formerly a fearless temp

Today's Totally Awesome Temp Moment (and it better be, because if it gets upstaged this afternoon, I'm leaving the fabulous temp lifestyle to move on up to a world of fame, fortune, or [much more likely] retail) happened at approx. 10:18 this morning, when one of the attorneys asked me to put together a coffee tray for --

This LJ entry is interrupted for a Stage Four Disproportionate, Irrational Freak Out–

Oh my God. Okay, so I've been reading the Lj entries of people applying to grad programs with sympathy and feelings of sisterhood (sinsense and zeldachilds jump to mind), because though I'm applying to teaching programs, not academia, a lot of the processes are similar (GRE fun, general stressiness, letters of recommendation). So a shout out to all of you and apologies that I haven't been commenting in solidarity, but I am with you in spirit. I don't think I could have gotten more words staring with "s" in that paragraph if I tried.

Anyway. I e-mailed someone about a recommendation earlier and in my note joked about how I had "characteristically misplaced" her mailing address, and she just e-mailed me back all serious and concerned, saying things like, "You worry me when you put yourself down. You're fine the way you are! But if you wanted to change and put your mind to it, you probably could."

Immediate, irrational gut reaction A: it was a joke! A bad one, maybe? But I was just kidding, making a joke, which she did not get! Am unfunny and lame!

Immediate, irrational gut reaction B: wait, so does she want me to change? Hey! I'm not *dis*organized, I'm *differently*organized. Which isn't worse, except for the part where I'm always losing things. Like my Verizon bill, her address, often shoes.

But, must keep things in perspective. She's going to write the recommendation, and typing that up actually cleared my head of that heady mixture of self-doubt and overcharged ego, which is good because it's LUNCHTIME!

I will have to save my Totally Awesome Temp Moment for later.

Edited slightly at 1:25 PM. Would delete the entire thing but feel the entry's histrionics serve as a good example of why I should never post (a) right before lunch, when rushed and hungry; and/or (b) in the middle of reacting to something.

And that is all. For now.

The question of the day: Where is my Verizon bill? I had mentally decided that it must be in the pile of miscellaneous mail on the nightstand, but after flipping through that, I have mentally decided that it must be somewhere else. But where?

Second question of the day: Does anyone out there have shampoo recommendations? I can be swayed to spend stupid amounts of money on hair care products if someone tells me a product is worth it, so the sky's the limit! I have thick, curly, non-color-treated hair, as an fyi. Any input is v. much appreciated.

That's it for now. American Dreams is on and I am way too caught up in the emotional turmoil of JJ Pryor to focus on anything else.

How can Groundhog Day only get two and a half stars? I checked the info-on-demand thing on my aunt's digital cable while I was watching the movie, and that's what the info-on-demand Gods had given it. How is that possible? How?

It's one of the greatest movies ever! At least I think so. And does anything matter but what I, personally, think? An emphatic "No!" is the correct answer to that question.

(I say this all in good fun, of course; other things matter too. Can't think of any right now, but that's just the kind of mood I'm in. I'm sure I'll think of something tomorrow.)

It was very necessary that I saw this movie tonight, since I was feeling all torn up inside after finishing The Poisonwood Bible today. Groundhog Day and The Poisonwood Bible both made me cry today, but they were different kinds of crying, and it's good that Groundhog Day came second and at the tail end of the day. I loved The Poisonwood Bible and everything, but I've gotta tell you, and I don't think I'm spoiling those who haven't read it yet – a book about missionaries and postcolonial Africa? Not going to be happy go lucky!

Other notes: House- and pet-sitting continues on. Sprout the kitty woke me up several times before my alarm this morning. It is a testament to my animal-loving nature that I did not maim, kill, or bear any ill-will towards him, since waking up before my designated wake-up time is one of my least favorite things to do. Especially on a Saturday, when having an alarm set at all seems cruel. But I had to be up to let the dog out, and so I had to set an alarm; I've been known to sleep for thirteen hours at a time after a long week, and this week was definitely a long one, what with smelly attorneys and dogs flipping out and my grandfather having surgery (he's doing okay now) and my car being towed (details below). Leaving the dog in the house for thirteen hours could only lead to messes I would have to clean up.

