Facebook gives me the popularity I never had in High School...

I... was not popular in high school.

Not that I was quite reviled... although I will admit that there were many of my fellow students who had a hard time dealing with my complete inability to give a shit what they thought of me--an ability which I wish I had retained in my adult life. It seems that the older I get, the more I care... which, quite frankly, pisses me off. But I digress.

I'm not sure if it's the feel of Spring in the air or the fact that "Send us your current address!" emails have been circulating as our 10 year reunion looms (though true to form, the class of '98 will not be reuniting until somewhere close to 2009... we never could get our shit together). Whatever it is, it seems that every individual that I so much as sneezed on in High School is now sending me a Facebook friend request.

When the hell did I get so fucking popular?!?

If your name shows up in my Inbox and I have to go to your profile to figure out who the fuck you are... we are not friends!

If you are the older brother of someone in my graduating class, but you and I exchanged less than 2 sentences during the two years we both walked those hallowed halls... we are not friends!

I mean, sure, technology is great for catching up with those people that we genuinely want to talk to... but really people, the popularity contest ended the moment our mortarboards flew through the air. Just because we inhaled the same concrete dust Freshman year while the school was being renovated, sat through the same horrid assemblies, and perhaps fought over the last Oatmeal Cream Pie in the snack line in the cafeteria, does not mean we have to pretend to like each other a fucking decade later.

If you genuinely want to be my friend... buy me a drink at the fucking reunion.

I'll be unemployed, I'll need it.

All over the place...

Really? Truly? I wish I knew what the hell was up with me lately.

I'm normally a fairly laid-back, generally happy person. But lately it seems that every day is a freaking roller coaster.

No, that's not quite right. I like roller coasters.

This... this is the fucking Wild Mouse.

It looks harmless enough from the ground. "Oh, it's just a kiddie coaster," you think. "Just a couple of turns and those drops? Pffft! Nothing!"

Until you are 30 feet in the air, in the world's tiniest cart, and you can't see the tracks under you. You're rolling along quite peacefully when, without warning, you are whipped around in the opposite direction. And again. And again. And each and every time that car whips around you are absolutely positive that you will fly out of your crappy little cart and die a painful death on the pavement below.

I fucking hate the Wild Mouse.

I also hate days like today. When I woke up I was feeling fine enough. Look! I even made Fritata!







After breakfast the morning was marked by bouts of random photography.

The "Sorry We Eliminated Your Job" flowers are already wilting, but still photogenic.








And yet, despite the tasty breakfast, and the pretty flowers, as the morning wore on I felt an all too familiar sense of malaise settling over me. Figuring it was just a late-breaking hangover, I did what I always do in such cases. I went back to bed.

A little over 2 hours later I finally roused myself from bed. Contrary to my intent, my nap had not left me feeling refreshed and rejuvenated, but had rather left me inclined to spend the entirety of the day swaddled in my 800 thread count sheets.

I was supposed to go to a vegetarian pot-luck this evening, which is admittedly not exactly my scene--"eco-friendly containers" and "musical instruments" being on the list of items to bring--but I love the hostess in all her crunchy-granola-glory, and so was prepared to make an appearance and try to avoid eating anything containing mushrooms.

But my body was dragging and my brain was one step behind, so I wrote her an email begging off.

My mom had called me last night to check in while I was out and about, so I took a moment to call the parents. Within less than a minute my dad was asking "Are you alright?" Sure, I said, just tired.

Really, it's more than that... but I don't know what.

I went to the grocery store to find something for dinner, and kept wandering up and down the aisles with a few random items in my basket--butter, ravioli--and absolutely no clue what I wanted to buy. Other than ice cream. I knew I wanted ice cream. Eventually I decided on pizza and spent the next 10 minutes trying to find yeast before determining that there did not appear to be any in stock. However, I could feel my brain cringing in my skull at the prospect of having to come up with an alternative plan, so I simply paid for my items and left.

I was so out of it on the way home that it took three attempts before I realized that the "Hey girl!"-s coming from the guy less than a foot in front of me were directed at me.

Yet somehow, as I sat here hunting for a recipe for yeast-less pizza crust (the packet I dug up in the back of my cupboard having expired last November), my mood rolled over once again and I was doing okay.

Oh, and taking a biscuit recipe and using half the baking powder called for? Not a bad pizza crust substitute if you happen to be out of yeast.



As I ate I decided that, being the emotional equivalent of the pendulum on the world's largest grandfather clock, I needed to spend the remainder of the evening watching chick flicks. This may or may not have been a good idea.

"Becoming Jane" is excellent. However, why on earth I chose a film that I knew for a FACT did not have a "happy ending" (Jane Austen never married), is completely beyond me.

So I chose to follow that with "The Break-Up." WTF? Whoever chose to market that movie as a comedy should be taken outside and shot. I cried. Repeatedly. Not exactly what I had in mind.

And now here I am. Not exactly the picture of cheer, but not the lifeless lump who wandered aimlessly around in the grocery store for half an hour (and my grocery store is TINY... like, 4 aisles, that's it). I'm sort of floating somewhere in the middle, which for the time being I guess is good enough.

But what really bothers me, what I don't understand, is what on earth causes days like this? Days when half the time I don't even feel like myself. It's like I've made a quantum leap into someone else's body and can't quite figure out what to do with myself.

And I worry that, if this continues, my unemployment will not be the blessing I'd hoped for. That rather than be productive during my now-free days, I'll sit around like a lump staring at the walls and wondering why going to the store seems like such a gigantic effort.

I can't let that happen. I'll go crazy.

Sorry... like the title suggests, I am seriously all over the place today.

