaves the fun sluts (men and women- most men, straight or gay, are fun sluts) to find each other.  Hopefully you will find a fun slut at one point in your life. Lucky for me, I’ve met many a fun slut.  Some have been closeted or just shy, but who isn’t at some point. No matter , we  have a blast.

That’s all.  Have a blast, sluts.

The difference between here and there

I’m in Philly.  I was in Dallas.  Here are the differences between then two cities.

In Philly	In Dallas
You don’t need a car	You can’t survive without a car
You walk to eat, to shop, to meet people, to kill time	You never walk.  The only exception is for something called excersise, but I avoided this.
They have Haagen Dazs everywhere (but no Bluebell)	They have Bluebell everywhere (and they have Haagen Dazs)
I’m the fattest person (actually, today I finally saw someone larger than I)	I wasn’t the fattest person around
Everyone curses, for no good reason, just because it sounds good in a sentence	Only lesbians and crack whores curse
The have wieners everywhere	They have tacos everywhere
Boys have beards	Boys have no beards or goat-tees

p.s. My dog is eating toilet paper.

What a world, what world.

My car broke down this morning. It was horrible.  Just stopped running.  I was on a busy street, during morning rush hour with Mr. D, on our way to his work when it died.  I was pissed and thought, “I can’t get out of this city fast enough.”  (I drive a little bity red car, there’s a pic of me waiting with my car at the end of this post)

Mr. D pushed the car off the busy street and we scrambled to reassemble our morning.  It was 8AM and Mr. D still had to get to work, it was, after all, his last day. We started calling his friends, which were either not awake or not taking his call.  So we started calling my friends.  The closest was Ms. E.  Now, a little background is needed so you understand how wonderful Ms. E was for coming to our rescue.

Background:  The night before this morning, Ms. E, myself and other pals were up until 2AM drinking and dry humping.  She might has been up longer.  Also, Ms. E was not going to work that day and planned on sleeping in before heading out on a 4 hour road trip to her family’s compound.

Okay, so I called her at 8AM, after a night of booze and humping.  She showed up, with a smile on.  Unbelievable.  She gave Mr. D a ride to work, she took me back to my car to wait for the tow truck and then most miraculously of all,  she made a second trip to return my keys, which I had left in her backseat like a dumb dirty imbeciles.

Basically, I owe my life to Ms. E.  She’s amazing and I will be looking for a way to pay her back.

To add insult to my injuries, I forgot to charge my phone the night before and my phone died about 20 minutes into this catastrophe.

Until I can properly repay Ms. E for her heroic, timely, lovely helping hands today, I give her this blog post and the following video from Dionne Warwick and friends, “That’s What Are Friends are For”.

Today…I’ve done all this and it’s only 11:45AM!

• pack (not everything, a very small percent of my total packing.  Actually just photos.)
• eat Jack in the Box tacos while watching Superbad (this was probably my favorite part)
• bath (1 hour soak)
• walk my dog

I’m totally bored, since all my friends are working.  My nights will be busy, but my days will be lonely.

I love you sluts!

My first impressions in my new city

I sometimes operate in a fictional world.  One in which I create future scenarios in my head and then act them out.  Mostly I act them out by myself in front of a mirror.  But, sometimes I get to bounce these ideas off Ms. A.  Since I’m about to start a new job in a new city I’ve been creating said scenarios as related to this new experience.  I’ll be moving from Texas to the Northeast and in my fantasy world I have started practicing for the types of questions I’ll encounter from my co-workers and my fictitious new friends.  Some of the question are:

“Hey, you’re from Texas, so where’s your big hair?”

“What do you miss most about Texas?”  I reply, “Well everyone has an aesthetician, so naturally I miss  mine.” (first of all, not everyone has a fucking aesthetician and I certainly don’t)

From these questions I had the bright idea to start compiling a list of Texas phrases that I can then pretend like I have been saying all along. The problem I foresee is that while I feel like these quirky phrases and sayings will charm the pants off my new city, the reality is my phrases will only be annoying and poorly inserted into our conversations.  But that’s neither here nor there…I still want to compile the list. Most of these sayings are not work appropriate, but that won’t stop me from working them into conversation, albeit irrelevant.

I know when someone is pissing on my pumps and telling me it’s raining. (got this one from Best Little Whore House in Texas, except they said boot not pump)

Well that just dills my pickle.

I’m as nervous as a virgin in a whore house.

I’m sweating like a whore in church.

If brains were dynamite, he couldn’t blow his nose.

It’s cold enough to freeze the balls off a pool table.

Nobody ever drowned in sweat.

Cool your jets cowgirl.

Every time I stand up, my mind sits down.

Nothing dries as quick as tears.

Any suggestions…