There's just some information a person can go an entire lifetime without ever having to learn. I seemed to be doomed in my workplace positioning, as I am constantly plagued by neighbors "blessed" with the gift of gab. I recently had one such neighbor leave, and I threw myself a little celebration party. Finally, I wouldn't have to spend my days hearing about (and I kid you not) hormone replacement therapy, mammograms, husbands who sleep in different beds, new and old diets, vitamins, and what someone had eaten for lunch. Every. day. that. week.
Apparently the universe was sending me giant "not so fast" signals. My new neighbor moved in this week and I've gotten to hear about a whole new set of issues. Preganancies, hobbies, what someone has eaten for dinner the previous night, and other such sorted subjects are now the focus of my day. By focus I mean I do everything I can to tune it out, but instead feel like hitting my head on the desk because the pain would be more pleasant than the conversation topics overtaking my being.
The last straw came when body art was discussed. Apparently my new neighbor has a penchant for tattoos and decided to share his artwork with the rest of his coworkers. This included discussing a tattoo placed "too close to the nipple" and a graphic display of aforementioned tattoo.
Yup, definitely could have lived me entire life without that display.
Wednesday, May 9, 2007
It's only really annoying because they're so LOUD
I’m pretty sure my neighbor is allowing a bunch of random people to stay with her in her apartment. I was clued into this a few weeks ago when my doorbell rang at about 9:00 on a Wednesday evening. My first clue was the fact that technically I don’t have a doorbell. There are three doorbells outside my building (which definitely has more than three units) and none of them are labeled with my apartment number. Anyone who wants to hang out with me either comes in with me or calls me when they arrive.
Anyway, my doorbell started going off, which makes the cat pin her ears back and run around the apartment like her tail is on fire. Her favorite kind of running involves leaping up on my coffee table, knocking off everything laying there, and then leaping back off again. So, doorbell rings, cat flips out, and I’m instantly annoyed.
I’m also conscious of the fact that I’m pretty sure the door isn’t for me and I’m not going to just run downstairs and rip the door open. I went out in the hallway and peeked out the large window which faces the front of the building. Down below I could see two men wandering around who I had definitely never seen before. Yeah, I was most certainly not going to go answer that doorbell ring.
Too bad for me these guys were pretty determined. Instead of going away when no one answered the door they decided the next best technique was to hold their finger on the doorbell. I had about had it at that point and went downstairs. Below is the dialogue that followed:
Me (opening door): “Can you please stop ringing my doorbell?”
Dude #1: “Hey, is Polly Pocket* here?”
Me: “I don’t know. You’re ringing my doorbell and I need you to stop.”
Dude #1: “Polly Pocket? Apartment D2?”
Me: “I don’t know. I’ll check, but you need to stop ringing my doorbell.”
Dude #1: “We’ll just come inside.”
Me: “Uh, no, I can’t let you in. I’ll see if Polly’s here, but you have to wait outside.”
It was at this point that I went to check for Polly. She didn’t answer her door after repeated knocking, so I went back to the front door.
Me: “Polly’s not here, sorry.”
Dude #1: “We’ll come inside and wait.”
Me: “No, she’s not here and I can’t just let you in.”
Dude #1, gesturing to Dude #2 who has been silent through this whole exchange: “He’s come a long way.”
Me: “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to call Polly. I won’t let you in.”
*names changed to protect, well, who am I kidding, names changed to protect myself
Then I closed the door (tightly) and left. The dudes hung around outside for about 10 more minutes (probably waiting to see if someone else would come home and let them in) and then took off.
Since that point I’ve heard a vast amount of noise coming from Polly’s apartment every single time I walk by the place. In addition, our back door has been propped open for extended periods of time more than once where no one appears to be around.
Finally, this morning as I was opening my curtains, I heard something outside. When I looked out the window, low and behold, there are my dude friends from a few weeks ago with another guy, congregated in front of the building. Not sure exactly what’s going on, but I don’t like it. Did I mention that we have a clause in our lease which states we can’t have any one guest stay over for more than one night at a time? Maybe I need to move to a building with fewer crazy single ladies…
Anyway, my doorbell started going off, which makes the cat pin her ears back and run around the apartment like her tail is on fire. Her favorite kind of running involves leaping up on my coffee table, knocking off everything laying there, and then leaping back off again. So, doorbell rings, cat flips out, and I’m instantly annoyed.
