Tuesday, February 19, 2013
Yeah
Well, desperation be damned. I sent him my cell phone number. If nothing happens, nothing happens. But... if something happens, it could be great.
Anxiety
I'm experiencing high amounts of anxiety at the moment. For example, I'm actually dreading going to work today. I'm really losing grip on a lot of things at work, and I'm expecting I'll be the center of a difficult conversation today. The truth is, I'm being crushed under the weight of all the work, and it's causing me to make mistakes. Last week, I worked enough overtime for two full lieu days. We are bringing someone else in to help, which I'm grateful for, but that means that in a month or two, I'll be even further off track, training someone. At the moment, I've got someone who asks to sit with me for a few hours every week, so they can job shadow me. She's sat with me a lot, and I'm getting annoyed. It doesn't feel like she wants to learn the job; she's interested in the job one step above me, and our boss told her she should be taking a look at my position.
My position doesn't get the respect it deserves. Even people currently in my job are simply looking at it to launch themselves into a job higher up. As a result, I'm the only constant in the position, and it needs attention to truly become what we need it to be.
I'm dreading going to work today.
Additionally, I had been chatting with a nice fellow through a dating site. My last message to him was on Saturday morning, and I haven't heard back. We've gone a couple of days between messages, but it's officially three now. Also, he has time off right now and he might have gone home to see his parents. I don't know. I don't think I had a whole lot emotionally invested in him, but he seemed to be the only thing going right, and now he's AWOL. I'm considering a last ditch effort of sending my phone number and telling him he can text if he likes. I was all ready to send out that message yesterday afternoon, and then I just... didn't. Would it look desperate? Part of me thinks it would just make me look interested, which for some reason in my mind is a horrid sin.
As you can read from the above, I've also concluded that I'll never really be ready to date, so I may as well just jump in. Also, I'm tired. Alright, 6am. Time to make coffee.
My position doesn't get the respect it deserves. Even people currently in my job are simply looking at it to launch themselves into a job higher up. As a result, I'm the only constant in the position, and it needs attention to truly become what we need it to be.
I'm dreading going to work today.
Additionally, I had been chatting with a nice fellow through a dating site. My last message to him was on Saturday morning, and I haven't heard back. We've gone a couple of days between messages, but it's officially three now. Also, he has time off right now and he might have gone home to see his parents. I don't know. I don't think I had a whole lot emotionally invested in him, but he seemed to be the only thing going right, and now he's AWOL. I'm considering a last ditch effort of sending my phone number and telling him he can text if he likes. I was all ready to send out that message yesterday afternoon, and then I just... didn't. Would it look desperate? Part of me thinks it would just make me look interested, which for some reason in my mind is a horrid sin.
As you can read from the above, I've also concluded that I'll never really be ready to date, so I may as well just jump in. Also, I'm tired. Alright, 6am. Time to make coffee.
Monday, February 11, 2013
Saturday's adventure
This past Saturday, I went on a karaoke adventure with a friend. I had two beers (she had several), followed by three large glasses of water. At around 12:30 we left, the plan being to drive her home, and then head home myself. And that's when it happened.
I was pulled over by a police officer. Who was clearly waiting for people who were leaving the bar. He could probably smell beer when he was chatting with me, and I admitted to having some earlier, so he asked me to step out of the car and follow him back to his. Follow him back to his car so I could do a breathalyzer test.
I was fine. I knew I was fine. But I also knew that they had recently tightened up the laws, and was scared shitless. He opened up the backseat of the cop car and invited me to take a seat because it was "so cold tonight." I sat with my feet sticking out, and the door still open, insisting that no, this was fine, I didn't want to get right in where it was warmer.
He explained to me that one of three things was going to happen. I was either going to blow under, blow super close to the limit and get a warning, or blow over and get a 3 day suspension. Yikes. He did the test first, both to show me how it was done and to show me that we were pals ("see? It's easy!"). And then he had me do it.
My blood alcohol level was .027. I was fine. He had me keep the breathalyzer straw ("as a souvenier!" he said), and thanked me for being the designated driver.
