Thursday, March 25, 2004
Ok. I KNOW I'm trying to learn not to bitch and complain and criticize, but C is driving me NUTS today. first, she's just in a talkative mood. That entails scooching her chair backwards at random intervals to tell me what she would like to eat, but of course can't due to gall bladder condition. Endless lists of pizza, chocolate, and fatty food items. Then there's the humming Christian tunes. The humming is bad enough, but the constant "I'm a good Christian" add-on is making it unbearable. The woman constantly says, "Frick" this, "frick" that--no, literally, she says "frick" not "fuck", but please, you don't just avoid cursing by replacing the word with something else and still cursing. I finally give in and ask her to please stop humming and two minutes later she yells to M and N, "you all--we HAVE to stop singing, its driving THERESA crazy!!" No, SHE is driving me crazy.
Actually, writing this makes me feel way better. I'm starting to see the humor again :) After all, I have stopped work anyway and am writing in my journal! I was looking at my other journals on this site and starting reading my writing journal. Its a private journal that I use to save story ideas. Back in 2001, I used it to track my thoughts on nanowrimo (a writing challenge). I read one of my posts that was basically a sit-down-and-write without editing story start. I was just blown away by how different it is from my recent writing style. It was so raw--so fictional. It was like I just opened some vein of fiction in my head somewhere and tapped into something raw. I remember the story idea now--it was going to be this really hard character, a woman that was really jaded about life and love. She was just going to leave her current existence and go travelling (LOL--oops, that sounds eerily familiar)-well, she was going to go on an adventure but eventually find out she was already dead. 'course, later I read that is an over-used literary tool or plot or something, but regardless--here is the section (WARNING--bad language and sexual content ;)....
the cursor blinks. The cursor was clinking. It blinked. The cursor will blink. The cursor will be blinking.
The cursor would be blinking regardless of whether I know how to conjugate the verb “to be”. Fuckin A. The damn screen is almost blank and I have a frickin cursor after image tattoed on my retina.
I am so bored. I have to get out of here. Screw this job. Screw my life right now period. This family I work for define the dysfunctional. Look in the dictionary--right after the word dysfunctional it says: 1) Family Littleman. 2) abnormal, impaired, or incomplete functioning. I know, that lines been done before. I’m not very original.
I mean what type of person re-cleans their own forks when they get them out of the drawer in the kitchen. Who hands memos to their employees requiring them to carry around their own pens so that germs aren’t spread throughout the office by communal use of office equipment? I’ve found the mom bleaching all the phone receivers and computer keyboards early in the morning. they drive me nuts. I was sick two days in a row and mr. Albino Troll boss man called me into his office and asked me if I’d been eating out a lot.
I cleverly responded, “huh?”
“have you been eating out a lot.” he repeats.
“why do you want to know that?”
“Because you know, eating out exposed you to a lot of germs, ” he replies.
I’m telling you--these people are nuts. Jay, the son, told me once that his dad used to leave them sitting in the car on the side of the road and disappear for hours looking for plants. There they were: the image of a happy little family on vacation--Mom with her permed hairdo, John Jr (Jay) in a little collared shirt, spoiled younger brother carefully making spit wads and trying to move the “center” marker without Jay seeing him. And Dad, seeing a red speck on the horizon screeching the car to a halt and abandoning them in a little sweat box to hunt for plants. Egads.
They are also entirely clueless. If they knew even a quarter of what went through my head they’d never allow me in the building. Christian freaks. God, I want a cigarette. Or a joint. A joint would be better. Glass of scotch, neat: devine.
[smile]
yes, that got me out of this funk for a second. thinking of jennifer. Jenny. sunshine. Rusty was an idiot to introduce us. He should know he can’t compete against a woman. We took one look at each other and he was an “ex”. Not like she liked him for anything but his money anyway. “Sunshine” is an exotic dancer--polite way of saying stripper. she works in a little dive strip club on Stockton Street. Dump. I’ve no idea how I ended up there. Had never gone into one of those places. I about lost it as soon as I walked in and I saw all the woman walking around in lingerie and heels so tall they were tripping over their own feet.
One little asian woman almost fell on my lap as she minced past. Not that I would have minded having her in my lap too much, but it embarrassed me to see them all strapped into those contraptions--reminded me of foot binding. Rusty is an acquaintance (ie we’ve only slept together a couple times). Fuckwittage central to borrow from Bridget Jones. Rusty has a raging hard on for Sunshine and pays half her rent every month is lap dance fees. Sunshine lit up when she saw Rusty, her eyes hardened when she saw me at first--dollar sign droop, I think--Rusty w/chick equals less money for Sunshine. One smile from me though and that look was gone.
I love it when it clicks and women size one another up correctly in a glance. Sunshine knew in one glance that not only would she have someone warm and female in her bed that night, but that I’d help her get even more money outta Rusty too--hey, don’t look at me. Rusty’s worldwise, if he wants to live in a fantasy world, far be it from me to pry his eyes open.
God you should see that girl dance. What the hell am I doing though anyway. Work...blah.
