My friend and neighbor (we'll call him Mr. Wilson) dragged me with him to see "The Pursuit of Happyness" with him this weekend - unbearable! Honestly, the story had a lot of promise, but the plot just dragged on, showing us the same things in a different way, over and over and over. By the mid-way point, we'd started our own Mystery Science Theater episode. With half an hour left, we were actively rooting against the main character, despite the feel-good ending having been telegraphed by Samual Morse.
So imagine my surprise this morning when I learned that Will Smith got an Oscar nod for his role in the film. Now hear me out, guys. I think Will Smith is a fine actor. I enjoyed Enemy of the State. I guarantee I love him more than Phillip Banks ever did. And I think he did a fine job with the script he was given for "Happyness". But I'm puzzled by this nomination, because that movie is just plain bad.
I guess I just wonder why an actor should get accolades for picking a terrible script. It's like putting Chad Johnson on a Pop Warner team; the field is skewed. I mean, look at Robert DeNiro. DeNiro is arguably one of the best actors of the 20th century, and he didn't get nominated for "Meet the Fockers", because that movie was what it was. "Fockers" wasn't trying to redefine the motion picture industry, or make a statement, or shatter archaic stereotypes. And "Happyness" tried too hard to do all those things, so, to me, it failed. Why reward that?
Bottom line: If you're a good actor in a bad movie, you should get a new agent. Not an Oscar.
23 January 2007
18 January 2007
You're as cold as ice
It's raining outside. I know this because the hole in the ceiling tile is dripping. At least it doesn't smell bad. Yet.
And seriously, Texas, what's the deal? I was in a car wreck on Sunday night on a highway ice rink...I mean, on-ramp. I missed work on Monday from a combination of icy road conditions and anxiety from the aforementioned events. Wednesday morning it took me over an hour to get to work because it was snowing-slash-sleeting and also icy. By yesterday evening, we'd thawed out a bit, but tonight it's supposed to start all over again.
The best part of this weather thing is that my company doesn't give us inclement weather provisions. That's right, they'd rather I risk my life and limb to get here, or? If I have it, I'm allowed to take vacation. Oh boy! I'm also explicitly NOT allowed to use pre-approved absence or sick time, of which I'm allotted 5 days a year and rarely use. I knew this on Monday, so I knew the risk I was taking by staying in.
On Wednesday, I looked out the window and said, "Hmm, snow. This is unexpected." Not having 9 spare vacation hours laying around, I got my happy butt out of bed and began my journey. I arrived at work at 8am after a crawling commute and proceeded to go about my day. At 3pm, I received the following broadcast e-mail:
I'm sorry, is this a joke? How can you possibly tell me that Monday's commute was not just as bad as Wednesday's, when I was in an accident the previous night and a) the temperatures had been below freezing since, and b) the sun had not been out? Furthermore, how are you going to send this e-mail out at three pm, after I've wasted my whole day here?
Having 2.2 hours left to work, I immediately packed up and high-tailed it out of there. Because you must have lost your damn mind if you think I'm not charging as much of that three hours as I can. That said, I am dying to see what they do tomorrow when we get yet another "winter blast".
Update: Would you believe that, at the very minute I posted this story, we received another broadcast e-mail allowing us to use the weather/calamity code on Monday?? I can't win for losing.
And seriously, Texas, what's the deal? I was in a car wreck on Sunday night on a highway ice rink...I mean, on-ramp. I missed work on Monday from a combination of icy road conditions and anxiety from the aforementioned events. Wednesday morning it took me over an hour to get to work because it was snowing-slash-sleeting and also icy. By yesterday evening, we'd thawed out a bit, but tonight it's supposed to start all over again.
The best part of this weather thing is that my company doesn't give us inclement weather provisions. That's right, they'd rather I risk my life and limb to get here, or? If I have it, I'm allowed to take vacation. Oh boy! I'm also explicitly NOT allowed to use pre-approved absence or sick time, of which I'm allotted 5 days a year and rarely use. I knew this on Monday, so I knew the risk I was taking by staying in.
On Wednesday, I looked out the window and said, "Hmm, snow. This is unexpected." Not having 9 spare vacation hours laying around, I got my happy butt out of bed and began my journey. I arrived at work at 8am after a crawling commute and proceeded to go about my day. At 3pm, I received the following broadcast e-mail:
"We’ve experienced an unusual situation this week with two days of snow or ice in the same pay period. Due to today’s conditions, many people arrived at work late or decided to stay at home because of road conditions. With that in mind, we have approved the use of the weather or calamity code by all salaried employees for up to three (3) hours of time missed on Wednesday, Jan. 17...Please note that the code cannot be used retroactively to charge for time missed Monday."