Do any of you have days like this? What do you do to get yourself back to... yourself?

These Songs of Freedom

I boarded the A train at West 4th Street to the sound of singing.

Hmmm, I thought, a fair voice, but kinda weak. Not very good for a busker, I doubt he makes much money...

Then I glanced to my right and saw that no, it was not a busker singing for spare change, but an older white guy sitting alone by the window, pointedly singing across the aisle towards a young black couple, who appeared to be listening. The words sounded familiar, but I couldn't place them.

As he finished the young man said "that's pretty good man, you write that?"

"No," responded the singer, "that's Woody Guthrie."

The train was noisy as always, and I had difficulty hearing the brief exchange that followed, but a moment later he had burst into song once more. This one reminded me of something one would have heard at a Union meeting back in the 1930s when labor first began to organize. Then the words "National Labor Party" floated across the car.

Well, now that's interesting... I thought, as it was followed shortly thereafter by a word that not so long ago would have struck terror in the hearts of everyone within earshot: "Communist."

He launched into another song and by the time he finished we'd passed a few stops and the train was decidedly more crowded. As our crooner began reciting the origin of the most recent song, the man who had taken the seat next to him said "hey he's good! He knows all the words and you get the history!"

What followed could only be described as an intellectual, well-informed, socio-political debate--punctuated by song--between two complete strangers.

In the middle of the A train.

On a Thursday.

I watched, transfixed, straining to hear over the rumbling of the train car, as the debate continued. "Do I believe in Communism?" Asked the singer. "I believe in organizing thousands of workers, to rise up and take power, and start making decisions for their own lives instead of having them dictated by ... billionaires like Michael Bloomberg!"

Yes! I wanted to leap from my seat and shout. Not because I agreed with his politics, per se, but because this scene, in and of itself, is what I love so very much about New York.

My fellow passengers, it seems, were not in agreement. A woman seated near him got up and moved to the empty seat next to me. As I shifted position to accommodate her, I brushed against the enormously fat man occupying the seat perpendicular to me. We briefly made eye contact and he mumbled "If he doesn't like the freedom, leave!" punctuated with a muffled snort and a knowing smile as if I was, of course, in agreement with his narrow-minded remark.

Because he didn't get it.

The majority of the passengers on that car did not get it.

What we were witnessing was Freedom. Not the "freedom" for which thousands of our soldiers have been shipped to Iraq, but real, honest to goodness, Freedom.

Fifty years ago he would have been thrown into jail--or upon the mercy of Joseph McCarthy, I'm not sure which is worse--before he had finished his first song.

But today, here and now, he could espouse his Communist ideals to a crowded train car and suffer nothing more than a few dirty looks.

That, my friends, is a freedom that too few on this earth can exercise; and as disgraced as our country has become, it is one example of our former dignity. One memory to cling to as the dust of the current administration continues to swirl.

I can only hope that, when the dust settles, that real freedom still remains.

Happy Thoughts

It never ceases to amaze me how, just when I'm starting to see the silver lining in this whole eminent-unemployment thing, my soon-to-be-former employers find yet another way to piss me off.

However, being that I only have to put up with them for 2 more days--and apparently I am important enough to merit a half-hour Goodbye Party tomorrow afternoon--I am going to take the high road and stop harping about it.

So instead, I'm going to blog about something that I meant to blog about ages ago before life started shitting on me.

Remember when I spent an exorbitant amount of money on Sephora's website and was eagerly awaiting my goodies?

Well I can firmly say, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Pop Lid Neon? Fucking rocks my universe!

Check this out:



Yes, I was so excited by my eyeshadow this morning that I stopped to take pictures before I finished getting ready for work.

What can I say? I am prone to random fits of girliness.

Also, I love make-up.

So yes, if you like bright colours, this is soooo the pallet for you! And that one that looks sort of terra-cotta in the picture? Is a bright circus orange when applied. Seriously, beyond fantastic, and well worth the $22 price tag.

So that's my happy thought for the day.

Happy Wednesday kids!

Paging Miss Cleo...

The Boss: Yeah, our communication isn't working here.

Translation: I never gave you this information and it's your fault for not reading my mind.

Yep, unemployment is looking better every day...

Sha-la-la-la that ain't no crime

I have no idea why I keep referencing a musclebound man in gold lamé underwear lately. Perhaps my subconscious is trying to tell me something.

Oh well.

(ps- if you didn't catch the reference, you are forgiven... but you should be taking a little jaunt over to Netflix, stat!)

The weekend was good. Saturday morning I was up quite literally before dawn, and in the Financial District before the crack thereof, to shoot some exteriors for a short film project I am working on. It may have been freezing and FAR too early to be awake, but it went well. The remainder of the day was devoted to school work. Sunday was devoted to more school work and rehearsing for the scene work we have to present in class this evening.

And now it is Monday, and I am back at work for my final week of employment. And I thought to myself, in between using the work printer to print out documents for school, what better place to sit and ponder my slowly expanding list of "Positive Aspects of Unemployment."

Here's what I've got so far:

More time for school work. This is truly the gold medal winner, as the work load looks to be expanding rapidly with each passing day.

The Gym. This is a two-fold bonus. First, I have been trying to escape my gym contract for ages, and there happens to be a clause in my contract that says if I am no longer employed in Manhattan, I can get out of it. I plan on exercising that clause ASAP. Second, I recently discovered that the University gym is free for grad students (I thought we had to pay), so I can start going there because, hey! I'll have time!

Time to cook. No more buying ridiculously overpriced lunches every day. I will actually save money on food by eating at home.

More time to read blogs! I haven't opened Google Reader yet today, but I'm certain it's back up in the triple digits. Sorry! But soon I will have plenty of time to read all of you.

