What's A Nice Girl Like Me Doing In A Place Like This? Picture this: a cubeless arrangement of side-by-side desks flat as an open plain. Only there isn't any scenery to immerse myself in. There's just mounds of work and a wasteland of dull-eyed worker-monkeys pushing paper. I'd kinda hoped to make the best of things. But, no one talks to me and it is very noticeable that I am being grossly ignored. Un-blessed ennui and a pile which I putter through as the hours drag on. I try my very best to be sociable. I really, really do. But I guess senses of humor are hard to come by at least in such automaton locations. I miss my old Boss and my co-workers. I'm afraid that I'll never meet such a kind, professional bunch again. And hello...I've paid my dues. Why in the heck do I have to keep on paying?! American Idle: So what I understand is that going back to temping is kind of like having talons stuck in your side. You're treated as though you're not human and as if you don't have any feelings. Some people talk down to you as though you can't understand English. I knew this going in, so I have found ways to amuse myself. When the Boss isn't looking, I check my emails. I send notes to some old buddies and maintain a few contacts. I take a gazillion breaks and since there really is no place to go (except around in a circle) I have invented a creative game. My first break consists of either a trip to the cafeteria for water, tea, or a snack. I take the long way down a long, endless corridor that kills about 10-15 minutes if I walk really, really slow. My second break is usually after a rather tedious stretch of time where I do entries in a system that is riddled with duplicate invoices and errors. Since I am a temp I am not supposed to care, but somehow I do. I have already tried (in vain) holding mediocre conversations with various people but that doesn't seem to work since the people who I'm addressing appear to have never graduated high school. A conversation can easily go like this: Me - Wow, it's so cold out. Them - Yeah. Me - I hear that it won't go higher than 30 degrees today. Them - Umm Hmm. Me (after an uncomfortable silence) So...did you hear about the Isaac Hayes controversy? Them - The what? Me - Y'know...on South Park? Them - I don't watch South Park OR What's that? Me - A cartoon on Comedy Central? Them - Oh. I never watched that. Me (switching to current events) - What a horrible thing...Dana Reeve's death, huh? Them - Who? Me - Nevermind. Them - What? Me - Nothing. Them (giving me a weird look). Conversation over. My second break is usually to go to the bathroom. By now I have to go, having had that tea on my first break. Again, I take the long way there; smiling at passersby who appear to be confused by my high spirits. I guess "gloom-and-doom" face works better. Today though, I had the pleasure of overhearing a quote which was almost like an inside joke/gift to myself. The quote: "I be trying to act smart." Now you have been let in on the joke. Endless laughs forever...ok maybe not forever, but at least a good long while. Condescending Down A Spiral Staircase: So last week, I actually received a mini-conversation from my direct Supervisor (who is my Boss but hasn't yet earned the right to be titled such). You know why I have such an underlying disgust for this creature? Because he's condescending. Very. It reminds me of an old Dilbert cartoon where Dilbert's Boss says, "Come over here and let me pat your head in a condescending way..." I always laughed at that one, except is isn't so funny when one is actually living it. The man hasn't said two words to me for over two weeks and yet decided to engage me in conversation that didn't even deal with anything I'd learned or how I was doing. Nope. But first, let me give you a little background: the "Boss" is new. He loves to mention it to anyone within earshot. It usually comes in the form of phrases like, "I'm new" or "I've only been here a few months" or "I haven't been here very long". In other words, he's the new guy and that buys him a few more months of not having to learn anything. In addition to not knowing anything about his function, this guy goes on and on about, "THE BIG PICTURE!" No, really. I think he even used the words: "big picture". Because this guy is the worst of all--this guy is THE CONDESCENDING IDIOT. Quickly, to the Batmobile, Robin! What is a condescending idiot, you may ask? Well, at every job you'll have at least one. The person who thinks that whatever he/she's doing is way below him/her. There are "grander scale" issues and "larger tasks" at hand, like the character of Robin in the Batman comic book series. He's the guy that is really just Batman's sidekick, but still envies The Caped Crusader. That's right. Poor Robin would much rather achieve some kind of greatness by kicking (*POW!*) Batman out of the way and (*WHAM!*) stepping over his bloody corpse to become the defender of Gotham City. The rude condescension is just the icing on the cake. Just like The Joker, my "Boss" talks at me and not to me. He has a tendency to assume that I'm an idiot and speaks in small, annoying sentences as if he's teaching a child. Worse, I think he believes that he is the greatest, fairest guy in all the land. But, he's not. He's just rude and clown-like. *Cue Big Top Ringling Bros Circus music here* But it could've been worse. He could have been more like a diabolical con on the mission to take over the world a la Lex Luther. I guess I lucked out, after all.

