My New Found Hatred for the Written Word

The email came in two days before my boss was to leave for Paris for a business trip/vacation, it peaked my interest but I didn't really consider it as something I'd like to do.

Professional Writing / Business Writing
Classes offered in the Midtown office building
$780.00 per individual will charged to your RC.

I didn't think I needed it and besides Boss-man would never pay that amount for a two day seminar... My thoughts were interrupted by boss-man bellowing my name across the corridor.

"-t-, did you see this course offering?"
I nodded my head indicating that I had.
"Well I was thinking, with so many of us gone to Paris for the seminar, it might be a good idea for you to take this class. It will keep you busy and you can brush up on your writing for presentations."

I was slightly hurt by this last statement, after all not only was my BA in English Writing, but that's what I do for a living, I create presentations and translate math into English. He is after all the man who signs my pay stubs and I wasn't going to fight him, so I emailed HR and told them to sign me up.

I walked into the conference room and surveyed my surroundings. Mostly mid/low level employees sitting in what can best be described as a U-shape classroom set up. In front of each person was a name plaque that they had written themselves in sharpie marker. The two women in their mid forties (who I presumed to be instructors) sat at the front of the room sharpening pencils. I blinked hoping I was somehow suffering a flashback from the acid I dropped in highschool! This was not indeed how I was to be spending the next ten hours. One of the instructors (a doppleganger for the mother in Six Feet Under) told us to open our course books and review pages one and two. I skimmed the material and my heart sank. Staring at me were instructions for determining a noun, adverb, adjective, ect... Things I learned as a second grader when my dad and I would play Mad Libs. This was going to be a very long day.

After two grueling days of what can best be described as, English writing for mildly retarded, English as a second language, professionals, I never want to deal with the written word again. Cheers to my company for sucking the pleasure out of one of my most secret indulgences. I'll get my passion back but first allow me to burn this copy of The Elements of Style in effigy.

Okay I'll Play Along

Okay Miss Devylish, although I usually hold these types of things in that special place in my heart I hold span and chain mail I'll play along. Who knows maybe I'll enjoy it.

The Sevens

Seven Things to Do Before I Die:
1. Make peace with my Father
2. See every place I dreamed of seeing as a small girl
3. Be able to feel complete without any outside influence
4. Finish the MBA then go do something that has nothing to do with what I've been doing the past two years.
5. Buy my mother a house and help her get healthy again (that's two I know but gimme wiggle room)
6. Have a child
7. Get over my anger and Jealousy

Seven Things I Cannot Do:
1. Be any taller (yes I'm keeping this one I bet I'm shorter then you Missy)
2. Forgive Doug Stern ( he knows what he did and he's a sick sick bastard)
3. Stop thinking about my tumor
4. Support pro life functions
5. Love my current job
6. Allow my sister to beat me ever!
7. Stop obsessing about weight

Seven Things that Attract Me To Blogging:
1. I'm an English major stuck in a numbers job and this keeps me sane.
2. I have a slight exhibitionist streak and this is a safe way to indulge it
3. I can vent to the world and no one I know has to see it.
4. Anonymity
5. I can't for the life of me keep a paper journall but for some reason I can post at least twice a week
6. I can make spelling errors and be forgiven cause most posts are written in haste
7. I really find it funny when the blogger spell check doesn't know the word blog.

Seven Things I Say Most Often:
1. Okay (usually followed by an eyeroll)
2. It's not fair. (Deep down inside I'm still an angst ridden 14 year old)
3. Shut up!!
4. Anyway, (used for changing the topic)
5. I Love you
6. I need/I want (see no. 2)
7. Hey

Seven Books I Love:
1. Hypocrite in a Poofy White Dress - Susan Gillman
2. Othello - The Bard
3. Geralds Game- Stephen King
4. Brave New World - Aldus Huxley
5. To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee
6. Measure for Measure - What can I say I really like Shakespeare
7. The Beauty Myth - Naomi Wolf (deep down inside I'm a dirty feminist)

Seven Movies/DVD's That I Watch Over and Over and Over Again:
1. The Usual Suspects
2. Labyrinth
3. The Rocky Horror Picture Show
4. Office Space
5. The Princess Bride (sorry to steal another idea from you Miss D.)
6. On the Waterfront
7. Wallace and Grommit in The Curse of the Ware-Rabbit

Seven celebs who I would be friends with
1. Angelina Jolie
2. Carmen Electra
3. Amanda Lepore
4. Dave Chappelle
5. George Clooney
6. Alan Cumming
7. Selma Hyack

Seven People I Want To Join In:
1. I'm sorry I wont do this to anyone else. It was kinda fun though.

Why the Irish Drink

I told Rob the news on Wednesday and stayed home to cry. My puppy not quite knowing why I wouldn't play with her tried her best to be so unbearably cute. I half heartedly threw her rubber bone across the kitchen and she bounded and pounced and then realizing the response wasn't what she wanted, she gave up and curled up next to me intermittently licking my face to make sure I didn't forget she was there. I didn't leave my house, I didn't even take off my pajamas.

