Writer's Block
I think I'm starting to run out of things to write....
I could tell you that I think I'm addicted to chewing gum. I chew, on average, a pack a day. Thank goodness it's provided to me free at work. The (not-really-that) funny thing is that I get bored of chewing the gum after about a minute so I spit it out. About 5 minutes after that I pop in a new piece. My mouth seems to crave flavour. I have about 4 different half empty (or is it half full...) beverages on my desk going at any given moment. Popsicles are great to quench this type of craving. Food doesn't cut it.
I could tell you that I am a big klutz. Some may call me a spaz, but I like to think of myself as just a little clumsy. For example, this morning I spilt coffee on my desk. I righted the overturned cup, but as I stood up to wipe up the coffee, I tipped the cup over again. I righted it once more, but as I reached over for some more kleenex, that's right, I pushed the damn cup over and the last of the coffee fell out. For those watching, it looks like an elaborate stunt for the quirky character on a sit-com.
I could tell you that I have a very selective memory. I will remember that I have to tell my boss something of some importance, get distracted, forget to tell him until I've arrived home for the evening, obsess about it all night long, and then remember when I'm at work that I have to tell him the something but I cannot for the life of me remember what that something is. However, I do remember that you are a genetically more like your mother than your father because all of the mitochondria you possess comes from the egg. (The mitochondrion - which creates energy - in the sperm is in the tail which falls off once the sperm is successfully embedded in the egg.) This was a bonus question on a grade 11 biology test.
Well, I guess there were a couple of thing I could write about....
Keepin' it cool and low
brow
Warning: Active Volcano
A friend recently read my latest entries and replied with a "boy, you are an angry person!" I didn't believe it so I re-read those last 4 or so posts, and dang!, she is absolutely right!
When I'm arguing with a person and I just won't let it go (because I'm stubborn to boot!). I can see I'm being unreasonable in my mind's eye. Yet, I still cannot seem to control it. But as G.I. Joe used to say, "knowing is half the battle." Which is true to some extent, since when I was younger I really didn't see it, and now that I do I know it's a trait I need to work on changing.
That being said, it doesn't change the fact that I am indeed an angry and bitter young-ish woman. When I was little I used to bottle everything up inside. Heck! I was doing that up until about 8 years ago! So, now when I vent, I'm probably venting a little bit about something that happened to me 15 years ago. As you can tell, I don't bottle anymore. But, I also hate confrontation. The result is that I end up spewing my vile out by recounting the offensive events to my friends over the phone later that night.
Have I ever told you that I have
GREAT friends?
Don't cork me up!
lowbrow
If A Tree Falls In The Forest, Does It Make A Sound?
Some of you who know about the blog, some of the
six of you (ha!), have been asking me lately if I've posted any new, well, posts. My reply has been, "Why? Have you read my blog since I first announced it?" The answer is always a resounding NO. So, then I ask you, well, what's the point?
Not so much, "What's the point in my writing in my blog?," as, "What's the point in asking?" Okay, scratch that. I'm lying. Per my usual instinct to blame others before myself, it is actually a little bit, "What's the point in writing?"
I have to admit, most of the joy in writing a blog for me is the knowledge that someone else might be reading it. I like an audience. Pure and Simple. I've always thought that I'd do well writing a column for a fluffy magazine. Forgive my immodesty, but I think I am quite entertaining. I know the 6 of you think it too. Either that, or you're all lying to me! However, you all have also said that it was entertaining because you know me. I write as I speak, so when you read it you hear me reading it to you. I think the ultimate test would be for someone who didn't know me to read the blog and tell me whether or not they thought it was entertaining. Or at least a not-so-horrible way to waste a couple of minutes every day. So, please feel free to spread the word!