Making a dent in my Netflix queue. Which, I must say, is embarassingly long. Soon, all that will change.

Cleaning my apartment!! This one is huge. It hasn't undergone a thorough cleaning since I got back from Africa, and it shows. The cat hair tumbleweeds in the hallway will soon be large enough to trip me (not that that's saying much... my klutziness is epic). And I'll finally have time to break down and recycle the HUGE stack of boxes that's been in the exterior hallway since I moved-in in, oh, August...

Spring is coming! And not being stuck in an office all day, every day, means I'll be able to enjoy it! Provided, of course, I don't turn into a pyjama-clad sloth who never leaves the house... which, knowing me, is not unlikely.

No more dress pants! So sure, when I first started working, getting all dressed up was fun. Then I realized how annoying it is. Also I can stop looking for a dry-cleaner in my neighborhood.

No more morning commute! Halelujia, thank you jebus! 'Nuff said.

Oh yes, and did I mention MORE TIME FOR SCHOOL WORK!!! I really think being poor will almost be worth it.

So that's what I've got so far. What do you think kids? See anything I've missed?

An Apology and a Recipe

First, the Apology.

I'm sorry this has been such a cranky place lately. My blog used to be my happy place but lately it has become a dumping ground for my angst, and for this I apologize.

Say what you will about February. March is freaking brutal.

However, maybe... just maybe, I am seeing a glimpse of the light at the end of this god-forsaken tunnel.

And so, as a "thank you" for putting up with my whining, wretched self for these past several weeks, I am going to share the Potato Soup recipe I invented on Wednesday.

I may not be the gourmand of this blog family--leave that to tortious or Charming--but if there's one thing I know, it's Comfort Food.

I'd been craving potato soup for weeks, but simply couldn't find any, nor could I find a recipe that really jumped out at me to say "Yes! Pick me! Choose me! Gorge on me!!" And so, like any good cook, I figured I'd just make one up myself.

The results, if I do say so, were fabulous.

But not photogenic. So no pictures this time.

Sorry.

And now, I give you....

Froggy's Potato Soup

You Will Need:
Onion, chopped - roughly 1 cup
Celery, chopped - roughly 3/4 cup
Garlic - 4 cloves, smashed with the flat of the blade and roughly chopped
Bacon - I used half a package, you may want more (see below)
Potatoes - 3 large, chopped to varying sizes, roughly 4 cups
Butter - 1 stick
Heavy Cream - 1/2 pint
Chicken Stock - 6 cups
Flour - 3 heaping tablespoons
Irish Whiskey - 1/4 cup, I prefer Jamesons
Salt, Pepper, Thyme, Poultry Seasoning, Cayenne Pepper, Paprika, Fresh Nutmeg - to taste

Garnishes (see below)

Instructions:

In a LARGE pan, brown the bacon. DO NOT USE NON-STICK (this is crucial, note the caps). I used my massive enameled cast iron pan, but any non-stick surface will do. Cook until crispy or close thereto, thicker cuts of bacon are better for this. Remove bacon from pan and drain on paper towels.

Note to Fellow Bacon Lovers: You know as well as I do that you cannot fry bacon and NOT want to eat some, so always cook more than you need! Also, if you want bacon for garnishing, be sure to take that into account.

Empty the bulk of the grease from the pan, and for god sake don't dump it down the drain! That shit is uber-bad for your plumbing! Keep a grease can under the sink. I use old coffee cans.

Also, DO NOT SCRAPE THE PAN! Leave all that seared bacony goodness right where it is. (Note, Boar's Head smoked bacon is particularly good for this.)

Now, add 2 Tbsp of the butter to the bacon pan. Once it's melted, throw in the onion and celery and saute over medium-low heat. After a few minutes add the garlic. When the onion is translucent and the celery smells like sex in a pan (or is that just me?) remove from heat and empty contents into your soup pot. Add chicken stock and potatoes and bring to a boil. Cover and reduce heat.

Once the soup pot is boiling return the bacon pan, which should still have plenty of stuff stuck to the bottom, to the burner. Heat on medium until you hear a hint of sizzling and then use the Whiskey to deglaze (i.e., dump it in there, watch it sizzle, take a moment to breath in the ecstasy, then grab a plastic spatula and get to scraping!).

When all the bacon remnants are now suspended in liquid whiskey as opposed to stuck to the pan, add the remaining butter and reduce heat to medium-low. When butter is melted, add flour one Tbsp at a time, whisking between each. When the mixture is a nice golden brown (which will happen quickly), add the heavy cream, whisking while you pour. Continue to whisk until the mixture thickens and begins to pull together.

Pour cream mixture into simmering soup pot. Yes, it will look gloppy and gross when you first pour it in, but a minute or so of rapid whisking will get a nice uniform texture.

Set aside the bacon to be used for garnishing and add the remainder to the pot. Bring the mixture back to a boil, then reduce heat to low, season to taste, and simmer.

Simmer for approximately 20-25 minutes. Whisk rapidly every 5-7 minutes while simmering. Let stand, uncovered, for 5. Serve with garnishes of choice--I like shredded cheddar cheese, sour cream, and chives or scallions.

Notes:
1. I used homemade chicken stock which was already nicely seasoned, so didn't need to add much. If you use store-bought stock, you may need to add more.

2. Chopping the potatoes to varying sizes is crucial. The smaller chunks will cook down and dissolve into the soup with the whisking, while the larger chunks will remain intact.

3. If you like your soup to have a lighter consistency, follow directions as noted. If you like it thicker (like I do), you will want to add some corn starch before the final simmer. In order to avoid big clumps, put some cornstarch in a small container with water, cover, shake it up, then slowly add to soup.