My mother came by around 6:30 or so hoping to drag me out to eat something but I really didn't want to face the world just yet. I spewed my anger at her and Rob, trying my best to just vent and not dump on them, after all they were trying to cheer me up.

I went to work on Thursday and spent a good half hour in the "pump" room (a room used by new mothers to express milk while at work so that they can continue breast feeding their children after returning to the corporate grind.) I couldn't return on Friday, I didn't want to get out of bed and so I didn't.

On Rob's request (okay on his begging and pleading that I get out and do something fun) we went to a St. Patrick's day party. Which is possibly one of the worst day's in NYC, second only the the Puerto Rican Day parade. Not that I have anything against Puerto Rican's or the Irish, its just the destruction that occurs during both Parades and the parties held after is enough to make me consider the suburbs as a nice alternative. Plus when it comes to St. Patrick's Day the rampant homophobia about their precious parade kinda makes me a bit ill. I mean it's okay to be drunk at ten in the morning, it's okay to pick a fight by four in the afternoon. It's okay to dye your hair green and piss on the street in open view of small children, but god forbid you like kissing people of the same gender, HORRORS!!!

Well I must say there's nothing like thinking about chemo therapy and loosing your hair, or sterility and coming to the conclusion that maybe you would one day like a child (even though you have professed the opposite for so long) while Drunky McDrunkerson and his girlfriend alternate between sloppy salvia dripping make out sessions and arguing about where they stand as a couple. I wanted to leave I wanted to return to bed. I didn't say a word to anyone about why I looked forlorn, not that they even noticed through the bottom froth of the green beer left in their pint glasses.

You want to know why the Irish drink so much? Its because they have to deal with the fact that St. Patrick was Italian.

It's Back

Everyday I jot on a post it the stupid and notable things that happen around me at the office. When I get home from work I cull what could be considered a semi-literate post from the random chicken scratching that I call short hand. I bitch and I moan and I think about how things could be different or how things sometimes seem like they're not going to ever get better. Ah the poor life of a mid level office worker, I know it's not that bad, but the bi-polar tendencies I've harbored since my adolescent life lead me to over dramatize situations and victimize myself as to absolve myself of any blame. But once and awhile things snap into perspective.

This first time this happened was the time my mother committed me for treatment for my "mental disorder." Living with true crazies, and the horribly damaged showed me that though I have my issues things could be much worse, like Kara the girl who was raped by her step-father and step-brother and then once committed to the first ward was raped again by an attending. My issues didn't even register on the map when I compared myself to her.

The second time my life was put into perspective was a little over a year ago. I made my annual trip to the gynecologist for my check up. Everything checked out okay until my Pap results came back and they called me in for a biopsy. I had cancer, early stage cancer but cancer none the less. They operated and sent me on my merry way telling me everything would be fine. But like all paranoid women of the modern age I checked the internet and found horror story after horror story. Tales of sterility and chemo-therapy swirled around in my head until the following check up when the doctor told me everything checked out and that I should be okay.

"Come back every three months for two years to make sure that everything checks out, only then do we consider you cured."

I took this to heart and once the next three months were up I faithfully made my way down for my first follow up test. It came back negative and you have never seen a happier person in your life. Somehow I allowed myself to miss the next two tests, life is a very complicate thing and sometimes it overwhelms you. Last week I went in for my next test.

About seven thirty this morning my phone rang and I saw from the caller ID that it was my doctor, (a helpful hint to those who don't know, doctors never call early in the morning to give you good news) she told me that my test showed something and that another biopsy should be scheduled.

Its back, I know it, I'm scared and once again, though it rarely happens, I find myself in a bad situation in which I have no share of the blame.

Privacy

I have always been a bit of a recluse. In high school and college I was always jovial during the day but hesitated to any invitation to go out and get to know people better. I'm slightly suspicious by nature and to reveal too much to people only means that eventually they will be able to use it against you. For this reason I never had a room mate nor was I able to share a bedroom with my sister without several altercations a week but I digress. Since I've started my job I have taken great pains to avoid anonymity both with this blog and at work. People don't know very much about me and what I do for fun, or what I do outside of the office. I'm not anti-social mind you, if you followed me on a normal day you would catch me bullshitting with co-workers, chatting on the company IM service and talking on the phone to people in the New York offices, who I don't see too often anymore. There are a few things that I will never get used to.

1) Cubicles; We've all seen Office Space and marveled at how sad the cubicle existence truly is. If you've never worked in a cubicle allow me to let you know that that movie was spot on. If I want to be left alone to work there is nothing stopping me co-workers (some with boundary issues) from leaning over me to ask obnoxious questions and favors. I yearn for a door every day of my working life. (To update those lucky enough to have never encountered such monstrosities, they have started to referring to cubicles as "workstations" but if I call a pile of dug shit a rose it's not going to fool anyone.)