When I admit that I want to work for a magazine, people always say, "Well, why don't you?" I always make up excuses (I am a professional excuse-maker! An
excuser if you will...), like, "They always ask for a jounalism degree and wild mustangs could not drag me back to school!" Or, "I'm not thaaaat interested...." But what it comes down to is this: Fear. Hmmmm...I guess the best way to describe it is with a "Friends" analogy:
Chandler & Joey tell Rachel that the only way to get out of the comfort zone of working at the coffee house and really go after what she wants, a career in fashion, is to quit her job even though she has no prospects.
Chandler & Joey: You need the FEAR.
Rachel (to Chandler): Well, you work in a job you hate, why don't you quit and get 'the FEAR.'
Chandler: Oh, no, I'm TOO afraid!
Well ladies and gents, I'm Chandler. It's not that I hate my job, I actually like it at times, it's just that I need a change of atmosphere. My problem is that I'm too afraid to move so I'll just sit here, write my blog, and choke on the fog that is my life....
www.monster.com
Waiting For Godot
I was driving home from dinner the other night when I got stuck in parade traffic.
Pet Peeve #3: Waiting in line.
I HATE waiting in line, whether it's standing in line for the bank teller or sitting in traffic. It drives me absolutely nuts! Now this seems somewhat out of character for me, n'est pas? I'm a big fat lazy cat that walks about as fast as a fly in molasses, as the saying goes. I'm almost never in any rush to do anything and can easily spend the entire day on my couch watching the tele. I don't even wear a watch for goodness sakes! (I own 5 but never wear any of them. I have a bit of a shopping problem...but that's a whole other set o' blogs....) But for some unfathomable reason the act of waiting turns me into some kind of maniac. I cannot even imagine what those passing me in the opposite direction must have thought. I was screaming at the top of my lungs (I keep the windows closed when I do that. Yes, I've done it more than once...) and banging on the steering wheel (all the while being very careful not to honk the horn....I may have "road rage," but I'm a considerate ragist) and just generally acting like a stark raving lunatic. I can't stand going to the bank or the doctor or ticket box offices. I'm one of those types of people they parody in sit-coms: hopping from one foot to another, leaning over to the side to look around the people in front of me, counting how many people there are before it's my turn, loudly huffing and puffing and sighing, and looking for a clock (because I don't wear my watches) to see how long I've spent waiting in line. Thank god for ATM and debit machines! I still haven't figured out the doctor thing, except to not go unless I really feel I must. I reluctantly meet up with my sister because she is
invariably at least 20 minutes late.
This is not to say that I am always on time. In fact, more often than not, I am running late. Others often have to wait for me. I carpool with a co-worker and not once have I been on time picking her up. It just doesn't seem to change the fact that I despise waiting. Waiting releases a rage in me that I rarely show for any other particular reason.
So, to those which I keep waiting, I know how you may be feeling and I am extremely sorry!
Just trying to keep my blood pressure down,
Lowbrow
The NERVE!
My mother also decided to sell her mircowave. There is a second-hand store a couple of buildings down from my parents place, so she invited the owner to come over for first dibs on the merchandise. He said he wouldn't give her more than $20 for the microwave. He also said he tried to make a 100% profit on his merchandise, which meant that he thought he could sell the microwave for $40. In a moment of brilliance I told my mother that if he wouldn't give her more than $20 then forget selling it to him because we could definitely sell it for $30, or at the very least $25. He wouldn't budge so, on my say so, my mother told him no. Smart right?
Well, I just checked in with my sister. She said no one was even looking at the microwave so they took it over to the second-hand store. The jerk said, "Since you wouldn't sell it to me yesterday for $20, I'm not going to pay you more than $15 today." What a bastard! She's just a little old woman trying to unload a couple of her worldly possession! But what could she do? She had to get rid of it so she took the $15.
Damn! Crap like that makes me so mad! And not the mis-usage kind of angry mad, but the proper usage crazy mad! And on top of it all, now I owe my mother $5!!!!