4. Freshly ground nutmeg is my secret weapon. Use a tiny bit of it in pretty much any recipe calling for cream. You will not be sorry.

(That last note is the real "thank you" gift :) )


And there you have it! It looks like a lot of work from the recipe, but really it's quite simple and oh so very yummy!


Phew, this post is much longer than I anticipated! I was going to leave you with a list of "Reasons Unemployment Might Not Be So Bad," but it's getting late and I have to be downtown quite literally at the crack of dawn tomorrow (more on that later), so I'll have to save that for another day.

Instead I'll leave you with this:

I got my Summer Financial Aid letter this evening and considering the month I've had I was frightened to open it. Fortunately, all is well in that arena and--barring any uncaring and evil payment schedules for fees--I will be able to afford my travels this summer. Hooray!

Hmmm... I wonder if this is the "money-making opportunity" Susan Miller predicted for today? Eh, maybe not, but still... I'll take it!

Back to the Grind

Well I'm back in the city and today it was back to work, where of course I was busy as hell all day.

It's awfully hard to give 100% when the Sword of Damocles is hanging over your head.

After much poking and prodding and sending of email I finally got someone to tell me that yes, I will in fact be unemployed by the end of next week.

I can't help being pissed off. I temped for these people for six freaking months before they gave me a job, yet in the three days I was gone they managed to interview someone, make an offer, and have it accepted. She starts on Tuesday.

Seriously kids, what the fuck?

And it doesn't appear that they've told the company at large that they're axing me, therefore shit is still getting referred to me by other people. They're sending me scheduling requests for New Boss and I don't even have access to his calendar. Cute, no? Last time I checked, it wasn't my job to tell everyone that the company is restructuring.

Fuck, come next Friday nothing will be my fucking job anymore.

So there it stands. I will be an unemployed princess by April 1st.

The other shoe, it would seem, has dropped.

Recuperating

Greetings from currently-overcast Pennsylvania!

Thanks so much for the warm thoughts after my last post. You are all fabulous!

To answer a few questions: I have no idea if there is a severance package, but there had damned well better be! My grad school schedule was part and parcel to the deal when I was hired, I made no secret of it. Therefore this is entirely on their heads.

Second, I don't want another job in this industry. The entire reason I am in grad school in the first place is so that I never have to set foot in another corporate office as long as I live. Hence my previously referring to my job as "just filler"... for which, incidentally, I believe the employment-gods are now punishing me. Damnit.

Also, as all of this was launched on me in 2 minutes before my boss went on a conference call that lasted until I left the office on Friday and headed off to PA, I will not have an opportunity to get any answers to my questions until I return to the office on Thursday.

Blech.

I've got some feelers out with one of my professors who knows everyone (and I do mean everyone) in my intended field to see if anyone wouldn't mind hiring a girl who will be out of the country for 2 months this summer. I also asked Cute Boy From Class (who really needs a better nickname) about the catering company he works for and was rewarded with a very long list of names and companies, so I can get started on that when I return as well.

Thus far my visit to PA has been lovely and relaxing. I really appreciate the relationship I have with my parents, where I can pop home for a few days and just relax. I don't feel the need to "entertain" them, nor they me. We just chill.

Saturday I went shopping with my mom and made a killing at Old Navy. Sweaters for $6 each? Yes please! I also picked up two new pairs of shoes. I know, I know, soon-to-be-unemployed girls probably shouldn't spend money on shoes, but they were $15 and $10 respectively, and at least one pair can be worn to the multitude of weddings I have to attend in the coming year.

Saturday night my parents and I drank way too much.

Sunday I recovered.

Yesterday I chained myself to my laptop and churned out an essay that was due via email. It was moderately painful, but I muddled through. Then I dragged my mom out to a pub in Even-Smaller-Town-Than-Mine to get some greasy food and watch my dad's newest band play their first set.

They were awesome. And I am totally singing "Hit Me With Your Best Shot" the next time I go out for karaoke.

And now here I am, house to myself, drinking coffee and steeling myself for a trip to the dentist, eek! I've never found a dentist in NYC, so I just pop in to see my old one here in PA once every 2 years or so. He is totally going to yell at me for not flossing often enough, I'm fairly certain I have at least one cavity that's going to need taken care of, and unlike Samantha, he hates my tongue ring.

He'd probably tell you it's the source of global warming. He might even have evidence to prove it.

After the dentist I'm headed over to the BFF's house for lunch (provided I can chew--she might have to put mine in the blender) and to play with her kiddos, ages 1 1/2 and 4 months. Hooray!

So that about sums up my respite in PA thus far. I am feeling moderately saner than I did when I arrived, and any increase in sanity is an improvement over last week.

Let's hope it sticks.

An interesting combination...

...of upset, angry, and nauseus.

My boss called me into his office about an hour ago to let me know that, thanks to some structural shuffling going on in the office, I will be losing my job possibly as early as the end of the month.

He stressed that this was not based on my performance, but rather on my scheduling concerns. They need someone who can work More Than Full Time.

Poor bastard. I do not envy my replacement.

But while I may not be too fond of my job, I sure as hell am NOT happy about losing it.

In fact, I am completely and totally freaked out.

I nearly cried on the phone with the Financial Aid office as they explained the screwed-up reasons why I can't take out extra loans to support my ass for the rest of the semester.

But I will not cry at work.

Will. Not. Fucking. Cry.

Mostly... mostly I am pissed off.

Pissed off because an hour ago I was in a freaking GREAT mood. And now there is a big fucking cloud hanging over my head.