I’m also conscious of the fact that I’m pretty sure the door isn’t for me and I’m not going to just run downstairs and rip the door open. I went out in the hallway and peeked out the large window which faces the front of the building. Down below I could see two men wandering around who I had definitely never seen before. Yeah, I was most certainly not going to go answer that doorbell ring.
Too bad for me these guys were pretty determined. Instead of going away when no one answered the door they decided the next best technique was to hold their finger on the doorbell. I had about had it at that point and went downstairs. Below is the dialogue that followed:
Me (opening door): “Can you please stop ringing my doorbell?”
Dude #1: “Hey, is Polly Pocket* here?”
Me: “I don’t know. You’re ringing my doorbell and I need you to stop.”
Dude #1: “Polly Pocket? Apartment D2?”
Me: “I don’t know. I’ll check, but you need to stop ringing my doorbell.”
Dude #1: “We’ll just come inside.”
Me: “Uh, no, I can’t let you in. I’ll see if Polly’s here, but you have to wait outside.”
It was at this point that I went to check for Polly. She didn’t answer her door after repeated knocking, so I went back to the front door.
Me: “Polly’s not here, sorry.”
Dude #1: “We’ll come inside and wait.”
Me: “No, she’s not here and I can’t just let you in.”
Dude #1, gesturing to Dude #2 who has been silent through this whole exchange: “He’s come a long way.”
Me: “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to call Polly. I won’t let you in.”
*names changed to protect, well, who am I kidding, names changed to protect myself
Then I closed the door (tightly) and left. The dudes hung around outside for about 10 more minutes (probably waiting to see if someone else would come home and let them in) and then took off.
Since that point I’ve heard a vast amount of noise coming from Polly’s apartment every single time I walk by the place. In addition, our back door has been propped open for extended periods of time more than once where no one appears to be around.
Finally, this morning as I was opening my curtains, I heard something outside. When I looked out the window, low and behold, there are my dude friends from a few weeks ago with another guy, congregated in front of the building. Not sure exactly what’s going on, but I don’t like it. Did I mention that we have a clause in our lease which states we can’t have any one guest stay over for more than one night at a time? Maybe I need to move to a building with fewer crazy single ladies…
Tuesday, May 8, 2007
She's not going to be happy...
My apartment building doesn't have too many units, but two are them are occupied by women I'm pretty sure are certified cat ladies. One of them was the one who had my keys when I was supposed to move in, and it was from the point I retrieved them from her that she entered my life and has yet to leave.
On the day I was moving in I was waiting with my mom and a friend in my living room on my new futon when there was a knock on the door. Thinking it was my dad trying to get in we yelled such choice things as "Go away! We don't want any!" and "No housekeeping here!". After we got no response I opened the door to find Cat Lady on the other side, slinking away. She was coming to tell me a few rules about living in the building which were apparently essential to my well-being. I had no idea I was signing up for dorm life all over again.
In late October there was a knock on my door on a Sunday evening. I opened it to see Cat Lady once again. Apparently I had been parking my car too far to the right and not leaving enough room for the snow pile. Remember all the snow in October? And November? And December? Oh yeah, that's right, there wasn't any.
After standing there getting my lecture during which I could only nod complacently and act as though I was incredibly concerned about my parking habits I promised to park with the apartment rules. Keep in mind I pay more than $50 a month for the privilege of following these rules.
So imagine my surprise when I arrived home this evening to discover an unfamiliar car parked 3/4 in my neighbor's parking space and 1/4 in my parking space. I assumed my neighbor just had an unfamiliar car for some reason. Nope, not the case, as I saw them pull up a few moments later with a look of confusion. Just wait until the Cat Lady gets to this visitor...
On the day I was moving in I was waiting with my mom and a friend in my living room on my new futon when there was a knock on the door. Thinking it was my dad trying to get in we yelled such choice things as "Go away! We don't want any!" and "No housekeeping here!". After we got no response I opened the door to find Cat Lady on the other side, slinking away. She was coming to tell me a few rules about living in the building which were apparently essential to my well-being. I had no idea I was signing up for dorm life all over again.
In late October there was a knock on my door on a Sunday evening. I opened it to see Cat Lady once again. Apparently I had been parking my car too far to the right and not leaving enough room for the snow pile. Remember all the snow in October? And November? And December? Oh yeah, that's right, there wasn't any.
