Monday, May 23, 2005
Sunday, May 22, 2005
It Takes 21 Days to Form a Habit
If that's really true, I feel like my clock is winding down. The cute little egg timer I bought last month for the stove is quickly running out of sand. I might very well be screwed.
I just need to know that someday (SOON) when I leave work, I will forget work. Completely, utterly. I won't mentally rehash conversations with clients while sitting at traffic lights, my stomach won't churn during dinner, remembering all the mistakes I made today and fearing what scariness will transpire tomorrow. I won't mull over current price plans and promotions while brushing my teeth, turning this phrase and that around, pondering the best way to explain a prorate.
Work should never be the centerpiece of one's life (unless you really do like it and want it to be). And it shouldn't even be blinked over after hours, much less on the weekend. Agggh.
Friday and Saturday nights I did celebrate because I MADE IT THROUGH THE FIRST WEEK OF TAKING CLIENT CALLS. Weeee! Go me! But after the toast, that is where it should end, thinking about this work stuff.
HOW DO I SHUT MY MIND OFF??????
How do I remember that work is simply the pesky nine-hour task I must get out of the way before going on my merry way, living my merry life, dreaming my merry dreams? The job enables the merry way, life, and dreams. The way, life, and dreams, should not, therefore, in any way, shape, or hideous form, be consumed with the job.
Am I right?
Or merely crazy.
Don't answer that, necessarily.
I just need to know that someday (SOON) when I leave work, I will forget work. Completely, utterly. I won't mentally rehash conversations with clients while sitting at traffic lights, my stomach won't churn during dinner, remembering all the mistakes I made today and fearing what scariness will transpire tomorrow. I won't mull over current price plans and promotions while brushing my teeth, turning this phrase and that around, pondering the best way to explain a prorate.
Work should never be the centerpiece of one's life (unless you really do like it and want it to be). And it shouldn't even be blinked over after hours, much less on the weekend. Agggh.
Friday and Saturday nights I did celebrate because I MADE IT THROUGH THE FIRST WEEK OF TAKING CLIENT CALLS. Weeee! Go me! But after the toast, that is where it should end, thinking about this work stuff.
HOW DO I SHUT MY MIND OFF??????
How do I remember that work is simply the pesky nine-hour task I must get out of the way before going on my merry way, living my merry life, dreaming my merry dreams? The job enables the merry way, life, and dreams. The way, life, and dreams, should not, therefore, in any way, shape, or hideous form, be consumed with the job.
Am I right?
Or merely crazy.
Don't answer that, necessarily.
Wednesday, May 18, 2005
the worst blog ever.
the snail carnage continues.
onto other random thoughts: is anyone else sick of hearing nirvana songs on KROQ?
i was watching Sabrina the teenage witch because my mom wanted to show me the actor who plays Turk on scrubs was on this show once. i didn't believe her, then i thought about it and thought that i remembered seeing him on there too. anyway one of the quircks of the shows is that rumors spread (i just got bored of my question) anyway harvey was pregnant and he held his hands on the top and bottom of his fake belly and then i thought of my pregnant friends and i thought- they do hold their hands that way. it was funny.no really. it was.
onto other random thoughts: is anyone else sick of hearing nirvana songs on KROQ?
i was watching Sabrina the teenage witch because my mom wanted to show me the actor who plays Turk on scrubs was on this show once. i didn't believe her, then i thought about it and thought that i remembered seeing him on there too. anyway one of the quircks of the shows is that rumors spread (i just got bored of my question) anyway harvey was pregnant and he held his hands on the top and bottom of his fake belly and then i thought of my pregnant friends and i thought- they do hold their hands that way. it was funny.no really. it was.