And I get to go home this weekend and tell my parents that I'm losing my job. Way to put a fucking pall on my vacation, assholes.

The Boss couched the news in such a way as to illustrate his beneficience... saying he wanted to give me "the most warning possible."

But he also said that they'd originally planned to have this new person start on March 1st. So clearly this plan has been in the works for quite some time.

I'm wondering how many people here knew about this.

I'm also wondering how the hell I'm going to pay the rent and feed myself while still saving money for my study abroad, as somehow saving $400 a month no longer seems like a feasible plan.

I'm not looking forward to going through all the hassle of finding yet another new fucking job, just to quit in two months when I leave the country.

Jesus.

Somebody help me find a silver fucking lining before I completely lose my mind.

Or, you know, throw up on my desk.

Shit.

There is nothing "Xpress" about 2 to 3 weeks!

This morning I took a deep breath, steeled my nerves, and faced the inevitable.

My first trip to the legendary New York DMV.

I meant to get my New York license ages ago. I've been living here for nearly six years, after all. But NY has all sorts of crazy regulations for exchanging an out-of-state license. First of all, the license has to be "valid" for at least 6 months. Nevermind the fact that I've been driving for over 12 years, if my current PA license had been issued less than 6 months ago, it was a no go.

Second of all, you need to present your social security card. I lost mine--along with my entire freaking wallet--roughly 4 years ago. I only managed to get it replaced last week.

My most recent PA license expired in January which, up until this point, has not proved a problem. I don't have a car here in the city, and the few times I've been carded nobody seems to care about the expiration date. Just the birth date. But I'm headed out to PA tomorrow morning to visit the family and friends, and I would very much like to be able to drive myself around without having to worry about getting pulled over and presenting an expired license.

So off to the DMV I went. More specifically, to the "License Xpress" center, which is where one must go to surrender an out-of-state license.

Luck, it would seem, was on my side, as there were very few people in line when I arrived, and shortly after I took my place in line for the camera station the place quite rapidly filled up.

Froggy - 1. DMV - 0.

Right.

So I take the eye test, let them take my photo, and sat down and waited for my number to be called.

I was called. I went to the window. I presented my documetation and she scanned each item.

I was told to go sit down and wait again.

I waited.

I was called. I went to another window. I paid.

And then I was told that my licence would be mailed to me in two to three weeks!

Seriously, what the fuck is it about New York State and mailing important identification documents?!

Now, in order to get a NY State license I had to surrender my PA license. They gave me a little piece of paper called an "Interim License," which will allow me to drive legally, but as for photo ID? Looks like I'm stuck carrying around my freaking passport for the next three weeks.

Which I hate doing.

I'm constantly afraid that I'll lose it and a.) they're a bitch to replace, and b.) it would suck to lose all the stamps from the various countries I've been to... sentimental value and all.

So to the NY State DMV I say "Nyeh!" And while I may have made it out of the building in under an hour, I still say that "Xpress" is a total misnomer.

What ever happened to truth in advertising, eh?

Oh wait, I work in advertising. I should know better.

At any rate, TGIFF! (I'll give you three guesses what the extra "F" stands for...) Tomorrow bright and early I am off to PA for a lovely 4 day holiday, where I will visit friends, get some school work done, let my mom cook for me, and get drunk with my parents! Hooray!

Happy Weekend y'all!

Eeeeee!!

(My apologies to anyone with a Reader who opened a blank post. Blogger spazzed on me.)

12:44pm Ashley:
So i may be a little loopy tonight since i am now on pain meds for my back Haha just warning you! Cant wait to meeet you girls tonight!

4:55pm Froggy:
It's okay. you can be dopey and I'll be sweaty (from class). It'll be like a f'ed up version of the seven dwarves, complete with booze! :)

4:55pm Ashley:
Hahaha hysterical people may be scared of us lol

5:02pm Froggy:
Really that'd be nothing new ;)

...

8:32pm Froggy:
Just got out of class. On my way! :)

8:41pm Ashley:
we're in a booth by the front first one

8:42pm Froggy:
Excellent! On the bus. If traffic doesn't suck I should be there in 10

...

I was on the corner, or so I thought, wondering where the hell the bar was... somehow I didn't think the sushi restaurant had been around since the 1800s. Then I looked down the street and realized that, in typical Froggy fashion, I had gone an extra block north.

I entered the crowded bar and made my way to the first booth.

"Hi!" I said, and as the words left my lips I realized there were three people in the booth... not two. Oh shit, I thought This isn't them... just as the girl nearest me asked, "Froggy?"

Phew!

I sat myself down and from that moment commenced an evening that could only be described as lovely, fabulous, and any other superlative adjective you care to think of.

Ashley is adorable. Samantha is hilarious. And Samantha's Lil' (the third party at the table whose presence had momentarily thrown me for a loop) was a sweetheart.

There was much laughter and hi-fiving, and sharing of stories that have not yet echoed o'er the hills of blogland.

The waiter entered upon my tale of an illicit hook-up with a friend's roommate.

The busboy probably heard more than he let on about blow-jobs.

But all in all, a lovely evening with some lovely ladies!

There was one moment in particular that sticks in my memory. We were off on tales of love affairs gone wrong, when Ashley brought up The Forbidden. Not wanting to leave Lil' out of the loop, we briefly filled her in on exactly what was meant by "Forbidden."

The look on her face was one of, hmmm... shock? Dismay?

At which point Samantha chimed in with "Yes, yes, she was stupid. But we're past that. It doesn't matter."

That moment cemented for me what I truly love about all of you, my dear freaders. In this place, there is no judgment. We all take one another at face value, and accept that when it comes right down to it, we are all flawed.