After standing there getting my lecture during which I could only nod complacently and act as though I was incredibly concerned about my parking habits I promised to park with the apartment rules. Keep in mind I pay more than $50 a month for the privilege of following these rules.
So imagine my surprise when I arrived home this evening to discover an unfamiliar car parked 3/4 in my neighbor's parking space and 1/4 in my parking space. I assumed my neighbor just had an unfamiliar car for some reason. Nope, not the case, as I saw them pull up a few moments later with a look of confusion. Just wait until the Cat Lady gets to this visitor...
Monday, May 7, 2007
Frankie says relax, dammit!
I had an eye appointment this morning. I absolutely despise eye appointments, but about a year ago I managed to lose my reading glasses and as of late I have been developing the headaches which the reading glasses were designed to prevent. I also figured I should probably take advantage of my insurance while it is available to me.
The exam started off pretty typically with me filling out a form about my eye history. The doctor seemed a little disgusted that I'd managed to lose a pair of glasses, so I felt it was necessary to explain that I'm pretty sure customs took them out of my suitcase and forgot to replace them. At least I think so. At least it sounds better than me irresponsibly forgetting to pack them somewhere along the road during my months abroad.
Anyway, in the middle of my explanantion about customs the doctor interrupted "so, you don't have the glasses with you then." Um, no dude, that's what I'm explaining to you.
We went through the normal paces with me covering one eye, reading, covering the other, reading through different lenses, talking about which view was clearer. Then things took a turn for the worse.
"I'm going to give you some drops, check for glaucoma, then dialate you eyes." Did I forget to mention that I absolutely flip out if people touch my eyes? I can't stand eye drops, I don't like fingers coming toward me, anything. The doctor manages to get one drop in my right eye before I start twitching like a crazy person. He goes for the left eye, and it's all over. I scrunch the eye shut and yell droplets run all down my face, pulling my eyeliner and mascara with them. The doctor pries open my left eye and tries again. This time at least something gets inside.
Then I have to sit with my chin in a light contraption while the doctor PUTS A LIGHT ON MY EYEBALL. Yeah, right. He tries it with the right eye, which I immediately scrunch shut. Dialogue as follows:
Dr: "Relax."
Me (nervous giggling): "I'm trying, I don't like having my eyes touched."
Doctor tries again to touch my eye with the machine. I now have involuntary tears running down my cheeks, which are dyed yellow.
Dr: "RELAX! Keep both eyes OPEN!"
Me (still giggling, feeling like a special needs employee): "Seriously, I can't control it. I don't like my eyes touched."
Dr: "BOTH EYES OPEN!"
Yeah, because yelling makes me so relaxed. After he finally semi-checked for glaucoma (pretty sure I'm a little young for that test anyway) he goes to put in the dialating eyedrops. Without warning he grabs my right eyelid and inserts not one, not two, but THREE eyedrops. Then he goes for the left. Suffiice it to say, that was at 10 this morning and I'm currently still sporting the sunglasses and it took me three hours to be able to see enough to clear the eyedrop gunk off my face.
The exam started off pretty typically with me filling out a form about my eye history. The doctor seemed a little disgusted that I'd managed to lose a pair of glasses, so I felt it was necessary to explain that I'm pretty sure customs took them out of my suitcase and forgot to replace them. At least I think so. At least it sounds better than me irresponsibly forgetting to pack them somewhere along the road during my months abroad.
Anyway, in the middle of my explanantion about customs the doctor interrupted "so, you don't have the glasses with you then." Um, no dude, that's what I'm explaining to you.
We went through the normal paces with me covering one eye, reading, covering the other, reading through different lenses, talking about which view was clearer. Then things took a turn for the worse.
"I'm going to give you some drops, check for glaucoma, then dialate you eyes." Did I forget to mention that I absolutely flip out if people touch my eyes? I can't stand eye drops, I don't like fingers coming toward me, anything. The doctor manages to get one drop in my right eye before I start twitching like a crazy person. He goes for the left eye, and it's all over. I scrunch the eye shut and yell droplets run all down my face, pulling my eyeliner and mascara with them. The doctor pries open my left eye and tries again. This time at least something gets inside.
Then I have to sit with my chin in a light contraption while the doctor PUTS A LIGHT ON MY EYEBALL. Yeah, right. He tries it with the right eye, which I immediately scrunch shut. Dialogue as follows:
Dr: "Relax."
