I've now been on the site for a few months and have yet to meet anyone decent or even semi-decent (I've actually yet to meet anyone at all in person). This may or may not be because of the running inner monologue I have that starts something like:
"Alright, let's see what poor sap messaged me today"
I'm not cruel. If someone says something interesting, I'll write them back. It's just that they can never hold my interest past two messages or if I eventually give them my msn name (2 guys so far).
So let's see what I've got in my in-box today:
Subject line: cuttie
Message: are you from calgary how long have you been
Well moron, how long have I been what? If I'm from Calgary then obviously I've "been" my whole freaking life. I'm not sure what cuttie means but let's just reiterate that I'm not Emo so no, no I don't.
Subject line: hi there
Message: i'm ****** and if age isn't an issue for u, i was wondering if i'd be someone of interest to you as i truely found ur profile and pic equally attractive...
Here's another Douchetastic winner. Hey Mister, if "ur" 43 you may want to learn how to spell because I found your use of the English language "truely" appalling.
Subject line: boo
Message: hey...well i was reading your profile...and i know movies are not for you on the first date...so what about the race track?...but it might be closed right now... so im good with a swim to the moon
Where to begin with this one...let's start with the over usage of the ellipsis. If you aren't sure how to punctuate, don't just fill in any empty spots with dots. It's called Grade Two - perhaps you should make your way back there? Also, what the hell is a swim to the moon? Is that what the kids are calling sex these days? Because if so, I'm not buying. Perv.
Now, I thought my costume was pretty scandalous, but then Blondie goes and buys a skirt at least as short as mine and a corset top. Which of course made me remember that there will be girls wearing only lingerie. So I can embrace my booty-short clad bum and the tiny skirt it's (barely) hidden under.
There were these douche bags on the train talking about human feces on one of the platforms. It was revolting and went something like this:
"Fuck man, there was this SHIT one time on the platform. Like real fucking human shit"
"Fuck off! Really? That's fucked"
"Fuck dude it was fucking shit, just a huge pile of fucking human shit"
and on...and on...and on
I nearly threw up. Now I don't give two shits if you swear around me (obviously) but the fact that there were old ladies and people on their way home from work? "Dude" watch your goddamn language.
Anyway after the mall fiasco, where I spent another $50 I DON'T HAVE on stockings, a corset and ribbons, we were back on the train when these three boys get on. One of them was obviously so drunk/high that he could barely stand but refused to sit.
As he swayed back and forth telling his friends about the "slut he got with" I thought of that New Haircut video and started laughing. Really, really loud. I could just see the kid "Brosky! Bitches love my new haircut - Fucking skanks!"*
Anyway, needless to say he wasn't very impressed and wouldn't stop glaring at us for the duration of the trip. I stopped laughing when he made a joke to his friends that he had protection and made his fingers into that gun shape.
Alice = Gangster Bait
*The best knock-off of this video by far is the Senior Citizens edition
Luckily I can cook, so I made some Beef Stroganoff which provides a hilarious platform for many stroking-off comments from you guys.
My younger sisters SL and SK have school in the mornings and my parents don't really drive at night - not because they're old but because they just don't really want to. So I watched 40 Year Old Virgin with my mom (awkward?! Yes) and crashed there.
This morning my dad came down and, as he does every morning, turned on the stock channel. I don't really get why you would want to start your day off all depressed and with thoughts of half your money basically burning in a fiery inferno (because it may as well be). Alas, he does.
Now I don't know how many of you have RSPs or stocks or whatever, but I do. I've seen the steady decrease of my RSP savings from over $20,000 down to $14,000 and now at a depressingly low $8,000.
I know my loss is ridiculously low compared to the hundreds of thousands that other people are losing but at the same time, I've had an RSP since I was 19 and this last year I finally was able to start putting a large chunk in every month. Now I kind of feel like maybe sending my money to that nice Nigerian guy who emailed me may have been more worth it.
On the upside, now is the best time to be putting more cash into that money-sucking, depression-inducing system. That's right; buy low, sell high - isn't that what all those crazy stockbrokers say? Since the Canadian dollar is now worth less then a collection of toenails I may as well throw it all into my gold stocks.
If I'm going to be a millionaire by the time I'm thirty I better get cracking.
Then again I could always just invest all my money in Zoloft.
While I was off strolling around Vancouver, Victoria and Sidney (which isn't where I live for anyone who was confused by the video. I was on vacation visiting Dizzy and her husband) I was tagged in two memes
The first is from Lydia at ...Down the Rabbit Hole... wherein* you give 6 random facts about yourself.