Thursday, May 12, 2005
it's in the brioche
after my carnage post i went to my friends house. the very first thing she asked me after having supped on tea and digestives was: did i want some "escargot in brioche". i took an extra long sip muling over the question. i blinked. i examined my nails and the china pattern on the tea cup. meanwhile she had pulled from the freezer a box of trader joe's escargot in brioche. there it was again. escargot. snails. snails in brioche. i wondered what kind of snails, but i kept sipping my tea. she said her friend had brought them from the trader joes up in grass valley bcs they rarely have them here. packed in ice all the way from grass valley.
is this a joke i wondered. she shook the box to assert its contents. she went on and on about how good they were. i said, yes. sure. let's go for it. and i thought, did you read my post- do you think this is cosmically funny? how am i suppose to respond to this sort of universal challenge? i had to aquiese. i had to embrace the fact that they would be flavored with butter and garlic. i ate 3. each one- trying not to curdle with the fact that i was eating snail. i persevered. they sat like quarter inch steel in my stomach but for all i know it could've been the heavily garliced brioche. that's enough of a digestive tackle. the snails were curled up in the little cavity of the brioche. it had a little lid so you could peek at the contents. it wasn't unlike a stuffed mushroom. i did not examine them for fear i would find the cute little antenna. they weren't bad. i would even say tasty. but somehow i saw myself eating my words. over and over. with salt and pepper. it wasn't without a smile.
is this a joke i wondered. she shook the box to assert its contents. she went on and on about how good they were. i said, yes. sure. let's go for it. and i thought, did you read my post- do you think this is cosmically funny? how am i suppose to respond to this sort of universal challenge? i had to aquiese. i had to embrace the fact that they would be flavored with butter and garlic. i ate 3. each one- trying not to curdle with the fact that i was eating snail. i persevered. they sat like quarter inch steel in my stomach but for all i know it could've been the heavily garliced brioche. that's enough of a digestive tackle. the snails were curled up in the little cavity of the brioche. it had a little lid so you could peek at the contents. it wasn't unlike a stuffed mushroom. i did not examine them for fear i would find the cute little antenna. they weren't bad. i would even say tasty. but somehow i saw myself eating my words. over and over. with salt and pepper. it wasn't without a smile.
Monday, May 9, 2005
bruised
Today my accomplishments include:
1) banging my left knee very, very hard on the bike console at the gym. You know the bike where your legs are horizontal instead of vertical? All it takes is shifting yourself forward one inch.
2) getting really and truly lost in the parking lot at the end of the day, not knowing where I parked my car.
On brighter notes, here is what is in store for this week:
1) mendacious' birthday!!! And we all better sign her yearbook for real this time. Because she was being serious last time and we missed it. (Cue: hang heads in shame).
2) a weekend of nothingness!!! No places to go, no people to see. Ahhhhh.
It's finally spring here in North Cackalacky. The birds are teeming from their nest. The plants grow so fast I swear you could sit out back and watch them.
I think tonight I want to write. Not like, write. But jot some notes. I haven't jotted in months. And I need to make plans, big plans, to combat the soul-sucking force of corporate America. Like, what will my best-seller be about? And this time it has to be something I would want to pick off the shelves and read myself. Which is hard, maybe too tall of an order.
Here is what has already been done:
1) Magic, i.e. witches and wizards
2) Jeans that fit four different girls perfectly
3) Unfortunate but winsome orphans (many times over)
4) Discovery of own royalty in formative years
5) Being unpopular in high school
6) Embracing lost dryer socks by wearing mismatched socks (GEEZ, why didn't I think of that?)
I'm opening a Suggestion Box, please feel free to submit as many entries as you'd like.
1) banging my left knee very, very hard on the bike console at the gym. You know the bike where your legs are horizontal instead of vertical? All it takes is shifting yourself forward one inch.
2) getting really and truly lost in the parking lot at the end of the day, not knowing where I parked my car.
On brighter notes, here is what is in store for this week:
1) mendacious' birthday!!! And we all better sign her yearbook for real this time. Because she was being serious last time and we missed it. (Cue: hang heads in shame).
2) a weekend of nothingness!!! No places to go, no people to see. Ahhhhh.
It's finally spring here in North Cackalacky. The birds are teeming from their nest. The plants grow so fast I swear you could sit out back and watch them.