Pounding Pavement ...life on the street. A truly difficult undertaking when regarding a young, aspiring artist and her journey into the wonderful world of adulthood. Step #1: Finding a job to pay for her art supplies. The motive is to get the girl motivated. NOT AN EASY TASK. She's the most stubborn, hard-headed, lazy riot grrl in existence. Even though I think that it's just part of the process, part of me just wishes I could shake her until she gives in. So here are the notable feet which represent this divine moment in every girl's life. We all need to be pushed a little, coaxed a little. Sometimes, we need to be shoved really, really hard. But the result is always the same: confidence and excellence. I know that with this guidance, Sara will shine. But, I have to convince THE POWERS THAT BE (namely, Carlos) that this is going to come out right. He's less-than-convinced. So yesterday, Eli, her protege and myself hiked it out. The goal: to attain multiple applications from various establishments reaching our ultimate goal...employment. It was cold. So cold out that my ears were screaming for earmuffs that I usually hate to wear. Not even my favorite striped sweater really helped me feel warm or fuzzy. Ugh! We didn't venture far, but we managed to have more than a few laughs watching the wheels of Sara's mind turn for the first time. After one such sitting, filling out a rather detailed application, she came up to us with her face beet-red. She concentrated so hard, her face resembled a candied apple. It brought me back to that first time, y'know? I'm sure everyone can relate to the horrors of the application process, but it made me stronger and more determined to find-- and then keep--a job. Now, as she walked first trepidatiously then more surely, I felt a sincere full-circle vibe. Eli commented on that feeling, too. She laughed and recalled her first experiences pounding pavement in search of the elusive job. I know. I was with her all those years ago. I pushed and poked and prodded. You see, Eli was about as hard a sell as Sara now is. But we can all learn from those humble beginnings. Perseverance DOES pay off. Parisian Charm and A Piece of Pie: Later on, we needed a break so we stopped at a charming little eatery called: Chez Marie. Not only did Tom Cruise stop in when he filmed "War of the Worlds" but The Village Voice named it one of the best restaurants in NJ. I enjoyed a cup o'Joe and Eli scarfed down a slice of carrot cake while Sara attacked a piece of Raspberry cake. Yummy! If ever you're looking for a great ambience, friendly service, and a feel like Paris (though I myself have never been), then stop on by. Tell 'em who sent ya. Okay, okay. Enough with the commercials and shameless promotions... "Vote for Pedro!"

Why Do I Love Crap? Let me count the ways... I love thee for the ability to entertain my senses. I was just mulling over a sound on FMU radio station and realized that I love...crap. The crappier, the better. I actually listened as they played the THX sound over and over. For anyone who knows, it's like the Memorex sound that comes on DVD's announcing Digital Surround Sound capability, but I actually listened to it. And the radio DJs actually listened to it, because they played it. Then, in a crap-tacular event, I was flipping channels and stopped on a UFO sighting video marathon on one of those Discovery Channel stations which speculated and showed crappy footage that I've seen a million and one times, and yet...I couldn't tear myself away. I actually stayed tuned in. Why do I love crap so much?? Huh??