I'm sorry, is this a joke? How can you possibly tell me that Monday's commute was not just as bad as Wednesday's, when I was in an accident the previous night and a) the temperatures had been below freezing since, and b) the sun had not been out? Furthermore, how are you going to send this e-mail out at three pm, after I've wasted my whole day here?
Having 2.2 hours left to work, I immediately packed up and high-tailed it out of there. Because you must have lost your damn mind if you think I'm not charging as much of that three hours as I can. That said, I am dying to see what they do tomorrow when we get yet another "winter blast".
Update: Would you believe that, at the very minute I posted this story, we received another broadcast e-mail allowing us to use the weather/calamity code on Monday?? I can't win for losing.
16 January 2007
It's been seven hours and fifteen days
Every year, somewhere between April and June, I forget one of the greatest loves of my life. It's not until it resurfaces in January that I'm able to recall my obession, and once I do it's all I can do to keep my mind from wandering, dreaming of the next time I can experience it.
I'm talking about Thin Mints. You know those delicious Girl Scout cookies in the green box? That vibrant green is almost as recognizable to me as Tiffany blue is to your average female. And every winter they sit in the back of my freezer with aspirations living to see the spring.
But alas, it's not to be. The great annual tragedy plays out in exactly the same way each time. Upon receipt of the box, I immediately treat myself to one serving (4 cookies, to be exact). I attempt to trick myself into forgetting that they're there, but I'm inevitably back for four more (!!) within the hour. I spend the next 30 minutes feeling guilty (and a little sugar-sick), convince myself to eat something healthy - you know, to balance it out - and then head to the gym for 80 minutes of cardio.
Within eight days, both boxes are diminished to crumbs, and my subconscious says, "Finally!" And really I think that's part of why I eat them so quickly - because if I don't, then I have to deal with the temptation that much longer, and people? I have the resolve of a gnat.
The next week, Target puts their swimsuits out on display. I stand in the dressing room wondering why there's a Stay Puft marshmallow man sticker covering the mirror. It's then, through bitter tears, that Thin Mints and I break up.
It's the most unhealthy relationship that ever was. But nothing compares...nothing compares...to high-fructose-corn-syrup.
I'm talking about Thin Mints. You know those delicious Girl Scout cookies in the green box? That vibrant green is almost as recognizable to me as Tiffany blue is to your average female. And every winter they sit in the back of my freezer with aspirations living to see the spring.
But alas, it's not to be. The great annual tragedy plays out in exactly the same way each time. Upon receipt of the box, I immediately treat myself to one serving (4 cookies, to be exact). I attempt to trick myself into forgetting that they're there, but I'm inevitably back for four more (!!) within the hour. I spend the next 30 minutes feeling guilty (and a little sugar-sick), convince myself to eat something healthy - you know, to balance it out - and then head to the gym for 80 minutes of cardio.
Within eight days, both boxes are diminished to crumbs, and my subconscious says, "Finally!" And really I think that's part of why I eat them so quickly - because if I don't, then I have to deal with the temptation that much longer, and people? I have the resolve of a gnat.
The next week, Target puts their swimsuits out on display. I stand in the dressing room wondering why there's a Stay Puft marshmallow man sticker covering the mirror. It's then, through bitter tears, that Thin Mints and I break up.
It's the most unhealthy relationship that ever was. But nothing compares...nothing compares...to high-fructose-corn-syrup.
11 January 2007
We got to move these refrigerators
So it's January 11th and I think maybe I'll take down my Christmas tree. Man, putting up a Christmas tree is so much work, but at least it's fun to put all the ornaments and lights up. Taking that thing down is just as much work, and it's also B-O-R-I-N-G. If my man-friend's parents weren't coming in town tomorrow, I would probably just leave it up another week. As it is, though, it's kind of embarassing.
It's just that, after coming home from a full day of work (and on Wednesdays, teaching), the last thing I want to do is park myself in a room for 3 hours without furniture or a television and try to fit Christmas lights back in those impossible little boxes. And yes, there is no furniture in my dining room right now, although I did just buy a table. That's what happens when you put the contents of a 700 sqft apartment into a 2000 sqft house: empty.
Well, it's really a choice between empty or impoverished. Not a huge fan of "poor", I've convinced myself that I'm just streamlining a bit. There are currently 2 rooms in my house that are completely unfurnished; that count will rapidly grow to three once my roommate moves to Dallas next month. Well, actually it grows to four, but now I have that table, see? So that means I have a dining room that contains one table, and a kitchen with a big empty spot.
Thinking about this too much could potentially drive me nuts, so I choose to focus on the positive: Less dusting. Eating dinner on the couch. Okay, continuing to eat dinner on the couch. Lower heating and air conditioning bills, once I close off those vents. (Who am I kidding? I probably just won't use heating or air conditioning.) And maybe in a year, I'll have enough money for dining room chairs!