I think tonight I want to write. Not like, write. But jot some notes. I haven't jotted in months. And I need to make plans, big plans, to combat the soul-sucking force of corporate America. Like, what will my best-seller be about? And this time it has to be something I would want to pick off the shelves and read myself. Which is hard, maybe too tall of an order.
Here is what has already been done:
1) Magic, i.e. witches and wizards
2) Jeans that fit four different girls perfectly
3) Unfortunate but winsome orphans (many times over)
4) Discovery of own royalty in formative years
5) Being unpopular in high school
6) Embracing lost dryer socks by wearing mismatched socks (GEEZ, why didn't I think of that?)
I'm opening a Suggestion Box, please feel free to submit as many entries as you'd like.
carnage
the time 11:05pm.
object: hunt for snails
armed with a flashlight and wearing my clogs, i went outside. my mom accompanied me as she is a more hostile enemy to these snails than i am. she relishes the kill, to save all her baby plants and citrus trees from the slimy trail and decimation of priceless foliage and tender buds. until last night. she seemed to be getting squimish. it seems that now we know about them (poor helix aspera) we sort of loathe to kill them. not to mention that they are food, and it is a waste that not even a duck can get to them, but as i've said before ducks are indescriminate. i wish it were a solution. my brother used to get a nickle a snail when we were little (the last heavy el nino cycle) and i won't tell you what he used to do them, except to say that he was a typical boy, the italics use of boy, and that to perhaps lead you, he used to tie string to the legs of beetles- watching them circle round and round until their leg gave way. i hesitate to assert that if we were in a post apocalyptic environment such as found in the movie Delicatessin, i'd eat snails. i don't know if i would. and whose to say garlic and butter wouldn't be rationed also. how many would eat escargo then?
we killed over 30 snails that night after weeks of killing 10-20 at a time on various nights before. you can see we have a problem. but for the most part we're an organic garden so no strong pesticide will enter our grounds. i can't kill them when their cute little antenna heads are poking out of their shells, pulling themselves along or hanging off a leaf. i'd be a terrible hunter. i know this. poor fuzzy bunnies. but i would if i had to, i've eaten rabbit before. it's at times like this, and why i can sympathize with vegetarians, that i know the world isn't as it was intended to be. stay with me here- there's a passage in the bible which you've probably heard before from Isaiah that says "The wolf will live with the lamb, the leopard will like down with the goat, the calf and the lion and the yearling (lion will feed) together; and a little child will lead them." This verse is a favorite of writers talking about anything related to the rapture or the end of the world. I usually think "creepy" when i hear it, mainly bcs I picture Mulder "the truth is out there" or an old man in a bunker, whispering ferventantly to the last hope of the world- usually a man-woman team who've fought to save the world AND THEY'RE PISSED! But i think few examine the beauty of what that means- to peacefully co-exist, where the world is back in alignment, isn't made up of kill or be killed, or fear of death- to me it quite literally represents Paradise (which is Persian for "walled garden" where the king would walk with his favored subjects.)
But for now there are snail carcasses lining the pathways and the rain that tells me they'll come again. It's nothing personal, it's just the unnatural order of things.
object: hunt for snails
armed with a flashlight and wearing my clogs, i went outside. my mom accompanied me as she is a more hostile enemy to these snails than i am. she relishes the kill, to save all her baby plants and citrus trees from the slimy trail and decimation of priceless foliage and tender buds. until last night. she seemed to be getting squimish. it seems that now we know about them (poor helix aspera) we sort of loathe to kill them. not to mention that they are food, and it is a waste that not even a duck can get to them, but as i've said before ducks are indescriminate. i wish it were a solution. my brother used to get a nickle a snail when we were little (the last heavy el nino cycle) and i won't tell you what he used to do them, except to say that he was a typical boy, the italics use of boy, and that to perhaps lead you, he used to tie string to the legs of beetles- watching them circle round and round until their leg gave way. i hesitate to assert that if we were in a post apocalyptic environment such as found in the movie Delicatessin, i'd eat snails. i don't know if i would. and whose to say garlic and butter wouldn't be rationed also. how many would eat escargo then?