When my cats want to wake me up, they usually sit on my head. I get used to that after a minute and generally go right back to sleep, but Sprout was more determined and also more polite. Sprout sat quietly next to me, and patted me on the cheek with his paw until I woke up, blearily waved my hand in the general direction of his head in an attempt to pet him, and then rolled over. Two minutes later, just as I was drifting off, he'd do it again: Sit there, stare at me, and pat pat pat until I opened up my eyes.

I did this four or five times and then finally just scooped him up in my arms and put him under the covers with me, giving him a big old hug. This freaked him out, as I knew it would (cats only like so much personal attention), and he promptly stalked away to the foot of the bed, where he slept at a dignified distance until I woke up for good two hours later.

Frankie the dog continues to be the height of adorableness, even if he did tear through the contents of my bag tonight. I, being the super-observant dogsitter I am, did not notice until he plopped down three feet in front of me and started chewing on my bottle of ibuprofen. Thank God he didn't get it open or break the bottle. All I ask of this trip is that I don't kill the pets or break a major appliance.


Note: Bringing Up Baby is on now and the info-on-demand people have given it only three and a half stars, which is also sheer madness, because if there ever was a four-star comedy, this would be it. Oh, it's the great phone conversation about the leopard! Everyone should see this movie if only for this scene, and also the part in the jail when Katharine Hepburn pretends to be a gun moll, and also the part where Cary Grant wears a women's robe and jumps up saying, "Because I just went gay all of a sudden!"

Okay, you should just see the whole thing. "There are only two things I have to do today: Finish my brontosaurus and get married at three o'clock."

How can you not love a movie with that line? And this exchange, which I think I've quoted before:

[David discovers the leopard in Susan's bathroom.]
David: Susan, you have to get out of this apartment!
Susan: I can't, I have a lease.

Sheer greatness.

Yesterday I got out of work at 4:15. I was so excited I almost danced out of the office, and then down the street, around the corner and down three blocks more, when I stopped where I'd left my car that morning.

It wasn't there.

( and so begins the towing experience )

I've spent an insane amount of time over the past few days binging on Harry Potter fan fiction. I always know I'm reading too much of it when I start becoming really, honestly upset that I can't do magic myself. One little Accio spell! Accio, glass of water!

Sadly, still no magical abilities, and so I sit here thirsty, writing up this LJ entry. The thirst is especially annoying because I have a big glass of water on the nightstand next to me which I cannot drink because I walked in here and discovered Scout the kitty buried whisker-deep in it. I may be a crazy cat lady in the making, but I draw the line at sharing beverages. At least for now.

Today I was stopped at a light downtown with my windows open and the radio on, my car's default setting because I live in fear of my AC dying and thusly try to use it as little as possible, jammin' to one of my favorite songs -- King of the Road. I was having a grand ole time, trying to figure out exactly how much a four bit room would cost in modern terms, when I realized that the guy crossing the road in front of me was staring at me and laughing. Actually laughing! And then I realized how loudly my radio was blasting -- like, as loud as most teenagers' jacked up pickups blasting...oh God, I am so terminally uncool, I can't even come up with a trendy modern rap act. Easy listening has turned me into my grandmother! I knew it would happen, I just didn't think it would happen so FAST!

Anyway. It was a funny moment. Maybe you had to be there.

I was going to write a long paragraph about my embarrassing HP fic reading tendencies, but it's very late and, also, I'm kind of embarrassed. Perhaps another day!

One of the many reasons I'm glad we're not living in a police state out of Orwell's 1984 is that the whole cameras-in-every-room thing would make exercising even more awful and boring than it already is. I mean, were there cameras installed in my house, monitoring my every movement, I wouldn't feel nearly as free to bust a move while treadmilling to JC's new CD. And I have to tell you, bustin' a move while listening to JC's CD is really the only true joy I get out of exercising!

Don't be fooled: it's a risky, challenging endeavor. First there is the fear of spinning off of the treadmill with a huge crash mid-hand-gesture, leading to my parents discovering me lying next to the still-running treadmill, explicit JC lyrics streaming out of the boom box next to the exercise machine. Secondly, there's the simple fact that there aren't that many different dance moves one can do while walking on a treadmill. I feel adding in lip syncing and elaborate facial expressions more than makes up for it, though.

