Friday, September 19, 2003

Hurricane He'sEngaged

I expected this, of course. He's been dating some girl he met in Korea, from whence he dumped me. They are both in the Air Force. Air Force, I do not hold this against you.

I feel punched. I feel kicked. I feel rejected all over again. I feel angry that I feel this way. Last night-- I swear to you, kids, last night-- I was thinking about the scar he left... visible, healed, part of the skin, a wound I no longer need to tend. I was glad that someone who tried but never quite accepted my passions in life and who yelled at strangers who cut in front of him in line was no longer a potential husband.

A few weeks ago I commented to AnaMaria that I do not miss being in love. I meant it then; I mean it now. I don't miss the vulnerability, the anxiety, the constant phone call analyzation. I like planning my life for me. I like the anticipation of wondering when my Lancelot will arrive. He'll get here when he gets here. It's the childish unfairness of it all, I guess-- that's what's stabbing at me right now. That he should enjoy the happy companionship of a soulmate when he has caused me so much pain.

I am the only cousin of seven who is not permenantly attached. Nobody says anything about it. Nobody has to.

Ahhhhhhhhh, damn it all anyway. This is what I get for using the IM on the work computer.

Nice Timing

Two years ago, a man I was very serious with dumped me. He dumped me via email. I hate him.

I just found out that he is engaged.

Two hours until closing time.

Four hours until the bars open.

What the hell, Isabell?

Isabel has now been downgraded to a tropical storm. Glenn Beck just wondered, "Why hasn't anyone asked her how she feels about that-- about being LABELED and DOWNGRADED by a BUNCH OF WHITE MEN in a METEROLOGICAL CENTER?!" Sue, Izzy, sue.

Chopper Mohammad

Why is it that no matter where you are in America, the guy in the traffic copter sounds exactly the same? I've lived in three major media markets in my life and I swear it's just one guy up there yelling about a backup on I-275 between Kenwood and Montgomery.

How is this at all useful? Imagine my shock when I hear every single morning that for some reason it's slow going in the downtown area. They do it again at night: "Wow, I-4 is just a parking lot right now! It's almost as if the entire city is trying to get somewhere at once!" So I'm especially glad that radio hosts find it necessary to toss it to this guy every four seconds.

Do they do this in other countries? At 101.9 The Kicker in Afghanistan, do they cue up the honking horns and that Jetsons music so Chopper Mohammad can report on a broken-down camel by the side of the road? "There is almost no movement at the northern minefield this morning, and long delays down by the marketplace and along the border. It is almost as if the entire nation is trying to get somewhere at once!"

Thursday, September 18, 2003

Outlook Good

After I cancelled on Flipper for rollerblading last night for the THIRD time running, she consulted her Magic 8-Ball to see if I could actually make it tonight. Answer: Outlook Good.

When I picked up the phone a couple of minutes ago, she bypassed hello and said, "Dare I ask this question?"

"Outlook Good!" I said, knocking on my faux wooden desk.

It's been a good hour. One of the engineers not only just used a semicolon, he used it correctly. I almost slithered right out of my rolly chair.

Lunch Hour (Yes, I Actually Had a Lunch Hour Today)

It is an almost sinfully beautiful Florida afternoon, made all the more glorious by the fact that many of the people who told me when I moved down here that I'd be doing nothing but dodging hurricanes are currently cowering from Isabel. I just made several extremely self-satisfying emails to colleagues in the Washington area, who-- um.... won't be at work to get them because most of DC is.... shut down and.... everybody was....

Shit.

Morons In Glass Boxes

Illusionist David Blaine-- the "illusion", I suppose, is in the idea he is in any way relevant to humanity-- has boxed himself into a seven-by-seven-by-three glass case in London. He'll stay there for 44 days. There has been a great deal of jumping up and down over this, and people have been gathering 'round to watch him sit on his overhyped ass, a colossal loser trapped in self-created amber.

Am I the only one who finds this incredibly lame? Does this require any kind of skill whatsoever? Am I supposed to hail this as (swelling of Olympic Hymn) A TRIUMPH OF THE HUMAN SPIRIT? Hell, I lived in a room that size in the freshman dorm at The Womb for a year, and CNN never did a story on it.

Believin' Stevens

Gary "Seriously, Do Not Anger Me" Stevens returned to the races last week, which flat-out amazes me (thanks to everyone who emailed me the news stories, shrieking). When he was thrown in August-- collapsed lung, broken vertebrae-- the doctors said he'd be out for a month. He was back in two weeks even though they had to insert a tube in his chest to reinflate his lung. Let's read that again: They had to insert a tube in his chest to reinflate his lung.

