Klutz Inside

If there’s any one talent I hold it’s the ability to make a complete fool out of myself at any given moment. If that and sarcasm were an Olympic sport I would rock the gold. I’m completely self-taught. I only admit this because it reflects poorly on my mother when I fall down the same stairs on a weekly basis. She did teach me to walk. Though I am the one who felt the need to walk, talk, boss people around and text message all at the same time. No wonder I fall down a lot.

I’m used to looking like a fool. I’ve been doing it for quite some time--On my own, without any help from others.

So for example if we dated a few times and now work in the same building there is no need to make me look stupid, because chances are I’ve already done that on my own by walking down the hall with toilet paper stuck to my shoes. Twice. In one day.

Trust me, I’ve got the “looking like a buffoon” thing covered. So really there is no need to hang a column I may or may not have written about you for your co-workers to see, causing them to look at me with pity and loathing. Frankly, I’d much rather they dislike me because I accidentally shut the elevator doors on their foot, or knock them over when I trip on nothing in the hall way.

What I’m saying is I don’t need any help looking like an ass. Ever.

How many minutes until Friday?

It's Tuesday and my body is still sore as hell. Sports are hard.

I made The Kid go to lunch with me today. He hated it 43% of the time. Hate is good for you, like protein.

Wondering if the bruises all over my legs will fade so I can wear a skirt to the symphony with The Yuppie. If not he has an excellent back up plan: I will be Kristen and he will be Client #9. His profession may be the epitome of boring,but he is not.

My iPhone is no longer the bane of my existence. It may lock up occasionally but if that's the price I must pay to have Hello Kitty on it, so be it.

I've been with my new company for three months and I only remember the names of ten people. Much like sports, names are hard.

I have a new column debuting next week with In Utah This Week and have yet to come up with a proper name. This stresses me out. I told you, names are hard!

Sweet, Sweet Revenge

When news of Patrick Swayze's cancer broke I created a shrine on The Kid's desk. He was less than pleased--he's way too young to remember the importance of Dirty Dancing. To this day I still find ways to fit in as many quotes from the movie into daily conversation as possible.

The Kid retaliated, and did a mighty fine job of it! Looks like nobody puts The Kid in a corner.
As a reward for such great humor I'm not going to boss him around, or read useless Hollywood gossip to him for five whole minutes.

Lunch... The Most Humiliating Meal of the Day

When I started working for a company only ten minutes from home, I was thrilled. Finally, I could start going home a couple of times a week for lunch--what a great way to save money for my jean habit!

And it was great, for the first couple of weeks anyway. After which things took a turn for the worse--I blame the writers strike. They took away my “good” TV habits and forced me into a reality TV addiction. I’ve despised reality television ever since Julie, the Mormon BYU student, cried in what felt like every single episode or The Real World. The only exception was when Mrs. AK started watching Project Runway. As a rule of thumb when your host is feeding you dinner you watch what she is watching without complaint. (Yes, Arlo, that's directed at you.)

But suddenly, with nothing decent on primetime TV, I found myself watching Rock of Love, The Hills, and Scott Baio is 46 and Pregnant religiously.

When I go home for lunch I watch my trash TV while eating my lunch. Yesterday, however, I hit my breaking point. With a weekend to catch up on my shit shows, I was left with nothing but daytime television to accompany my lunch. I found myself watching Full House reruns. Yes, seriously. And let me tell you, they are just as stupid now as they were then. Uncle Jesse is still the only reason to watch the show, and frankly I remember him being sexier. I guess this is further proof that cheesy writing can ruin anyone’s sex appeal.

On my drive back to work, I vowed to stop watching lunchtime TV and start reading. It’s not like I don’t have enough books at my house, not to mention a growing list of books to buy. At a red light I reached into my pants pocket for my earlier written grocery list to add a book or two while I was thinking about it. Only there wasn’t a grocery list, there was instead a movie ticket and bar receipt. Odd. Upon closer inspection I found I wasn’t wearing the pants I had on earlier.