It was particularly gratifying to see that carry over into the "real" world as well.

So to all my bloggy friends, thanks for the multitude of non-judgmental ears.

And to Ashley and Samantha, thank you for a lovely evening and being so perfectly fabulous! I only hope we can do it again some day!

meme saves the day...

Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU, to the lovely Miss cdp for giving me something to do today.

I'm sorry kids, I know I've been a crappy blogger lately. Hopefully my trip to PA (and my meeting with two lovely bloggers tonight!!) will give me something interesting to write about.

In the mean time... Check it.

Go to http://photobucket.com.
Type in your answer to each question in the search box.
Use only the first page.
Copy the html and paste for the answer.
Let the games begin!


1. What is your relationship status?




2. Who is your celebrity crush?


There is a reason this photo was named "hot.jpg"... rawr...


3. Who is your favorite band?


If you know who these guys are, I'll give you a cookie...


4. What is your favorite movie?


Nobody rocks tights and eyeliner like David Bowie


5. What kind of pet do you have?


Mine is cuter


6. Where do you live?


I must admit, I was sorely tempted to use the photo of an ultrasound...


7. Where do you work?




8. What do you look like?




9. What do you drive?




10. What's your favorite TV show?




11. Describe yourself.


Thanks photobucket! I'm flattered! :)


12. What's your name?


Sorry darlings, but all the others were "myname.jpg" and I'm not ready for that level of non-anonymity. Also they were all photos of adolescent girls in tight t-shirts pouting at the camera. I feel dirty.


13. What's your favorite candy?

I really don't like my job.

It's not the worst job I've ever held, oh not by a long shot. The people are (usually) decent, it pays the bills, and they've been quite flexible about my hours since I started grad school. All of these are good things.

But it doesn't change the basic fact that I am way too good for this.

That sounds so egotistical, I know.

I know!

But really? Honestly? I am capable of much better, was meant to do much more, than sit at a desk answering email and scheduling other people's meetings. Oh, and let us not forget organizing and stuffing 700 envelopes once per month.

Not that there's anything wrong with that. Not to disparage those who enjoy their careers as support staff. Hell, if I was willing to completely sublimate my personality, I could make a helluva lot of money on this particular career path.

But I can't. Nor would I want to.

This job is just filler. Something to keep a roof over my head until I finish my MA and can find something that may not be glamourous, or pay all that well, but that will give me a sense of fulfillment at the end of the day. Like I've done something more worthwhile than search out contact information or order lunch.


Before you think me completely snooty, consider the following:

I spend more time on eBay than I do on actual work. I don't see anything wrong with this, as my actual work still gets done. There is just a gross disproportion between the number of hours in the work day and the amount of work with which I have to fill them.

A few minutes ago I got my Google Reader back down to Zero. Second only to the fact that the drink fridge now contains flavoured Poland Spring seltzer water, it was the highlight of my week.

I have developed an antagonistic relationship with the colour copier. This generally consists of me muttering things like "I'm coming, I'm coming, keep your pants on..." and "Now, now, don't get your knickers in a twist!" when it starts beeping for me to feed more glossy paper into the auto-bypass tray, which will only take about 40 sheets at a time and I'm making 700 copies...

I am late for work every day. I only bother making an excuse if it's by over 20 minutes. Nobody seems to notice.

The company finally hired someone to replace my boss who left in July. The New Guy starts next week, so when I get back from PA I'll be back to having 2 bosses.

Nobody bothered to tell me.

But they looked at me like I was crazy when they mentioned him by name and I had no clue who they were talking about.

None of this surprised me.


Now perhaps you understand why I fantasize about quitting on a daily basis.

-----
Ed Note: I know this post is faff, but it's all I got. The remainder of the week should hopefully bode more interesting material, as I'm meeting Ashley and Samantha on Thursday!

If I were the "squee"-ing type, that is what I would do... but I am not, so a simple "Hoorah!!" will have to suffice.

HOORAH!!

Emergence

"Oooooh! You have..."

Her voice trailed off, brown eyes sparkling as a small finger reached out to touch the back of my hand, where a recent run-in with a toaster oven had me sporting a Hello Kitty band-aid.

"...Hello Kitty!" She finished. "We have Hello Kitty too, but they're smaller, not big like that."

"Well there are lots of different kinds of Hello Kitty band-aids, I'm sure." I responded, smiling.

"What did you do?" Still running her finger over the band-aid.

"Well, I burnt my hand on a toaster oven and so now I'm wearing a band-aid."

"No no no! Tell me slowly! So first, you were trying to make toast...."

She settled back into her seat as if to concentrate as the train hurtled underground towards Brooklyn.

"And then you tried to stick your hand in the toaster..."

"No, it was a toaster oven."

"What's that?" A crinkled nose punctuating her confusion.

"It's like a little mini oven that sits on top of your counter."

"Ohhhh... and you were making toast?"

"I was making pizza. And it was very hot. And I burned myself."

"Did it hurt?"

"Yes."

"What did your mom say?"

I couldn't help but laugh.

"Well, I didn't actually tell her."

"Where does she live?"

"Pennsylvania."

"Where's that?" Nose crinkling once more.

"Wellll.... do you know where New Jersey is?"

A cautious nod.

"Well it's on the other side of New Jersey."

"Ohhh, and you live there too?"

"No, I live in Brooklyn."

"Why don't you live with your mom?"

"Because I'm old, and when you get old you don't live with your mom anymore. So I live by myself. When you get old you won't want to live with your mom anymore either."

"Shanti is the baby," changing subjects with the lightening speed that only small children can accomplish without appearing crazy, "she can't talk or walk or anything yet."