we killed over 30 snails that night after weeks of killing 10-20 at a time on various nights before. you can see we have a problem. but for the most part we're an organic garden so no strong pesticide will enter our grounds. i can't kill them when their cute little antenna heads are poking out of their shells, pulling themselves along or hanging off a leaf. i'd be a terrible hunter. i know this. poor fuzzy bunnies. but i would if i had to, i've eaten rabbit before. it's at times like this, and why i can sympathize with vegetarians, that i know the world isn't as it was intended to be. stay with me here- there's a passage in the bible which you've probably heard before from Isaiah that says "The wolf will live with the lamb, the leopard will like down with the goat, the calf and the lion and the yearling (lion will feed) together; and a little child will lead them." This verse is a favorite of writers talking about anything related to the rapture or the end of the world. I usually think "creepy" when i hear it, mainly bcs I picture Mulder "the truth is out there" or an old man in a bunker, whispering ferventantly to the last hope of the world- usually a man-woman team who've fought to save the world AND THEY'RE PISSED! But i think few examine the beauty of what that means- to peacefully co-exist, where the world is back in alignment, isn't made up of kill or be killed, or fear of death- to me it quite literally represents Paradise (which is Persian for "walled garden" where the king would walk with his favored subjects.)
But for now there are snail carcasses lining the pathways and the rain that tells me they'll come again. It's nothing personal, it's just the unnatural order of things.
Saturday, May 7, 2005
Friday, May 6, 2005
not that this happened to me but...
you know the girl who tries to get people to sign their yearbook and no one does? it's like in those cliched highschool movie moments where the main character flips through the pages of the yearbook (closeup shot) and it's blank. ah epiphany! ah clarity! that's why she's invisible (buffy ref), that's why she went on that shooting rampage. now i know none of you made me want to cry. some of the things i suggest may seem more metaphoric than an actual earnest suggestion. but not even 1 of my 2 readers could bring themselves to write anything. not even penelope could find sympathy for this wistful imagining on my part. but it's like the kid whose birthday it is wants to play a game and everyone decides it's entirely too lame so no one does. and the kid is left alone on the field. clearly his heart is being compacted into a black little ball of malice and indifference but no one cares.
i was also going to talk about my love for this community i have and the possibility of laser tag next week but it got erased- and none of this has the brilliance of my lost entry so i have to say adieu for now- i'm off to make an egg sandwich.
i was also going to talk about my love for this community i have and the possibility of laser tag next week but it got erased- and none of this has the brilliance of my lost entry so i have to say adieu for now- i'm off to make an egg sandwich.
Wednesday, May 4, 2005
ROCK ROCK
ROCKEM. Please note that I could get in trouble for writing this, because they have my signature on about a million different forms, all promising not to disclose and PRIVATE company information. But I won't say the name of the company. And is this really damaging?
Here is what we do, every morning. Picture it: A class of 43 dressed in business casual, rubbing sleep from their eyes yet simultaneously coming down from the adrenaline rush of Avoiding the Cops While Getting to Work on Time. We might do a puzzle, like a crossword puzzle or word scrambler, to "break the ice." Then we all stand, and this week's Designated Cheerleader comes up to the middle of the room and shouts something to the effect of, "WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO FOR OUR CUSTOMERS?"
"ROCK ROCK ROCKEM!"
ROCKEM is, non-shockingly, an acronym used as a foundation for Quality Customer Service. I won't reveal the letters' meaning, as it would surely be stepping over the line.
And then we learn. Then we pass around a beach ball, each saying something we learned. It's to the point we all vie for the beach ball, so as to not be one of the last people to hold the beach ball and therefore have nothing left to share. Because there has to be 43 different things that we learned.
Please feel free to use these mental images for your own use one morning when you are perhaps having trouble feeling good about your day. Because it's hilarious. Laugh it up.