This is Crazy signing off,
Lowbrow
Ms. Dressup
I always knew my mother had a lot of clothes. Growing up, I would walk into her closet (she never shared one with my father - never enough room too) and go through her dresses longingly, hoping one day I'd get to wear them as my own. Well, times have changed and so has fashion. Needless to say, I no longer want to wear her out of date wardrobe, nor would I fit into them even if I fancied the notion. (Why does it always seem like your mother was a size zero when she was your age, and you, well, are not. We share the same freakin' genes, don't we?)
"Where are you going with this?" You ask. Well, I'll tell you. My parents are moving for the 100th time and my mother, who is no longer a size zero herself, has decided to get rid of all the clothes she doesn't wear anymore. They are having a garage sale today and enlisted my services over the past couple of days to get them ready for the event. I should also let you know that we are a family of pack rats. Yesterday, I started sorting and pricing her clothes. It started off with one box, no big deal. It quickly escaladed into a second box; and then a third; and then a
couple of wardrobe racks! Remember, these are the clothes she didn't want to keep! She's not purging herself of all material possessions. Oh, no! Quite the contrary! She's still got a closet full of clothes wears "all the time." It was unbelieveable. Just as I thought I was finished, she sweetly say, "oh, here's some more...," and proceed to dump 2 large hampers full of clothes in front of me. I kid you not. In belts alone, I filled 3 "kitchen catcher" size garbage bags! And talk about "out of style"!! Granted these were my dad's clothes, but i found two 3pc. suit straight out of the 70's! My mother had her own disco dancin' red dress with matching platform slingbacks! I was thinking of calling up "That 70's Show" and telling them I had season 7's costumes lined up for them. It took me the better part of 5 hours to get through her personal second hand clothing store! Crazy!
My friends always tell me that I have "a lot" of clothes, and I used to believe them. When I moved, I gave away 6 garbage bags - not completely full, and 2 of those were shoes - of clothing to a charity. I thought that was "a lot." Now I know "a lot" is extremely relative.
low(& tired)brow
Stepford Me
I now know why I was so annoyed today.
There are certain things that a girl cannot share with her blog. It is with these things that the only people I can turn to are a small handful of friends with whom I would trust my life. I had just finished speaking to one friend, trying to analyze every possible reason as to why I was so annoyed, when I immediately began the entire tirade all over again with a second friend. I thought maybe I'd figured it out, but still, something wasn't sitting right with me. It was then the second friend simply said, "Maybe you feel like you've been replaced."
I've been replaced.
Eureka! That is
exactly what I feel like. This is the reason I've been irked with the entire world all day. But even with this revelation, I'm not quite satisfied because there seems to be something else - something almost contradictory - at work in my feeble mind. And I think it is this: on some level, I want to be replaced. Or at the very least, I
want to want to be replaced. (No, that's not a typo. Think of it as "in love with being in love.") Because that would force me to move on. I'm not saying that makes me feel any better about being replaced, it doesn't, but maybe this is for the best? My wise friend went on to say that the novelty of the "Stepford"
usually wears off with time. I can make my peace with either outcome.
browlow
(the Stepford me)
I Don't Know Why, But...
Everyone is annoying me today.
I Want A New Drug
Ahhh, remember the simpler days when Hewy Lewis was cool? The days before he was making crappy karaoke movies with Gwyneth? (WTF with "Apple"?! Really, Gwyn? Really?)
But this post is not about Hewy; although, it kinda has to do with a simpler time. Back when I started in my current field of work the woman who was in the position I currently am in told me that she'd been doing it for 5 years. I did not say anything to her, but in my idealistic little mind I was, like, "Crap! There's no way I'd do that job for 5+ years!" Well, I've been doing this for...(figuring it out in my head...carry the one...)...wow! Only 3 years now. It feels like 5, wait, hmmm, yup, only 3, and there seems to be no end in site. I've gotta get OUT! The job is making me surlier (yes, I'm blaming it on the job), and I'm feeling bored and restless.
It's time for a change.