1. Link to the person that tagged you
2. Post the rules on your blog
3. Share six non-important things/habits/quirks about yourself
4. Tag six random people at the end of your post by linking to their blogs
5. Let each random person know they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their website
6. Let your tagger know when your entry is up
1. Okay so remember when I was all like wah-wah my life is going down the tubes? Poor me, I lost my job and all that stuff? Uh okay, so I've decided I'm going to write a book. I have all this free time now and the money from The Restaurant should keep me out of (in?) trouble and paying bills and stuff. Ben I'm volunteering you as my proof-reader and the book will be ready in about a year. I'm going to write a page a day as my goal and more if I feel like it. Kthxbai
2. I hate corn and water chestnuts. I got a water chestnut in my stir-fry the other day (stir-fry was fabulous Dizzy!!) and I had to spit it out. The texture makes me want to Vom. I also hate milk. We are the only animals that drink another species milk after infancy. Most people are born without the lipids to digest milk (hence all the lactose-intolerance's) plus the taste/texture is awful. Yuck. That being said; I love cheese, yogurt and lattes. I'm weird.
3. I set my alarm for 9 am now that I'm unemployed. This is 2 and a half hours later then I would get up for The Company so it's still sleeping in but I won't get into being super lazy and sleeping until noon. Which is what I did today because it's Saturday. Also, I got up at 5 am yesterday to drive 10 hours back home to Calgary - give me a break, holy fuck!
4. I'm sort of a "man-eater". I never really thought much about my dating habits until that Nelly Furtado song came out and one of my girl friends yelled across a busy bar - "Hey Alice! It's totally your song!" but I guess I sort of do get bored with men. Also, I don't like clingy guys, not being able to go out with my girlfriends, having to call the guy all the time (or them calling me all the time), having set date-nights, romantic candles, cheesy love songs, jealousy, planning around someone else' schedule...yuck and double yuck. I wonder why I'm still single...?
I have had my heart broken once and I did it to myself.
5. I have a stack of poker chips beside my computer. When I'm trying to get the right ideas out or just wondering what the hell I'm going to write about, I chip shuffle - it helps me think.
6. I organize my closets (I have two - one for dresses, one for skirts and blouses) by color. That way if I'm looking for a purple dress I know exactly where to go. Same with sweaters, skirts, tank tops and shirts. Yes I'm slightly anal-retentive and OCD runs in my family, thanks for asking!
I'm going to tag:
Dr. Zibbs (I need a professional opinion)
My sis, Dizzy
and my Imaginary Friend
Have a great weekend!
PS - I started a new blog about eating healthy and losing ten pounds so if anyone is trying to do the same check it out and we can encourage each other to be healthy by e-mailing pictures of pigs wearing dresses and hippopotamuses eating cheese curds to each other. Or something.
*I don't know the correct usage of that word exactly but it makes me sound smart so I'm using it
A bunch of super wicked awesome (enough adjectives for you?) bloggers got together and started a blog called Fire That Agency to deal with adverse advertisers, crappy commercials and morose marketers (I dunno what the fuck is wrong with me today, sorry).
Anyway check it out, and while you're there check out my contribution (which you may have already read way back in June if you were with me then).
But before you do that, enjoy this age-old question from SaN:
Hello Darlings, San here from Stilettos and Nostalgia filling in for Alice while she cavorts around....er.....where is she again?
Anyway, glad to be of service in this job-themed blog post week. My most recent job-related dilemma is one I'm currently facing: the trade-off between money and quality of life.
Observe: I, hardworking graduate student with a burning desire to move back to Europe, recently landed my dream job with a top 5 consulting firm across the pond. This is a position toward which I've geared my entire recruitment efforts, on which I spend way too many hours practice interviewing and combing job postings to see if there was a chance for me.
Then, in June, I had a breakthrough: the company with which I have only dreamed of working had an opening that matched my degrees and skills. Hooray! But then I saw the offer and had second thoughts.
Now, you're probably thinking to yourself: this woman is insanely shallow - who cares about the money? Get over it! But when you have the joyous burden of tens of thousands of dollars worth of student loan debt, you tend to look at the world a bit more.....um.....materialistically?
So now I am torn. The job comes with everything I want in terms of quality of life, including 30 paid vacation days and the chance (FINALLY!) to be living with Marco.
Yet I'm worried that my starting salary now will determine my earning potential in the future, and that if I do not start high enough I may never make up the difference - especially as a woman.