Me (nervous giggling): "I'm trying, I don't like having my eyes touched."
Doctor tries again to touch my eye with the machine. I now have involuntary tears running down my cheeks, which are dyed yellow.
Dr: "RELAX! Keep both eyes OPEN!"
Me (still giggling, feeling like a special needs employee): "Seriously, I can't control it. I don't like my eyes touched."
Dr: "BOTH EYES OPEN!"
Yeah, because yelling makes me so relaxed. After he finally semi-checked for glaucoma (pretty sure I'm a little young for that test anyway) he goes to put in the dialating eyedrops. Without warning he grabs my right eyelid and inserts not one, not two, but THREE eyedrops. Then he goes for the left. Suffiice it to say, that was at 10 this morning and I'm currently still sporting the sunglasses and it took me three hours to be able to see enough to clear the eyedrop gunk off my face.
Ode to corporate life
Working in corporate America does something to one's personality which makes them go a little off.
Last week I hadn't gotten the chance to eat any breakfast and I was working on one of the weekly 35+ page faxes that I have to handle. After I'd sent it through the fax I went into the supply room to use the heavy-duty stapler. In a behemoth corporation like the one in which I work you would only assume that we could at least have up-to-date office supplies. Not the case here. This heavy-duty stapler is a relic left from the 1970s. How it still exists here, I have no idea. Someone must have gone to the trouble of actually moving this thing, since the building I work in wasn't constructed until the 90s. I often have to send out large faxes which then have to be kept on file, so I am often in need of the relic stapler. Apparently I'm not the only one, because I've gone in there to use it multiple times only to find it devoid of staples.
Such was the case last week, and it really rubbed me the wrong way. Filling this stapler is unreasonably difficult, as it only fits about 12 staples at a time and there is a 75% chance the stapler-filler will end up stapling his/her own fingers during the filling process. I spent 10 minutes grappling with this "machine", the entire time cursing the last person who had obviously given up on their attempt to complete this desk. Between the lack of breakfast and hitting my head on the cupboard door I had opened myself 30 seconds earlier I finished this task breathing heavily, bleeding and completely pissed off.
Don't worry, I did manage to declare victory over the evil relic stapler, although I did leave the supply room and stop at one of my coworkers cubes to declare my hatred for office supplies. He was polite (or frightened by my appearance) enough not to laugh in my face when I proceeded to talk about how much I hated the stapler for 10 minutes, but this morning I did receive the following email from him:
"The more I think about it, you complaining about having to reload the industrial-sized stapler was the high-light of last week."
This is what corporate America has turned us into.
Last week I hadn't gotten the chance to eat any breakfast and I was working on one of the weekly 35+ page faxes that I have to handle. After I'd sent it through the fax I went into the supply room to use the heavy-duty stapler. In a behemoth corporation like the one in which I work you would only assume that we could at least have up-to-date office supplies. Not the case here. This heavy-duty stapler is a relic left from the 1970s. How it still exists here, I have no idea. Someone must have gone to the trouble of actually moving this thing, since the building I work in wasn't constructed until the 90s. I often have to send out large faxes which then have to be kept on file, so I am often in need of the relic stapler. Apparently I'm not the only one, because I've gone in there to use it multiple times only to find it devoid of staples.
Such was the case last week, and it really rubbed me the wrong way. Filling this stapler is unreasonably difficult, as it only fits about 12 staples at a time and there is a 75% chance the stapler-filler will end up stapling his/her own fingers during the filling process. I spent 10 minutes grappling with this "machine", the entire time cursing the last person who had obviously given up on their attempt to complete this desk. Between the lack of breakfast and hitting my head on the cupboard door I had opened myself 30 seconds earlier I finished this task breathing heavily, bleeding and completely pissed off.
Don't worry, I did manage to declare victory over the evil relic stapler, although I did leave the supply room and stop at one of my coworkers cubes to declare my hatred for office supplies. He was polite (or frightened by my appearance) enough not to laugh in my face when I proceeded to talk about how much I hated the stapler for 10 minutes, but this morning I did receive the following email from him:
"The more I think about it, you complaining about having to reload the industrial-sized stapler was the high-light of last week."
This is what corporate America has turned us into.
