Yesterday I walked into my office only to find myself heel deep in smelly, wet, squishy carpet that oozed liquid with every thought of movement. The papers I had left scattered all over my desk were wrinkled and crunchy. The Micky-D coupons that everyone insists on keeping in my office (though I've never used them) were runny and limp. Water dripped from the light fixtures. My chair and the sweater that I had hung off the back of the chair was soaked beyond belief. It looked like someone had peed on my chair. I swear it wasn't me.
The morning was spent in typical non-productiveness trying to soak up the wetness with no-name paper towel, wishing for a roll of Bounty (Bounty is the better picker upper, in case you were wondering), and praying with every cell in my being that it was my imagination that was running over and that there was no bathroom located right above my office on the floor above. Common sense said that no, all the washrooms are located in the middle near the elevator banks... just like on the 3rd and the 5th floors. But no, hopes were dashed to the floor by a visiting gawker who simply said, "You never know with those weird-ass marketing people upstairs... could be someone's executive washroom..." I would have heard the flush at least once in the past year, wouldn't I?
The rest of the day, I would sniff suspiciously at my belongings imagining the burn-fest that would have to be performed if indeed the leak turned out to be from a washroom - even from the clean-water-in pipe. I hoped, and hoped, and hoped that it was condensation from the air conditioning system. We've been having problems with the air regulation system. New pipes were installed just last week... so the possibility existed.
"I feel like I've been peed on," I emailed Triscuit in desparation. He would be able to do what? I had no clue, but I wanted to share my misery, and all KC would do was tease me about peeing my pants and *ahem* somehow peeing on the ceiling. Give me a break... I'm a girl... maybe YOU peed on the ceiling... and my chair... and ew, ew, ew... I don't want to go there...
"The building likes you," was all Triscuit would respond - referring of course to the running joke that he, Mr. BMW, and I have about peeing on the people you like. (Derived from a "we're semi-drunken and extremely bored while waiting for party to get going" conversation about the Toot who still insists on "happy peeing" on everyone she sees... boo). No sympathy there. What the heck was I expecting? Flowers? Yeah, right. A roll of Bounty, maybe.
So I squished my way through the day, dodging the maintenance person who spent all of sixty-one seconds on a ladder peering into the hazy darkness up above. "I'll come back tomorrow when it dries," he says. No other explanation given.
My mind was screaming "WHAT THE HECK IS THIS STUFF??? TELL MEEEEEE!!!!" But I didn't ask, because I really didn't want to know. Droplets of water still occassionally showered down on my already crinkly client docs. And I pushed it to the back of my mind, telling myself over and over again not to look at the brown sludgy stain on the ceiling tiles. "Control gag reflex," I told myself.
Today, the maintenance guy has come and gone. He climbed up his funky orange featherlite step ladder, peered into the hazy darkness for all of ten seconds, pulled a can of white spraypaint out of his pocket, held the nozzle down for a couple of quick half second bursts, and spraypainted over the brown, sludgy, water stain. My nose now hurts from the smell of the fumes. And as he was packing up and proudly telling me that he was done, my curiousity got the best of me...
"So... what was the problem?" I inquired oh-so-sweetly, fluttering my eyelashes a bit... I had dust in my eye from him moving the ceiling tiles.
He answered "Leak..." in his heavy Fillipino accent and hemmed and hawed for a bit telling me that he fixed the problem upstairs and don't worry my pretty little head about it.
I couldn't take the suspense anymore and jumped to the point. "Washroom?" My mind was screaming "RUN", my mouth was feeling a little dry.
"I picture myself, ten years down the line, balding, ironing in a wife-beater tank top that barely covers my beer belly, cigarette in my mouth, beer in hand, yelling at the kids."
Yeah, and I'll have a short frizzy perm, wear sweats all day, and drive the kids to Kumon, english tutoring and piano lessons. Oh, and I'll be fat. So I'll have bad hair, bad clothes, bad body image and probably devilish fat boring kids to boot. My future looks eff'ing F-A-N-T-A-S-T-I-C... and that's if I even manage to have kids at all... because honestly, who's going to love a bitchy fat sloppy slob like me.