"Well then she definitely needs to live with her mom."

I smiled at my own cleverness.

She looked at me as though I were nuts.

"She lives with my auntie."

A pause.

"Do you know my auntie? Her name is Monique, but I call her Auntie Mo..."

"No, I don't think I know her."

"She's my mama's sister, and her mama is my mama's mama so she's my grandma and I'm her grandchild..." and she was off on a series of observations that I could not reproduce if I tried.

I smiled and answered her questions as her small body leaned into me and she once again began to run her finger over the band-aid.

"Does it hurt?"

"A little."

"Can I see it?"

"No, I don't think that's a good idea."

"Let me see it!"

"No, I need to keep it clean."

She leaned in farther and as I felt her press against me I wondered, when was the last time I could trust a stranger like that? When the world, big as it may be, still seemed so safe? So secure?

The train began rolling into my station.

"This is my stop."

"No it's not!" she said with a smile, as though I were only joking.

"Yes, it is. It was very nice talking to you. You be good for the rest of the ride, okay?"

"Okay! Byeeeee..."

As I stood up, shouldered my ridiculously heavy bag, and wandered across the platform to wait for my connecting train, I realized...

I was still smiling.

And just like that, the black cloud that had been hanging over me all week began to lift.

Who knew my salvation would come in the form of a five year old girl?

Proceed With Caution

Holy motherfucking shitballs FUCK!!!

That was actually going to be the title of this post, but I didn't want anyone's Google Reader to explode from the excess of profanity.

That is also the phrase that has been cycling through my head like a mantra for approximately the last hour.

Fuck it.

I was going to spare you kids, I wasn't going to blog until I got my head out of this craptacular state of crabbiness that I've been in for the last day or so... but no dice. I tried to call Slater to vent, thereby inflicting my rage on one set of ears instead of multiple sets of eyes, but alas, he was not home.

So you can blame him for this mess.

This... has been one of those days where I just. can't. fucking. win.

Period.

.

..

...

Yeah.

We'll start with my absolute loathing for every national delivery service.

First, FedEx decided to fuck with me. Today, it was UPS. Apparently "Out For Delivery" on a tracking notice no longer means "on the truck heading to its destination." For that matter, "Arrival Scan" also doesn't mean "package has actually arrived at the facility!!"

Instead, "Arrival Scan" = "Someone Told The Facility That The Package Is Going To Come" and "Out For Delivery" = "En Route To The Facility."

It also seems that the only person in the entire UPS organization who KNOWS this is the guy I talked to on the phone after staying at work an hour and a half late waiting for the fucking thing to show up.

Oh, and that "Status: On Time" and "Scheduled for Delivery on 3/6"? That's apparently just for shits and giggles.

GARGH!!

I sent the following text message to Slater at 5:36pm as I sat on the M1 bus headed downtown.

The ice cold venom flowing through my veins for UPS at this moment knows no bounds. If I happen to come across any WMDs before i find myself a cupcake it will be a dark dark day in the history of the shipping industry.

So I was sitting there on the bus planning my own personal jihad against UPS, which could only be prevented by a heavy dose of buttercream frosting--because cupcakes, while being the apparent universal cure for all ills, are also the key to world peace--when the following scene took place.

As the bus pulled up to the stop at 17th St, an old man worked his way to the front, bumping into some lady's bag that was way out in the aisle, and asked the bus driver if this was 14th Street.

"No," says the bus driver, "14th is next."

Clearly the old man's hearing wasn't so good, and he said "Thank you" and started to disembark.

"No," repeated the bus driver, "14th is next."

"Oh, thank you" said the old man and sat down next to me.

There were two old ladies sitting across from me, and as the poor old guy shuffled to his seat, one of them began to rant.

"Schmuck! Should shut up and mind his own business! Kicks that lady's bag and doesn't even know where he's going!" and on, and on...

"Excuse me?" Asks the old guy.

"I'm not talking to you!" She shouts. "Shut up and mind your own business!" And continues to mumble under her breath.

"I'm sorry," was his meek response as he proceed to stare at his shoes for the next three blocks.

As the bus slowed to a halt, I wanted to say something, anything, a simple "This is 14th Street, Sir." Something to let him know I was on his side... but the weight of the day was heavy on my shoulders and I felt certain that whatever I said would come out wrong.

The old man disembarked, thanking the bus driver as his tormenter pulled a bag of something out of her coat and began to eat, still grumbling to herself.

As the bus began to roll away, a young woman stepped forward from a few seats back.

"Excuse me," she began, "are you the one who was yelling at that man?"

"So what if I am?!" She spat forth, spewing the crumbs that were crusted to her lips. "He should mind his own business! You should mind your own business!"

"That's terrible!" The old man's champion responded. "You hurt his feelings!"

I wanted to stand up and applaud.

The argument continued. The other old lady sitting across from me chimed in, but I found it difficult to tell whose side she was on. Something about the tormentor saying "Bless you" to everyone.

The Champion returned to her seat, point made, but falling on deaf ears.

The old lady continued to bitch loudly to anyone within earshot.

I bit my tongue. I clenched my fists. It was an unwinnable battle, yet every fiber of my being cried out to say something, anything to this horrid, horrid individual sitting before me.

I did not.

I feared that should she provoke me, after the day I had had, I might haul off and hit her. Mind you, I've never seriously hit anyone in my life, nor have I ever imagined myself doing so, but this woman... this woman...

This woman got off at my stop. As she oh... so... S-L-O-W-L-Y disembarked, impeding my progress towards my light, my salvation, the Crumbs bakery two blocks away, I imagined what would happen if I so much as brushed her with the hem of my coat as I passed, the fracas that would most certainly ensue...