I've got the idea for this new company, which, in my humble opinion, I think could really take off in my hometown. Of course I can't tell you what it is, but GAWD!, it's a GREAT idea!! So I called a friend who I know would be the perfect business partner in this venture and said, "Look, I know you also need to get out of your job so let's think about doing this." Needless to say, my friend was totally...lacking in enthusiasm. Nonetheless, said friend quietly asked around...polled some public opinion...and friend's now on board. FAAAANtastic!
Hmmmm...Now if I can only get her to do all the work to get it off the ground.... (Nervous twitter) Friend, I'm, uh, just kidding!
Keep it on the down
Lowbrow
If You Don't Want Me To Do Nothing, Give Me Something To Do
That's it.
No, wait, I lied. One more thing...Pet Peeve #2: People always ask me, if you have nothing to do, why don't you just go home?
Background 411 - I work in an unconventional office environment in which I "work" long hours. However, just because it's unconventional doesn't mean that it's not work. Work, in an office, with set hours of employment. At 4:00PM if YOU have nothing left to do for the day, do you get to go home early?
I didn't think so.
Okay, just one last thing. In anticipation that someone I have or am working with catches wind of this blog, I'm no longer going to write to you about work. This is because, unfortunately, when I write about work I am usually venting about something that's just happened and therefore writing in anger. That is not good business.
Please Note:
Unless you are there to re-apply make-up and gossip, the office public restroom is NOT the place for conversation. Pet Peeve #1: People who talk to me while I'm just trying to do my biz-ness. The door on the stall is there for a reason. Privacy. Ask me what I was up to on the weekend or the status of that report when I'm back at my desk. Thank you.
Now please go about your biz-ness,
Lowbrow
PS: I was about to sign off at "lb" when i realized that's the abbreviation for pound. Since I have enough of those as it is, I'll stick with Lowbrow.
2 Totally Unrelated Topics
Firstly, I think my thighs have expanded.
I have a pair of pants which used to be very comfortable. But today for some reason it feels like the inseam has shrunk, but the outseam(??) has kept its proper length. This is causing me to walk funny and I think people in the office are starting to notice. (My walk, not my pants...) Also, why is it that pants from Old Navy that have a little "stretch" to them seem to get looser and looser the longer you wear them? And I don't mean over the lifespan of the pants, but merely as the day goes on. By the time I leave work I feel like Urkel, hiking up my pants every few seconds. And maybe this last one is just me and my own special brand of neurosis, but I swear that whenever I buy the same style pants in different colours the khaki green pair fits snugglier than any other colour. Then again, maybe it's just my "love-handles" (btw: I CAN'T STAND that term! There's nothing "lovely" about them!) deciding to travel south and set up camp in my thighs only to discover that they're like Jessica Simpson and can't hack it, so they come home to rest in my midriff (or lack thereof).
Secondly, I don't understand why some people just don't GET IT!
In my position at work I need to know what everyone in the department is doing at all times. I will also prioritize the work of some of my co-workers, which in essence requires my co-workers to tell me if there has been a change in plans so I can adjust the schedules of any others that this change will effect. It seems like a simple concept, non? Well, apparently it is not. It drives me crazy when I hear on Tuesday that something we arranged for a courier to pick up on the weekend has still not been picked up, nor have any other arrangements been made. Had this person assessed me of the current state of events on Monday morning, we could have averted a near-mass-panic-life-or-death-scramble to get a much larger job done. (Okay, so i'm exaggerating the mass-panic-life-or-death, but it still would have been a scramble of sorts...) The point is, while I'm sitting here playing crappy little online games waiting for something worthwhile to do, as the same co-worker complains about the piles of work that have been heaped upon them (boo!hoo!), I could have alleviated some of their work and had something to do myself. I mean, c'mon! Everybody wins this way! And puh-leeeeze..."Well, I told so-and-so" just don't cut it people! I don't care who you told. YOU MUST TELL ME!
Hmmmm....Can you tell I'm a total control freak?
Gotta go load up on carbs,
Lowbrow