I'm not smart enough, I'm not skinny enough, I'm not pretty enough... most of the time it doesn't bother me. For all my "positive" outlook, I've had self-esteem "issues" for years. I question myself day after day, have moments of extreme self-doubt, have minor moments of semi-confidence, and so the cycle goes. I thought I had conquered my problem, and defeated my demons until last night when I was running from store to store in Fairview Mall trying to find new work clothes for the new monkeyco.
Shopping makes me want to cry. Throw an honest-to-goodness temper tantrum, collapse to the ground in righteous fury, pound my fists on the floor, and scream to the heavens demanding an answer from the supreme beings up above.
It's nasty, hot, sweaty business. Trying on pair after pair after pair of pants after pants after pants... X doesn't fit because the waistband is too high, Y doesn't fit because the waist is too loose, Z's crotch is too tight, W's crotch is too loose, RST makes you look short, fat, dumpy...etc. etc. etc. Then there's the shirts and the tops... your arms are too fat, your bra squishes your bacon-back fat, you look hideous, that's not your flipping colour, you look short, you look dumpy, you look fat... you're just plain deformed...
Hours later, I emerge from the battle, victorious because the outing was minorly successful (2 suits, 3 pairs of pants, 2 sleeveless turtle necks, and 5 shirts for the low, low price of $500 CDN), but defeated because the same demoralizing, paralyzing demons I thought I had overcome resurfaced during the epic trip. As it does every time I go shopping for clothing.
Two years of effort. I lost 50 pounds, gained back 15, look better than I did two years ago. Look slightly worse than I did one year ago. Feel better than I did two years ago. Feel slightly better than I did one year ago. Feel slightly worse than I did half a year ago. And the downfall... a giant "Get Well Soon" chocolate cake and a can of whipped cream. Turning point for the worse, but still a good memory. A winter of greasy, oily burritos and carb-heavy foods didn't help any either.
And now it's almost summer. Time when the "boardwalk" is packed with toned, tanned, nymph-like bodies. Me and my pale, sun-starved jelly-flop arms just don't compare. If we were playing "which of these things don't belong" you'd shoot me first.
You put in a pool, and an ugly green awning. There's a garage now rather than the carport that used to be there. That's where I used to play on summer rainy days "tuning" my bicycles with my daddy's tools for the sunny days, scraping off the icky spider cocoons with the twigs I'd pull off the neighbour's trees. The carport on whose roof I snuck onto once... and only once...
The rows of hedges in the back are gone - the hedges I watched grow from waist high to shoulder high before we moved away; the hedges where I buried my first pets - earthworms, caterpillars... you all went to heaven because I accidentally killed you. My old orange rusty swingset ripped up and in all likelihood rusting away in some landfill somewhere. I never felt safe on that swing anyway. Oh, but I loved it's rickety-ness. I'd stand on the swing, and monkeybar my way across the top, orange streaks of rust from the swing chains staining my hands. I tried to walk across it once, like the tightrope walkers in the circus. But someone caught me and I got in trouble. Tetnus, schmetnus be damned... bah... who cared when you were six.
I swear, I'm not stalking you. I used to live here.
Random tiger lilies poked through one neighbour's fence. We shared some raspberry bushes. I would stand there on hot summer days, gorging myself on freshly picked giant red raspberries. Until the time I bit down on one with the icky bitter tasting green bug. The raspberries weren't so sweet any more after that. So I moved onto the smaller, purple berries instead...
The smokey smell of summertime barbecues. Giant slices of watermelon in hand, spitting seeds with the boys across the street. Laughing insanely at the first time I saw someone eat a watermelon rind. I remember telling on him. I was a tattletale then. Slow, sweet jazz melodies floating through the haze of the charcoal bbq. The scent of lilacs providing a backdrop to the acrid odor of burnt chicken wings and hot dogs. Chicken wings were cheap back then. I think they might even have been free... we ate them a lot.