After a week and a half at work listening to JC's CD, I decided to branch out into the rest of my CD collection. I did this mostly because I was getting to know the songs so well that it was only a matter of time before I started bellowing out, "ALL DAY LONG I DREAM ABOUT SEX!" in the middle of the conference room. Though this job is boring as hell, it is good for having reintroduced me to most of my CD collection. I'm bad about music; I buy CDs very rarely, and once purchased, almost never listen to them, because when presented with free time, I'm almost definitely going to go for TV, a movie, or a book before I reach for music. Anyway, now I'm listening to stuff I bought two or three years ago and listened to once or twice then and realizing now that hey! So-and-so isn't too bad! That John Mayer could be going places! Etc etc.

Other job notes: This morning I collated, later in the morning I filed, and then this afternoon I put labels on envelopes. There was also a forty minute stretch where I had nothing to do but stare at a wall, and another hour-long stretch where I had to sit next to someone who was trying to figure out how to sort a mail merge. And you may think I'm doing my exagerage-for-humorous-effect thing there, but I'm NOT. It was an hour. Of doing nothing. Well, nothing except trying very hard not to make the girl trying to sort the mail merge feel weird since the boss type person had told me to sit with her, and I know I wouldn't be thrilled if I was trying to figure something out with a complete stranger watching over my shoulder. Other activities during that hour: Putting on hand lotion twenty times. Trying to figure out how to dole out my Diet Pepsi so it would last the rest of the day. Internal debate over office pot luck.

Office pot luck! Now this is something worth discussing. And when I say "worth discussing" I mean "really quite boring to everyone who's not me, but watch me care." So I came onto this job thinking it was a short-term filing thing, but now it's getting more vague in terms of length, and today the girl passing around the sheet for the office pot luck tomorrow gave it to me! And asked if I wanted to sign up! And I was all "....Not really."

Those weren't my exact words. Anyway, people are bringing things in like corn chowder and baked ziti and all sorts of complicated food dishes, and people have already beaten me to the punch on the soda and paper supplies front (dammit!), and GD it but I'm not going to cook for random people I met nine days ago. I have The Apprentice to watch tonight, you know! Not to mention my tape of this week's Scrubs! IMPORTANT THINGS.

I didn't sign up for anything, but then I felt guilty, and on my break later (yes, I did take a break later, even though and hour of the afternoon before said break had been spent sitting doing absolutely nothing at all – I still deserved a break, right? I mean, it was exhausting nothing, in that it involved me being friendly but unobtrusive), I called my mother and asked her advice. She said I should bring something, and I decided to bring cookies even if someone else was because I just don't care! Cookies can be bought at the grocery store! No baking for me!

But isn't it random that they asked me to bring something in? I mean, maybe she was just trying to include me or something, but I don't want to be included! It's like how they keep asking me to order lunch with them, and I keep saying no because (a) I bring my lunch, and (b) I like to get out of the office for lunch, even if out of the office is just out of the building, sitting alone in my car.

While I was enjoying my little afternoon break, this older woman came up to me and said, "Are you Jessica MyLastName?"

Which freaked me out. I automatically assumed they'd discovered that I'd been goofing off on the internet too much at work, which I then quickly realized was impossible due to the whole not-having-a-computer-or-a-desk thing (but that gives you an idea of how much time I do goof off online at work when I have a computer at my disposal). Turns out she was just Senior Boss Lady of HR introducing herself, wanting to know if she could introduce me to the staff.

"Uh, right now?" I asked, trying to sound friendly even though I was very pissed to have my leisurely reading of Ladies Home Journal interrupted.

"No no no, via e-mail," she said. "I was wondering if you could bring in your resume or perhaps just type up a brief paragraph I could put in the e-mail, talking about who you are, where you've been, where you're going – I'd really appreciate it."

"No thanks, I'd rather die," I said.

Again, not my exact words. So I printed out my resume tonight and have to bring it in and now I'm all !!! because why are they doing this? Are they going to keep me on more long-term? I canNOT file all day for much longer -- because the other day I almost flipped out and got violent on one of the folders I was collating stuff into. It took every last ounce of my self-control not to grab the overstuffed refusing-to-close sonofabitch and beat it to death on the edge of the table.

But I withheld! And am proud of it. But I'm not sure how another folder would fare on a future day. And so I ask myself: Am I really fit for collating? Are files safe with me? I'm not so sure.