An Old Office Favorite: The Blabbermouth: You've probably met this type before. Perhaps like the Sasquatch, you've even come across them in your woodland travels from desk to cubicle. The Blabbermouth, much like the office hummer, can be easily identified with the following list of telltale signs:

1. Incessant Phone Usage - The Blabbermouth overindulges on the company phone because, hey, he/she isn't footing the bill. One can overhear the Blabbermouth's entire life experience and social history just from their use of this medium. What's the point in living life if no one else is listening to your personal experiences firsthand?
2. Crazy Loud Laughter - The Blabbermouth loves to do things BIG. BIG and GREEDY. So why not top boisterous chatter with equally boisterous laughter? It's the gift that keeps on giving...
3. Sharp Outcries - Y'know that audio message preceeding a movie that says, "Talking may be annoying to the people around you...Please be considerate--DON'T TALK!" The Blabbermouth has obviously never paid attention to this message. The outcries may be gleeful as in, "Oh! My! Gosh, Becky! You're getting married?? Eek!" to outcries of annoyance, "DAMN!" or the outcry of incredulity, "She said what about your hair?!" Either way, the outcry never really matches any real sentiment. It is all for show.
4. Occasional Lowering of the Voice - In moments of true crisis one must always be aware and self-conscious that, no matter how many curse words were blurted out randomly and inappropriately before, decorum at work must be kept at all times. This is when the muffled voice is key. Forget the sharp outcry from a moment ago. Some things must be kept secret. And if you believe that, The Blabbermouth has a bridge they'd like to sell you.
5. Talking So Fast It'll Make Your Head Spin - HowmuchcanIsayinrun-onsentencesoastobeabletogeteverythingIhavetosayineventhoughwhatTheBlabbermouthhastosayisawholelotofnothing? Right.
6. Feigning A Feeling - It is the job of The Blabbermouth to have a listening audience within audible distance. Therefore, pretend shock and awe (when not really shocked or awed) is a vital part of the game. Most phrases will begin: "Oh my God, really?!..." and end in: "I can't believe that he said that to his wife!" Of course, in Jersey City, the ending is liable to be more jaded: "...and that's why he was arrested??" The Blabbermouth is also prone to use facial expressions mimicking actual human feelings. Beware! Do not fall victim to this scheme! It is only a cry for attention and just the excuse The Blabbermouth needs to...well...blab.

If you spot a Blabbermouth in the workplace, please contact the authorities. If the offender is apprehended, you can get the satisfaction that a horrible cliche has been taken off the streets. That is all.

Conditions Are Partly Cloudy: I don't always know the direction in which I am going. Spent two days in The Windy City, forgot to bring my camera, was dealing with a bad cold, and got my period while on the dang business trip. The week was going to be depressing anyway since this was my final week at the job. Not exactly the best feeling in the world. The plane ride was surprisingly smoothe both ways, though. I guess that was good. On my cab ride to the hotel, I was reminded at how much Chicago reminds me of New Jersey. Only a cleaner, better version. Maybe it's the wider streets. Maybe it's the alleyways (where they dispose of garbage). Don't know. All I know is that I have a lot on my plate. A lot. Stuff I can't even mention on my blog because...well...some freak might be reading this and maybe planning ways on how to dispose of me. At least, that's what the myspace controversy is telling people. Worry. Mayhem thanks to some freakshows who probably can't get laid but want to mess with people just because it's easier than getting mental help. The Remains of the Day: Development in the downtown Chicago area has gone forward as planned, it seems. A lot that I remembered has changed in those three years! I thoroughly enjoyed my time there. And let it be said that the "meat presentation" at Gibson's was entertaining and refreshing. If you're ever there: pay them a visit. It's great stuff! And if you're lookin' for a Jersey feel, try Jilly's with the voice of Frank Sinatra cranking over the sound system. And if you're lucky, the piano that you're laying your drink on, may finally be played right in front of you. Along with a Sinatra sound-a-like. But what I really enjoyed was the company. My Chicago Finance friends: "GK4", Kerry, "Stern-o", "Yippers", TM, Brenda, MM, & Amy . As for the whole two representatives of Finance Team HS, there's me (center) and "Budge" (bottom right). I think Sinatra said it best: "Chicago is my kind of town!" I'm gonna miss you all...Love, Mema.