Now....

When I had my tonsils out in college, it took me a couple months to get off the DL, and the most strenuous thing I did was perhaps raise my hand once or twice a day. And this guy, at the age of forty, sits up on the emergency room table and says, "Bring me another horse!" Gaping chest wound, who cares! Reduces wind resistance down the stretch!

An astounding healer, motivation.

Intelligence Update

I've just discovered that I have been wearing my panties inside out all day.

Wednesday, September 17, 2003

Understatement

I just talked to my friend Flipper (she lives in a world full of wonder, flying there-under, under the sea!) I had to cancel on her for the third time in a week for rollerblading because I am once again stuck here in Graph Paper Paradise. When I apologized and explained why I couldn't make it, there was a pause on the other end of the line, then she said: "You have the worst job in the world." How can she say that?! They pay for my parking!

It poured down rain last night and I didn't even know it.

$100,000 Well Spent

Today my MFA and my double magna cum laude BA and I were completely flummoxed by Word's "tab" function. After twenty minutes of sliding the little thingie over to the thing and watching helplessly as words scattered everywhere, I manually inserted five spaces in front of every. Single. Line. Please. Kill. Me.

Closed Door

My supervisor came into my office yesterday and found me crying. "What's the matter?" she said, and you know, for about .00000000000001 of a second there, I actually considered saying something along the lines of, "I'm miserable. I live paycheck to paycheck doing I job I hate. I begin hating every single job I've ever had, really, approximately four months into it, and I don't understand why I can't just get with the program, but the only thing I've ever been good at, employment-wise, consists soley of sitting by myself before a computer screen and spinning sentences into existence. Will you pay me to do that? Will anyone ever pay me to do that? And if nobody does, what will I do?"

I told her it was PMS.

Tuesday, September 16, 2003

September 16, 2003, 8:09 PM: It's official

I am old.

I was kneeling on the floor to pull a file (yes, I'm still at work-- lunchless Hour Twelve and counting) and as I got up I made the following noise: "Uhnh!"

A sad, sad day. Uhnh-ing at the age of twenty-six. A lovely youth while it lasted.

Shove it.

I think what makes this job so agonizing is the fact that I don't give a flying shit about it. I was abused at Kennedy Space Center, but I dearly loved the rockets that took off there, and so I stayed far beyond what was healthy for body or mind. No matter how badly I was treated, I knew that I was making a contribution to the space program, speck-sized though it may be. It's amazing what you can endure when your heart's invested.

Here, the marketing submittals go out, the grant applications come in, I am treated very well, and I dooooooooon't caaaaaaaaaaaaaare. (It sounds like I'm starring in a hostage video: "The engineers are treating me very well. I have been given a chair with wheels. There is a well-stocked Coke machine in the break room. I am permitted to call my family once a week. Their wastewater treatment plants are just, Allah be praised.") If I were teaching again--much as I squirmed against flaying those ungrateful little philistines into churning out a complete sentence--at least I would know that I was contributing to the education of a young mind. But nothing here matters to me. Nothing. I hate the work. I hate the politics. I hate the tile pattern in the 5th floor ladies room.

I drive home at night terrified. We're only given so many days on this good Earth, and while I know you can't always do what you want to, it's horrifying to contemplate the thought that so many hours of my life are wasted with this crap. I mean:

I just dropped off an organizational chart with one of the graphic artists with the information he needed to build it. Apparantly I didn't give him quite enough to fill out some sort of timechart or work order or something.

"Your initials?" he called as I thanked him and walked away.

I told him.

"I know what they are," he responded. "I was just making a point."

Okay then! Point taken: You're an asshole.

Monday, September 15, 2003

The Surge

The Reds defeated the Cubs last night, inching us ever closer to the playoffs. That's right: We are now only 17 games out of first place. GO! Magic number soon coming, boys!

Sunday, September 14, 2003

Sports Quote of the Week

From Notre Dame offensive coordinator Bill Diedrick:

"Anytime that you don't score any points and you aren't very effective in anything, then I think it is always a step backwards because you aren't moving forward."

Sigh.

Empty Mailbox

When that little door swings open and I peer all the way to nowhere, I am torn between two poles: being sad that nobody sent me anything, and being happy that no bills have arrived.

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