my mundane but wonderful life
I tried, and I can do half a day of cleansing, but when I get home from my job, I have to indulge. It's a necessary evil. I love my job, but my job is similar to that of a politician, in that NOTHING is sacred to just me. Everything is scrutinized, examined and thrown into the limelight. Of course, the headline on the tabloids right now is: "Is Kim's love life on the rocks?" I'm actually keeping a low profile at work because revealing anything at this point could prove to be disastrous. Still, rumors are circulating, mainly because I'm not "seen" with Edgy. For those of you not in my field, you will have no idea what I'm talking about and probably think that I am oversensitive in this matter, but I assure you, I'm not. I'm right in the heart of Nosyland.
Despite that, however, I have to gush about how awesome my evening has been. I mean, what is cooler than stomping on bubblewrap barefoot, exploding streamers, blowing noisemakers, wearing scratchy plastic leis, and getting paid to do it?? Yes, that's my job, and that's what I love about it.
I also love that I'm surrounded by little bits of comedy everyday--a boss who, with a vacuous look and no clear agenda for his day whatsoever, wanders around snapping and whistling all day, back and forth from his office to the men's room; a front desk volunteer who sends all random phone calls (ones that fit no real category) my way, who calls my ext to tell me that "a man in a Purdue shirt is here to see [me]--I don't know his name" and who knocks on my closed door to tell me that my phone is on Do Not Disturb; a little anonymous fairy who loves to put things in my box like 7 staplers, comic books from the 60s entitled "Amazing Soil Adventures" or "My First Haggadah" or pieces of felt with pieces cut out of them; the fact that I, the paid staff member, have to bust ass to plan things 25 months in advance bc I work in a place where any nutjob volunteer can call a secretary and get things scheduled on the calendar AND get advertisement in every form imaginable for whatever half cracked event they want to plan in my name and when they do, no one in authority (above me) tells them to go to hell--instead, I have to work my ass off to turn the halfcrack into a full crack event which then becomes a fucking tradition; the symphony of hacking, coughing, choking, expectorating, nose honking, and whooping from all the sick people in my office; and the weekly conversations I have with the pizza lady, explaining that the word upstairs, indeed, has absolutely no Es--yes, I'm positive, no Es. Nope. Not 2 Es. Not 4. Nope. Not even 1. Just 0 Es. Yes, I'm sure. Yes, that was my degree. No, not spelling, English. yes, yes, English does have an E, yes. No, only 1.
And then I got home: opened up a bottle of 2 buck Chuck while whistling The Girl from Ipanema; put in Empire Strikes Back (undeniably the best in the series, though everyone I know will disagree); quoted all the best lines aloud; smiled over the sexual tension between Han and Leia; sighed at the poor tauntaun dying in the frozen muck, felt sorry for the wampa bc he's so cute even though he's pretty damn savage and cruel; debated with myself about whether I preferred TIE Fighters or X wings (for now TIE Fighters win solely on aesthetics); ate multigrain wheat thins and artichoke dip; popped a few m&ms; ate one bite out of a fudge covered oreo and put the uneaten part back in the cookie jar (ah, the beauty of being a bachelorette); grabbed a huge chunk of brisket and ate it with my hands, gnawing it like some sniveling, atavistic cavewoman; filled up my Hammy Pez dispenser, and then watched my cats have a staredown and reenact Thunderdome.
Ah, I love my life!
Despite that, however, I have to gush about how awesome my evening has been. I mean, what is cooler than stomping on bubblewrap barefoot, exploding streamers, blowing noisemakers, wearing scratchy plastic leis, and getting paid to do it?? Yes, that's my job, and that's what I love about it.
I also love that I'm surrounded by little bits of comedy everyday--a boss who, with a vacuous look and no clear agenda for his day whatsoever, wanders around snapping and whistling all day, back and forth from his office to the men's room; a front desk volunteer who sends all random phone calls (ones that fit no real category) my way, who calls my ext to tell me that "a man in a Purdue shirt is here to see [me]--I don't know his name" and who knocks on my closed door to tell me that my phone is on Do Not Disturb; a little anonymous fairy who loves to put things in my box like 7 staplers, comic books from the 60s entitled "Amazing Soil Adventures" or "My First Haggadah" or pieces of felt with pieces cut out of them; the fact that I, the paid staff member, have to bust ass to plan things 25 months in advance bc I work in a place where any nutjob volunteer can call a secretary and get things scheduled on the calendar AND get advertisement in every form imaginable for whatever half cracked event they want to plan in my name and when they do, no one in authority (above me) tells them to go to hell--instead, I have to work my ass off to turn the halfcrack into a full crack event which then becomes a fucking tradition; the symphony of hacking, coughing, choking, expectorating, nose honking, and whooping from all the sick people in my office; and the weekly conversations I have with the pizza lady, explaining that the word upstairs, indeed, has absolutely no Es--yes, I'm positive, no Es. Nope. Not 2 Es. Not 4. Nope. Not even 1. Just 0 Es. Yes, I'm sure. Yes, that was my degree. No, not spelling, English. yes, yes, English does have an E, yes. No, only 1.
And then I got home: opened up a bottle of 2 buck Chuck while whistling The Girl from Ipanema; put in Empire Strikes Back (undeniably the best in the series, though everyone I know will disagree); quoted all the best lines aloud; smiled over the sexual tension between Han and Leia; sighed at the poor tauntaun dying in the frozen muck, felt sorry for the wampa bc he's so cute even though he's pretty damn savage and cruel; debated with myself about whether I preferred TIE Fighters or X wings (for now TIE Fighters win solely on aesthetics); ate multigrain wheat thins and artichoke dip; popped a few m&ms; ate one bite out of a fudge covered oreo and put the uneaten part back in the cookie jar (ah, the beauty of being a bachelorette); grabbed a huge chunk of brisket and ate it with my hands, gnawing it like some sniveling, atavistic cavewoman; filled up my Hammy Pez dispenser, and then watched my cats have a staredown and reenact Thunderdome.
Ah, I love my life!
posted by Cranky at 10:03 PM
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