Sometimes you just have to worry about the grout The other day, I was sick with worry. I sat in front of my pc pondering the meaning of life, wondering where I’d be in the next few months (job-free) and sulking to my heart’s content. I went to a bad place, a very bad place. On the verge of tears and self-pity, good ole Carlos showed up and began talking up a storm: exasperated. Carlos - “Babe, I’m almost finished with the closet. Do you want me to put those shelves up in the kitchen? Because I want what you want. Let me know if you like that idea. If not, let me know. Oh, and the painter’s finished the grout in the bathroom. Go check…” Me - “Where is my life going? What’re we going to do?” Carlos - “Relax, babe. Okay, listen…the painter wants to start on painting the bathroom and then we’ll lay down the floor tile…and…” Me - (sigh) “I mean look at me, Carl. I’m thirty-two years old and about to lose my job–” Carlos - “Babe, it’ll be alright.” Me - “But how do you know that? We have so much to do in this apartment.” Carlos - (looking pensive) “You know, we can put those two smaller cabinets in the corner and replace the water-cooler.” Me - “Are you listening to me?” Carlos - “Babe, but these are your decisions. I want this apartment to look the way you want.” Me - “I trust your judgement.” Carlos - “That’s not right, y’know? All of this stuff is what I said I was gonna do and I’m gonna do it. As for all that other stuff, you want me to do…what? Everything will be alright when I get this apartment fixed. I’m doing this for you, babe.” Me - “I know. But I’m so worried…” Carlos - “Don’t worry about those things. I’ll take care of it. So do you want those shelves that I showed you? C'mere…I put them in a corner in the kitchen.” Carlos walks over and holds them up. Carlos - ”Do you like them?” Me - (walking towards the kitchen) “They’re nice.” Carlos - “…because if you don’t, I’ll get rid of ‘em.” Me - “No, no, that’s okay.” Carlos - “Maybe you’ll help me put them up later?” I mumbled something under my breath and I stopped listening to him for a minute. I was actually marvelling at Carlos’s inability to sink into depression. He just doesn’t worry about things like that. And as I mulled over the future and all of life’s uncertainties, I realized what I should be wasting my energies on. The only stuff that really matters is the day-to-day. Sometimes, you just have to worry about dinner or calling your mom just to see how she’s doing. It’s the little things that you take for granted. The little insignificant things that make the world go ’round. Maybe losing my job was God’s way of saying–slow down. We spend so much time worrying about where we are in the universe, that the dishes pile up in the sink. We focus on the inconvenience of our morning commutes without thinking that maybe we can take those extra moments to smell the roses. You can actually acknowledge the things that you’ve missed or overlooked. It’s all around you.You may not be able to control your life, but hey, you can control grout. That’s what it’s all about.

Riding the Oscar Wagon I didn’t see Crash, but I “broke”-down (pardon the pun) to see Brokeback Mountain.First off, Carlos just didn’t want to see this movie. Not because of the gay theme, but because he felt that he would be bored by a “paced” movie. He also said that he didn’t want to ruin his view of cowboys. Coming from the John Wayne era of Westerns, I could see his point. So I left him home. I went with my mom. I was pleasantly surprised at how beautifully filmed this movie is. It was believable, committed, subtle, and it left just enough inference, respecting the audience. I really hate films that “dumb” difficult subject matter down assuming that the audience is filled with slack-jawed yokels who don’t understand the concept of voluntary suspension of disbelief. “Ain’t that Heath Ledger? And ain’t he dating the woman that’s in the movie? Ain’t she preggers with his baby? What’s he doin’ in a gay movie?” Now even though I’m sure some of these people still exist, I wouldn’t want to be around ‘em when I’m watching this film. There’s a whole ritual that I undergo when watching movies, but that’s another entry. For now, let’s focus on the greatness that is Brokeback.First off, this movie is subtle. It doesn’t (contrary to the conservative’s belief) shove homosexuality down your throat. It isn’t traditional, but it is a love story. The sweeping landscapes, the longing, the awkwardness, the interludes are all the same as any love story. But more so, there is a distance here that cannot exist in say, a Meg Ryan romantic comedy. Longing is an understatement because these men are not only bound by a society that doesn’t accept any love between two men, but especially not cowboys. I mean, it may be okay to dress up like one to sing, “YMCA”, or to wear chaps in a cliched-pseudo-sexual-homo-erotic movie, but not in classic Western. Cowboys are always depicted as such “men’s” men thanks to Turner Classic movies and Marlboro ads. That’s why despite myself and my progressiveness, I still cringed when these two wrestled each other in a tent. It was the first time that a same-sex relationship–among cowboys–was treated with honesty on the silver screen. They could have been any other couple roughing it out there on a mountainside.