So I ask you now, dear faithful Alice followers, what do you think I should value?
I did what everyone tells you not to do, and I dipped my pen in the company ink. Translation: I banged my boss.
I dated my higher-up. As the relationship got serious, we decided to move in together. As we were looking at apartments, I realized that I couldn't do it. I couldn't move in with him. I couldn't even be with him any longer. All he did was whine about every place we looked at, every town we visited, every restaurant we ate at, every thing, all the time. The final straw was when he got drunk and accused me of sleeping with another co-worker! Geez, I'm not that big of a whore...
After I dumped his ass, I had to see him at work. Our offices were right across from each other, and to top it off we had window walls. Yes, we could see each other from our desks. Well, this mutherfucker put up a poster on his window. Not that I wanted to see him, but I guess I was just mad that I hadn't thought of putting something up to block the view before he did.
It was kind of weird taking my assignments into him for review, but I sucked it up, walked into his office, and got the job done. Yet he refused to work with me like well; he didn't make eye contact; he kept it very short, and I felt that it compromised the team work and communication of our staff.
My favorite example of his immaturity and unprofessionalism was when he started leaving post-it notes on my desk every time I was out of my office. This a-hole would wait until I left my office and then run in and put a post-it note with a task or assignment on it for me. These little notes were detailed too, so he obviously took the time to write everything down and wait for the few minutes that I would leave my desk to sneak in and tape it up to my monitor.
After our project was complete, we both moved onto other job sites within the company. I heard that the other men would ask him questions about how I was in bed.
Here it is:
Sorry about the shitty quality - this is my first foray into the world of Video-Blogging
Oh yes, I'm also supposed to answer some questions:
Hypothetically, if I wrote a book about my life so far, I would call the first Chapter:
"You Did What?!" Pretty self explanatory
As for the most recent Chapter it would be called "Quarter Life Crisis' and Other Fun Times"
Aaaand for a story about me: see the post below!!
Does anyone know how I get the actual video on here instead of the stupid linky-thingy?
Update: Mmmkay so my sisters fabulous husband showed me how to upload it to my blog, holy hell was this a lot of work - so next time I'll be a pro...or sit in a corner crying while all the other kids point and laugh. Either way.
The first job I ever had was as a cook in a restaurant (actually as a paper-girl but I try to block that painful memory. Anything that happened before 6 am when I wasn't drunk doesn't count). I was designated as a Flat-top cook meaning I made quesadillas and pasta. Also, Fajita Roll-ups - we were a tex-mex restaurant.
On my first day of training I had my color guard (flag twirling) practice right afterwards. I went to practice still wearing my name tag:
is what it said. Of course, my mom told everyone I had applied at Hooters and wasn't "busty" enough to get the job so they put me in the kitchen. Funny mom.
No really, I wasn't emotionally scarred for life or anything.
Anyhow, I worked as a Flat-top cook for a few months and then was promoted to Trainer. I was only 15 when I got the job - this either says something about how great I am or how poorly the restaurant was doing. After another few months I was promoted to Broil Cook (one of the top positions). Again, they may or may not have been close to bankruptcy at this point.
This restaurant was drama after drama. If they had a reality series starring crazy cooks, stressed waitresses, sex, drugs and whipping cream this would be the heart of it all.
There was one girl "Vana" who really loved starting the drama. She had a boyfriend, let's call him A-Rod, who was a possesive, kind of crazy guy. Our kitchen manager was a young guy (though also crazy - he once drank oven cleaner just to prove he'd do it. His lung collapsed and we had to call 911).
Vana tried to seduce our manager in the walk-in cooler (the site of many dramatic happenings), he pushed her away, she freaked out and told A-Rod that our manager was hitting on her.
One night A-Rod and 19 of his friends, the Yankees, showed up at our work. Vana wasn't working that night but I was, as well as our manager. We were innocently taking out the trash at 1 am, almost done our shift and ready for a cold beer. Luckily I had made friends with the guys at the place next door, so they never asked for ID.
Well, A-Rod and the Yankees came over, surrounding us: 20 to 2. Before I knew what was happening there were 4 guys on our manager; punching him, kicking him - I had never seen anything like it in my life.
I ran inside to grab our huge bartender but of course even a huge guy is not really a match against 16. He did however manage to get the 4 off of our manager right before they were going to curb-stomp him, and as intimidating as he was, I thought the fight was over.
Meanwhile manager went inside, grabbed a butcher knife and came back out. The guys decided they had proven their point and got in their cars to drive away.
