Maybe freelancing is not for me. Maybe thinking is not for me. It seems that every time I have a project going on, it runs through my mind the entire night making for horrible sleep. The past two nights I feel as though I didn't sleep a wink although I know this not to be true. This has happened before. Anyone have any thoughts on how I can make it stop/get a good night's sleep? I mean, outside of the obvious stop thinking. 🙂
Month: October 2007
The Lieday Frist
No, none of that is misspelled. I thought I would try to have a weekly list of my typical silly meaningless-ness. Stuff that's happened and such. So here we go:
- All systems are a go, or at least they're moving forward, for the soon-to-be business. The remainder of the demo baskets should arrive today (in the rain).
- Garen thinks I can sing. (Not a realization from this week, but I'm listening to him now.)
- Staph is running rampant in Miami-Dade county schools.
- One Miami-Dade teacher went a little off the deep end this week.
- One Miami-Dade TV reporter followed the teacher off the deep end.
- The more I try, the less I understand politics.
- $40 to fill the tank?!?! Geez. Thank goodness it's a Honda and won't need gas for another 2 weeks.
- I hate shoes.
- I'm not your whipping bitch.
- I'm slightly concerned about attempting NaNoWriMo.
- I need to drink more water.
- I once again have motivation to work out. SnowBird Witner Aerial Arts Festival is coming up in January. I'm all in for the Beginning/Intermediate Rope as well as the Beginning Fabric classes. Game on.
- There is a flying, screaming monkey at my desk.
- My heart goes out to everyone affected by the fires in Cali this week.
- Ludacris is handing out snow globes at the mall on Monday. I just find that odd. Movie promotion or not. He's hot.
- My mood is directly proportional to the amount of music I listen to in a day.
- I'm shooting for doing some freelance work be it web design, writing, what have you. Picked up a small gig already. Baby steps.
- I'm tempted to play Karma Chameleon extremely loudly in the office right now.
- Fights suck but making up is pretty cool.
- The older I get, the more vain I get. I used to look at myself in the mirror and wonder how to fix things. Now I look in the mirror and I
thinkknow that I'm a fantastic looking woman and if I happen to put on some makeup, shiiiiiiiiiiit! - I miss my friends.
That's all for now kids. Have a FanFreakingTastic Friday!! HEP!
Evaluate This!
If you're a slave to corporate America, you know that it's just about that time of year for reviews and (hopefully) raises. While perusing the net this morning, I found this well-crafted letter that I'm sure many people would just LOVE to give to their bosses. Enjoy! (This letter and other gems can be found here.
This Year I'm Mailing in My Performance Review, Literally
Dear Boss,
Every year we perform the same ritual of sitting down face-to-face and review my performance in the year gone by, pretending that you care about my personal development, me pretending that I give a shit about this company. This year, I'm taking a different approach, which I have neatly outlined below to highlight the differences between this year and years passed.
– My Goals – Some years you tell me that while I met my personal goals, the organization did not, so unfortunately there will be no bonus. Other years, you tell me that while I was eligible for a bonus, only a select few high performers will see a bonus and for this year anyway I'm not one of them. Let's cut to the chase here. I suck as an employee. You know it, I know, and HR knows it. If not for the litigious society that we live in today, you would have fired me long ago. Luckily for me, I'm black, Jewish, a woman, and handicapped. That's right, the perfect storm of equal opportunity and affirmative action. So how about instead of apologizing to me for not giving me a bonus, I'll agree not to sue you and I'll be on my way?
– My Development – You usually spew some BS about learning other people's roles, or sitting with a senior manager to understand what their day is like. Let me clue you in to something – I couldn't care less about my own job, much less someone else's, so save the manure for the pig farm. Aside from that, I was diagnosed as being functionally retarded when I was 10, so forget about development and count your blessings that I'm potty trained.