Another thing about going home lunch is the minute I walk into my apartment I feel the need to shed my pants and shoes as quickly as possible. I have got to start paying closer attention to details... like clothing. Otherwise I could easily end up back at the office in pajama pants.

Daily Reading

It's the little things in life that make me smile--like chasing tail at the office:

Confessions of a Caffeine Junkie

I’ve been attempting to introduce a new beverage to my diet: water.

Which, I thought, was going well, until I noticed my desk has one diet soda, two coffees and only one bottle of water on it—all from today, I might add.

Want to guess which one is full?

Going Ghetto

Driving into work today I accidentally had my iPod gangsta mix playing. Don't judge me! Actually you can, I certainly would.

My phone rang and I hit speaker and answered it assuming it would be my brother bugging me about his latest prison tool obsession. It wasn't. It was a client. Which is cool, I'm all for the clients I like calling me. Though, I have a feeling she may have a difficult time taking me serious after hearing "Damn It Feels Good To Be A Gangsta" blaring in the background.

Oh well, such is life... you can't win them all.

For Energy and Laughs

The Kid called me fat today, or not fat. I'm so confused.

We've been passing back and forth a stale granola bar for a week. I had every intention of eating it when I picked it up a couple of weeks ago, and then didn't. I put it on his desk BECAUSE I AM A NICE PERSON! He didn't eat it and put it back on my desk. We soon started adding notes listing reasons why the other should eat it. He suggested I lay off the caffeine and eat it for natural energy. Ha! I then suggested he is young and likely sowing his wild oats and should therefore eat an oat bar.

His latest note is going to be hard to top:

Venting Session

I’m in a bad mood today. While I don’t have one specific reason, I have dozens that would suffice. Though for the sake of your sanity, I’ll list the top four.

Winter: I’m so over it! I’m sick of being cold; I’m tired of wet shoes and pants; I’m annoyed there is no decent parking because of snow drifts the size of my car.

Construction: The office suite next to mine has been in a state of construction for what feels like an eternity. It’s loud; It’s distracting; It’s dirty; It’s loud; I can’t walk down the hall without having someone in my way and also being in their way; Oh, and it’s LOUD!

Burns: I have a burn on my hand from attempting to make bread pudding. DISASTER! This was over a week ago and the burn is only getting worse. And yes, I’m applying Neosporin ALL THE TIME, but it’s still getting worse. I suspect I contracted a flesh eating disease from either a) the construction disaster or b) God.

Math class: Really, do I need to explain this? The fact I can’t log into the class because I own a Mac computer. How can an institution of higher education not have a system in place for both a Mac and PC. Totally and completely fucking retarded. I can say fuck, I’m in a bad mood. In fact, I can yell it loudly, but you wouldn’t hear me because of the construction.

And yes, Mom, I know you raised me better, but frankly fuck being raised better.

Precious Cargo

Working full-time, going to school full-time and making time to watch Snoop Dogg’s Father Hood doesn't leave me with a whole lot of free time. Fitting in daily tasks such as grocery shopping, sleeping and working out has been a challenge.

Yesterday, while lunching with a co-worker, we decided to try and fit in a liquor store run. The weekend is nearly upon us and I was completely out of wine. Unacceptable. The trip was a complete success; my favorite Shiraz was on sale. Getting into his car to head back to work I heard my mother’s nagging “Buckle-up, Sarah, safety first.” So I did.

A couple of blocks from the office a SUV next to us forgot to check lanes before moving over. (Is it really that difficult?) The vehicle nearly hit us and it was that moment I realized I’d buckled the wrong seat belt.

Now with more Jitters

The building manager must read my blog. That’s the only explanation I can come up with for this heat I feel coming from the vents.

After a month of complaining and one day of blog bitching, it’s finally fixed. Which really makes me regret the three pairs of socks I’m wearing, and the triple dose of cold medicine I took in expectation of ending up ill.

It’s probably short-lived, but I plan to enjoy every second of it. Sweet, sweet heat, how I love thee.