Manager ran after them screaming like a maniac and I of course chased him a) to make sure he didn't kill anyone and b) to see if his cuts and bruises needed ice. When we got back to the restaurant our boss, the front of house manager, had locked all the doors.
I knocked on the doors crying (my purse was in there and dammit it was expensive! Also, my house keys, all my money etc.) then ended up going next door where a woman saw that I was panicking, pretended to be my mother and yelled at the front house manager for half an hour.
She finally let us back in to get our stuff. I'd like to say I wasn't sobbing but that would be a lie. We were called in the next day and fired for walking out on our shift.
Apparently they were trying to make an example out of us.
During my first few months of my first "real" post-college job (in other words, not flipping burgers), I was trying very hard to exhibit a good work ethic and go "above and beyond" in order to make a good impression. (That has changed a bit, as evidenced by the fact that I'm typing this while I'm at work.)
On a Thursday, I'd been given instructions that a very important person (a friend of the boss) was coming in to pick up a thousand or so pieces of paperwork that he absolutely, positively needed by Saturday. Naturally, he never showed up.
Well, VIFOTB quickly decided that it was MY responsibility to get him the paperwork that he hadn't bothered to pick up, and after brain-storming for a few minutes, provided me with the name of a skeazy dive bar where he insisted that I should drop off the paperwork so he could come get it later.
After I made him promise that they'd be expecting me and the paperwork at said dive bar, I grabbed several pounds of paper and hit the road. I soon found myself standing at a dirty bar in my grown-up stiletto heels and a skirt, being leered at by drunken old men in stained overalls, while trying to convince a skeptical and very annoyed bartender that she needed to take this huge pile of paperwork, because VIFOTB would be in to pick it up.
Of course, she'd never heard of VIFOTB, nor had the bar owner or any of the patrons, and she (much like myself) didn't get paid to act as a secretary to a creepy old guy who took delivery of important documents in a seedy bar. It took me a good 15 minutes to convince someone, anyone to take the paperwork off my hands, which they only did after I told them that I didn't care what they did with it, that they could burn it for all I cared, I just wanted to get out of there minus several reams of paper and without being molested.
As soon as the papers left my hands, I practically ran out the door to the sounds of whistles and cat-calls.
This great advice given by Ashley from Encounters of the Human Kind
As a college senior living in Michigan, I was nervous about finding a job in a rocky economy. Luckily for me, I was willing to go anywhere. What was even more convenient is that I was highly connected through a student organization that led me to another highly connected individual in the public relations world.
Within days of meeting her I was inquiring about job opportunities within her firm. Being a global company and having dozens of offices around the world, I was hopeful that someone, somewhere was looking for an entry level employee. Contact information was exchanged and a phone call made where a second ask was thrown on the table:
"I will be in town during my spring break, will you interview me?"
Sure enough, an invitation to be interviewed was extended, followed shortly thereafter by a job offer to start after graduation.
Was it risky, flying across the country for an interview that may never pan out into full-time employment? Sure. Did it suck having to give up my last spring break ever to interview with a potential employer? Of course. But in the end – well worth it.
I had remembered the best piece of advice that anyone has ever given me: you don't receive what you don't ask for.
And this is the one piece of advice I give everyone – it applies to all aspects of life – because what's the worst that can happen? They say no. So you're right back where you started. No harm done. And now you know.
You can't be afraid to hear the word 'no.'
Be personable, friendly, and honest – and make the ask. You never know what might happen.
I sit here in my cube.
My life sucking cube.
I love my cube.
I embrace my cube.
The most creativity I have had all day is the moment I decided to hit the return key after each line to start this post. Yep, that's it. My biggest decision of the day. Paragraph or one liners....aaaaarrrgh....
What to do, what to do? It is a tough life of a cuber, and the lowest cuber of em all..... I almost can't say it--i am, a Saturday morning cuber. Oh yeah, its out there. I cube on Saturdays! Hunched over at my desk typing away on my crackberry... Hitting my new addiction, blogging. Blogging from the cube on a sat am. BANG.
Actually, it is afternoon by now, I am just in my own little cuberfog* that sets in on Saturdays... It is thick and knocks your senses askew. I shake my head, and say ' come on pj get in the game '. The cuberfog has over taken me. I think it is sat?!?!
The fog is thick, and makes it hard to think. The phones ring constantly and I talk without really being involved in the conversation, on autopilot as they say. People ask questions and I answer them, yet have no idea what is really going on. I can only see heads popping up above the cubicals, no bodies, just little heads bumping up and down as they talk. It seems so busy in here, lots of hustle and bustle, yet it just doesn't seem like much gets done.