And bit my lip, took a deep breath, and waited.

Finally I was past her! Free! I lit a cigarette and plodded resolutely around the corner. Nothing... NOTHING... was going to get between me and sugary bliss.

I arrived.

I bought cupcakes.

I proceeded to the building where I always kill time before class.

I had purchased two "mini" (read, normal sized, like you remember from elementary school) cupcakes, with an eye to eating one before class and saving one for later.

I inhaled both in a matter of minutes.

They were glorious.

I was starting to feel better.

I had a little chat with another girl, also in the class to which I was soon headed. I learned that we, in fact, have a paper due next week, which I thought was due much later, and as such have been completely neglecting the book which is the topic of said paper to make way for other, more pressing (or so I thought) matters.

My mood sank. Just a bit.

But I took another deep breath. The class to which I was headed was one which I always leave in a better mood than that in which I arrived. It's the class where I got to roll around with cute boy (who maybe, just maybe is showing a bit of interest... but after the last time I made such an assumption, I'm treading verrrrry carefully). It's a class that is extremely physical and serves to get me out of my head for a little under 2 hours.

It is lovely.

And it was lovely.

And by the time class had ended I was feeling much, much better. I had potentially enlisted Cute Boy to be the final actor for my directing piece (which has proven a *nightmare* to cast). I was relaxed. I was feeling less stressed about my insane workload and less pissed about the outlandish fuckwittery of UPS.

One of the last to leave, I went to get bundled up for the great outdoors... and realized that my hat--which I love--was missing. I looked everywhere, even went back to the building where I'd been before class.

No dice.

Like I said...

Can't.

Fucking.

Win.

Bad Ambassador**

Being fully in the grasp of The Week From Hell, I haven't got much for you today.

Be glad I didn't blog this morning. I was, er, a wee bit cranky.

I do, however, have a kick-ass meme that I pilfered from Expensive Mistakes and Cheap Thrills which has greatly amused me for the past 10 minutes. If I had Photoshop on my computer at work, I would do this allllll day!

And so, without further ado, please welcome... Mottistone and their new album, Get Your Ears Checked!


Original Image Credit: Wendi

Coming soon, to a city near you!

Featuring guest performances by (yes, I did it twice) Jamtara, best known for their new hit single Most Patient of Teachers.


Original Image Credit: DaddyNewt


Want to join in on the Rockstar fun? (You can totally expect more of these in the future because I, for one, am beyond amused.) Here's the drill:

1. Click this link. The first title on this page is the name of your band.

2. Now click this link. The last four words of the very last quote is the name of your album. If it doesn't work at all, click the "New Random Quotations" button for more.

3. And finally, click this link. The third picture on this page will be your album cover. Add your band name and album title, and you're done! (Please remember to give credit for the original picture.)


** This post is named for a kickass song by one of my all-time favourite bands. First person to name them in the comments--without cheating!!--gets... some kind of surprise. I'll figure that part out if anyone gets it right :)

Open Letters, Monday Edition

Dear Fashion Victim (Male),

Sagging your jeans looks stupid. Skinny jeans on men are also ill-advised.

But combining the two? Really?? You look like you're trying to wear your kid brother's jeans, to the effect that not only are they too tight, but you can't pull them up all the way.

For the love of god, go find some pants that fit!

Best Wishes,
The Frog Princess


-------------------------

Dear Fashion Victim (Female),

Having nice legs does not make that sweater qualify as a dress. And no, tights are not the same as leggings.

Put on some damned pants.

Cheers,
FP


-------------------------

Dear 6 Train,

Making us wait on the platform for 10 minutes and then running express? That's just mean. Please be more considerate in the future.

-Froggy


-------------------------

Dear Body,

What is up with this whole tired thing you've got going on? Falling asleep at 9:30 last night? Totally unacceptable! Especially considering the ungodly amount of work we have to do this week.

Get it together!

Regards,
F

-------------------------

Dear Brain,

Please start working. SOON. We can't have a repeat of yesterday's unable-to-form-a-coherent-thought ordeal. Boal journal must get written! It's due on Monday! Along with two other papers!!

I promise, come Spring Break I'll give you at least one day to do absolutely no work whatsoever. In the mean time, however, could we step up the productivity just a smidge?

Thanks,
Froggy


-------------------------

Dear Froggy,

Those things sitting on top of your head? They're called "sunglasses." Instead of squinting like an idiot for several blocks, why not try putting them on?

-You-


-------------------------

Dear Pants,

Yes, you are very cute, but must your cuffs flap about in such a way that they ensnare my 4" heels and send me tumbling down the subway steps?

Really, that was un-called-for.

Try to work on it?

Thanks,
Froggy


-------------------------

Dear Subway Railing,

Thank you for being there. Really, I knew I could count on you.

Best,
FP


-------------------------

Dear Guys Standing at Top of Steps,

Thanks for asking if I was okay. Your self-restraint in not laughing at my dumb ass made the incident slightly less embarrassing.

Cheers,
Froggy


-------------------------

Dear Nose,

You can stop running any day now. Really, I won't mind.

-F-


-------------------------

Dear Bloggy Friends,

I am dreadfully behind in my blog reading, and getting worse by the day! However, considering the afore-mentioned ungodly amount of work I need to accomplish, I shall be spending a decent portion of my work days doing school work, as opposed to reading blogs. I promise I'll be back and commenting when the week from hell subsides.

Love ya!
Froggy


-------------------------

Dear Week from Hell,

Are you for real? Seriously? Christ... well do me a favour and go easy on me... 'kay?

Kay.

-The Frog Princess-