I have to get out of here, I can’t stand it. Why shouldn’t I leave? Bills--ha! I keep thinking, I just deposited a paycheck. If I didn’t pay any bills and just took off, how far could I get on that money? Hell, truth be told. I still have most of last paycheck left. Rent is late. That is two paychecks worth of distance.
I should do it. Just go. Why not?
And she did.
¶ 4:15 PM
Actually, writing this makes me feel way better. I'm starting to see the humor again :) After all, I have stopped work anyway and am writing in my journal! I was looking at my other journals on this site and starting reading my writing journal. Its a private journal that I use to save story ideas. Back in 2001, I used it to track my thoughts on nanowrimo (a writing challenge). I read one of my posts that was basically a sit-down-and-write without editing story start. I was just blown away by how different it is from my recent writing style. It was so raw--so fictional. It was like I just opened some vein of fiction in my head somewhere and tapped into something raw. I remember the story idea now--it was going to be this really hard character, a woman that was really jaded about life and love. She was just going to leave her current existence and go travelling (LOL--oops, that sounds eerily familiar)-well, she was going to go on an adventure but eventually find out she was already dead. 'course, later I read that is an over-used literary tool or plot or something, but regardless--here is the section (WARNING--bad language and sexual content ;)....
the cursor blinks. The cursor was clinking. It blinked. The cursor will blink. The cursor will be blinking.
The cursor would be blinking regardless of whether I know how to conjugate the verb “to be”. Fuckin A. The damn screen is almost blank and I have a frickin cursor after image tattoed on my retina.
I am so bored. I have to get out of here. Screw this job. Screw my life right now period. This family I work for define the dysfunctional. Look in the dictionary--right after the word dysfunctional it says: 1) Family Littleman. 2) abnormal, impaired, or incomplete functioning. I know, that lines been done before. I’m not very original.
I mean what type of person re-cleans their own forks when they get them out of the drawer in the kitchen. Who hands memos to their employees requiring them to carry around their own pens so that germs aren’t spread throughout the office by communal use of office equipment? I’ve found the mom bleaching all the phone receivers and computer keyboards early in the morning. they drive me nuts. I was sick two days in a row and mr. Albino Troll boss man called me into his office and asked me if I’d been eating out a lot.
I cleverly responded, “huh?”
“have you been eating out a lot.” he repeats.
“why do you want to know that?”
“Because you know, eating out exposed you to a lot of germs, ” he replies.
I’m telling you--these people are nuts. Jay, the son, told me once that his dad used to leave them sitting in the car on the side of the road and disappear for hours looking for plants. There they were: the image of a happy little family on vacation--Mom with her permed hairdo, John Jr (Jay) in a little collared shirt, spoiled younger brother carefully making spit wads and trying to move the “center” marker without Jay seeing him. And Dad, seeing a red speck on the horizon screeching the car to a halt and abandoning them in a little sweat box to hunt for plants. Egads.
They are also entirely clueless. If they knew even a quarter of what went through my head they’d never allow me in the building. Christian freaks. God, I want a cigarette. Or a joint. A joint would be better. Glass of scotch, neat: devine.
[smile]
yes, that got me out of this funk for a second. thinking of jennifer. Jenny. sunshine. Rusty was an idiot to introduce us. He should know he can’t compete against a woman. We took one look at each other and he was an “ex”. Not like she liked him for anything but his money anyway. “Sunshine” is an exotic dancer--polite way of saying stripper. she works in a little dive strip club on Stockton Street. Dump. I’ve no idea how I ended up there. Had never gone into one of those places. I about lost it as soon as I walked in and I saw all the woman walking around in lingerie and heels so tall they were tripping over their own feet.
One little asian woman almost fell on my lap as she minced past. Not that I would have minded having her in my lap too much, but it embarrassed me to see them all strapped into those contraptions--reminded me of foot binding. Rusty is an acquaintance (ie we’ve only slept together a couple times). Fuckwittage central to borrow from Bridget Jones. Rusty has a raging hard on for Sunshine and pays half her rent every month is lap dance fees. Sunshine lit up when she saw Rusty, her eyes hardened when she saw me at first--dollar sign droop, I think--Rusty w/chick equals less money for Sunshine. One smile from me though and that look was gone.
I love it when it clicks and women size one another up correctly in a glance. Sunshine knew in one glance that not only would she have someone warm and female in her bed that night, but that I’d help her get even more money outta Rusty too--hey, don’t look at me. Rusty’s worldwise, if he wants to live in a fantasy world, far be it from me to pry his eyes open.
God you should see that girl dance. What the hell am I doing though anyway. Work...blah.
I have to get out of here, I can’t stand it. Why shouldn’t I leave? Bills--ha! I keep thinking, I just deposited a paycheck. If I didn’t pay any bills and just took off, how far could I get on that money? Hell, truth be told. I still have most of last paycheck left. Rent is late. That is two paychecks worth of distance.
I should do it. Just go. Why not?
And she did.
¶ 4:15 PM