10 January 2007
Friends in low places
Man, sometimes I love the Internet revolution, and other times I think it's more trouble than it's worth. The other day I did something that, even though it's definitely "the right thing to do", still left me feeling mean and guilty. Maybe this friend-site thing just isn't for me. Let me know what you think.
I'm a member of Facebook (it's like MySpace), and a day or so ago I got a friend request from probably the last person I'd ever have expected. Maybe I've told you about this girl...we'll call her Crazy Girl. Several years ago, I met Crazy Girl through a group I used to be involved with. At the beginning of our friendship, we went out to the bar downtown, and, after a series of exceptionally benign events, Crazy Girl tried to leave me stranded at the bar with no ride home. Seriously, she just told our ride as she stormed toward the door, "Let's go, she'll be fine." Our ride was able to convince her to come find me so I could head home with them; when she dropped us off, Crazy Girl immediately called me and proceeded to chew me out.
Her reason? We'd been sitting at the bar when a guy walked in, and she casually mentioned that he was "hot". About two hours later, circumstances led me to talk to said guy, and as it turned out we had a friend in common. This turned into a very serious (and completely platonic) conversation about the friend, which apparently made Crazy Girl crazy jealous. Apparently saying a guy is "hot" and then not approaching or making eye contact with him for two hours means that you've laid claim on him, and that your friend has no business talking to him, even if he steps on her toe.
So I was conflicted as to how to resolve this situation. I mean, I haven't talked to this girl in 2 years, and although we remained friendly thoughout the rest of our time in that group, she's made a huge show of passive-agressive hatred toward me the few times she's seen me since. Why on earth would she want to be friends now?
If you know me, you know I'm nothing if not diplomatic and hyper-concerned about being nice to people. So you'll know, then, how hard it was for me to reject this request.
I sat there for several minutes thinking, "Well that's not really nice to reject a friend request. Maybe she's grown up. What if she thinks I'm a huge bitch for not accepting the request? Does that make her the bigger person?" And then I had an epiphany. I owe this person nothing. She was horrible to me while we were friends, we most likely will never see each other again, and if it weren't for this stupid internet popularity contest, we would never have crossed paths this way. And furthermore? So. What. And now that I think about it, maybe this is just what I needed to break me of my habit of "caring too much".
2007 is the year of CHANGE, baby!
I'm a member of Facebook (it's like MySpace), and a day or so ago I got a friend request from probably the last person I'd ever have expected. Maybe I've told you about this girl...we'll call her Crazy Girl. Several years ago, I met Crazy Girl through a group I used to be involved with. At the beginning of our friendship, we went out to the bar downtown, and, after a series of exceptionally benign events, Crazy Girl tried to leave me stranded at the bar with no ride home. Seriously, she just told our ride as she stormed toward the door, "Let's go, she'll be fine." Our ride was able to convince her to come find me so I could head home with them; when she dropped us off, Crazy Girl immediately called me and proceeded to chew me out.
Her reason? We'd been sitting at the bar when a guy walked in, and she casually mentioned that he was "hot". About two hours later, circumstances led me to talk to said guy, and as it turned out we had a friend in common. This turned into a very serious (and completely platonic) conversation about the friend, which apparently made Crazy Girl crazy jealous. Apparently saying a guy is "hot" and then not approaching or making eye contact with him for two hours means that you've laid claim on him, and that your friend has no business talking to him, even if he steps on her toe.
So I was conflicted as to how to resolve this situation. I mean, I haven't talked to this girl in 2 years, and although we remained friendly thoughout the rest of our time in that group, she's made a huge show of passive-agressive hatred toward me the few times she's seen me since. Why on earth would she want to be friends now?
If you know me, you know I'm nothing if not diplomatic and hyper-concerned about being nice to people. So you'll know, then, how hard it was for me to reject this request.
I sat there for several minutes thinking, "Well that's not really nice to reject a friend request. Maybe she's grown up. What if she thinks I'm a huge bitch for not accepting the request? Does that make her the bigger person?" And then I had an epiphany. I owe this person nothing. She was horrible to me while we were friends, we most likely will never see each other again, and if it weren't for this stupid internet popularity contest, we would never have crossed paths this way. And furthermore? So. What. And now that I think about it, maybe this is just what I needed to break me of my habit of "caring too much".
2007 is the year of CHANGE, baby!
07 January 2007
It's not a habit
Only a week into the new year and I've already fallen behind in my blogging. It's been busy at work, as I've taken on two new, nearly-full time responsibilities within the group. Fortunately one of them is only temporary, but it still finds me at work on a Sunday.