The Vocal Stylings of the Weekend Crew There is a new most unpleasant, habitual entertainment that I did not sign up for when I moved. I experienced just a bit of it before when I commented about the late-night warblings of drunken skunks in the bar below me. Hey, that’s what makes the rent cheap. On a normal day, the alcoholics keep it down to a low roar. That’s cool. It is sort of a respectful way of saying, “Hey, it’s the weekday and we all gotta live here.” Cohabitation is what makes the world go ’round. But I know that utopic bliss doesn’t go far when you live in New Jersey. And I also know that it’s a pub and some drunken escapades are warranted. It’s like going to a concert. You sort of subscribe to the fact that some people will be foolish and over-indulge. Same here. I got it. TRUST ME. The Rolling Stones used to be my favorite band: Apparently, the alcoholics enjoy the beautiful melody, “Angie”. A lot. Try over and over at various intervals. Ad nauseum. Then, add the vocal stylings of some random drunken alley cat and now you understand the horror, the horror!!! There is a sunny side, though. If you get tired of the guy who’s belting out “Angie”, there’s always the more sedate mumbling ballad, “Yellow” by Coldplay. Hell, they’ll even play the whole CD for you for free! Yippee! Yeah, nothing like listening to the smoothe sound of Coldplay at three-in-the-morn! What I’m surprised not to hear is more Bon Jovi, Billy Joel, and Bruuuuuucccceee!!!!!!!! I guess they wore the heck out of the jukebox CD. Boo and/or hiss.

He’s not just a hummer: Now I know I’ve described the gentleman before who enjoys (ugh!) humming to his heart’s content. Well, now I’ve discovered some other random annoying talents (if you can call them that). No, it would be too restrictive for this man to have only one skill. This guy’s an artist! He cannot be a mere hummer! He must also excel at such things as “Phrasology” and “Random Outbursts” as well as “desk tapping”! Yes, ladies and gentlemen, this guy DOES IT ALL! He’s a desktop virtuoso!There’s no level to which he wouldn’t stoop, no mountain that he couldn’t climb to reach (that’s right) excellence. He is an American hero; an icon of the Age of Creativity; a poster-child for amateur underachievers everywhere. Just watch as he mesmerizes onlookers with the speed and precision of his tapping hands! How can one’s ability to tap “Bohemian Rhapsody” or Van Halen’s “Jump” be so overlooked? Words like, “mediocre” and “passe” could never apply to such renditions! But, just sitting near this guy will cause you hours of extended (aggravation) bliss as you realize that the tapping isn’t all he’s about. No. That’s where the (pain) fun begins! This guy can say things like: “Heavens to Mergetroid!” or ”Good Gosh!”. His mere presence showers those around him with the (chilling) exciting feeling that they have come in contact with a demi-god. No one can rock harder than a desk “tap” specialist! Get ready to be shocked and (annoyed) amazed. If he were a performing monkey, he’d deserve a banana. C’mon. Give it to ‘im folks!

