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Rabble Rousing Roundup
Gringa no comprende I have spent two days having an excessive amount of information thrown at me. And then given stacks for reports to read up on what's going on here at work. And I can't wait to actually, I dunno, WORK!
Regardless, I was sitting in my office with my new office mate programming away silently when he got a call. Then he proceeded to switch into Spanish to say that he couldn't talk right now because there was a new "girl" in the room and the conversation could only continue in Spanish. The bitch of it is (1) I don't give a crap if he is having personal conversations (2) I understand Spanish.
I don't get it and when he said I was eating a Chicken Sandwich I totally should have been like, "Naw hombre, esta queso!" (which means no man, it's cheese if you are the non-Spanish speaking type he had me pinned for). But I didn't say anything while he was on the phone and for the past 2 hours it's been completely irking me. Why did the person he was talking to even care what I was doing / chewing? Why couldn't he just speak in English rather than all gossipy and undercover in Spanish?
Whatever, he a good bit older than me and sporting braces.
Thursday, May 24, 2001
Dirt Muck and Scum My apartment was possibly the dirtiest place on earth on Tuesday. I've managed to cut down on some of the dust since it was sending Angel into severe allergy fits and me into severe coughing fits as smokers do not need extra pollutants in their lungs. My mom's house warming present is a professional cleaning. I'm generally against the idea of having someone clean for me, but it's not my dirt.
The previous tenant NEVER cleaned, literally. When we saw the place they had "straightened up" which meant throwing dirty underwear, used tissues and photographs into dresser drawers on the floor. While cleaning, there were little black paper bats from Halloween found all over the place (with a wonderful cemetery across the street, Halloween parties are in order). The bath tub is clogged up; washing out my closet walls gave a bucket of muck that I thought you could only get trying to clean a subway platform. How, exactly, do you get the inside of a closet dirty?
Our neighbor Aaron, sporting a straw hat and polo shirt gave us the offical NYC Department of Sanitation sheet on what to recycle with the trash days written on it. The landlord's father said, "I really hope you are better than those slobs." They pretty much had a bad reputation throughout our street, including making the eldery on the street all uncomfortable with a Funeral Home sign in their window.
But other than the dirt, it's great to have my place. I have a saving card already for the Foodtown and a wheely cart for groceries and laundry. In the stores I hear ladies speaking other languages and talking about their children. I found a liquor store and Angel and I had martinis at 2 am when he came home from work. My neighbor Frank who wearing things like short sleeved baby blue linen shirts hangs out in front of his house and gave me a cheery good morning today. I like that I have a neighborhood. I like that there are no yuppies that call gentrification "up-and-coming areas" or places like Williamburg that call themselves "artist communities" as if the only way to be an artist is to pay too much to live near others. I like the fact that I have a tiffany lamp in my kitchen and silver butterfly wall paper in the bathroom. I feel comfortable leaving my windows open even though I live on the second floor. I can't wait to through a cocktail party and have my friends mix with Frank in his shirts and Aaron in his straw hat.
Thursday, May 17, 2001
How'd we get Freddie Prinze Jr.? For the longest time I had a pretty good theory as to why there are less people in my age bracket. There was a significant drop in the birth rates from the late sixties until the late seventies. My explaination was due to the Vietnam war: if young men are fighting or fleeing, there's nobody around to make babies. This was a really good reason, commonly agreed upon by academics and the like.
But I recently realized the truth while watching "Chico and the Man" on Nick at Nite. Freddie Prinze, father of the current Jr., was wearing some tight pants. Lots of guys in that time period of low birth rates wore tight pants. It was a disco epidemic. There were less babies at that time not because potential fathers' involvement in Vietnam. There is just less of us because of tight pants.
World War 2 created our parents' Baby Boom. When the birth rates slumped, it was again attributed to war. No one takes fashion seriously enough to realize that those tight pants leave no room for some nice happy sperm.
Monday, May 14, 2001
Vanity, S-hair Vainty This week I waxed my legs, or rather paid to get my legs waxed. Ever since I was too vain at 12 I have been shaving my legs. I hate doing that, I go without for long periods of time, such as those times when I decided I won't get any booty. Mostly because I simply can't do that to my skin, my skin is too sensitive to shave all the time. And when I'm all hairy the surprise hook-up occurs (just ask Grammy Award Winner who(m?) I lost my virginity to).
I started using Nad's over the winter because, although I could never get up all my hair within 2 hours of trying to, at least I wasn't fully hairy and therefore more likely to put off shaving the 15% of leg hair I had left. But since it took so long, and now I have all these adorable knee-length skirts to parade around at my new job in, I decided to go for the wax. I let my legs get sufficiently hairy which meant completely relying on my linen pants to keep me cool during this abnormally hot May. And I got my legs waxed.