I may have explained before the layout of our building, but to remind you, our office space sits on the mezzanine of a factory. Basically it's a building constructed within another, less classy building. Sometimes this creates problems, because frankly the factory wasn't designed for cushiness. The other day it was pouring down rain outside, which led several of the ceiling tiles around my cube to begin buckling and turning this putrid brown color. At approximately 10am, one fell. Onto a guy. Bringing with it about half a gallon of putrid, brown rain water. And the loss of my appetite for lunch.
Apparently we have yet to report this problem to Facilities, because I walked in this afternoon to a putrid, brown smell. Seriously, this is the foulest stench I've smelled in...well, I did go out drinking with my man-friend and his roommates yesterday, so really it's only been about 12 hours, but BEFORE that, it probably would've been days. And I'm starting to get a headache. Do I get workmans' comp for this?
I may have explained before the layout of our building, but to remind you, our office space sits on the mezzanine of a factory. Basically it's a building constructed within another, less classy building. Sometimes this creates problems, because frankly the factory wasn't designed for cushiness. The other day it was pouring down rain outside, which led several of the ceiling tiles around my cube to begin buckling and turning this putrid brown color. At approximately 10am, one fell. Onto a guy. Bringing with it about half a gallon of putrid, brown rain water. And the loss of my appetite for lunch.
Apparently we have yet to report this problem to Facilities, because I walked in this afternoon to a putrid, brown smell. Seriously, this is the foulest stench I've smelled in...well, I did go out drinking with my man-friend and his roommates yesterday, so really it's only been about 12 hours, but BEFORE that, it probably would've been days. And I'm starting to get a headache. Do I get workmans' comp for this?
03 January 2007
Ants marching
In the usual fashion, I ended 2006 with a bang. Actually it was more like a scream and a jump and a hysterical fit of tears, and it was also entirely unintended. Allow me to elaborate...
On New Year's Eve day, I went to lunch with my man-friend and his friends, one of which is his roommate, who will henceforth be referred to as "the soft one". He...wait, wha-? No, y'all, get your minds out of the gutter, he's just got a very soft personality. I wish there were another word to describe it, but there's just not. I'll introduce you sometime, you'll understand.
Anyway. The soft one drove us all to the eating establishment (it could hardly be categorized as a restaurant), so my man-friend did not bring his keys, assuming that most people keep their house key and their car key in the same place. Apparently this is not true of all humans, though, because we returned to the house to find ourselves locked out.
We'd bought some lottery tickets on the way home, so I sat down on the edge of their porch next to a planter and went to work. I began to scratch...and scratch...and then I began to scratch all over. You see, I had plopped myself right down on a fire ant bed. Even better? I'm allergic to fire ants. Down they crawled into my jeans and down my back, and, folks, you know where this is going.
I immediately jumped up, screaming, "Ants in the pants! Ants in the pants!" and leapt across the porch with my hands down my jeans like a damn fool. The guys had shimmied the garage door up about 2 feet during their break-in attempt, so I ducked inside and peeled my jeans off, screaming and thrashing to get the plague away. Finally I was rescued by my man-friend, who swatted the little buggers away and lent me his sweatpants so that I could drive home without fear of stow-aways. Which raises an important question - just how long did he stand on the porch in his boxers before his other roommate arrived? What a swell guy.
Epilogue: My butt looks like a red-and-white leopard. I've probably overdosed on Benedryl at least two of the last 3 days. But hey - now I have something to remember 2006 by, right?
On New Year's Eve day, I went to lunch with my man-friend and his friends, one of which is his roommate, who will henceforth be referred to as "the soft one". He...wait, wha-? No, y'all, get your minds out of the gutter, he's just got a very soft personality. I wish there were another word to describe it, but there's just not. I'll introduce you sometime, you'll understand.
Anyway. The soft one drove us all to the eating establishment (it could hardly be categorized as a restaurant), so my man-friend did not bring his keys, assuming that most people keep their house key and their car key in the same place. Apparently this is not true of all humans, though, because we returned to the house to find ourselves locked out.
We'd bought some lottery tickets on the way home, so I sat down on the edge of their porch next to a planter and went to work. I began to scratch...and scratch...and then I began to scratch all over. You see, I had plopped myself right down on a fire ant bed. Even better? I'm allergic to fire ants. Down they crawled into my jeans and down my back, and, folks, you know where this is going.
I immediately jumped up, screaming, "Ants in the pants! Ants in the pants!" and leapt across the porch with my hands down my jeans like a damn fool. The guys had shimmied the garage door up about 2 feet during their break-in attempt, so I ducked inside and peeled my jeans off, screaming and thrashing to get the plague away. Finally I was rescued by my man-friend, who swatted the little buggers away and lent me his sweatpants so that I could drive home without fear of stow-aways. Which raises an important question - just how long did he stand on the porch in his boxers before his other roommate arrived? What a swell guy.
