Yesterday at work I rolled up a fat set of blueprints; bear hugged them in an attempt to get a rubber band around the roll, and sliced a flap of finger skin wide open. I smeared blood on my jeans and later, my lunch of leftover meatloaf met the other leg. I was like a filthy, small child. Today I tore way too deep into a cuticle (horrible, horrible habit) and bled far too dramatically for such a small cut. I had to ask my boss for more Band-Aids but it seems I’ve already gone through both hers and my stash. Idle hands and shit.
The other day on my lunch break I was performing one of many awful, awful tasks that come with moving (returning my internet modem and various other part and pieces to Time Warner) I walked into an ongoing spat between a righteous customer and an employee who’d simply had more than enough. By the time I arrived they had escalated to a point of no return; the customer service gal going all street on this woman and the woman going all everything-is-your-geedee-fault on the gal. As I quietly (so as to continue eavesdropping) and politely (like a normal human) spoke to someone and signed off on my delivery, a very old woman walked up to my other side and started immediately berating another girl behind the counter. Her bill had INCREASED! AGAIN! And it was JUST RIDICULOUS! She tossed the offending bill across the counter, shaking her head.
It would be a very rare occurrence that the person in customer service had anything to do with what is pissing off one customer so badly. They are doing their job to collect their paycheck, must like the rest of us. They are not laughing manically behind your back and fucking with your account for giggles. Acting like a helpless victim with a horrible attitude is so far beyond acceptable, those irrationals deserve to have their bill increased or service shut off or whatever it is that got them all irate. We are a society above taking out our pain on the wait staff. They are human beings. Mistakes occur. So it goes.
It was really hard to watch and I do not for one second miss working in retail.
Do you know that Farmer’s Insurance jingle? We are Farmers. Bum buh bum bum bum bum! It makes want to stab things, people, myself through the cornea. Maybe because it has interrupted my happy time ska loop on Pandora ten too many times this afternoon. Maybe because it has a brain-grating tone and is slightly infuriating in its simple non-advertising. You tell me nothing with bum-buh-bums!
OH MY GOD ANOTHER COMMERICIAL OF THEIRS JUST CAME ON
It’s the weekend. Calamity OUT.
I locked the door behind me at 2B for the last time. Even if you put the packing aside, the process of moving is so, so awful. Changing the address on your bills, submitting a change of address to the post office, returning internet and cable equipment, letting your food supply dwindle down so as to not have to pack an ice chest that you left in your friend’s backyard anyway… Motherfather, I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy. (I’d wish far worse, natch.) But it’s over, officially and totally. Kiddo and I are jam packed TO THE GILLS, SON (sorry, Joe Rogan’s lexicon makes its way into my own sometimes) in my parents’ spare bedroom. The men in our life (Josh, Furby and Mo) have temporarily relocated to Josh’s family’s house about an hour away. Absence is making us quite fond and the like but I would give up some seriously sacred shit to wake up next to him every morning again.
It’s all for the better. To get caught up and to get ahead. We were rocking the hand-me-down chic with pride for a while but it’s high time we bought ourselves some furnishings we love and are proud of. I was mentally and emotionally finished with 2B and wished it a good riddance on the last drive out of the alley. Though on that drive, I did tell Kiddo, “I’m kind of sad.” She offered with a heavy sigh, “I’m sad I don’t have any food.”
Some pretty kickass anecdotes to living at home again are hanging with the fam and enjoying my mom and dad’s cooking. They’re a damn fine bunch of people and I’m pretty thrilled to be related to them. I’ve missed my hometown so much. There’s already been a hefty poker tournament in the backyard, many a lap swam in their pool, a jog around the quarter mile track up the street and a hike at a local park. (I am not above squealing over a cotton-tailed bunny or seven, turns out.) All of my DVDs are packed and my TV requires a variety of boxes and/or cables to work. I don’t have the patience for that so I borrow a lot of their movies and read more than I used to, which is a huge perk in itself. Face down in a good read is when I’m most at peace, mostly because everything and everyone around me seizes to exist. I could get behind this whole no television lifestyle, though I do miss all my Showtime stories.
Last week, I made the final payment on a loan that has been hanging over my head for five or six years. There is so much relief in that statement. It’s gone. Over with. DONE-ZO. This calls for a celebration, yes?
-CJ
Filed under: music/podcasts
Lately I’ve been utilizing Pandora* to deafen the overwhelming silence that can come over my office during the work day. When I focus, I can hear only the hum of the air. Throughout the day, a train passes nearby. Eventually I won’t notice it.
(Quickly, in case you don’t know: Pandora is a free “radio station” that plays music similiar to any artist you plug into it.)
I have a few saved stations. Less Than Jake is what I’ll plug in when I’m energetic. Arcade Fire when I’m lethargic and tired. For most any mood or feeling though, I plug in Yeah Yeah Yeahs. They can do no wrong, in my book. My book is a huge YYY fan. Recently the song Help I’m Alive by Metric popped up on that channel. After a minute I recognized it nostalgically and ended up purchasing the MP3 through Amazon where I found Gimme Sympathy, from the same album, is available for free. I quite like it.
After all of this is gone
Who’d you rather be?
The Beatles or the Rolling Stones?
Oh, seriously
You’re gonna make mistakes, you’re young
Come on, baby, play me a song
Just thought I’d share. Happy Friday, y’all.
-CJ
I have been sleeping much too late every morning, despite technically needing to be out the door by 6:50 am on weekdays. I have learned that I can push it until 7 am, skip the iced coffee and most likely arrive at work on time. Most often though, obviously, I push it until 7 am and do not skip the coffee.
The late afternoon/early evening workouts (*flex*) require late afternoon/early evening showers, so I’m good and clean come morning time. I’ve even devised a hair situation that involves some mousse and some bobby pins, and la-dee-da, we have morning time waves that are a half-step above hipster bedhead. The morning routine really only needs to involve clothing, teeth brushing and deoderizing. When I’m feeling nice, I’ll get Kiddo on the move while her dad takes a forty-seven minute shower.
This morning I didn’t drag my body from the blankets and the direct aim of the fan* until 6:55 am. I am a half-step under hipster bedhead, needless to say.
*I just love sleeping under the big zebra blanket but July hardly allows that to be comfortable. Having the fan blow all night keeps temperatures good and balanced.
There was much to be celebrated this weekend. My sister’s sixteenth birthday was on Friday and my gift to her was tickets to a Dodger game, attended by five of us girls. Saturday was the day of the Hootenanny, which I’d been waiting for with wet hot anticipation since about here:
Sunday was for the celebrating of my most bestest friend’s birthday at her house, involving a Taco Guy, music, good people and many, many drinks. And the holiday that brought on this whole weekend-plus-one-day was done right at our friends’ house where there was more music, good people and many, many drinks PLUS a band and a ton of fireworks going up in every direction.
There is more to be said about all of these things. In due time.
-CJ