Here is what we do, every morning. Picture it: A class of 43 dressed in business casual, rubbing sleep from their eyes yet simultaneously coming down from the adrenaline rush of Avoiding the Cops While Getting to Work on Time. We might do a puzzle, like a crossword puzzle or word scrambler, to "break the ice." Then we all stand, and this week's Designated Cheerleader comes up to the middle of the room and shouts something to the effect of, "WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO FOR OUR CUSTOMERS?"
"ROCK ROCK ROCKEM!"
ROCKEM is, non-shockingly, an acronym used as a foundation for Quality Customer Service. I won't reveal the letters' meaning, as it would surely be stepping over the line.
And then we learn. Then we pass around a beach ball, each saying something we learned. It's to the point we all vie for the beach ball, so as to not be one of the last people to hold the beach ball and therefore have nothing left to share. Because there has to be 43 different things that we learned.
Please feel free to use these mental images for your own use one morning when you are perhaps having trouble feeling good about your day. Because it's hilarious. Laugh it up.
Tuesday, May 3, 2005
it's not you.
it's me. that's why were breaking up. i'm just kidding. at least i don't think so. i think i still have things to say. less focused things but nevertheless.
i have to tell you my 80's prom was transcendant. totally. this is what i would've wanted prom to be. in high school i had a "banquet" and all i can think of in association with it is wild rice and chicken- glossy dresses and updo's. obviously i didn't go. the idea of dates or limos and crosages sounded utterly mortifying. there wasn't any dancing either. not that i would've danced at the time or been at all confident. but now i am. and i do. also i was probably working at my acting company at the time too- i recall missing several key things bcs of it including grad nite- but i'm altogether convinced i'm glad i had an excuse not to go.
i wouldn't have called myself a misfit but in general i was. at the 80's prom i did reject the pastel dress in honor of more punk rock attire- i was like school girl meets over accessorized rocker. it was a good time. decidely i had the biggest hair there. why i didn't get an award for that i'll never know. i sat with my friend in the corner when the king and queen were being elected and i said, this is probably what i would've been doing in high school. arms crossed in the dark. sitting disaffected in the corner. we laughed. and i felt a click- a totally comfortable feeling among a band of people i didn't want to ever let go. it was a complete senior prom moment. i was like damn, there's never going to be another prom like this one. we even had a principal and some killer punch. and we all took our picture together, stayed till the end of the night and dispersed into the air.
today is graduation day. i wish i had a yearbook for people to sign. (okay i know! come on commentators- sign my yearbook, today only! and REMEMBER my name is mendacious- take me down memory lane and help me remember why this year was a total BLAST.)
i have to tell you my 80's prom was transcendant. totally. this is what i would've wanted prom to be. in high school i had a "banquet" and all i can think of in association with it is wild rice and chicken- glossy dresses and updo's. obviously i didn't go. the idea of dates or limos and crosages sounded utterly mortifying. there wasn't any dancing either. not that i would've danced at the time or been at all confident. but now i am. and i do. also i was probably working at my acting company at the time too- i recall missing several key things bcs of it including grad nite- but i'm altogether convinced i'm glad i had an excuse not to go.
i wouldn't have called myself a misfit but in general i was. at the 80's prom i did reject the pastel dress in honor of more punk rock attire- i was like school girl meets over accessorized rocker. it was a good time. decidely i had the biggest hair there. why i didn't get an award for that i'll never know. i sat with my friend in the corner when the king and queen were being elected and i said, this is probably what i would've been doing in high school. arms crossed in the dark. sitting disaffected in the corner. we laughed. and i felt a click- a totally comfortable feeling among a band of people i didn't want to ever let go. it was a complete senior prom moment. i was like damn, there's never going to be another prom like this one. we even had a principal and some killer punch. and we all took our picture together, stayed till the end of the night and dispersed into the air.
today is graduation day. i wish i had a yearbook for people to sign. (okay i know! come on commentators- sign my yearbook, today only! and REMEMBER my name is mendacious- take me down memory lane and help me remember why this year was a total BLAST.)
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