Vanilla ice cream cones with marachino cherries. Dripping through our fingertips. We were messy ice cream eaters, so we stood on the steps until we were done. It was always a tradeoff... eat ice cream outside, or be with all the happy people inside... peering in through the screen, an adult popping a head out every so often asking if we were done. Slapping away at the wasps and mosquitos that always came out when the sun was going down.
A tire swing set up in the old oak tree. It didn't bode well when I tried to climb the rope instead of swing on the swing. Apparently the parental units didn't like it that I never used something for what it was intended to be used for. I also walked up the stairs on the wrong side of the rail and climbed over the rail when I got to the top. They didn't like that either. Wonder how they'd like it if they found out that we used to jump off the tall flight of basement stairs with only a couple of giant pillows on the bottom to cushion our falls. I wonder how they'd like it if they found out that I pushed my sister off the stairs one time. Oops. Wonder how they'd like it if they found out that I almost bungied off my balconey at the new house... someone stopped me... forget who though. I still have the rope in my car somewhere... it must be twenty years old at least.
I used to think that the backyard was as big as a soccer field. Walked my bunny back and forth on a leash before it died from "unnatural causes", all the while avoiding the big sheepdog in the back that I called Mr. Muggs. I never knew his real name. Only that he barked a lot and reminded me of the character in those Dick and Jane, learn-to-read books...
"Cross country" skiied on my red plastic tie-on skis, giant snowmen six feet tall, ramps made out of snow... man, I miss that house...
A person can only say "never" to so many things before people stop believing what they say. "I'm never going to drink again" or "I'm never going to let her do that to me again" or "I'm never going to love again" or "I'm never going to sleep with him" or "I'm never going to eat again *groan*." yada, yada, yada... we've all heard it before. We've all said it before. After a while, despite all well-meaning intentions, "never" doesn't happen... ever.
There are so many things in life that I thought I would "never" do. I had envisioned my life so differently and had my visions come true, I'd be married to a boring, blah, SHORT Chinese man, one baby in hand, another on the way, and a lifetime of Kumon and piano lessons to look forward to. Chinese school on Saturday mornings, dim sum on Sundays and weeknights watching my kids do their homework and nagging them in typical Asian mothering styles - you better be the best in your class, or else... In short, a very blah existence - no dragonboating, no rockclimbing, no drinking, no Triscuit... nothing except that maybe I'd be completely up to date on all the reality television shows and on the "up and up" with all the HK "movie star" gossip.
Two years ago, my life changed. My lovely, gorgeous cousins, in a brainwave of magnificent magnitude decided to form the Kick Ass Rubber Duckies... and thus, everything flipped inside-out-upside-down. All my "never" thoughts, welll, most of them have come true... and I kinda like it that way.
Ok. I'm spilling the beans. Triscuit and I are going on our first vacation together. By ourselves - this meaning that we have many times, gone away for weekends with the group (i.e. groups of say, 20+), but never just the two of us. In T minus 7 days, we'll be in the airport, filling in our silly little green US customs forms heading for the sunny surf and sand of San Diego, California. I can't wait.
Seven whole days of Triscuit to myself. No hiding, no running away, no pretending that "us" does not exist, with only a slight overlap with Posie, LZ, JC and Larry in Vegas. Wow... that has never happened before. I wonder how well I'll deal with it.
I am a planner. I am not spontaneous. Thus, Triscuit's idea of a play-it-by-ear vacation is slightly stressing me out. We don't have a car reservation. We don't have any real plans. Just a sketchy outline that I've created of the the places I want to see, and a commitment to be in Vegas by the 5th. Oh, and a day in Disneyland... because he's never been...
Things will be done by bus and trolley. We'll rent a car when we need one. We'll trolley to Tijuana and drink ourselves silly and somehow make it back into the US, hopefully, with a few cheap souvenirs, a couple of bottles of the twisty glass Coronas and, even more hopefully, without criminal records. We'll surf the sands of La Jolla, mix with the locals, gorge ourselves silly on Mexican food and margaritas, and drive the 5 hours to Vegas where we'll party the night away and spend a day outlet mall shopping. Life can't get any better than that.
Our first vacation together... this could be fun... a whole new experience...