(1) I believe that my unwillingness to pay to go to a good salon is partially to blame. (2) Regardless, if you can't wax legs well, don't offer that service at your salon. It took me two showers to get off all the wax that was still stuck to my legs, as well as a good deal of using the awesome exfoliating cloth I have. I spent about 20 minutes plucking obvious missed hairs and 3 consecutive applications of lotion to try to restore my patchy looking skin. The my calves are still pretty hairy.
Lesson: Leg hair has no magical cure. Nad's won't work 100%, but waxing won't either. Unless, maybe, someplace that will charge me like $40 for each 1/2 leg might. But is $80 worth a month of being hair-free when I could buy an end table instead? Or some new pots to replace the sorry ass, college-abused ones that I still own (of all the things the fire took, why not these as well??)
To continue to ramble, at least I also have my tomato knife. If you are a tomato addict such as myself, you'll never have a prettier slice as you can with a knife made specifically for the wonderful tomato.
Sunday, May 13, 2001
Offically Friday concluded a week of wonderful news with me getting the offical job offer. I am now, finally, gainfully employed in a position that is worthy of my attention and time. I will not feel like I am being paid to do nothing else with my life; being paid to spend 8 hours in hell. No, now I will be paid to think! How strange in this world.
So I get to (1) Move to Brooklyn, a place I've always loved and (2) start my new job a week later. I will give into the death of the subway token in my life since it is cheaper to get a plastic metro card when it's your means of transit. I was really resistant to it for a long time until I lost more tokens than I could afford. Mostly I felt this way because I own a complete collection of every token New York Subways have used, ever. Tokens are great, these plastic cards I've seen used a few too many times for cutting up coke are not.
Now, my tasks are (1) go to Home Depot to look for drawer pulls, obsessively collect color samples and buy sand paper (2) go to Goodwill to find furniture to paint/restore/rescue from someone with lesser tastes (3) take stock of clothes to see what I'd require to get me through an office summer. I love these chores.
Monday, May 7, 2001
Why me?!? Mail.com has purposely gone about to destroy me. Although below I complained about my technophobias, I require email at certain times in my life. Mostly when I just won the perfect retro-style chrome kitchen set for about 1/80 of the price it would be from Williams Sonoma (like who would pay $238 for 2 chairs made of chrome?).
They sold their company, and the site went down when they offical corporate change over occurred. Now that they are putting in a NEW version (which isn't as nice) and converting my emails in some darkened dungeon, it is unable to load my email again. Most people I know use Hotmail as their free email-ma-gig but I decided to act like Macintosh owners who scorn the mega-PC and use another system. And I get this as my thanks.
Monday, May 7, 2001
Outta the closet I have to come out with this considering I am a bit of a technophobe in as much as I don't like the invasion of privacy. My dad actually refused to put in a modem for a really long time since he was afraid people could get into his computer as if hackers sit around trying to get into a computer full of games.
Regardless, my paranoia isn't based on the "oh no, they can get a hold of my information." It's more based on being constantly connected, never having a chance to pretend as if you are the only person in the world. Like email. "Oh, I'll email it to you this morning and you can get back to me before afternoon." I don't like that, at all. Send me a letter, I'll review it, get back in my own darn time.
Of course, I've adjusted to my first reluctance to email. I don't like it for anything other than I can type faster than hand write. It also saves paper for meaningless conduct. But cell phones, man, they are scary. Ring Ring Ring Ring everywhere. Everyone has one.
I had one when I lived in Ireland because my mother wasn't too hot on the idea of me being in another country without a place to live or a job and absolutely no contact medium. So I gave in; it was pretty helpful in finding a job and it had games. I only used it the first two weeks and the odd weekend I would go away.
But last weekend I made 5 separate phone calls from Angel's cell and realized it was time for me to stop relying on all my friends' phones. I can't recall the number of times I've told people that I'm going to be with so-and-so, and give me a call on their cell. I finally realized I need my own.
I got the same frigging StarTac Motorola deal (since I already figured out how to program cute things into Angel's like "my gal" after his girlfriend's number). I programmed in phone numbers sitting in Central Park instead of recopying my paper phone book as I needed to. Now I don't, the phone has it all for me. I made my inital calls to my sister, Angel and Julie; my highly connected friends who began with pagers! I got over it.
Now as I sit wait for my job offer to come in, I still hate having one. Yes, I can go to Target, to the bank, outside of the radius of a cordless phone. But it would be easier if they asked for a good time to call and then I'd be home for that call. Call as you wish type stuff with cell phones is why they invade my privacy.
Because they might be convient to me to confirm plans, tell people I'm running late and so forth. But when I'm contemplating white or plain slice at the pizzeria, I don't want someone calling to ask me if I'm free Friday. For this reason, my phone will remain OFF. . . as soon as I get this call.
Thursday, May 3, 2001
I've been thinking I know it's not soo good for my forehead wrinkles that I can see. But regardless, I've been thinking. I've been thinking that if I have everything I believe I want, what will I do next?