But, my god, did that ever scare the shit out of me.
Additionally, this is all rather funny when I realize that I was trying to do this thing where I don't drink in February ("it's the shortest month! It'll be a breeze!"), more out of respect for calories and finances than anything (not "on the wagon" by any means). I knew, however, that if I went out with this friend, and it ended up just being me and her, that I couldn't avoid having one in order to make her comfortable enough to indulge.
Well, it was a fun night. I'll write a little more on karaoke later.
I was pulled over by a police officer. Who was clearly waiting for people who were leaving the bar. He could probably smell beer when he was chatting with me, and I admitted to having some earlier, so he asked me to step out of the car and follow him back to his. Follow him back to his car so I could do a breathalyzer test.
I was fine. I knew I was fine. But I also knew that they had recently tightened up the laws, and was scared shitless. He opened up the backseat of the cop car and invited me to take a seat because it was "so cold tonight." I sat with my feet sticking out, and the door still open, insisting that no, this was fine, I didn't want to get right in where it was warmer.
He explained to me that one of three things was going to happen. I was either going to blow under, blow super close to the limit and get a warning, or blow over and get a 3 day suspension. Yikes. He did the test first, both to show me how it was done and to show me that we were pals ("see? It's easy!"). And then he had me do it.
My blood alcohol level was .027. I was fine. He had me keep the breathalyzer straw ("as a souvenier!" he said), and thanked me for being the designated driver.
But, my god, did that ever scare the shit out of me.
Additionally, this is all rather funny when I realize that I was trying to do this thing where I don't drink in February ("it's the shortest month! It'll be a breeze!"), more out of respect for calories and finances than anything (not "on the wagon" by any means). I knew, however, that if I went out with this friend, and it ended up just being me and her, that I couldn't avoid having one in order to make her comfortable enough to indulge.
Well, it was a fun night. I'll write a little more on karaoke later.
Wednesday, February 6, 2013
Hell is someone else's playlist
Or is it? This morning I found a site that makes me want to call in sick and play all day.
"Where has she been?" some of you may say, "that site has been around for a long time. I knew about it before its creators did." Actually, I'm pretty sure none of you are saying that. Could one of you please remind me to hire a douchebag hipster to comment on my blog every day?*.
The site is 8 Tracks ( http://8tracks.com/ ). I found it through a friend's pinterest who had pinned someone's playlist for studying on it. <--- horrid sentence, sorry.
Basically, you can go on there, and created a playlist that other people can listen to. You can friend other people on there if you bump into other playlists you like, make comments on other playlists, etc. It has its own library that you can pull songs from, or you can upload from your own files. Right now, I'm listening to Vista18's "Keep it Sassy" playlist, which so far consists of two slightly mediocre Beyonce tracks**.
The nice thing about sites like this are that they often have a great deal of indie music, because sites like this are how a lot of the smaller bands gain exposure, so they're happy to be included, regardless of any payment (you hear that, Lars Ulrich? Aww, I love you, you clueless jerk. It's okay, go hit things with sticks again).
At any rate, I'll probably be on there sometime this evening, making a playlist with all my favourite happy go lucky stuff***.
This is me on the site: http://8tracks.com/kidamy
*Activity that includes "hire a douchebag hipster to comment on my blog" may be one of the reasons that I find myself in the financial state that I'm in.
**Which are still superior to Rhianna's best tracks. Yeah, I said it.
***Prediction: it will consist of 1 complete Nada Surf album.
"Where has she been?" some of you may say, "that site has been around for a long time. I knew about it before its creators did." Actually, I'm pretty sure none of you are saying that. Could one of you please remind me to hire a douchebag hipster to comment on my blog every day?*.
The site is 8 Tracks ( http://8tracks.com/ ). I found it through a friend's pinterest who had pinned someone's playlist for studying on it. <--- horrid sentence, sorry.