Day 10001: Take two GIANT steps back and call me in the morning
I'm sickie. My head feels like it's full of birdseed, my nose has relinquished all breathing abilities, and my throat feels like I just drank a gallon of Drano followed by a chaser of turpentine. It's a wonderfully dreary day. One that makes you wish that you never got out of bed this morning.
If anyone makes congee house deliveries and will make an extra stop at Shoppers for Advil extra-strength cold and flu or whatever the heck it's called - I'll love you forever and ever and ever. No joke.
Regrets, I've had a few
But then again, too few to mention
I did what I had to do
And saw it through without exemption
Yes, there were times, I'm sure you knew
When I bit off more than I could chew
But through it all, when there was doubt
I ate it up and spit it out
I faced it all and I stood tall
And did it my way ~ Sinatra
I try to live each day without regrets... go to bed each night thinking "yes, today was a good day." Know that I've done everything I can for my present and my future and eventually one day, everything is going to click in place and I'll have a fabulously, wonderful life. Not that I don't already. I love being me. Sure, there are the days where I'm literally on my hands and knees begging Triscuit or KC to run me over with a car, but at the end of it all, I'm living the good life.
If given a chance to use the magic rewind button, and the ability to relive certain aspects of my life, I'm not sure that I would use it. Every experience, every person has shaped me and helped me develop into who I am today. Even something as seemingly insignificant as spending hours watching the hordes of ants at my complex to someone stopping to hold the elevator for me has an impact. I may not know what it is today, but somewhere, somehow down the line, I'll figure it out.
On the flip side, if I had a window into the future and I could see how my life would unfold before me, I wouldn't even want to look. Yes, it would be cool to know who I will marry, how many kids I have and if the LEAFS will ever win the Stanley Cup (GO LEAFS GO!!!). But really, that's not the point. The suspense and excitement of living drives me. If I knew exactly what was going to happen tomorrow, and that it was going to be a rainy dreary day and the government was raising taxes, that I was going to be evicted and they'd stop making grape bubblegum, what would be my motivation to get out of bed.
People wonder what the meaning of life is. They wonder whether there is a bigger purpose to their life; if they should strive to make a place for themselves in the history books so that they'll never be forgotten by society. They wonder if this is all there is day-in, day-out. Yes, things can be day-in, day-out. Work is day-in, day-out, but there's more to life than just that. I may not live to see my 20000th day. I really doubt that I'd live my 30000th day. But even if I die today, I'll know that I've made my impact. My impact is in the people I meet, the things I do - that is the purpose of my life. I will never make the history books. I've already had my 15 minutes of Just-Like-Mom fame That's not what I'm here for. Instead, I chose to live my life in a way that makes me happy and base my decisions on things I will never regret. Impact every person that I meet, and impress on them some part of me that will help them develop into who they will become. Hopefully, for the better, but if not, well, there's nothing I can do about that. And perhaps one day, someone will say... "I'm where I am today because of something J said..." That would be cool, but that's not necessary either.
Day 10000 - a day of retrospection. There's nothing that I regret doing. Things I might contemplate changing, maybe, but then I wouldn't be the me I am today... I like most of the things I've done. One interviewer asked me what is the one thing that I've done whether personal or career related that I'm most proud of. And I couldn't think of a single one thing. Everything I've done has contributed to who I am. Am I proud of who I've become... can't say that. Am I disappointed in any way... can't say that either. I've made some good decisions, I've made some bad decisions... but at the end of the day, I've done it my way, and there's nothing better than that.
I learned my lesson almost five years ago to the day. Not telling the whole truth can be really, truly detrimental to one's life - even when trying to save face and not stir up trouble. As a result, I lost a job offer, damaged my reputation (though not irreparably), and spent four years of the last five trying to get to where I would have been had I only told the whole and complete truth. I only feel as if I am only now coming out of it. And I blame it all on that one little lie... "I chose to do XYZ..."
The story and the lie is not important. I did it for my own person reasons. I was embarassed, had yet to come to terms with something else, and when confronted and forced into a tight spot, I chose to take the easy way out. End of story.