– Teamwork – Every year you drone on about mission statements and how we all need to help each other out, because there is no "I" in the word "team". Well guess what? There may not be an "I, but there is certainly an "M" and an "E". And along those lines, my team can kiss my cellulite-filled handicapped ass. In case you haven't noticed, work around here is passed around faster than an STD at a frat house. Between you and me, I don't give two shits about how the work gets done, as long as it doesn't involve me.
– Other Crap – There is some other jargon that you use every year to justify screwing me, and to be quite frank I tend to zone you out during that portion of the review. Instead, I wonder about things like if you take Viagra, if you know that your daughter is a slut, and what it would be like to get you in a head lock and give you nuggies.
In closing, I would like to reiterate that I do in fact hate my job, and my life for that matter, so going forward let's not put a silk hat on this pig of a job and pretend it's a beauty queen. I hope the business tanks so that I can collect unemployment, and will continue to pray that you fall down a flight of stairs so that I can get some free cake at your get well party.
Warmest Regards,
Milton Waddams
QotD: Happy Voxiversary!
Today is Vox's first anniversary since the official launch. What's the best experience you've had on Vox in the past year?
For the most part, I write here because I like to write and I need an outlet. I didn't seriously think that anyone outside my neighborhood read this but either that isn't the case or I made it there through some of my neighbors. In either case, you like me. You really like me.
Give me a break, huh? It's my first time. 😉
I'm sorry, can I do what?
I'm all for the personal hygiene. I'm a twice-a-day showerer, keep the hair clean, no boogs nose or eye kinda girl. Now, not for my pleasure so much but for his, I keep a close shave if not an all off. Well, I guess now that I think about it, it IS for my pleasure because less hair = more, uh, mouth fun.
On occasion, I've been known to get a wax. Pros of waxing: hair doesn't grow back as fast, less ingrowns (you nasty little bastards), way smoother than a shave. Cons of waxing: someone I don't know from Jack is up close and personal in my cooch. That's my main reason for not going. I think it's because I'm ultra-sensitive about my girl juices and their fragrance. I think I smell me all the time. Lovey and I will be sitting in the bedroom and I'll swear that I smell me but he swears that he can't and "his nose is built to sniff that out". I'm probably crazy but I'm okay with it.
Somehow, there doesn't seem to be a universal naming convention for these processes. You can say "I'd like a Brazilian wax" in three different places and come out with three different things. This is not a good thing for we novices. The last time I went in for a wax, which was quite possibly the last time I'm going in for a wax, I asked for what I thought I wanted. Language barriers are always an issue here and I'm not gonna carry on a conversation with you while you're down there, nor am I going to try to decipher what you're saying to me. Mistake.
Wax lady asked me if I wanted something and I didn't quite hear her so I mumbled yes. I. AM. AN. IDIOT. We get through the front and because that wasn't enough, she told me to go ahead and flip over. Apparently, I had agreed to have THE BUTT STRIP.
I don't have a problem with kink. I'm all for a little slap and tickle. But I wouldn't pay for it. Yet somehow, I feel like there's a hidden camera and I'm being taped for BangBus or some other ridiculous and nasty hidden camera show. Why? Well, now I'm face down on the table and wax lady needs a hand. I'm paying and I still have to help. She needs me to spread my butt cheeks. That's right. Spread my butt cheeks.
And as I lay, splayed out on the table, ass in the air, cheeks spread from Cali to NY, wax lady proceeds to drown the starfish in HOT wax. My ass is on fire and I'm contemplating ending it right there but then I realize that my butt would then be glued together. Of course, that's not the worst of it because she still has to get rid of the wax.
Because I'm not humiliated enough, here comes the fun part. With a pat and a rip, the starfish can once again breathe although it could be bruised but I can't tell since I just can't see back there, or at least not without a mirror. I just want it to end, no pun intended. When she's finally done, I slink out and pay. I feel dirty and not just because I have baby powder from head to toe from a procedure that's way less than bellybutton to knee. Seriously, I feel like I have starred in some nasty porn because I have paid a woman to pour hot wax on my asshole and then rip it off. Never again! There you go. Don't get the butt strip.
Kisses!