This job is so random. Must find boss person tomorrow and get to the bottom of my status there. I'm actually most annoyed with myself today (every day there's a new reason why I'm most annoyed with myself) because I didn't just flat-out ask HR Boss Lady when she was standing right in front of me. Why? Why did I walk away and spend the rest of the afternoon wondering? It's like my mind is on a permanent three-hour delay.

How did it get to be this late? I was going to do the comment thang, and send e-mail, and Get Stuff Done! Dammit. Tomorrow, I guess. Bedtime it is!

All about the cut tags, because I'm crazy long-winded tonight.

( Friday )

Saturday:

Was pretty much a nonevent. Nice day, though.

( Sunday )

( Monday )

And now, I sleep.

Driving in to work this morning, I heard the Carpenters Christmas song – there's probably several, come to think of it, but it was the one that goes "Merry Christmas darling, Happy New Year too, etc etc" (love it!) – and spent the better part of today exercising my best impression of Mad Eye Moody's Constant Vigilance! because I knew the second it finished that it was one of Those Songs. You know, one of those songs my brain files away and puts on constant loop so that whenever I get too wrapped up in my work, instead of talking to myself like a crazy person (as I do when I'm frustrated), I will sing to myself like a crazy person (which I do when I'm either happily working or at the very least not in a murderous rage).

It's embarrassing! But I can't help it. I totally caught myself mid-song several times today.

Today at work I ran into two people from my department in the hallway on the other side of the building; I was going to lunch, they were walking somewhere with these two huge jars of water. I asked them why they had two huge jars of water, and they told me they'd picked up some goldfish. And I believed them! And said, "Oh my God, you got goldfish?" all excited, like a six-year-old (because I was excited! Who doesn't love goldfish?). They were, of course, kidding, and were bringing the water back to put the bouquets of flowers that I had seen delivered to the office earlier today. When will I stop being so gullible? When? When?

The annoying thing is how people always find it so funny, and thusly torture me with it often at the office. Again, I wish for coolness. If I were cool, I would not fall for stupid jokes that would cause people to laugh at me in a condescending, affectionate way, and I also probably wouldn't like the Carpenters enough to listen to their Christmas song all the way through, and so I wouldn't have it stuck in my head all day, causing me to burst into song at odd moments.

Whatev.

Troubling new development: I cannot for the life of me find my Outkast CD. See, for weeks it was half-stuck in my nightstand with a few other CDs, but then I decided that wasn't a good place for it and that it should be put away, and now I can't find it! Or any of the other CDs that were with it! Whatever those CDs were, I can't remember! It's especially annoying because tonight my father caught me hopping around singing, "If what they say is, nothing is forever, then what makes – then what makes – then what makes – then what makes – love the exceeeeptioooon" while I was waiting for my hot chocolate to be ready, and I ended up explaining to him at length how I wasn't crazy, that I was actually just singing this awesome song that he should really listen to, blah blah blah, and that I would play it for him later, and now I can't FIND the CD! Grr! Grr, I say! Grr!

So my new thing is that I think so many of my life issues would be solved if I: (a) got at least six and a half hours of sleep a night, and (b) exercised regularly. So I must start doing this! These are my December 4th resolutions. Because, seriously? My lateness is out of control. Why is it no matter what time I'm supposed to be at any job, I always always ALWAYS end up arriving late every morning by the very same margin (between seven and eleven minutes). Why do I do this? Why? I hate being late! I hate rushing! I hate walking in every morning with that icky crawling feeling in my stomach, positive today will be the day my supervisors will pull me aside to have A Talk. And then at the end of the day, I always stay late, because I don't want to cheat anyone, but I never stay the same number of minutes late I arrived – I always stay later, often much later. I must take steps to Stop the Lateness. Must!

And okay, so this is the most boring LJ entry ever. Shutting up now.

Status report: They've decided to hire someone else for the job I've been doing for the past two months, I got a B on the first paper for my class, and I'm wearing an unsightly posture-correcting deal over my red pajamas. I don't understand how potential employers/suitors are not beating down my door!

Seriously, though? This posture-correcting thing? Looks almost exactly like one of those harnesses people put on their kids in malls. Or, you know, dogs in general. It's an awesome look. I got the super-cool harness at the As Seen On TV store in the mall, in case anyone else out there would like to correct their posture (something I really should work on) and look kind of mentally challenged while doing so.