Epilogue: My butt looks like a red-and-white leopard. I've probably overdosed on Benedryl at least two of the last 3 days. But hey - now I have something to remember 2006 by, right?
02 January 2007
Let's get together before we get much older
** In honor of Sparks-squared **
Tonight I learned a number of things while sharing brewskies with a couple of old classmates...
1) If you want to pique a guy's interest, flirt with his sister. No really - having a boyfriend, and hence zero interest for said guy, I decided to conduct a sort of social experiment. It's a classic question - why do guys seem to go for bitchy, high-maintenance girls? So I tried to jump out of my mild-mannered skin and assume the personality of a mouthy Dallas babe, acting as obnoxious and pushy as possible. And instead of derailing the guy, it actually (and unfortunately) made him far more interested AND far more agressive. Is that what I was doing wrong in college?
2) Whataburger fries are amazing, and also sobriety-enhancing. No, seriously....within minutes of consumption I could've recited the alphabet in reverse order. We need to start a petition to bring back trans fat and all of its restorative properties.
3) It only takes 25 minutes to get to Keller if you assume total disregard of the law.
4) Not everyone automatically assigns handy nicknames to their exes (i.e., Mr. Personality, Tiny Asian Man, Shoeless Joe). But they should.
5) Drinking 1 beer for every 5 fire ant bites sustained will cause you to eventually lose that itchy feeling. Or any feeling. (Refer to tomorrow's post for more details)
Had a great time, you guys!!
Tonight I learned a number of things while sharing brewskies with a couple of old classmates...
1) If you want to pique a guy's interest, flirt with his sister. No really - having a boyfriend, and hence zero interest for said guy, I decided to conduct a sort of social experiment. It's a classic question - why do guys seem to go for bitchy, high-maintenance girls? So I tried to jump out of my mild-mannered skin and assume the personality of a mouthy Dallas babe, acting as obnoxious and pushy as possible. And instead of derailing the guy, it actually (and unfortunately) made him far more interested AND far more agressive. Is that what I was doing wrong in college?
2) Whataburger fries are amazing, and also sobriety-enhancing. No, seriously....within minutes of consumption I could've recited the alphabet in reverse order. We need to start a petition to bring back trans fat and all of its restorative properties.
3) It only takes 25 minutes to get to Keller if you assume total disregard of the law.
4) Not everyone automatically assigns handy nicknames to their exes (i.e., Mr. Personality, Tiny Asian Man, Shoeless Joe). But they should.
5) Drinking 1 beer for every 5 fire ant bites sustained will cause you to eventually lose that itchy feeling. Or any feeling. (Refer to tomorrow's post for more details)
Had a great time, you guys!!
11 October 2006
It's the end of the world as we know it
Behold, the third horseman of the apocalypse:
http://www.jibbitz.com/
Surely this heralds the end of civilization, when one can find a way to adorn the tackiest shoe ever with even more...well, tack.
Look guys, I know they're comfortable. And they're kind of cute, in that same way that an ugly puppy is cute. I'm even fine with you wearing them to the bar, but only if they're worn ironically, the way my man-friend occasionally wears house shoes downtown.
But please? Don't coordinate them with your outfit. It makes the baby Jesus cry.
http://www.jibbitz.com/
Surely this heralds the end of civilization, when one can find a way to adorn the tackiest shoe ever with even more...well, tack.
Look guys, I know they're comfortable. And they're kind of cute, in that same way that an ugly puppy is cute. I'm even fine with you wearing them to the bar, but only if they're worn ironically, the way my man-friend occasionally wears house shoes downtown.
But please? Don't coordinate them with your outfit. It makes the baby Jesus cry.
02 October 2006
I'm sorry, so sorry
Sorry for the lack of posting recently. My friend, Tom, was in town from Iowa or Omaha or wherever on an extended vacation. The week Tom and his friend, Tye, were here went something like this:
Thursday: (arrived at 10 pm) drink drink drink eat
Friday: drink drink eat drink drink eat drink drink drink drink
Saturday: eat drink drink drink eat drink eat drink drink dance drink
Sunday: eat drink sleep drink eat drink drink drink
Monday: work eat work drink eat drink drink gamble drink eat
Tuesday: work work eat drink drink drink eat
Wednesday: work work teach drink drink drink eat
Oh, and there were approximately 4 hours of sleep in between each of those days, that makes me a tired panda. This all made for a very fun, eventful, and, at times, puzzling week.
Thanks, guys!
Thursday: (arrived at 10 pm) drink drink drink eat
Friday: drink drink eat drink drink eat drink drink drink drink
Saturday: eat drink drink drink eat drink eat drink drink dance drink
Sunday: eat drink sleep drink eat drink drink drink
Monday: work eat work drink eat drink drink gamble drink eat
Tuesday: work work eat drink drink drink eat
Wednesday: work work teach drink drink drink eat
Oh, and there were approximately 4 hours of sleep in between each of those days, that makes me a tired panda. This all made for a very fun, eventful, and, at times, puzzling week.
