They're telling me I can't take as much naps as I used to at work anymore. They are so killing whatever "fun" time I'm having in this office.
Used to be I'd catch some zzz's in the recording booth. When it got too stuffy I opted for the Operations' workplace (when they gave me a spot). "Not a good image to project," says the boss, sleeping out in the open. Okay, maybe inside the "walled" cubicles, out of sight. Used to be okay until today when they reminded me I'm up for regular employee and other employees might take offense to my work habits.
Okay, on the surface it's not exactly a good example of a model employee. If they ever hired an efficiency expert I'd probably be booted out. But what they'd fail to take into context (at least if I don't defend myself well) is the abundance of idle time. When I think about it my morning shift is made to work to give me as much nap time as possible by recording stuff early. And in a bit of a cheap shot, why they think napping employees gives a poorer image of the workplace here (such as it is) as opposed to bosses that make fun of you everyday and other employees that smoke a lot is beyond me.
Sometimes I wonder if the general enthusiasm I had when I first started working here has dimished. Stupid question. Of course it has. The question now is what am I gonna do about it: ride it out, or get out?
Aug 30, 2001
Aug 29, 2001
A Tale of One Bad Rat (Bastard):
The enormous creature had been skittering around the house for a couple of days now. It’s hard not to notice a rat the size of a Battle Cat action figure. Now I know why the corner of the bodega door was chewed away to a nice rat hole-size.
Two nights ago my dad and I managed to trap it in the kitchen inside the old unusable gas stove. Flypaper wasn’t working, and it seemed to detest the rat poison (Who wouldn’t?). Dad decides to Raid the stove, hoping to suffocate it.
Apparently it didn’t work as last night I still heard scratching inside the stove. At least I knew it couldn’t escape easily. I proceeded to sprinkle more rat poison around the stove (thank God we don’t have inner house pets), placed fly paper in front of it, then stuffed a roll of newspaper into the hole of the bodega door.
A couple of hours later I peeked into the kitchen with my flashlight. The creature skittered back from bodega into the stove. My roll of newspaper was shredded to the point where it almost chewed all the way through. Sneaky (as well as filthy) rat bastard.
I reinforced the hole with more newspaper, but not before placing flypaper inside and out the bodega door. That way if it tried to chew through the paper it might get caught, and it the first one doesn’t stick the second sheet might.
I woke up at 2:30 in the morning to check the trap. No new shreds of paper, but the kitchen showed signs of “panic,” as plastic jars and my box of cereal were knocked over. (I half-panicked thinking it raided the Cocoa Puffs.) Must still be inside the stove when it found out it couldn’t escape, clever ‘ol me thought.
I hate being wrong.
Come breakfast time I saw a rat hole-sized hole (about the same size as the rat-hole-sized hole on the bodega door) on the newly repaired kitchen screen window. Idiot that I was I didn’t close the glasswindows, despite the fact that’s the first thing I did two nights ago.
Yes, it had escaped, leaving poison untouched, flypaper unused (save for the smattering of newsprint all over it like feather on tar), and newly repaired kitchen screen window holed. What a piss-off.
The enormous creature had been skittering around the house for a couple of days now. It’s hard not to notice a rat the size of a Battle Cat action figure. Now I know why the corner of the bodega door was chewed away to a nice rat hole-size.
Two nights ago my dad and I managed to trap it in the kitchen inside the old unusable gas stove. Flypaper wasn’t working, and it seemed to detest the rat poison (Who wouldn’t?). Dad decides to Raid the stove, hoping to suffocate it.
Apparently it didn’t work as last night I still heard scratching inside the stove. At least I knew it couldn’t escape easily. I proceeded to sprinkle more rat poison around the stove (thank God we don’t have inner house pets), placed fly paper in front of it, then stuffed a roll of newspaper into the hole of the bodega door.
A couple of hours later I peeked into the kitchen with my flashlight. The creature skittered back from bodega into the stove. My roll of newspaper was shredded to the point where it almost chewed all the way through. Sneaky (as well as filthy) rat bastard.
I reinforced the hole with more newspaper, but not before placing flypaper inside and out the bodega door. That way if it tried to chew through the paper it might get caught, and it the first one doesn’t stick the second sheet might.
I woke up at 2:30 in the morning to check the trap. No new shreds of paper, but the kitchen showed signs of “panic,” as plastic jars and my box of cereal were knocked over. (I half-panicked thinking it raided the Cocoa Puffs.) Must still be inside the stove when it found out it couldn’t escape, clever ‘ol me thought.
I hate being wrong.
Come breakfast time I saw a rat hole-sized hole (about the same size as the rat-hole-sized hole on the bodega door) on the newly repaired kitchen screen window. Idiot that I was I didn’t close the glasswindows, despite the fact that’s the first thing I did two nights ago.