A Sweet 78

The building manager of my office is a heat Nazi. I'm a wuss when it comes to the cold, but when even my clients are complaining, there's definitely a problem. When asked today why the AC was on he replied, "That it is warm and sunny outside." BASTARD!

So this will be the extent of my evening:

Taking Note, Part Three

I am not a morning person. This is a well-known fact among my friends and previous bosses. I cannot function properly until after ten. This sucks for any of the clients I do work for, but...

I've tried everything: going to bed earlier, tripling my morning dose of coffee, massive does of morning meth and still nothing works.

Over the past year I've started turning into my mother by forgetting things right and left. Mornings are by far the worst time for remembering any details. I'm not talking about complicated details, just the basic essential items...like getting dressed. I've left the house and headed to the office in slippers multiple times in the last few months. Luckily it's been cold so I've remembered pants--no one wants a frozen hiney.

As I've mentioned here and here, I've started leaving myself reminder notes on my front door to ensure some things aren't forgotten. Today's is by far the worst of the bunch: If I have to remind myself why I'm leaving the house it might be time to admit defeat and just stay home.

Alcoholism Is The New Black

I'm spent. Seriously, 100% exhausted. So much, in fact, I'm thinking about picking up a drug or alcohol "habit" so I can take a vacation at The Betty. I kid, I kid... mostly.

I started a new job recently and it's a bigger challenge than I thought it would be, which is not a bad thing, just exhausting. However, once I get settled I'm sure there will be many entertaining tidbits. For example, riding in the elevator with the wonky-eyed guy and working with a child who enjoys chicken. And pot pies.

But until then, I'm going to bed. Or hitting the bottle.

Working It

I haven't blogged much about my new job. After my last experience can you blame me?

I've been spending my days at a local media technology company. There are under ten people with only one other female. And get this, I like her! I'm sure my old work mates are falling out of their chairs, since I typically dislike other females in the office.

Today, while in a lunch meeting, we discussed chlamydia over pizza. It was at that moment I looked around at my co-workers and knew I was home.

To Stab or Not To Stab

Just now as I watched a workmate flip his pen I found myself sitting on my hands in an effort not to reach for my letter opener.

Momentarily I was taken back to a time where my then boyfriend would flip anything and everything in hand: pens, poker chips, panties. "Panties?"... you ask. Okay, not panties but I love alliteration. It used to drive me stark raving mad. You know a relationship is going downhill when you're tempted on a daily basis to stab his hands. This, people, is NOT a good sign.

I explained to my workmate why his action caused such a dramatic look of disdain. He understood.

I, SarahMiddleNameless Nielson, do solemnly swear not to stab anyone in the hand unless they really do deserve it. My workmate does not deserve it--he's funny and has good taste in music.

Today, there will be no stabbing.

will work for books

i need a job soon. pinching pennies totally sucks. doing just that, i went to the library rather than the bookstore. i dragged marky, my daytime partner-in-crime, who is always up for an adventure and doesn't mind my snarky remarks. while looking for books i ran across this cute little bookmark, "have a nice day and when you find this do the same as i have and leave it somewhere in the library." i wanted to bring it home and put it on my fridge, but marky, being the voice of reason, pointed out it may result in bad karma. while i'm job hunting bad karma isn't something i'm willing to chance.

oh, and that saving money thing? apparently when you lose a library book in 2003 and forget about it until 2007 your fines are $76. shit.

dooced?

apparently china isn't the only country that believes in censorship. today the powers that be informed me they've stumbled across my blog. this did not come as a shock since my site meter shows hits coming in from cities where our corporate offices are located. what did come as a shock was the request to stop blogging. however, isn't there a little thing known as the first amendment? personally my favorite amendment, since i'm a very vocal and opinionated person.

they're not pleased with this post, among others. though, i've never blogged the name of the company, or even the industry i work in. for all you know i could be working in fast food--but, i'm not. i guess negative fodder isn't great for a publicly traded company. it's the stuff i'm not blogging they should worry about, because that stuff would make for a great read.