Thanks, guys!
11 September 2006
Hunger strike
There's an Amy's Organic burrito in the freezer of our supply room, and I think it's mine. I think I brought a bunch of them in a month ago, and I think I just forgot it was still there. But the thing is, I don't know for sure. What are the odds that this burrito is indeed mine?
I think I'd like to eat it, but I worry that it's someone else's, and that eating it would effectively make me "that person who steals peoples' food out of the fridge." True, I work with a bunch of guys who wouldn't know healthy if it bit them in the ample posterior. True, it's my favorite variety (black bean!), and true, I did bring a bunch of them in once.
The part of me that always reacts to stolen lunch stories as, "What compels someone to do that? Do we not get paid enough here that you have to eat my baby carrots?" says wait it out a couple of days. The part of me that feels malnourised is beating that other part of me to a pulp right now.
Where's my fork...?
I think I'd like to eat it, but I worry that it's someone else's, and that eating it would effectively make me "that person who steals peoples' food out of the fridge." True, I work with a bunch of guys who wouldn't know healthy if it bit them in the ample posterior. True, it's my favorite variety (black bean!), and true, I did bring a bunch of them in once.
The part of me that always reacts to stolen lunch stories as, "What compels someone to do that? Do we not get paid enough here that you have to eat my baby carrots?" says wait it out a couple of days. The part of me that feels malnourised is beating that other part of me to a pulp right now.
Where's my fork...?
05 September 2006
My lovely lady lumps
I am perpetually annoyed by the term "baby bump." I think the tabloids have run out of celebrity names to mash up ("TomKat", "Brangelina", etc.) and are moving on to a nobler goal of desecrating the entire English language.
31 August 2006
Kick em when they're up, kick 'em when they're down
Things that suck about an internal promotion:
1) People assume you know everything.
In a role like mine, the responsibilities are so varied and intense that there's no way a person who's been shadowing his predecessor for two months could possibly have absorbed it all by now. Like they love to say on MTV, "You think you know, but you have no idea." This is especially an issue when you're replacing someone with exceptional experience doing that particular job. Two month, twenty years...something was probably lost in the translation.
2) People assume you know nothing.
In the last two days I've gotten so many e-mails from people telling me things I didn't say because I didn't think I needed to say them. Yes, I know that my group's process is different than your group's process, but they're related, so a rule or improvement that applies to us also applies to you. If it didn't? I wouldn't have forwarded it to you.
3) People who should know better tell you to do something, which is ultimately the incorrect thing to do.
The result, of course, is that I look like I don't know what I'm doing, which encourages people to assume list item #2.
...and of course...
4) People tell you it won't be easy to fill the shoes of the person you're replacing.
Cause I hadn't already had several panic attacks about just that. Thanks for the encouragement.
Of course, I'm not upset about any of these things, however frustrating. My new position is fun and exciting, and it suits me perfectly. Overall, I consider these things a small price to pay for world domination.
1) People assume you know everything.
In a role like mine, the responsibilities are so varied and intense that there's no way a person who's been shadowing his predecessor for two months could possibly have absorbed it all by now. Like they love to say on MTV, "You think you know, but you have no idea." This is especially an issue when you're replacing someone with exceptional experience doing that particular job. Two month, twenty years...something was probably lost in the translation.
2) People assume you know nothing.
In the last two days I've gotten so many e-mails from people telling me things I didn't say because I didn't think I needed to say them. Yes, I know that my group's process is different than your group's process, but they're related, so a rule or improvement that applies to us also applies to you. If it didn't? I wouldn't have forwarded it to you.
3) People who should know better tell you to do something, which is ultimately the incorrect thing to do.
The result, of course, is that I look like I don't know what I'm doing, which encourages people to assume list item #2.
...and of course...
4) People tell you it won't be easy to fill the shoes of the person you're replacing.
Cause I hadn't already had several panic attacks about just that. Thanks for the encouragement.
Of course, I'm not upset about any of these things, however frustrating. My new position is fun and exciting, and it suits me perfectly. Overall, I consider these things a small price to pay for world domination.
09 August 2006
Everybody's got something to hide
My friend and I were discussing interview attire today and she passed along a list of guidelines that must have been written in 1964. For example, "Women with longer hair should wear it back so it doesn't become a distraction." A distraction? I'm sorry, if my hair distracts you, perhaps I can interest you in some Ritalin.
Also up for debate: should women wear skirt suits or pant suits to an interview? Oddly enough, the response is overwhelmingly in favor of skirts, and that seems antiquated to me. The skirt suit mandate just reaks of "Don't be afraid to let them see your feminine side!" These rules must've been written by the same women who, in the 80s, advocated pastel pink suits, the boardroom bow, and shoulderpads.