Thursday, May 3, 2007
Excuse any typos, I'm too lethargic to proofread
Sometimes I wonder where all my energy goes during the day. I'll be zipping along just fine and then all of a sudden I'm crashing into the metaphorical brick wall and metaphorically burning. I can't even muster up the strength to turn to the New York Times online and that it just a sad statement about life.
I also feel zapped creatively. I rack my brain to come up with something I can deem worthy of even attempting to write and I find myself coming up empty. Perhaps my daily atmosphere is an actual cause of writer's block.
It can't possibly be like this in every office. What about marketing people? There's no way they can go for such long periods of time without feeling the slightest bit creative. Are the constantly drinking?
There's something about florescent lights, pumped-in white noise and the sound of people typing which leads me into the hallway of laziness and no brain movement. The other issue is the fact that the nature of my job is to hurry up and wait. Quick, fix this! Oh, wait, you've got to get four different approvals first. What, people aren't responding? Send a follow-up "thressage" with an literal time deadline. That musters a frantic phone call, which leads to more emails, which leads to waiting for more responses. I don't think the human brain was programmed to function this way.
Hey, at least tomorrow's Friday and in the corporate world that means all conversations can include the word's "at least it's Friday!" Look at that, I just typed out a thought and then made fun of the people who have that thought. This can't be good.
I also feel zapped creatively. I rack my brain to come up with something I can deem worthy of even attempting to write and I find myself coming up empty. Perhaps my daily atmosphere is an actual cause of writer's block.
It can't possibly be like this in every office. What about marketing people? There's no way they can go for such long periods of time without feeling the slightest bit creative. Are the constantly drinking?
There's something about florescent lights, pumped-in white noise and the sound of people typing which leads me into the hallway of laziness and no brain movement. The other issue is the fact that the nature of my job is to hurry up and wait. Quick, fix this! Oh, wait, you've got to get four different approvals first. What, people aren't responding? Send a follow-up "thressage" with an literal time deadline. That musters a frantic phone call, which leads to more emails, which leads to waiting for more responses. I don't think the human brain was programmed to function this way.
Hey, at least tomorrow's Friday and in the corporate world that means all conversations can include the word's "at least it's Friday!" Look at that, I just typed out a thought and then made fun of the people who have that thought. This can't be good.
Wednesday, May 2, 2007
I need it, I want it...NOW
I recently had to go through some training at work where we underwent a personality analysis. Mine, not surprisingly, came back indicating that I have a "dominant personality." Some major characteristics: direct, domineering, daring, demanding, forceful, risk-taker and adventuresome. Apparently this means I am not peaceful, mild, quiet, unsure, dependent or modest.
Most of my results looked like synonym for biatch. Especially when one of the lines about me reads "Criticism is usually easy for you to deliver, as your drive for innovative solutions and perfectionism often relegates social concerns to the background." I was also the only person in my session to end up with this personality label (out of four possible personality choices in a session of about 12 people). When we went around the room to see if everyone agreed with the personality category our results had indicated one of my coworkers responded "oh yeah!" when we came to me.
This got me thinking about my lack of patience. I know that once I decide I want to have or do something I really don't like to wait for it. I can't stand when I feel like other things are holding me up. I think this is why I have such an issue with impulse shopping. I go to Traget, see cute shoes and think that I need to wear them to work tomorrow. Such was the case on Monday night. I ended up wearing the shoes today, but now I feel like they make my feet look like cloven hooves. Stupid strange toe cutouts (which are very fashionable at the moment). Too bad my personality analysis didn't say anything about that trait. I might have actually been able to apply it last week.
Most of my results looked like synonym for biatch. Especially when one of the lines about me reads "Criticism is usually easy for you to deliver, as your drive for innovative solutions and perfectionism often relegates social concerns to the background." I was also the only person in my session to end up with this personality label (out of four possible personality choices in a session of about 12 people). When we went around the room to see if everyone agreed with the personality category our results had indicated one of my coworkers responded "oh yeah!" when we came to me.
This got me thinking about my lack of patience. I know that once I decide I want to have or do something I really don't like to wait for it. I can't stand when I feel like other things are holding me up. I think this is why I have such an issue with impulse shopping. I go to Traget, see cute shoes and think that I need to wear them to work tomorrow. Such was the case on Monday night. I ended up wearing the shoes today, but now I feel like they make my feet look like cloven hooves. Stupid strange toe cutouts (which are very fashionable at the moment). Too bad my personality analysis didn't say anything about that trait. I might have actually been able to apply it last week.
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