Monday, April 28, 2008

Retaining my cool factor

How do you tell your boss that you cannot, in fact, create talking points on biotechnology to assist General Colin Powell's staff in shaping his keynote address for the 2008 Biotechnology International Convention in San Diego because you're STILL NOT SURE WHAT BIOTECHNOLOGY IS?

Monday, April 21, 2008

Stewing Quietly

I've recently acquired a three month long temping gig. If I had any work at all to keep me busy it would be a pretty sweet gig. I'm under the impression that all of my bosses/people in my department are aware of how little I have to do (read: nothing). It would be overkill for me to be constantly emailing them to tell them that I have nothing to do and to please give me more work. I tell them when I see them in the hall or they come by to give me a 10 minute long project! But, apparently, they don't need me. And are perfectly fine with paying me 15 dollars an hour to use their internet and drink their apple juice and ginger ale.

Which are telling beverages for me to be drinking. Full of high fructose corn syrup, but lacking anything adult--hopps, tannins, caffeine. Moving to the big city has not made me more grown up. Instead it has made me a poser grown-up.

These
beautiful illustrations I found on Etsy



that I'm currently fawning over

and with which I cannot wait to decorate my new apartment, are merely symptomatic of a greater Peter Pan syndrome.

But, seriously, I would be unable to stop myself from impulse buying these right now if there wasn't a couch stuck in my brand new room. Which leads us to another problem of mine, semi-related to my truth telling dilemma. I hate asking people for things. It's a really bad problem. It's why I end up with overdraft charges on my bank account. And is definitely why our couch is stuck in my room-- I don't have the juevos to ask the boys upstairs to carry it out again (cause I made them bring it in there in the first place) and possibly up and down several sets of stairs. Which is why I'm sleeping in the same room as a cat hair-covered sofa. And, yes, I am allergic.

Friday, April 11, 2008

Fitting Room Faux Pas

Know what little, tiny, non-verbal lie makes me nervous every time I have to do it?

Handing clothes back to the fitting room attendant with a bored but vague smile, saying "thank you" and going back to my iPod. Pretending the clothes I'm handing back to her are in just the same coniditon they were upon my arrival in the store. It wasn't me who popped the button, ripped the seam, somewhow managed to pull the price tag off. Acting my ass off so as to not get caught and then high tailing it away from the 19 year old girl with the bad weave and the menial job who could totally take me with her 4 inch fake, Korean leopard nails.

Or option two--pretending I'm actually going to purchase the item. ("Did these items work for me? You betcha!") The item that clearly was too small too fit in the first place, and she knows it, just so I can take it back out on the sales floor myself and stuff it quickly and awkwardly into the most packed Clearance shelf. Between the tshirts with hoods and drop waist dresses.

The awful feeling this lie brings is 3 fold.
  • I've made some poor girl's minimum wage job harder. Now she'll have to sew a button, repair a seam or refasten a price tag. And if I chose option 2 she'll have to fish the faux satin babydoll dress I would have never worn anyway out of the hooded t-shirts and put it back by the leggings and patent leather clutches.

  • It's a reminder that my body is such a wreck, so abnormal, that it causes damage to property.

  • But also, if I'd just told the truth, I'd have been a little embarassed, sure, but since I mainly shop at TJ Maxx and Marshalls, leopard nails girl wouldn't have given a shit.

That's reason number 1 I don't go into JCrew. The uppity sales staff doesn't like it when you break their clothing. Bitches.

Tuesday, April 8, 2008

How to Procure an Apartment When You're Too Poor to Slip the Landlady a Jackson.

So, the Canadian and I FINALLY found an apartment. It's cute. Exposed brick, open kitchen. It's in a great location. There is outdoor space. And I only had to be minimally dishonest in order to get the place.

I could tell right away that the property owner, let's call her Laverne, likes to talk. She's the kind of woman who doesn't have very many friends. Probably one best gal pal that she's had since her days at Smith in the 60s. That might be it. The poor mess of a woman has arthritic joints and can barely get up and down the stairs of her own property. She wears sweaters with a very large knit without anything underneath. This is not the kind of woman with a lot of personal relationships. That's why, when she let slip that she was designed the floorplan when the basement was renovated into an apartment, I knew I had to pounce.

The "beautiful" exposed brick would be beautiful had it not been painted over and then painted over again by an "artist" to make it look like actual exposed red brick.

The chandelier is "lovely." It's gaudy 90's brass, sure, but nothing a can of spray paint can't fix.

The big bedroom really is spacoius. It's just too bad that the closet has sliding mirrored doors. And a seafoam green "brick" wall.

And the small bedroom is very light. It has two big windows. No big deal that the pipes are exposed and hang down into the room. It's not like 7 foot ceilings are short. Or I'm 6 ft tall or anything.
My Canadian roomate? A student, of course!
Am I employed? Why yes, I'm a temp. (It just so happens that I got hired less than 24 hours ago, isn't that great!?)

And yes, of course I have 7,500 dollars in the bank. (I realize a lie is more illegal when you sign your name to it, but the Really Important Question is: is it also more immoral?)

Okay, probably.