I hope someone tells me when it is time to leave.
Well, enjoy your day out there. I can see you running on the grass, having your picnics, eating ice cream, frolicking (sp), playing games and having fun-- I see you. I am watching. I am not bitter by any means.... I laughed at myself as I wrote that - I AM BITTER REALLY REALLY BITTER.
Go cubers go!! Who cubes on Sat, I cube on Saturdays!! Put your hands in the air and raise em like you just don't care... Currently, I am raising the roof in my cube- that is how I do it. I am going to start a cube wave in a half hour, it is going to be cuberriffic!
Maybe I will start a cubnoxious chain e-mail-- those are always fun. If you don't send this to 8,000 people you will have bad luck. As you can see spending too much time in your cube has a negative effect on your sanity.
* you know when you are physically at work, but mentally you just haven't punched in yet.
My binder cover happened to land resting on keyboard but it wasn't less than five minutes before I moved it. It reminded me of a time I wouldn't mind forgetting... Lost in thought, stranded helplessly in a mind trip to the past…
It was my fourth day on the job (from hell) and I was overwhelmed with things to learn and under whelmed with assistance or, God forbid, anyone to train me. I was lost in a sea of paperwork trying to figure out how the hell the fool who worked in this position (before I did) survived.
I can't lie… I guess *technically* I heard the beeping... In the background. Honestly, it wasn't even an option, in my eyes, that I would be getting up from my desk to seek out who or what was creating this indefatigable noise.
My boss, Dick, comes tearing through the office in a mad rush. Papers fall to the floor as he passes; even they tremble in fear with the possibility of what he could do to their fate. Turbulence erupts as he started yelling and screaming at everyone in the office, despite many of them talking on phones to their clients.
He demands that someone must do something about this incessant noise… Now!
Practically everyone ducks their heads, dodging his fiery eyes, trying to bury their heads in their work deep enough that maybe he will have pity on them and torture someone else. Employees, with the exception of a few ogling eyes, continue working.
Dick stomps his foot down and slams his hand on his desk. When still no one comes to running to his rescue, he doesn't throw things or pout like a five year old… he stands right where he is and yells through the office for the entire building to hear;
"MAAAAHHH-LIISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSA!!! GET! IN! HERE! NOW!"
I scurried in to his office, my hands clammy and my throat dry, my stilettos click-clack click-clacking on the hardwood floors. I could hardly speak, for his stature as well as his arrogance intimidated me.
"Yes… hi… Did you call me? I thought I heard my name" I lied, of course, because everyone in the building KNEW he called my name.
"DON'T YOU HEAR THAT?!?" He barks. What am I stupid?
"Yes, I do hear that. What is it, do you think? Can I help you?"
"YEAH, YOU CAN HELP ME BY GETTING IT TO STOP BEEPING."Now, if you've kept up with my job history you will know that I am currently in the IT field, but at this time I had absolutely no IT experience. Not even the experience of answering the phones at an IT firm, so I knew nothing but what the average novice knows.
"Hmm… well, it sounds like it's coming from your computer…Can I…?"
"I DON'T NEED YOU TO TELL ME WHERE IT'S COMING FROM. I NEED YOU TO GET IT TO STOP. AND IF YOU CAN'T GET IT TO STOP… FIND SOMEONE WHO CAN! I DON'T CARE HOW YOU DO IT… JUST DO IT!"
"Ok, well I'll just the need the number for our IT company, then I will give them a call and have someone look into it right away for you, Mr. Dick, sir! Oh, wait… it appears that there is… a binder…"It stops.
Absolute silence breaks out across the entire office.
A sense of calmness comes over everybody as they realize the "new girl" has just solved Dick's problem (and therefore, all of ours too).
"WHAT THE HELL? WHAT THE HELL DID YOU JUST DO?!?" He barks.
"I just removed that binder that was resting all of its weight on your keyboard spacebar. Can I do anything else for you, Dick? Ok, greeeaaat…. I'll just get back to work then."
And that was the day that I knew...
I lasted 33 more days.
When I decided to become a teacher, I figured that this decision would be met by my entering a world where all things were fair in love and landing a job.
Little did I know, teaching wasn't void of the harsh realities of the working world where it all had to do with the people you knew, not the skills you had. I learned about this fast though. Thank God because if I hadn't, I'd still be waiting in the line for "permanent hire."