I kind of actively don't want to be at work right now. Well, obviously, since it's midnight. But during the day -- most of the time, I'd gotten to the point of benign annoyance, but now I'm bitter about having to go and cannot get myself to do anything while I'm there. This may be because they totally dissed me and hired someone else to do my job after semi-offering it to me. Whatev! I don't want it anyway.

Today I had to go in to discuss said dissage with one of my bosses (further proof of Office Space's scarily accurate brilliance: At Acronym Company, I report to four bosses), who went into a long, "Really, you'd be bored here" discussion about why they weren't going to hire me. It was totally an It's Not You, It's Me breakup discussion modified for the workplace. Good times! Good times.

It really wasn't so bad.

Anyway, other stuff: The goal for this week is to NOT FORGET MY HAIR APPOINTMENT ON SATURDAY. I write it in caps so that I DON'T FORGET. I'm beyond overdue for a cut and am developing disturbingly frizzy triangle head because of growing-out layers.

Also, I forgot to do laundry! But I have a clean bra and underwear and everything else can be improvised, really.

Am I the only one kind of sucked into the One Minute Soaps on Soapnet? I was totally into the last one, but I've missed GH a lot the last couple of weeks and so I'm kind of confused about the background of the Current Cafe Couple. Oh God, how sad is it that I (a) think about this and (b) share the fact that I think about it with others? I did catch GH today, and am I the only one who's pulled out of the whole GH story by Nikolas's tattoos? I mean, I can watch things with amnesia and lookalikes and deaths that are never permanent, but for some reason my willing suspension of disbelief starts to become grudging when it involves body art for Nikolas Cassadine. It just doesn't seem right, you know!

And ooh! Ooh ooh! Incredible OC fic! Incredible OC fic everyone should read!

Summer

It's so fantastic.

I should have known today would be a wash when I woke up this morning and couldn't find my short slip. Because of my utter laziness when it comes to laundry, I'd reached the stage where picking an outfit was no longer a casual, "Ah, I feel like this today" but instead a manner of searching high and low through drawers and my closet to assemble a clean, somewhat-matching outfit. A clean, somewhat-matching outfit with a knee-length skirt which I usually wear with my short slip and I couldn't find it ANYWHERE. Still can't find it. Naturally, I blame the cats. Why? Because I can.

The Case of the Missing Slip wouldn't be so big a deal if I didn't always, without fail, oversleep by at least fifteen minutes. This means that my mornings are spent with my brain on a constant loop of "Oh my God! What time is it? Why didn't I get up earlier? Why? WHY? Oh my God! What time is it?" and the slightest foul-up in the morning routine messes everything up.

Like today, I only got to eat half of my oatmeal because I was running late! Isn't that a tragedy?

Arrived at work to find more stupid things I'd messed up, and spent the morning alternately loathing myself for said screw-ups and obsessing over my dental appointment later that morning (I hate hate HATE the dentist). During a particularly intense Loathe Patch, I heard my name called and turned to see three of my bosses and a strange woman descending upon me from down the hallway in a manner not unlike the power shots at the end of the Buffy/Angel credits.

First thought: Oh my God! I'm so fired. Strange Woman is totally here to escort me from the building!

Second thought: Oh my God, did she say she was from my temp agency? She can't be --

Third thought: Please let the earth open up and swallow me whole.

Yes, yes indeedy. They sent someone over to Acronym Company, to my department, and had them make a spectacle of the Temp of the Month accolades. Wanted. to. DIE. I hate hate HATE being the center of attention (almost as much as I hate the dentist) and to have everyone in the department stop what they were doing to see me pull out my new Temp Agency Lunch Satchel and Temp of the Month Certificate (ready for framing) -- well, it's in spitting distance of my worst nightmare.

Luckily, after that Embarrassment Explosion, I had the fun of my dental appointment to look forward to on my lunch hour. I'd planned just to get this random, occasional twinge in one of my teeth looked at, and once Dr. Pain had looked at it, he quickly decided part of my filling in one tooth had fallen out. And then he fixed it right there! I had totally planned to have another visit to deal with the drilling and all that, but no! Right there! Today!