Since then, I have tried to live my life lie-free. And I have been disappointingly unsuccessful. I find my days filled with truths and half truths. I try not to blatantly lie about anything, but again, when put into a tight spot, I duck the truth and take the easy way out. Most of the time, it's something small... insignificant really, like I'm working late tonight so I don't have time to stop by. Or, I'm so busy at work right now I don't have time to do your taxes...sorry Mom. Or, I hope you feel better, Grandpa, even though your condition is terminal and you've been in the hospital for the past 7 years, maybe one day you'll make a miraculous recovery and be the person you once were. And then there are the little white lies... yes dear, your hair is perfect dear... I love it that way, hon. And the "no, Triscuit did not stay over last night, it was just BMW, PLBoy and D... We're just friends" lines to the parental units... who am I trying to fool? Little things really, that don't have significant value, except to the person that I've said it to, and that it eats away at my insides and makes me feel horrendously guilty...
Well, as many of you know, ICBBQ and I threw a monster drinking party this weekend. Ok, so maybe it wasn't an, ahem, monster drinking party, but a number of us proceeded to get seriously and severely trashed. Jello shooters, melon balls... PLBoy mixing 4 shot drinks... it was a night to remember... ummm... if one could remember.
some hazy quotes:
"you do one, and I'll do two... oops... that was three... ummm... better make that an even four"
"chug, chug, chug, chug, chug!!!"
"wake up... you have to go to dragonboat practice..."
"I dreamt it was cancelled..." "it was cancelled"
"I'll tell you a secret... I sooooooo horny today...zzzzzzzzz"
"Ugh, I think I'm going to hurl..."
"So who are you romantically interested in? B, P, K, G...???"
"Jello shots? Bah... those are nothing..."
"Are you feeding the dog JELLO SHOTS!!!???"
"I wasn't yelling. I thought you were passed out!"
"Let's go Karaoke!"
"We've taken over your house..." (sms text message 4 o'clock the next afternoon)
Thanks to all who came out to help us celebrate our new Monkeycos. It was truly a night to remember... and a day to remember... and well... another night to remember... and dang it, people... GET OUT OF MY HOUSE ALREADY!!!!
Drunken girl at NY Burrito: I bet you $100 your girlfriend is wearing a thong...
Corrie: Seeing as how I don't have a girlfriend, I have no idea what she'd be wearing...
Drunken girl: Oh, I meant her *pointing at me* Corrie: $100, eh?
Me: *shaking my head* Drunken girl: She's wearing a thong, I tell ya!!!
Me: *laughing out loud and shaking my head still*
...later, as we're walking out of the burrito place...
...why the heck would anyone build a career out of being a bad singer... that's just embarassing... William Hung...?
...how did Kwame make it that far in the Apprentice? And how do I get on that show? (But the Donald creeps me out...)
...how much vodka do you put in jello shooters?
...what's with non-commital people?
...does the rest of the world think I need a lot of attention...or is it just me?
...is the San Diego Zoo THAT special? I'd rather go to the beach.
...what does my grandmother want and why does she keep calling me?
...should I call SUG and see what he's up to these days? Haven't talked to him in, what, almost 5 months now.
...am I ever going find out where that stupid bond interest number comes from? Dammit...
...now that I've given notice, do I have to work weekends...?
...do I have to "do work"?
...how long does it take for an e-ticket to be issued?
...am I snarky?
I quit my job today. It wasn't quite what I expected. Tears maybe. A little more "BUT WHY!!!" instead of "Well, we kind of expected it. Good Luck. If you ever change your mind, call us."
Very anticlimatic to something that I've been dreading for a while now. My heart was pounding, my insides were twisting around. I felt like throwing up... t'was not a pretty sight.
I've gone and told some people. Haven't really mentioned it to others. Figured really that people will hear about it through the grapevine. Don't know what is the politically correct thing to do. It's gone through all the partners already - no one has really come up to me and said anything. Must admit, I kind of expected that.
I had expected tears. Must admit that I am sad to go. But I think the worse of it will be April 30th when I actually do go. It's hard to say.