I worked for two years covering for maternity leaves thinking that I should land a job no problem with my principal. What I didn't know was that his friends daughter had just graduated and it was more important for her to get a permanent position in the school board before I did. Me ... the person who had been working there for longer than she had.
Needless to say, this pissed me off in a big fucking way. I was so livid. The inner brat in me wanted to bang my fists on my desk and throw the mother of all temper tantrums. But instead, I learned how to play the game. I learned that I could be the most talented teacher out there who was loved by all her students and their parents ... but that it wouldn't mean shit if I didn't have a personal connection with the man who held my professional fate in his hands. My principal.
So I did what any girl hungry for a secure job would do. I went on vacation with my boss. And wouldn't you know? I got a permanent job just one month later!
Now it wasn't that kind of vacation. There were no extra-marital ANYTHING involved. In fact, his wife and daughter came too. Along with about 10 other people. It was a tour in southern Italy which he planned and guided. It was a no brainer for me. It was like killing two birds with one stone: Me taking a much needed vacation and me landing a much needed permanent job.
Unfortunately, the land of the time-sheets is not a pleasant one. And it's almost like a mirage ... something you're pretty sure you see but once you reach out to try and take hold of it, it disappears.
I knew what I had to do. And I went for it. As sad as it sounds (Hi, my name is EM and I got a job because I went on vacation with my boss!), I don't care because I did what I had to do. And no sexual favours were needed.
Hey all, I’m the Imaginary Reviewer, guest posting for Alice today. Normally I only write reviews of things, but as Alice is currently seeking employment I thought I’d relate a cautionary tale that stems from the fact that I started a new job last month.
It was a split second decision on my part, really, and I had no idea of the consequences at the time. I must implore Alice (and anyone else about to embark upon a new career) to bear this in mind when sitting, as I was, in the office of the Human Resources Manager. She showed me a piece of paper with the headline “Coffee Club”, and offhandedly asked if I wished to pay a monthly amount for unlimited use of the canteen coffee machines. I figured that I could bring my own coffee from home, and declined.
This decision would have larger consequences than I could ever imagine.
In my office of around 100 people, the Coffee Club makes up about a fifth of the employees. On my second day working here I looked at the list posted in the canteen, saying which people can use the coffee machines, and saw them: the company bourgeoisie, the haves, the fat cats. All of them were managers, VPs and their assistants, the type of people who have their own names written on their office doors.
I picked up one of the packets of coffee to see what kind of blends the Club had access to, and one of the secretaries came in and batted it out of my hands. “Look with your eyes, not with your hands!” she shrieked, and I became aware of the vast gulf between those in the Club and those out of it.
As my time here went on, I became more and more aware of the mutual distrust. Members of the Coffee Club would eye me suspiciously as I filled my mug with water in the canteen, keeping an eye on me to make sure I didn’t surreptitiously steal a few illicit drops of Colombian Dark Roast. A bottle of salad dressing that I’d left in the staff refrigerator was unceremoniously smashed on the floor by a Club member after I’d put it in the space reserved for their cartons of milk. And then things started getting out of hand.
The flashpoint came when a new employee, ignorant of the rules, had a cup of Brazilian Rich Blend in full view of several Club members. This poor, unfortunate recent graduate was locked in the janitor’s closet for three days with nothing to drink but the sweat from his own shirt. In retaliation, a group of non-Club revolutionaries found the leader of those responsible and killed him with a Swingline 405 Stapler. His repeatedly-punctured body was left by the coffee machines as a warning to others.
Thrilled by the prospect of adventure, and maddened by the inequities of the office, I joined these brave men and women, the network engineers, the finance assistants and risk analysts fighting against the oppressive Coffee Club regime. I engaged in guerrilla tactics, pouring laxatives in the water section of the coffee machines and pissing in the milk.
Our last sortie ended in tragedy two days ago, when three non-Club members were found substituting the regular coffee with decaf by the Finance Manager and his PA. Retribution was swift and brutal. Their lifeless bodies, drained of blood by countless paper cuts, were delivered to the leaders of the revolution by a weeping mail boy.
By yesterday morning a memorial in their honour had been erected in place of the broken photocopier in the marketing section. Their deaths will not be in vain.
I write this now from my cubicle, where I have barricaded myself for the last 24 hours as I make my preparations. I was selected to lead a suicide mission on the coffee machines, and I hope my death – and the destruction of the infernal beverage makers – will bring about a utopia, a new Eden and a new beginning for the staff of DPO Hughes Office Supplies.