Yes, it had escaped, leaving poison untouched, flypaper unused (save for the smattering of newsprint all over it like feather on tar), and newly repaired kitchen screen window holed. What a piss-off.
Aug 20, 2001
Bucks for Bendis
Almost two weeks have gone by and boy, has it been a really expensive month for me. Two mall-wide sales and several comics and CDs later I'm starting to feel the pinch. Maybe it's because I had a big chunk of my salary thrown into a trust fund ('least that's where my cousin said she placed it) that I'm noticing how little spending cash I have to spend.
Speaking of comics I've resolved to buy the more readily available ones here (whether it be single issue or trade paperback) while saving those online dollar charges for the "not so popular, harder to find" books.
Speaking of spending I find myself at odds when it comes to Brian Michael Bendis. I started buying this guy's books solely by the strength of his reputation alone and so far it's not turning out so great. He writes great dialogue but like my experience with Paul Jenkins (another "rep writer") his endings in a lot of his stories are more or less anticlimactic, particularly in Sam and Twitch. In Bounty Hunter Wars: after a five-issue chase the Bad Guy gets shot between the eyes. That's it? Dumb laws and Eggs: jerk boyfriend is shot. That's it? Daredevil 16-19: 4 issues to tell a story that could have been done in two. THAT'S IT? Stuff like this makes me hesistant to get the trade editions of either Elektra or Alias. Then there's his pre-Marvel stuff Jinx, Goldfish and Torso. Should I be expecting the same blah endings?
Speaking of comics I've resolved to buy the more readily available ones here (whether it be single issue or trade paperback) while saving those online dollar charges for the "not so popular, harder to find" books.
Speaking of spending I find myself at odds when it comes to Brian Michael Bendis. I started buying this guy's books solely by the strength of his reputation alone and so far it's not turning out so great. He writes great dialogue but like my experience with Paul Jenkins (another "rep writer") his endings in a lot of his stories are more or less anticlimactic, particularly in Sam and Twitch. In Bounty Hunter Wars: after a five-issue chase the Bad Guy gets shot between the eyes. That's it? Dumb laws and Eggs: jerk boyfriend is shot. That's it? Daredevil 16-19: 4 issues to tell a story that could have been done in two. THAT'S IT? Stuff like this makes me hesistant to get the trade editions of either Elektra or Alias. Then there's his pre-Marvel stuff Jinx, Goldfish and Torso. Should I be expecting the same blah endings?
Aug 10, 2001
Crapshot
It's been one of those days...for the past couple of days. Those days where (with the exception of rare exceptions) you try to call up someone and they're never around. You actually put it in your schedule to call these people, and one by one you notice they're never around. And with my luck being what it is they're probably around when I don't have time to call them.
Roll of the dice, a matter of timing, I know. Some days they actually answer the phone. Most days they're nowhere to be found. It's both utterly frustrating and depressing at the same time. Even setting up lunchdates is a total friggin' nightmare.
And people wonder why I don't go out at night.
Roll of the dice, a matter of timing, I know. Some days they actually answer the phone. Most days they're nowhere to be found. It's both utterly frustrating and depressing at the same time. Even setting up lunchdates is a total friggin' nightmare.
And people wonder why I don't go out at night.
Aug 8, 2001
Gaye Who?
Just recently started getting (or is it keeping?) in touch with a long lost friend. Well, not so long and lost. Just didn't know how to reach her before. No-one at home answered the phone, and I was under the impression she was working on some tropical island down south, anyway.
If or when she reads this: Hi, Gaye.
If or when she reads this: Hi, Gaye.
Aug 3, 2001
Factoids
Yesterday I discovered two things:
1: Ms. Lopez (now Mrs. Lopez Forbes), my old Communication Arts teacher was the first million-peso winner on Who Wants to be a Millionaire? Story goes: after answering the million peso question correctly she opted not to go for 2 million because she didn't know the answer to "What's the first name of Mr. Snuffalupagus?" (Aloysius). And, no, I'm not happy for her. Envious, yes.
2. Top Shelf Productions is currently featuring some cool online comics, the kind of indy stuff you won't find in Comics Quest or Filbar's. All free. So far I've finished Hutch Owen's Aristotle and Todd Webb's The Goldfish & Bob.
1: Ms. Lopez (now Mrs. Lopez Forbes), my old Communication Arts teacher was the first million-peso winner on Who Wants to be a Millionaire? Story goes: after answering the million peso question correctly she opted not to go for 2 million because she didn't know the answer to "What's the first name of Mr. Snuffalupagus?" (Aloysius). And, no, I'm not happy for her. Envious, yes.
2. Top Shelf Productions is currently featuring some cool online comics, the kind of indy stuff you won't find in Comics Quest or Filbar's. All free. So far I've finished Hutch Owen's Aristotle and Todd Webb's The Goldfish & Bob.