Internal to our company, I'm pretty sure it doesn't matter what you wear. Our last new team member interviewed in a ratty pair of jeans and a sweater from Bill Cosby's Goodwill pile. She was not only poorly dressed but also completely incompetant, and they still hired her! So I encouraged my friend to go in with confidence - and hot pink platform shoes.
Also up for debate: should women wear skirt suits or pant suits to an interview? Oddly enough, the response is overwhelmingly in favor of skirts, and that seems antiquated to me. The skirt suit mandate just reaks of "Don't be afraid to let them see your feminine side!" These rules must've been written by the same women who, in the 80s, advocated pastel pink suits, the boardroom bow, and shoulderpads.
Internal to our company, I'm pretty sure it doesn't matter what you wear. Our last new team member interviewed in a ratty pair of jeans and a sweater from Bill Cosby's Goodwill pile. She was not only poorly dressed but also completely incompetant, and they still hired her! So I encouraged my friend to go in with confidence - and hot pink platform shoes.
07 August 2006
Is there anybody in there?
I just called my homebuilder's home office to check up on a warranty issue. The automated system told me to dial '1' if I wanted the mailing address, or '0' for an operator.
I chose zero, and was forwarded to the operator's voice mailbox. What? Why does an operator need a voice mailbox? Shouldn't she be, like...there?
I chose zero, and was forwarded to the operator's voice mailbox. What? Why does an operator need a voice mailbox? Shouldn't she be, like...there?
21 July 2006
And I think it's gonna be a long long time
My flight from DFW to St Louis last weekend was largely uneventful. I was seated next to two new age intellectuals, both married (not to each other), who insisted on talking the entire time we were in the air.
Among the gems I overheard was the woman saying that her son had her last name and her daughter had her husband's last name. I can see trying to carry on a mother's maiden name if the father has other brothers, sure. Someone explain to me, though, the purpose of giving the daughter the father's last name. I want to understand.
Just as I was giggling at the self-important nature of their overall conversation, the talk gave way to celebrity baby names. Oh my God, I thought, I'm one of them.
I made it off the flight as quickly as I could, for fear of certain assimilation. Running to the gate for my connecting flight to Columbia, MO, I reached the gate just in time to watch our aircraft pull up.
It was a Jetstream. A prop-plane. Prop as in propeller. As in so old it is probably not functional.
I cautiously made my way up the rickety stairs from the tarmac and found my seat. As the other seven passengers took their places, our timid stewardess exclaimed, "You guys can sit wherever you want today - just make sure you balance the weight out over the wing." Really? Is that something you want to leave up to me and Bobby Jo from Huntsville?
After a few minutes, the July heat started leaving visible pit-stains on me and my fellow travelers. I vowed at that time to find and assassinate the guy who chose the faux-leather seat covers over the stain-resistant poly-cotton blend.
So we sat, boiling in our own clothes, and watched our stewardess take out a 5-pound bag of ice and begin throwing it, with excessive force, against the floor of the plane. I assume she was trying to break up the ice, and not our plane, but I can't say for sure. If I just could've gotten my hands on that ice.
Finally we took off on our grand, 30-minute voyage. The air kicked in, leaving me to worry only about the propeller whirling outside the window, three feet from my head. Somewhere in my brain, the pilot of "Lost" fought swiftly for real estate against my trusty book; luckily, David Sedaris is a tough fighter.
Five minutes after beverage service, our trusty flight stewardess walked a trash bag around to collect our cups. What intrigued me most, thought, was what sat in her other hand: a brown paper lunch sack, top rolled over two or three times, filled with an assortment of mints. But not the 500-count assortment you might buy at Walgreens. No no, dear reader. It appears as though this woman, bless her heart, went to every restaurant in the greater St Louis area, collecting handfulls of after dinner mints. We were offered a choice of spearamints, butterscotch candies, logo wrappers claiming I should eat at Joe's, all the penny candy you could ever need.
I shouldn't complain though, at least one part of my body was fresh. Such luxury accommodations at the low, low price of $350. Thanks a lot, Osama. I think next time I'll take the bus.
Among the gems I overheard was the woman saying that her son had her last name and her daughter had her husband's last name. I can see trying to carry on a mother's maiden name if the father has other brothers, sure. Someone explain to me, though, the purpose of giving the daughter the father's last name. I want to understand.
Just as I was giggling at the self-important nature of their overall conversation, the talk gave way to celebrity baby names. Oh my God, I thought, I'm one of them.
I made it off the flight as quickly as I could, for fear of certain assimilation. Running to the gate for my connecting flight to Columbia, MO, I reached the gate just in time to watch our aircraft pull up.