Moving on: before I get into Job Fair week I thought I'd tell a story for Ben's Worst Hangover Ever contest.
See, I like to indulge every once in a while in an alcoholic beverage or two. There are times when I don't remember or pretend not to so as to avoid embarrasment and/or potential lawsuits.
One of the worst drinking nights I had was when I actually woke up in a different city then I started in - and didn't quite remember how I got there.
It was a gorgeous fall day last September and I had accepted a ride out to Saskatchewan with a friend's friend to attend a golf tournament in honor of another friend's friend's dad who I'd never met (following me still?).
I'm random like that.
This guy comes to pick me up and luckily he was actually really nice and easy to get along with. Good thing because we had an eight hour drive ahead of us with nothing but flat prairies to stare at. I think I was clever enough to talk about aliens abducting us in wheat fields or something for an hour.
Upon arriving in Regina, I put on my golf attire (and I do wish you could see my argyle socks and pink/purple and white runners):
We headed for the course, free drinks in tow (and in golf bags). The golf game was ridiculous - My friend had his pants off at one point because apparently the rule is that if you don't hit past the ladies tee you go pantless for the rest of that hole.
At one point I remember the guy who drove me to Regina challenged me to drive the golf cart up a sand hill. He was absolutely joking but after a few beers I thought it was a great idea.
Keep in mind, this is about 3 pm.
Needless to say, by the time dinner rolled around and we were awarded "Best Dressed", I was pretty far gone.
Apparently we decided karaoke with some of my friends out there was a great idea. I had never sang karaoke before so I completely butchered "Like A Virgin" (note to self: Alice + Madonna = tragedy) before letting everyone know what I really thought of them.
Good thing I'm a happy "Ilurveyouman...reallyidoyaknow" drunk and not an angry drunk.
At this point my memory is a little hazy. I vaguely remember calling my friends van the Party Machine and telling everyone we were all going to a "Secret Party". Yeah, that's what the kidnappers all say.
Next thing I know I wake up, on a strange couch, feeling like a cat just shat in my mouth and a steamroller just drove over my forehead. I grabbed a piece of mail off the counter only to realize that I was at a friends house in Saskatoon. A full three hour drive away from my starting point in Regina.
I was lucky. All I'm trying to say here is: Don't be a Jonze
Here I am in beautiful British Columbia, after a harrowing drive through the windy mountain roads. Good thing my mother insisted on packing a sleeping bag, candles, winter jackets and boots, raincoats, rain boots, flares, winter chains and gallons of water.
I only made two of those up.
The drive was actually perfect, no snow or rain. It took us less then ten hours to get here.
My mother thought the drive was a great time to tell me of the ultimate demise of many of my childhood toys. You see, my parents basement flooded (sewage backup - I just threw up a little in my mouth). In the process of clearing everything out there were a few items that didn't survive.
The My Little Ponies died a tragic death - even my favorite one with the cherries on her hip that smelled like cherry pie (and plastic). My Barbies all felt the effects of the Great Flood. I guess the makeovers I gave them, including fabulous choppy bobs, was all for nothing. The Spice Girls all lived to tell about it but their manager was washed away - gorgeous checkered jacket and all.
It's a damn good thing my first toy survived - a stuffed rabbit (fittingly) that I affectionately named Bunny. Yes, I have always been so creative.
After I was done sobbing for the loss of my childhood, I realized we were halfway there.
A few last things before I take the week off and let my wonderful guest bloggers take over with stories of gaining employment, losing employment and hating employment (get ready for two weeks of Job Fair starting Monday!)
1. I got sick with the flu on Wednesday and wasn't able to go out with Shy. I finally feel better this morning after losing about ten pounds (just kidding - I wish). He goes back up North the Sunday of the weekend after I get back from Vancouver (which happens to be Halloween weekend) so I'm planning on doing the Halloween thing with those guys. Hopefully I'll have many stories to recount...
2. Pseudo called me last night at 12:45 BC time (1:45 Calgary time). He hasn't called me in three months, and after running into his friends last weekend I really realized that I hadn't actually thought of him in a while. Now he has to call me? What the hell is wrong with people. Good thing my phone was on silent.
3. Happy Thanksgiving to all the Canadians! You Americans have to wait for the delicious turkey, gravy, stuffing, potatoes, cheesy cauliflower and other deliciousness...feel free to rub it in my face when you're eating it next month!
A few years ago I was a French Maid:
Last year I was the Queen of Hearts:
As you can see, my stance in pictures doesn't vary much although my hair color does.