Foiled by a Futon Picture this: an unseasonably warm winter day which sets the stage for my moving (long past ~ thank goodness). So I’m trying to figure out how in the heck I’m going to deal with: a) a moving truck which was smaller than I expected b) a hired hand that was neither handy nor cooperative c) independently moving with little-to-no-help (See “b”). I began trying, in vain, to move small boxes which I made the fatal mistake of overstuffing with random everyday items like pots, pans, books. Thus, the boxes wouldn’t close shut making the stacking process for the van near impossible. Not to mention that the shape of these aforementioned boxes were all sorts of weird and inconvenient. Think oblong rectangles and loose (like prepared for recycable bins). Argh! *Note: In my defense, this was my first and (hopefully) last move for a very, very, very long time. Okay, so I’m still attempting to over-stuff already heavy and complex trapezoidal Chinese origami-like boxes to prepare them to be further stacked, shoved, and squeezed into a mini-van. You get the picture. Not exactly smoothe sailing…It is decided that since the small stuff was getting to be worrisome, that the bigger stuff would be saved for later on. Among the larger items? You guessed it: my bulky futon. *Note: I was and am not a futon fan. Ever. The reason for the purchase had to deal with Sara moving in with us. We needed a place for her to sleep.I am so glad to be able to say that out loud: I AM NOT A FUTON FAN. Being an American in America affords me that right. But onto the futon… It arrived in the second run of our move. By then, our “helper” decided to bail, bums were offering–you heard me–BUMS were offering to help move us, which resulted in frustration for all involved. It did however give me a giggle when one of the bums kept repeating to Sara over and over: “Stay in school and get an education. I’m serious. Don’t end up like these bums here.” I don’t think he included himself in the same breath as a bum (even though that’s what he was) because he kept mentioning how he was a Vietnam Vet and all. I think all bums in Jersey City have used this excuse at least once in their lives to justify their reasons for being bums. The funny part is?! They’re still–that’s right–BUMS!!!Trust me on this one.I grabbed hold of the one end of the futon and Carlos had gotten a rather big and tall friend to help pick up the other end. The problem was that it was hard maneuvering it through the doorways. A split-second decision was made (which in retrospect was THE WORST DECISION EVER) to disassemble a portion of the “dang” futon to get it to fit. Well, we moved it in two pieces; ever mindful that eventually we would have to re-assemble the monster.Later on that evening, while Sara was whining about it being late and having to get to sleep or whatever, Carlos had said that I should wait until he returned in order to assemble it. I, however, have never responded well to orders, suggestions, or the belief that I am not every woman and that it’s not all in me. This proved to be a mistake, of course. With Sara’s aid, I still could only manage getting one of the sides to fit in the base of the futon. Whenever we tried to manipulate the other side, a series of banging, pinching and pain began. After trying it out for a solid hour, I realized that I’d been bested. By a futon. Ugh. Needless to say, Carlos had to offer his delightful help the next day. If it weren’t for his manly-man strength, I swear I don’t know what I’d do. Only I can’t ever directly admit to that and if someone presents this blog entry as evidence, I will deny, deny, deny. Hey, it’s worked for The President…

Y’know life is real hard for a pimp I haven’t written because I’ve been sick. Sick with a cold from the seventh circle of Hell. So I haven’t been up to posting or feeling all cool and cutesy. Turns out life is real hard…for a pimp. Not to compare my life to street corner hustlers or anything. Just thought that after the Oscar upset of the century, the title would seem fitting. Despite my better judgement, I came in to work today. I also am bummed because it’s my last week working here and I’ll also be travelling to Chicago this week and I feel that if this cold from Hades doesn’t let up, it may prove to be all yucky and ilky for my trip. Despite that, I’m hoping to have fun. Whoopee. Hooray. For some reason, I was all emotional this morning. I read Jam’s blog and got even more depressed. I wanted to share my woeful feeling in a poem I had written, but I can’t find it. That furthers the bum. Maybe I should eat. The fact that I have an appetite should account for something. Right? Right? I guess it’s time to clock the ho’s.

World Peace, Hunger and the Bendy ID This particular post came about as a result of my recent obsessive behavior. Basically, I’m all stressed out. So when I am feeling all tied up in knots on the inside, I start getting all hypochondriac-ey and unusually obsessed with stupid things. I also get moody, argumentative, pensive, weird, spastic and other fun stuff. Which brings me to the title of this post. To add to the fun, access to my floor was stripped from me on the first. When I went to use my building ID pass, I was DENIED. So, needless to say, it wasn’t a good way to start off the month. Then, the cheap plastic material they used to create my ID, began to bend over the course of the day. Ugh!! Historically, it has been my custom to wander into my boss’s office in these times of stress, if for no other reason than to annoy him with my petty trifles. Hence, my Boss responded in the way he knows how. He made fun of me. Hence, the title of this entry. He always says I have a tendency to amplify life’s issues and make it ALL ABOUT ME. I can’t argue. I guess I am self-absorbed. I can’t help it. So yeah. World Peace? Who cares. Hunger? I laugh in the face of hunger. But the Bendy ID?? Now that’s important…to the Bat-cave, Robin! Alert the media! And while you’re at it, can you get me a sandwich? Thanks.