2) Monitored Emails; It's inevitable, you give one friend your work email, or they get it off a business card and suddenly '20 great reasons why women are better then beer' start popping up in your in-box. We can not check internet mail from work so I'm stuck on the company account, which is OWNED by the company which means they can check all your emails as they please. Not that I enjoy forwarded messages about starving cancer kids who will get a free trip to Disney world if this email gets forwarded to 200 people which will subsequently make Bill Gates give everyone 1000.00 dollars and Applebees (never eaten there don't want to) will comp me a dinner, but at work its just not what I need. And god forbid any email should contain the words; fuck, shit, cunt, pussy, ass, bitch, nigga (or its evil cousin), Jew (yes Jew the proper term for someone of the jewish faith is banned), or any additional ethnic slur or curse, and compliance will reign town a terror on my ass.

3) Monitored Phone calls; All phone calls are monitored in two ways. First every number I make or receive a call from is recorded and sent to my boss (who never ever looks at those things.) This is a bit disturbing because it had recently come to light that several cleaning staff were using employee phones to call home after hours. How am I going to explain the phone calls to Guayagil, when I didn't even know there was a place of that name? The second way calls are monitored is by recording conversations. So should I tell someone in jest that I can't stand bank regulations on harassment, I find myself in an HR office explaining that no I don't have issues and that was a joke and I didn't mean it and I'm sorry and it will never happen again.

4) Personal space; Forget it it doesn't exist.

5) Internet Spys; I have checked this website 3 times from the office making sure to always use a different computer and log in name. I still fear retribution.

To some it all up check it out

I'm my own happy family

I have a new puppy. A 6 month old schnauzer named Desdemona (yes I'm a big English major dork) or Dezzie if you want to sully up her name with your commonalities. Cute and docile I think she may be a cat under all that hair.

Flying high on my new family I traipsed into work today where I as promptly handed my bosses new Razr phone.

"I can't take pictures with this goddamned thing!" He wanted the best most expensive phone, which he got, and now he can't figure it out. I hope I never become so irrelevant.
"Take a picture of the Manhattan skyline, that's what I want to see on my phone when I open it up."

I take the phone and open the flip top to reveal the banner background; Hello Boss, it greets me (how droll, like he's not called boss enough now he has his technology doing it too?) I snap the photo and save it as wallpaper.

"Very nice, very nice. I may ask you to take one at night at a later time" he informs me. Who am I, Annie fucking Leibovitz? I just want to go home and play with my new puppy.

I Hate Myself A Little More Each Day

wouldn't you?

The Haves and the Have Nots

I ran brake neck speed down the hallway...Well not that fast I had my heels on and would have really broken my neck on the marble flooring had I gone all out in my dash to my destination. Setting up the conference was not my job, but like many previous encounters I realized it was my responsibility because those in charge would not do what was necessary and fingers would be pointed in my direction should things not be up to par. It comes with the territory of the corporate world. I don't necessarily collect the accolades but whenever there is blame it is spread evenly around.

One hundred people were to have shown up for the conference, I ordered food for one hundred and fifteen people knowing full well that free food, no matter what your economic status, is just too much of a good thing to ever pass up. Seventy showed up and damn Atkins or South Beach or whatever diet du jour people are depriving themselves on but the bagels and pastry lay untouched in the back row while the attendees gulped the good coffee (a rare thing in an office setting) hoping it would help them fight the lull of the monotone at the podium.

Nothing new to learn, people are unhappy with their staffing allowances, bonuses were not up to expectations, accountants should never try to speak in public...My eyelids sneak down across my irises and I struggle to hold my head up. After hours of self congratulatory nonsense those who weren't shipped out to the Jersey facilities get up to tour our offices. I feel like a lamb in a petting zoo. People touch my workspace and make comments on our location and surroundings. (Come, observe the Jersey employees in their natural habitat. Touch them, play with them but don't get too comfortable, one never knows the true nature of the Jersey employee so approach with caution and always keep your guard up.) Fuckers!

The day draws to a conclusion and our visitors depart. I take survey of the mess left behind that no one will claim responsibility for. Trays and trays of bagels, pastry, pound cake, and salads are uneaten waiting, on their plastic white trays, to be thrown in the garbage. Now the good catholic/jew that I am I feel great shame/guilt knowing this food will go to waste. Echoes of my mother asking me if I'm just going to throw it out when there are starving children in Africa, ring through my ears. (Like eating all my food would some how help those starving children, but I digress.)

I return to my workstation and Google homeless shelters in Jersey City hoping someone will be able to pick up our extras and put it to a good use. Call after call I'm greeted by the same comments; thank you for thinking of us but we can't pick up donations today. I ask time and time again if anyone can recommend a place and the same answer is repeated so often that I have now made it my mission to take this food there regardless of the pick up abilities of said shelter.

7PM and I load up as many plastic bags as I can carry and trudge in my heels to the shelter of many recommendations and drop the food off with a pleasant man who greets me with a smile and reminds me that things could always be far worse. I could be the person in need, not the person in greed.

The next day I check with HR to make sure I won't get in trouble for the "company" donation I made yesterday. I get a line of responsibility and corporate babble. I'm really not in the mood.

"Ya know what??" I snap..."It would be really good PR for the company if you fired an employee for donating food to a homeless shelter." My brain screams at my mouth stop talking and in a desperate attempt to swallow my last sentence a low chuckle emits from deep in my throat. HR chuckles along with me and for one more day I've dodged the bullet that I know has my name on it waiting silently in the chamber until it is called upon to do its business.