Well, here I am with a real-life blog. I’ve been keeping a myspace blog for some time now, but this seemed like the thing to do at the moment. Less MySpacey. Blogs kind of freak me out because I feel the need to censor myself (by this I mean Not Shit-Talk), but I can’t keep a journal knowing I’m the only one that will read it. I’m not that good to myself that I can just complete an activity because I enjoy it. I’m a Leo, and I suppose that means I have a need for some kind of attention in exchange for my efforts. Or not. The point is that if I know someone is reading– or just think someone is reading, I’ll write better and make more sense, explain more, and use fewer abbreviations. And that means that when I go back and read these things or when Clara reads them way way in the future they will make more sense and function as the historic (historic? historical?) accounts I’d like them to be. What sign is it that dissects everything a hundred ways and finally comes up gasping for air? Because I think that’s my real sign.
So I am at work, doing this non-work, when I could be looking for another job. Should be looking for another job. But instead I clumsily try to blog around. I’ve been reading a couple of other blogs and they are so great– this seems like boring crap comparatively.
TAKE THIS JOB AND SHOVE IT… BUT WAIT, NOT YET.
There was drama in the workplace yesterday. I don’t want to go into it (so why do I have a blog, anyway?) but I cried in the office, twice, and felt like A COMPLETE IDIOT about the whole thing. Not just like tears while I was speaking. I’m talking about the kind of crying you do when you try to tell your mom that you’re best friend in the second grade is moving away. The kind of gaspy crying that makes your voice sound like a child’s and your mouth do weird and tense things. Not a Hollywood cry. My feelings got hurt.
I won’t explain it all, but I will tell you that today, the partners are meeting with a VIP in the conference room all day. Every time they emerge from the conference room (which my back faces, so it is immediately apparent what is up on my screen), I silently curse them and under my breath I tell them to go back into their little room. This is a four-person company. When the VIP showed up, I was not introduced. Not until I interrupted the Very Important Man Work to take a lunch order. Taa Daa! Women in the workplace. Cute, isn’t it? The unfortunate reality of the situation that I can see crystal-clearly is that this VIP is not so “VI”… I mean, he is, in the way of what he could do for the company, but he’s in a spot where he needs us just as much as we need him. Despite this, the folks in the Very Important Meeting don’t see it, and they dance around and act like idiots trying to impress. It’s painful to watch, so I prefer the doors stay closed. That way I can fuck around and tack an extra sandwich on the lunch order for myself.
HOT FRESH DISCOVERIES
Bird is so funny right now. Six months is a perfect age, and I would be okay with her staying this little forever. She’s nearly edible, she’s so cute and squishy. And the way she holds her arms over her head, screeches, and then jerks them down and stares at her hands like “hey, these things ARE ATTACHED TO MY ARMS!!”… she’s just the bees’ knees as far as I’m concerned.
OH DAMN- I just remembered that I have book club tonight and as usual I have forgotten to cook/ pick up anything to bring. And double-damn, Bird’s carrier is in the laundry so I have to hip-juggle her around the Harris Teeter For Which There Is No Parking while I look for some hummus or other thoughtless, last-minute food. I do like the Book Club, though. We’ve been together about a year and have completely stopped reading books. Now it’s just comfortable. My mom has a group of friends called “The Breakfast Club” (and they don’t get that it’s funny because of the movie, just like my mom’s “chat room” that is actually our old dining room with overstuffed chairs and end tables instead of a regular eating table) and they’ve been getting together for 27 years or something. Now they’re a bunch of cute, sassy grandmas and near-grandmas.
PLEASE STOP SAYING THAT
My boss refers to going to the bathroom as “taking a ‘bio break'”. Not even sure what that’s supposed to mean, but nobody likes it, and someone should tell him. Not It.