I spent the weekend wracking my brain, searching my soul, trying to figure out what to do with my life and trying to figure how to get where I want to be. Only problem is... at the end of the day, I still don't know where I want to be. I'd love to tell you the idealistic me - find a new monkey firm, or in this case, a new monkeyco, learn the ropes and move quickly and confidently up the corporate ladder. Sounds simple. Sounds like a good plan. But realistic, probably not.
I'll be the first to admit that I don't like change. I actually hate change. So any step that I make, to me, must be well-thought out and must be a good one. It can't mess up my nonexistant future. It can't take me away from the course I have yet to draw out. I'm 27 and I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up.
I feel like I've been in limbo for the last 4 years... first trying to pass the stupid CA exams, and then staying to finish the time to qualify, and then of course when all that was over, I found that I loved the people too much to make a transition of any kind. Well... things change, people and politics intervene and after 4 years, I want out. Badly.
I've made the moves. I've seen the right people. There is a high possiblity that I might be out of here soon. But to what avail? Am I making a choice because I want out so badly that I have yet to consider the impact of my decision, or am I making a choice that will truly benefit my career? As jobs go, it's nothing special - typical SFA role. Cool monkeyco. Cool products, but I have a feeling that it will still be a day-in, day-out.
I've turned down something that could have potentially been great. I feel quite badly about it. I know it's a normal thing for most people, but somehow, for me, it was significant. I feel bad. I feel guilty, but I know that I have to do what's right for me. And that wasn't it. Though, in another life, in another time, I think I would really want that opportunity... and I did last Thursday. It's funny how a weekend of soul searching and brain bashing can change everything. I went from super happy and super excited to feeling completely guilty and really, slightly depressed. I never like to disappoint, and I feel as if I have disappointed a lot of people.
So tomorrow, I find out about the new monkeyco... if the offer is good, then I will be jumping... if the offer isn't what I expect and what I know I deserve... welllll... looks like I might be stuck in monkey firm for the long run... wish me luck.
ps... weekend was good... Maddy Thursday, brought dog into work Friday, went down to the Ham, met Triscuit's extended fam, rollerbladed (16km - ow!), slept through Bruce Almighty, learned to drive stick, went to a great Aussie wine party Saturday, Korean BBQ Sunday, great afternoon "nap", and bubble tea with three different groups of peeps Sunday... and some stuff in between (but shhh... I'm not telling...) :)
I just weighed the pros and cons of using grocerygateway.com.
pro: it's convenient
con: I live across the street from a 24hr grocery store
Damn... what is my world coming to? I don't even eat at home.
We have an office playoff hockey pool. Lame-o me decides, sure, I'll pick a team. And so I picked a great team. Lots of Toronto, lots of Detroit, lots of New Jersey and a couple of San Jose... and Serge Federov of the Anaheim Mighty Ducks.
The Anaheim Mighty Ducks did not make it to the Stanley Cup playoffs. boo... there goes my $25.
Hopefully, though, because I emailed the pool-guy before the first face off with my new pick, I get a freebie trade. But, still, BOOOOOOOO!!!
Perhaps it was out of boredom. Perhaps it started as a method to vent. Perhaps its my natural exhibitionist tendencies shining through. Or perhaps it was just out of curiosity to see who would want to read about my boring, humdrum life, and about my go-nowhere-say-nothing thoughts. Sometimes I wonder why I started this blog. Sometimes I wonder why anyone would want to read this blog.
I’m not particularly eloquent. My prose is not flowery or artistic. My entries, in all honesty, not so interesting. I get to the point… eventually… in the roundabout circular way that my brain works in. I am repetitive.
I’d love to talk about things a little more personal. Dish about something that is more “me,” give you the 411 (as LZ says) on my nearest and dearest, be like so many great bloggers out there, like smitten or sugarmama, and tell you about my love life, the latest party I went to, my favourite things to do in bed or about the wonderful job I have that is so exciting and so full of drama. But fact is fact… nothing happens, my job sucks, my life is day in, day out. And should anything happen apart from the norm (say, for example on Day 9985), it is possible, too, that I may not be ready to share it with the world, and want to keep it for myself. Thus, resulting in boring Day 9986 blog.