Jul 31, 2001
Oilphabet
While preparing my lunch cooking oil spat out of the pot of Vienna Tidbits and hit my left hand. Twice. Now the burn wounds resemble Morse Code. Out of curiosity I did some research. Turns out my injuries "spell" A and Z. Hmm, closure.
Jul 30, 2001
Happy Bitchday
Today is her birthday. My first love. My greatest joy and my greatest pain.
I think it's almost safe to say she ruined me for other women. Subconsciously I now expect them to meet her level of expectations. What we had I can probably never have again, but I still hope. (What else can I do?)
The problem with being with someone who was one of a kind is "replacements" are impossible to come by.
In the spirit of spite for breaking my heart, I wish that everyone she ever fucked becomes impotent and extremely allergic to cigarette smoke. Then they'll know how I felt.
I think it's almost safe to say she ruined me for other women. Subconsciously I now expect them to meet her level of expectations. What we had I can probably never have again, but I still hope. (What else can I do?)
The problem with being with someone who was one of a kind is "replacements" are impossible to come by.
In the spirit of spite for breaking my heart, I wish that everyone she ever fucked becomes impotent and extremely allergic to cigarette smoke. Then they'll know how I felt.
Chip Up
After five hours sleep I woke up to a horrible revelation.
I have chin fat.
Chin fat. Double chin. Swollen turkey neck.
First the beginnings of a receding hairline, now this. And I'm not even thirty.
Of course, thinking too much about it would just cause further stress probably accelerate this condition. So I'm shutting up about it now.
I have chin fat.
Chin fat. Double chin. Swollen turkey neck.
First the beginnings of a receding hairline, now this. And I'm not even thirty.
Of course, thinking too much about it would just cause further stress probably accelerate this condition. So I'm shutting up about it now.
Jul 28, 2001
A Nightmare on Agno Extension
At the risk of stating the obvious: I bloody well hate nightmares.
Whether it's being chased by werewolves or having my teeth fall out in front of me, the sense of realism of I feel every time (despite the absurdity of the scenario) gets to me.
This morning: I was watching what I thought was a grand fireworks display. Even climbed up my window to get a better view. Pretty lights and flashes. "Waitaminnut, are those bomber planes?" (Well, at first glance I didn't know what kind of planes they were. The fact that there were bombs attached underneath them just made me put two and two together.)
I realized it wasn't fireworks. I was in the middle of a war zone. Just then another bomber swooped down and dropped an iron teardrop in front of me. It seemed to take forever to hit the ground, because to my knowledge I was only two stories up. Now it seemed like I lived in the upper floors of a high rise apartment building. I even had time to get down from the window and steel myself for the impending boom.
When the bomb finally hit it was like how imagined it (literally, as this a nightmare): the floor beneath me collapsed, but I was pushed upward by a powerful force. Looking upwards I felt my entire body being burned, but the lack of pain made me think that since I'm at ground zero my vaporization was almost instantaneous but my mind played it it slow motion. It must have been over in less than a second but at the same time I thought wow, just like the car crash. No pain or panic. Facing death isn't as bad as I thought, particularly one by nuclear holocaust.
At that point I woke up. It was 3 in the morning. After taking a piss, for a few minutes I was actually afraid of going to sleep again, but eventually the tired body won over the scared mind.
Whether it's being chased by werewolves or having my teeth fall out in front of me, the sense of realism of I feel every time (despite the absurdity of the scenario) gets to me.
This morning: I was watching what I thought was a grand fireworks display. Even climbed up my window to get a better view. Pretty lights and flashes. "Waitaminnut, are those bomber planes?" (Well, at first glance I didn't know what kind of planes they were. The fact that there were bombs attached underneath them just made me put two and two together.)
I realized it wasn't fireworks. I was in the middle of a war zone. Just then another bomber swooped down and dropped an iron teardrop in front of me. It seemed to take forever to hit the ground, because to my knowledge I was only two stories up. Now it seemed like I lived in the upper floors of a high rise apartment building. I even had time to get down from the window and steel myself for the impending boom.
When the bomb finally hit it was like how imagined it (literally, as this a nightmare): the floor beneath me collapsed, but I was pushed upward by a powerful force. Looking upwards I felt my entire body being burned, but the lack of pain made me think that since I'm at ground zero my vaporization was almost instantaneous but my mind played it it slow motion. It must have been over in less than a second but at the same time I thought wow, just like the car crash. No pain or panic. Facing death isn't as bad as I thought, particularly one by nuclear holocaust.
At that point I woke up. It was 3 in the morning. After taking a piss, for a few minutes I was actually afraid of going to sleep again, but eventually the tired body won over the scared mind.