Denying denying denial

My boss came back from her honeymoon yesterday… and I showed up to work late again. As usual. Being the laconic and prickly person that I am, I never asked her how her honeymoon went and about her wedding, etc. I really didn’t care enough, but so many people stopped by her desk today and asked about it and I figured, eh. They already asked so what’s the point anyway? I have a feeling that I’m going to get the boot because I’m not “chatty” enough. Or because I’m not as cool with the women as I am with the men, with the exception of Olly. Never did like him anyway. I think I still owe him a buck for getting soda my first week of work here and I never paid him.

Damn, I thought I could get away with not having to bash the office people once again but here I am, doing what I do best. You never know what these people are thinking, or what they want, and I feel as if I have to join in on the jokes to get some recognition around here. Seriously though, it would be the best strategy to be fake like everyone else. After all, three seasons of Donald Trump should result in something!

That requires too much effort on my part though, I’ve been there for three months and I know I should be thankful I have a job, etc. but it feels as though I’m stuck in a rut. I’m not learning anything new because everyone is so busy doing their own thing and so it’s rather repetitive work. I’m also expected to train newer interns as well. Hmm. I thought the whole point of internships were to learn things, a lot of things, so that I can find a job with a decent salary. I suppose I’m learning how to train others… but that wasn’t the point in taking this position. I’d like to be the best at what I do, but with this outlook and this situation, I find it hard.

I hate the thought of being replaceable.

I’m really beginning to question whether or not this is going anywhere. Or if my life is going anywhere… besides on a one way trip over the GG Bridge.

I’m in the midst of midterms, can you tell?

I need the cognac

My cousin’s getting married this Saturday and I was invited to the reception. I’m not so fond of her, and more so for her mother. I don’t think it’s fair of me to dislike her just because her mother happens to be Dragon Lady from Hell. Trust me, this is the polite name for her, didn’t want to sound too disrespectful in front of my dad. She’s his sister, regrettably.

Anyway, I’m going because my folks want to me to. We’re family after all but just because I have no choice doesn’t mean I have to like it. I also don’t think I moved far away enough but that’s my long term goal. I think I’ll be chanting prayers in my mind as I face the pre-apocalypse brigade at the restaurant. Zen, just think Zen, like Irene always says.

I could even start making a pamphlet on finding myself a “good man” though process of elimination, since they’re so hard to find and Iron Maiden asked me for one if I found any but I haven't so I guess the next best thing is to make one. For example: I can have bullet points running down the right hand side with qualities I don’t want in a man or something to that nature. Don’t date a man with fingernails longer than yours, men who talk too loudly want all the attention to themselves and you’re his girlfriend because you cater to his whims and are slowly losing your hearing capabilities (i.e. Loudmouth McBlabberson on the train today), etc. Crap like that.

Goodness knows there will be a lot of inspiration at the zoo, I mean the reception. I hope I make it back in one piece; they might provoke me into throwing plates at people’s heads and it’s not because I’m celebrating either. Please pass the cognac, gross as I think it is, I need it to pass the time.

The addictive powers of Girl Scout cookies

Besides bad weather in general, this month has seen the opening of Pandora’s Box – more specifically, in the form of a Girl Scout Cookie Box. One of the brokers bought about eight boxes of various cookies from the GS (perhaps he has a niece or someone who needs the “most cookies sold” pin to add to her sash or vest). He placed them atop his suitcase carry along and trekked halfway around the office to our side of the building and ceremoniously placed them on the filing cabinets in front of Helen’s desk.

They sat there, luring in victims like conspicuous sirens, casting off this silent wave of enchantment.

Having to walk back and forth from cabinet to cabinet, I found myself unable to resist the urge to grab a box and eat a cookie or two. Heck, I was a GS myself for a while when I was about 11 or 12. Remembering back, I really should have joined the Boy Scouts because they teach you how to tie knots and stuff. We never learned any useful things like that; all we did was play silly games and patty cake all day. We also sang silly songs and made lanyard key chains. But still, Boy Scouts never had cookies or calendars with cutesy stickers. So perhaps that’s why.

And coming back to cookies… I see that my roommate, as food conscious as she is, has a box of All Abouts Girl Scout cookies stashed in her pantry. You wanna know why they’re called All Abouts? This partially chocolate dipped butter cookie says “GIRL SCOUTING IS ALL ABOUT....... ” (you may insert the words: leadership, values, fun, friendship, etc. in the dotted area) right on it.

Well, I guess so. I mean, look at where I am now, eating more than I should yet not regretting it as much but enough to write about it. Talk about having great values.

Connie the Hermit

I think it’s going to rain all this week, and there’s nothing I’d like more than to stay in and watch movies all day.

And eat popcorn.

What?! No Pamphlets?

I took a day off from work to visit my doctors, which is a bad way to start the week and I should have known better but I’m me.

Anyway, I got my surprise tetanus shot and some unwanted advice from a certain professional who seems to think being single is plain wrong. He didn’t say it outright but it was the general idea. I would have lied about it if I knew he was headed in that direction. When a person asks you how your love life is going, say it’s good. And leave it at that. Unfortunately, Mondays have a habit of… being Mondays.

The last thing my gyno told me before he left the room was to find a “good man”.

I hate him.

Well, not hate but he’s on the hit list. Just because he’s involved with someone…

What makes a “good man” anyway? Dammit, is there some pamphlet he can give me, much like the ones about breast cancer and STDs? Hmm? I didn’t think so. Might as well not have said anything. Yeah yeah, he cares and thinks I can benefit from his opinion. He’s sharing the joy, la di da. Whatever.