Basically, you can go on there, and created a playlist that other people can listen to. You can friend other people on there if you bump into other playlists you like, make comments on other playlists, etc. It has its own library that you can pull songs from, or you can upload from your own files. Right now, I'm listening to Vista18's "Keep it Sassy" playlist, which so far consists of two slightly mediocre Beyonce tracks**.
The nice thing about sites like this are that they often have a great deal of indie music, because sites like this are how a lot of the smaller bands gain exposure, so they're happy to be included, regardless of any payment (you hear that, Lars Ulrich? Aww, I love you, you clueless jerk. It's okay, go hit things with sticks again).
At any rate, I'll probably be on there sometime this evening, making a playlist with all my favourite happy go lucky stuff***.
This is me on the site: http://8tracks.com/kidamy
*Activity that includes "hire a douchebag hipster to comment on my blog" may be one of the reasons that I find myself in the financial state that I'm in.
**Which are still superior to Rhianna's best tracks. Yeah, I said it.
***Prediction: it will consist of 1 complete Nada Surf album.
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
Single White Female
As I was pulling out of my apartment's parking lot this morning, I looked back up at my building to see one of the annoying neighbours looking out, watching me pull away.
I'm quite creeped out.
I'm quite creeped out.
Becoming a little bitch.
I have this horrible tendency to care what other people are doing. No, wait... that almost sounds like a good thing. I have a horrible tendency to give a shit about things that aren't my business and don't affect me.
That's more like it.
I don't know exactly where this came from, but it's really embroidered in me. It may just sound like I'm a nosy parker, but it comes with a nice side of judginess. I can sit back and raise my eyebrows about someone else's finances (why did she buy ___, though?), someone else's romantic life ("isn't he married, though?"), someone else's work ("this douchebag doesn't know how to do his job, and he makes $10 an hour more than me"), someone else's fashion and jewellery choices ("it rattles when you walk, is that really office appropriate?").
Quite frankly, it's exhausting being me, especially given that, clearly, I'm perfect in every way. Me, and the extra 40 pounds I'm carrying (also exhausting).
Ah, but there it is. I couldn't resist making a small jab at myself as well. I think I judge other people so readily, because I'm consistently judging myself. It's difficult to live in your own brain, sometimes, because even when we're conscious that one person thinks differently from the next, we're tend to go back to assuming that everyone sees the world the same way. I operate under the impression that everyone is thinking about how chubby I am when they meet me* (comfortably furnished. If I were a couch, I'd be overstuffed microfiber: cosy but nice enough for the good living room), so I tend to think about how chubby I am very frequently. That way, I can beat them to the punch when it comes to judging me.
What I'm finding so hilarious about this - at the moment - is that I just plain don't have time for that shit right now. The man who wrote the awful piece of work in my office isn't my concern, because I'm way too busy doing other things during my work day. I've stopped actively disliking my neighbours, because I'm far too busy outside of my apartment to care what's happening inside it**. So, I don't have time for this stuff now, why am I making time for it when I do have time? Wouldn't it be better spent focusing on other hobbies?
*The interesting thing about this, of course, is the assumption that they've given me that much thought at all. It's a special kind of low to think that people firstly are thinking of you, and then that they are thinking of you in a negative way. As I said up there^, exhausting.
**The mildly interesting thing about this is knowing that she's stewing about it during her day, because she doesn't have much to do. Statement of fact, no judgment there.
That's more like it.
I don't know exactly where this came from, but it's really embroidered in me. It may just sound like I'm a nosy parker, but it comes with a nice side of judginess. I can sit back and raise my eyebrows about someone else's finances (why did she buy ___, though?), someone else's romantic life ("isn't he married, though?"), someone else's work ("this douchebag doesn't know how to do his job, and he makes $10 an hour more than me"), someone else's fashion and jewellery choices ("it rattles when you walk, is that really office appropriate?").
Quite frankly, it's exhausting being me, especially given that, clearly, I'm perfect in every way. Me, and the extra 40 pounds I'm carrying (also exhausting).