Just to cement my love of dressing up, I also went as a Playboy Bunny while we were houseboating this year:
Again, same stance...different hair.
Of course, since we will all use any excuse we can to dress up, there was the "P" party where Blondie, Curly and I went as Private Investigators:
So, as you may have guessed, I am super excited about Halloween this year. My lovely mother designs half my costumes (she sewed the Queen of Hearts from scratch using only a picture I printed off the internet) so this year, we're going to be madly sewing away in Victoria.
But first, I have to decide what to be....
Today for example, I don't work until 5:30. I could have gone out last night, slept until noon and still had plenty of time to get ready for work.
Last Thursday night was one of the BPBBs birthdays. If you head over to my Cast and Crew you'll see I've updated it with these boys - there are about 5 main guys in this group. In the spirit of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs I'm calling them: Hyper (who Blondie and I work with), Grumpy, Cocky, Sleepy and Shy.
Thursday was Shy's birthday. Shy works up North on the rigs and is only in town sporadically. We always have a good time with the BPBBs so when I saw Shy come in and sit at the bar while Hyper, Blondie and I were working (best lounge team ever) I knew it was going to be a fun (if a little messy) night.
Turns out Grumpy had stood Shy up (on his birthday!) because he was too tired to go out. I got done work first so I sat with Shy doing shots and chatting. Since Blondie and Hyper weren't scheduled to be off for another hour or so we decided to mosey on over to The Restaurant after-work-hang-out pub while we waited.
Did I mention Shy is nicely built and extremely good looking?
Needless to say, I really didn't mind keeping him entertained while we waited.
Weirdly enough, he's actually a really nice guy too. When the fuck does that ever happen?
So after they were done working, the four of us headed over to the bar we've affectionately nicknamed the WhoreHouse for some Seven-Dollar Triples.
You can guess where this is going.
We danced, we drank...As per usual the boys wouldn't let us pay for anything so we had to sneak away to buy some birthday shots.
Then of course Blondie decided an after party at my house would be a fantastic idea. After all, I did have two bottles of wine, music and no roommate to worry about waking up.
Never mind my white carpets (now stained wino red), my kitten (that Blondie is allergic to) or the fact that I don't have a spare room (no worries - Shy just crashed with me while the other two shared the couches).
I guess not having a day job to worry about isn't such a bad thing...for now*.
*when I come crawling to you people asking for the number to AA, crying that I can't pay rent or my bills and wearing dollar-discount underwear from the Korean lingerie shop I will probably change my tune. Until then, random nights out are in.
While I'm away, I'm trying to find some guest bloggers to fill my shoes and take care of the plants since Falwless almost killed them last time she stayed in Average-Land (PS. Falw, red wine is not good for plants - no matter how many "nutrients" it supposedly has).
The Imaginary Reviewer inadvertently gave me a fabulous idea based on his hilarious post and the fact that I'm searching for a new job. Instead of asking people to just write an entry, I'm asking everyone and anyone to send me a story that has to do with employment.
Anything at all about a job: finding one, having one, losing one, hating one, loving one, first job or current. Anything really that has to do with a job. It'll be job-fair week in Average-Land!
Send any stories: short, long, sad, funny or ridiculous, (hell even just make one up) to email@example.com by October the 9th at midnight. I'll be sure to email you back with the day your post is appearing and give you lots of blog loving on the post itself (links etc.)
2. If you should notice that the restaurant is starting to look pretty empty and the other servers are tidying up all the other tables around you - maybe it's time to leave. Hey, if you want to spend time talking to your long-lost-love/brother/college-roommate/father/dog/sister, fine. Just be sure to do it somewhere like Denny's. They happen to be open 24 hours.
3. I know this will come as a shock to most people but water is a drink. So when I ask if you'd like to have something to drink you probably shouldn't say "No thanks....I'll just have a water". Also, if you are just having water...for now and don't intend on ordering anything else, drop the for now bullshit. We're onto you.
4. I am by nature a happy and easygoing person. If you go out of your way to hate yourself and make my life miserable, the following may or may not happen:
- I may check all other tables in my section before yours
- I may walk by your table and ignore you although the death stare shooting from your eyes is apparent to me and many others
- I may stand by the bar with other servers and, in your full view, talk about what an asshole/bitch you are
- I may charge you for gravy, mayonnaise, bread, etc. even though technically the chefs will give it to me for free
- I may take extra long for any requests you have -especially if you are in a rush
- I may leave your food sitting in the hot window until it's just edible and I may therefore have to sample a fry to be sure it's still okay to serve