It was a Jetstream. A prop-plane. Prop as in propeller. As in so old it is probably not functional.
I cautiously made my way up the rickety stairs from the tarmac and found my seat. As the other seven passengers took their places, our timid stewardess exclaimed, "You guys can sit wherever you want today - just make sure you balance the weight out over the wing." Really? Is that something you want to leave up to me and Bobby Jo from Huntsville?
After a few minutes, the July heat started leaving visible pit-stains on me and my fellow travelers. I vowed at that time to find and assassinate the guy who chose the faux-leather seat covers over the stain-resistant poly-cotton blend.
So we sat, boiling in our own clothes, and watched our stewardess take out a 5-pound bag of ice and begin throwing it, with excessive force, against the floor of the plane. I assume she was trying to break up the ice, and not our plane, but I can't say for sure. If I just could've gotten my hands on that ice.
Finally we took off on our grand, 30-minute voyage. The air kicked in, leaving me to worry only about the propeller whirling outside the window, three feet from my head. Somewhere in my brain, the pilot of "Lost" fought swiftly for real estate against my trusty book; luckily, David Sedaris is a tough fighter.
Five minutes after beverage service, our trusty flight stewardess walked a trash bag around to collect our cups. What intrigued me most, thought, was what sat in her other hand: a brown paper lunch sack, top rolled over two or three times, filled with an assortment of mints. But not the 500-count assortment you might buy at Walgreens. No no, dear reader. It appears as though this woman, bless her heart, went to every restaurant in the greater St Louis area, collecting handfulls of after dinner mints. We were offered a choice of spearamints, butterscotch candies, logo wrappers claiming I should eat at Joe's, all the penny candy you could ever need.
I shouldn't complain though, at least one part of my body was fresh. Such luxury accommodations at the low, low price of $350. Thanks a lot, Osama. I think next time I'll take the bus.
05 July 2006
They're coming to take me away
I am puzzled this morning by the appearance of a dry erase board in my cubicle. Despite having worked here for 4 years and having always secretly wanted one, I have never actually requested one. Honestly? I thought I was in the wrong cube for a second.
So here is my dilemma: Do I use this nice, shiny white board before I discover its origin? I feel like I'm the subject in a bizarre social experiment. I suppose it's only a matter of time before the men in white coats arrive....
So here is my dilemma: Do I use this nice, shiny white board before I discover its origin? I feel like I'm the subject in a bizarre social experiment. I suppose it's only a matter of time before the men in white coats arrive....
21 June 2006
Constant craving
The thing I like about "raisin spice"-flavored oatmeal is that I can trick myself into thinking I'm eating an oatmeal raisin cookie.
Delicious. On with the show.
Back in my days as a pro cheerleader, I used to attend a lot of PR events; sign autographs, kiss babies, that sort of thing. One day at an event, a man walked up to me with his wife and kids.
"Hey, I know you. You work at [large aeronautics company west of town]."
I pulled the tablecloth over my exposed midriff and answered affirmatively. "I do, do you work up on the factory mezzanine, too?"
"No, ma'am. I'm a crane operator."
Of course, he was referring to the giant ceiling-mounted cranes used to move heavy aircraft components from one end of the plant to the other.
And of course, I now only wear crew-neck shirts.
Delicious. On with the show.
Back in my days as a pro cheerleader, I used to attend a lot of PR events; sign autographs, kiss babies, that sort of thing. One day at an event, a man walked up to me with his wife and kids.
"Hey, I know you. You work at [large aeronautics company west of town]."
I pulled the tablecloth over my exposed midriff and answered affirmatively. "I do, do you work up on the factory mezzanine, too?"
"No, ma'am. I'm a crane operator."
Of course, he was referring to the giant ceiling-mounted cranes used to move heavy aircraft components from one end of the plant to the other.
And of course, I now only wear crew-neck shirts.
13 June 2006
Just can't get enough
It is so cold in my office today that I considered stuffing a baked potato down my sweater at lunch, for warmth. Yes, I said sweater. It's June in North Texas, and I have to wear a sweater to work for fear of frostbite. The worst part about this is that we've had such consistantly beautiful weather that the top is down on my Jeep, which leaves me to roast on the afternoon drive home. Wool and sweat don't mix, folks, they just don't.
I can't understand why the temperatures in this building have to be set at "Sub-Arctic" year-round. Is someone breeding penguins downstairs? It's going to be horrible when I celebrate the 4th of July with a raging case of pnemonia.
Random funny video of the day.
I can't understand why the temperatures in this building have to be set at "Sub-Arctic" year-round. Is someone breeding penguins downstairs? It's going to be horrible when I celebrate the 4th of July with a raging case of pnemonia.
Random funny video of the day.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)