Ah, but there it is. I couldn't resist making a small jab at myself as well. I think I judge other people so readily, because I'm consistently judging myself. It's difficult to live in your own brain, sometimes, because even when we're conscious that one person thinks differently from the next, we're tend to go back to assuming that everyone sees the world the same way. I operate under the impression that everyone is thinking about how chubby I am when they meet me* (comfortably furnished. If I were a couch, I'd be overstuffed microfiber: cosy but nice enough for the good living room), so I tend to think about how chubby I am very frequently. That way, I can beat them to the punch when it comes to judging me.
What I'm finding so hilarious about this - at the moment - is that I just plain don't have time for that shit right now. The man who wrote the awful piece of work in my office isn't my concern, because I'm way too busy doing other things during my work day. I've stopped actively disliking my neighbours, because I'm far too busy outside of my apartment to care what's happening inside it**. So, I don't have time for this stuff now, why am I making time for it when I do have time? Wouldn't it be better spent focusing on other hobbies?
*The interesting thing about this, of course, is the assumption that they've given me that much thought at all. It's a special kind of low to think that people firstly are thinking of you, and then that they are thinking of you in a negative way. As I said up there^, exhausting.
**The mildly interesting thing about this is knowing that she's stewing about it during her day, because she doesn't have much to do. Statement of fact, no judgment there.
Monday, February 4, 2013
Gorminig, Monday.
That's how I type Good morning at 6am. The coffee is brewing, my oatmeal is...oating, and I'm up.
I spent the weekend looking at excel spreadsheets and now I'm ready for a weekend. I've created a spreadsheet to track my spending and take care of my budget. In the past, I've always just been really careful and consistently budgeted far less than I could afford, allowing for, well, quite the surplus at the end. It sounds good, but if you're not paying attention, your money isn't really working for you, and you don't realize where you could be saving more on the day-to-day items.
I also created the Hell Journal.
The Hell Journal is a Piccadilly notebook* with graph paper in it. I call it the Hell Journal because I'll be using it to track my finances and my food consumption, two things I hate to think of doing. I'll be using Seinfeld's "Don't break the Chain"* method of ensuring I'm doing it. I hope it works.
Also, got to have a nice long chat with a friend yesterday, that I don't get to chat with very often. She helped me out with my financial planning, and her knowledge is quite valuable. She's also crazy. She requested 16 jelly beans as payment. Worth every bean.
*Piccadilly notebooks are so similar to Moleskines, that you can really only tell the difference via the little logo embossed on the back, or by doing a very close side by side analysis. Piccadilly notebooks will set you back only half as much as a Moleskine, which is quite overpriced ($25 for a notebook smaller than a standard A5? Yikes.) See more Piccadilly here: http://piccadillyinc.com/products/notebooks
**http://dontbreakthechain.com/
I spent the weekend looking at excel spreadsheets and now I'm ready for a weekend. I've created a spreadsheet to track my spending and take care of my budget. In the past, I've always just been really careful and consistently budgeted far less than I could afford, allowing for, well, quite the surplus at the end. It sounds good, but if you're not paying attention, your money isn't really working for you, and you don't realize where you could be saving more on the day-to-day items.
I also created the Hell Journal.
The Hell Journal is a Piccadilly notebook* with graph paper in it. I call it the Hell Journal because I'll be using it to track my finances and my food consumption, two things I hate to think of doing. I'll be using Seinfeld's "Don't break the Chain"* method of ensuring I'm doing it. I hope it works.
Also, got to have a nice long chat with a friend yesterday, that I don't get to chat with very often. She helped me out with my financial planning, and her knowledge is quite valuable. She's also crazy. She requested 16 jelly beans as payment. Worth every bean.
*Piccadilly notebooks are so similar to Moleskines, that you can really only tell the difference via the little logo embossed on the back, or by doing a very close side by side analysis. Piccadilly notebooks will set you back only half as much as a Moleskine, which is quite overpriced ($25 for a notebook smaller than a standard A5? Yikes.) See more Piccadilly here: http://piccadillyinc.com/products/notebooks
**http://dontbreakthechain.com/
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