I guess I have time to concentrate on things I enjoy doing . I am finally afforded that time I need. I like things that require me, alone, working on something. I like things that can completely engulf my attention, an amazing thing indeed.
But what if I have forgotten? How to be quiet, to sit and create. What if I no longer have the patience and the entire buzz this past year has put on me won't go away.
Wait and see I guess. Maybe there'll be new things, maybe I'll recall what I loved during a time that seems so long ago.
Wednesday, May 2, 2001
This is my life I have wanted a few things for the past year. They are, in no particular order:
-Move back into my house (check)
-Have my house fixed (er, not yet)
-Find a nice apartment in Brooklyn (check)
-Let the people I know they are loved (check)
-Get a new dog (check)
-Get a job!!
And the last one will come true here as a research assistant as soon as the VP comes in tomorrow to formally extend my offer. So, although I've become frustrated with my life in the past year due to circumstances beyond my control, I am finally able to have it my way.
and honestly, I like getting it my way.
I didn't think I was asking for too much, just to be a normal functional adult in a job worthy of my intelligence and over-education. I wanted a quiet place to call my own. I wanted my family's house back so I could come home for Sunday dinners. I wanted a licky dog. I wanted everyone to know that they are loved.
And now I do. YAY!
Wednesday, May 2, 2001
Further Evidence I hate SUVs and I think they are evil (read more here). Here in Corporate Bliss they REALLY like them and get pretty psyched when someone has a new one. Well lucky me is here when 2 (two) managers recently aquired one each due to pulling out their money early enough in tech stocks or something. And I hear them talking about it complusively. It's almost as bad as the secretary pool that complusively talks about their spawns.
New Reason to Hate 'em:
Due to the fact that they are too large, one of the guys is parking in Handicapped spaces. There is a huge garage complex so that cars are hidden allowing for more of the sprawling green corporate campus look. But this big monster can't fit in the garage so he has to park out in the Handi-spaces. And security is okay with it.
What I would say if I was security:
Are you disabled? Then move it. And no, I don't feel bad for you since I am underpaid and my Toyota can fit under your SUV.
On the lighter side since I obsessively talk about this story: Miniature Guide Horses for the Blind! Go Look!
Friday, April 27, 2001
Coporate Boredom
Temping is the closest thing we can get to hell without being there; it's like the doctor's waiting area; infinitely existing until it's magically 4:30. It could be 4:30 now, I'd like it to be, but alas I am stuck trying to entertain myself in a quiet office manner
The most amusing part of this particular office is that they have content checks for the internet (because what's a girl to do for 8 hours? read and look at the internet) My OTHER page is "Forbidden by Rating Check". Makes me feel kind of racy, saucy, etc. But I can look at pages for chastity belts? It makes perfect sense in the corporate manner.
And my name is a good baby goth name? (Not that goth is objectionable, I'm just more about that obnoxious-as-I-wanna-be "I don't give a crap" urban black, or was before I found pastels).
Finally, in this set of pictures is bassist-cracker boy I am obsessed with; the fourth one. And everyone thinks I only like more melanined boys. Pah!
Friday, April 27, 2001
Take Me Home F Train Tracks On May 15, what I've been waiting for is finally going to happen. I will be moving into a lovely apartment in Brooklyn. I finally found one after seeing so many horrible places over so many months. And it is just right.
I'm living in Kensington / Windsor Terrace which no hard-core Manhattanite has any clue of where they are. They know like, Brooklyn Heights and Williamsburg. But this place is not hip or anything but that's all the more better. I don't need hip in my face all the time. It's near the park; the cemetery at the end of the block, which is sure to make for a great Halloween.
What I get is living in a neighborhood where there's a 24 hour laundry mat, a back yard I can use (ask anyone in Manhattan who isn't a millionaire for that) and a place for me to be quiet. I don't have anything against living with my parents. I actually like it, but I need my own space, my own time, my individual life which living at home simply cannot offer me. I need them not to know what I'm up to 24/7. Period.
My kitchen is big enough for my to execute my master plan to put framed NJ diner placemats on the walls. I also thought a nice retro crome and formica table with crome and vinyl chairs would be pretty . I have been scouring the internet for a not too pricey set and then the Williams Sonoma catalog came to my house. And their chairs are $258 for TWO! There goes up all the ebay prices. . . Thanks Williams Sonoma for ruining my attempt to decorate.
Friday, April 27, 2001
Reason why?
I just wanted to be able to put down shorter amusements. Really, I think about maybe 15 different things in a 10 day period, turning them over in my head until I come to some conclusion or resolve and then abandon them. With my other page I only put down the thoughts that developed into 1000 word statements of being me. I think the college education got me used to this longer format too much, but that was nearly 2 years ago now, so I'm over it. The other 14 things I think about are not to be entirely discarded. Now, I have a place for maybe 4 of them.
Friday, April 27, 2001
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