Naturally, the first shot of novocaine didn't completely work, so after the Traditional Swat of Hey! Ow! he shot me up a few times more (to the proper dosage for a bull, I believe) and it worked, I got the new filling. The only problem was that because of the massive influx of novocaine, the entire left side of my mouth/cheek and lower lip were completely numb. COMPLETELY. To the point that when I got back to work, I sounded seriously drunk because every sentence and word took so. much. effort. to say properly. Not to mention the fact that every time I took a sip from my can of Diet Coke, I had to put a finger under my lower lip to make sure it didn't slip off and cause me to spill soda all over myself. Talk about presenting a positive image of the company! They should put me on the website, complete with too-long slip showing beneath the hem of my skirt! (Note: I did roll up the top of said slip so that to my knowledge, the slip did not show all day. But still. There's the possibility of unknown slipping of slip. Always dangerous.)

I'm now suffering from Post Traumatic Drilling Disorder, where I keep flashing back to the sensation of the second drill they use -- you know, the big one that sounds like they're just spinning a boulder they picked up off the ground around in your tooth or something? Hate that! Hate that so much! Gives me the heebie jeebies hours later!

Anyway, my jaw isn't as ouchy now as it was before, and look! it's my designated bedtime. With that, I'm off.

i.

Carpooling home from work, I announced to my mother, "I am not going to spend any more money at all! I'm going to save save save!"

Three hours later she picked up the WalMart receipt I'd left on the counter, asked if I needed it, then glanced at the date/amount on it and said, "Not going to spend any more money, eh?" with a quirked eyebrow.

Whatever! Money spent on the new Janet Evanovich Stephanie Plum book and Shanghai Knights so does not count, as they are integral to my sanity and the welfare of my SOUL. Also, I really really wanted both. It is indicative of my priorities that I didn't blink an eye at dropping $15 and $17 for the DVD and book respectively, and then proceeded to spend a solid ten minutes standing in front of a rack of clothes debating whether or not to buy a $5.00 pair of workout shorts that I really, really need. Like, sometimes I end up having to go outside and exercise in shorts and pants that haven't seen the light of day since the mid-nineties as they've been relegated to PJ duty for the past few years. I need new shorts! I'm almost positive I'm already ridiculed far and wide for my lame workout regime and lack of fitness, I don't need to be mocked for my shirts with holes in the armpits or bleach stains!

Anyway, the book is good and the DVD is sitting here right next to me, waiting to be happily watched. I don't know why I loved the movie so; I'm afraid I'm going to watch it again and find it far inferior. More to follow, surely, after I watch.

ii.

Sitting at dinner, Mom, the Brother, and yours truly present:

Me: ...I mean, it's not, like, Betsy Ross or something!

Jimmers: Hey, I like Betsy Ross! (very earnestly) She's my hero.

Mom and Me: ...

Me: Really?

Jimmy: No, not *really*. I mean, come on! I'm not black.

Mom and Me: ....

Jimmy: Wasn't she the one on the bus?

Mom: No! That was Rosa Parks!

Jimmy: Who the hell is Betsy Ross?

Anyway, for the rest of the night, my mother and I kept cracking up, saying, "Betsy Ross? Come on, it's not like I'm *black*." For some reason this just got more amusing every time, and by the end my brother was ready to kill the both of us.

iii.

I was peacefully sitting on the couch, enjoying the All Star Game, when my brother said, "Hey Jess, I have something I want to tell you" and then proceeded to lift his leg in the international sibling sign for Incoming Fartage. I responded quickly by moving to kick his leg in an attempt to distract him, only to face his retaliation of kicking my hand. Which was holding a big glass of icewater! And so I ended up with about a third of a glass of icewater ALL over me! So annoying! And my brother just sat there laughing, looking all satisfied with himself, and so I dumped the rest of it on his head.

It was a lovely moment, even with my mom screeching in the background about water getting on the couch. My mother doesn't seem to have embraced the fact that the couch is almost twenty years old and has had just about every liquid possible spilled on it. It can't get much worse for wear, and anyway, it was water! I think she was mostly upset because we distracted her from the game.

~~

And that's all that's fit to type into this Update Box tonight. One of these days I'll get around to discussing the big wedding and all, but tonight I'm too tired and Owen Wilson and Jackie Chan are waiting to entertain me with their wacky antics. Heart them so!