Let’s face it. People’s lives are day in, day out. That’s why we’ve resorted to reading about other people's lives, becoming rather voyeuristic in our blurking. We hop from blog to blog, linking, and clicking, looking for whatever happens to catch our eye. Sometimes we like what they write and leave a comment. Sometimes we agree but don't comment, content in knowing that someone else out there agrees with us. And sometimes, too, it's so incredibly boring that we'd rather return to our own humdrum blog reading things that we wrote in blogs past.
So the question remains, why do we blog? Is it a constant cry for attention, a demand that someone out there, perhaps with lives just as humdrum as ours finds ours even remotely interesting? Is it a need for confession, or a need for compassion? Do we look to complete strangers in the anonymity of the www to read our one-sided journals and come to complete agreement with us, thus giving us the approval that we want, but may not be getting from our friends and family. Is it because we have things that we want to shout to the world, but really, if we did, no one would listen and less would even care. I have no idea...
I have a special knack with coffee. Second Cup, Starbucks, it doesn't really matter. But once that white plastic lid goes on, it all goes downhill from there. As usual, there's more coffee on me, than in me.
Coffee is hot, thus slap on the little cardboard holder-thingy (I know what it's called... somewhere at the back of my mind). Don't want to spill the precious caffeine, thus slap on the plastic lid... the one that's raised so that you can "protect" your ooey-gooey caramel macchiato, caramel coretto whipped cream fatty-diet-busting-goodness. Once done, you would think that you're set to go... but oh no...
Because the coffee is too hot for my tender tastebuds, I usually refrain from indulging within the first 5 minutes. Somehow, this gives the whipped cream/foam to settle and for the coffee level to rise. And since I'm on the go, looking for keys, flagging a cab, ends up, every little movement of coffee holding arm sends said coffee sloshing against the lid. And inevitably, some finds it's way out of that tiny little hole that you're supposed to drink from. What a joke.
Thus far, two of my favourite items of clothing have succumbed to this evil sabotage by the caffeine dispensing corporations not to mention the ones I've been able to salvage... I swear they own shares in my favourite clothing stores.
:( Boo... this month's drycleaning bill will be astronomically high... all $14 of it.
- the store around the corner
- living across the street from the subway
- living down the street from your favourite pub
- a 24 hour grocery store... across the street
- having the taxi company on speed dial
- your favourite sushi place willing to deliver until midnight
- someone else shovelling the snow for you before you wake up in the morning
- someone else cutting the grass on your lawn
- doctor willing to make early morning appointments
- someone else stocking up the beers in your fridge
That said, I am not a 7-eleven. I'm not going to be there just because I'm "convenient."
So after years of grumbling and complaining about my job, about how much I hate it but don't want to leave because I love the people, I've stopped monkeying around and settled down a week ago to do something about it. I contacted 4 headhunters last Monday morning because I PROMISED Mr. BMW that I would contact 3 (he was tired of hearing me complain), and yes, I did overshoot... just to prove that I was serious about the whole process. By Monday afternoon, I already had people calling me wanting to present me to their various clients, by Thursday I had gone to my first interview, and by this week, I had ones scheduled for Thursday, Friday and this coming Monday. Wow... this week has been crazy.
I've been late for work 3 times because of various "meetings." I fully intend to be late for work Monday morning, and if bosses of my monkey firm found out about this, I'd be in some serious doo, and I'd probably be looking for work full time very, very soon. Not that it isn't already a full time job. I'm surviving on an average of 3 1/2 hours of sleep a night. Any night not spent preppy for "meetings" has been spent talking to people about prepping for "meetings."
But I don't care. I'm excited. Excited that I've reached a point in my life where I'm ready to face a new challenge - to grow up and move on to the next step. Blah-blah position at new blah-blah company. Yes, I'm excited... so very, very excited...
I'm crossing my fingers. The last two have been good... I think I'd take one if the offer came up... lucks to me! :)