So, no.
Not even close.
I didn't really commit, despite all my posturing and all my supposed dedication. I did not make NaNoWriMo a priority. I found other things to occupy my brain. Actually, I managed to forget this whole endeavor for the last week or so...oh, what, writing...hmm?
Nope.
I did do some writing tonight, desperately, the first in a long while. Words thrown at the screen. Up until midnight, frantically slamming the keys of my keyboard, down to the wire. Still my actual fiction output this month...so pitiful. About 1/5th of the intended. Big drastic fail.
S'okay.
Maybe soon I'll really find a story I want to tell soon, and I'll commit to that. Maybe.
And maybe, some day, I'll actually win me some NaNoWriMo.
Fiction Word Count: 12,167
Blog Word Count: 20,595
Total: 32,762
life, love, laughs, lists, gifs, cats, culture, yoga, health, and other sordid things in the city of angels
Friday, November 30, 2012
Weekly Recap #3
Meh.
That is all.
Weekly Loss: +3.0 (MAY I JUST SAY that on Wednesday I was only 1.0 lbs up...so yeah.)
Total Loss: -2.2 lbs
Calories Burned: 0
Days Active: 0
(.....)
That is all.
Weekly Loss: +3.0 (MAY I JUST SAY that on Wednesday I was only 1.0 lbs up...so yeah.)
Total Loss: -2.2 lbs
Calories Burned: 0
Days Active: 0
(.....)
RAGETEARS
#@sg*!_+&@#*(sg&%(*#&.
a#_g@*(_+#$&@de,jmd#*(&(~!!!!
@#asd)(@!__!fedw)W$*%_=%&~! #Q$asdf)(*#$)*!!!!!!!!!!!!!
MOTHERFUCKING COCKSUCKING PIGFUCKER.
*deep breaths*
One thing you should know know about me: I cry. I cry a lot.
When you make me sad, I cry. When you make me mad, I cry. When you condescend to me, I cry. When you're rude to me, I cry. I sometimes cry when I'm frustrated, or confused, or surprised, or bored. Funny, I don't usually cry when I'm actually physically in pain, but any sort of emotional turmoil = tears. Unstoppable.
I had a boyfriend in high school who would yell at me when I cried while we were fighting because he said I was trying to "emotionally manipulate" him. He didn't seem to understand that yelling at me would not make this better.
And when I cry, there is no hiding it or mistaking it. My eyes and face get bright red, and even once the tears stop I'm messy faced for hours. I m not a subtle crier. I have not mastered the art of a single mournful tear.
Why am I sharing this with you today, you may ask?
Because I spent the first hour of work hiding in an office, crying, and trying not to let anyone see. Of course, of all people our CEO noticed when I poked my head out to grab my laptop, and I told him my windshield wiper broke.
Which is true, actually. I should get that fixed. Considering it's pouring. Which, come to think of it, I appreciate. The world is crying for me.
Anyway, my story.
As I have mentioned, this week I've been cleaning the shit out of my place of business. I have done it with a smile (at least outwardly...), have not complained (at least not to my boss...) and have done everything that's asked of me. Despite the fact that in my humble opinion I was given an insufficient amount of time to get this done, I am completely on schedule and pretty much rocked it. Mind you, this whole endeavor is at the behest of a new executive who is, to be frank, a douchenozzle on a power trip.
I don't feel like telling the whole boring saga here (it involves chips and ice, you guys), but the short version is that I did not do one thing exactly as he requested this morning. One tiny thing, after a week of doing everything as I was fucking told whether I agreed with it or not, and I just thought that maybe with my two years of experience at this job I knew better than he did. Clearly I should have just done what he wanted, because I'm obviously just too fucking stupid to have thoughts or opinions or input, but I had to go and try to think for myself, which was a mistake.
And I quote, loosely:
(Please imagine a superior, nasally voice dripping with condescension.)
"This is not a democracy, you all clearly think it is but I am going to change that. Not that I'm a dictator. When I say chips and ice, I mean chips and ice. When I tell you to do something, you just do it, don't ask questions...well, I suppose you can ask questions, but I'm not asking for your input. Just do it."
Oh.
Okay.
Well then.
My fucking mistake.
So, then I fucking cried. Not in front of him, thank God, but I'm guessing word got around to him because I am a really fucking obvious crier. This bothers me even more than him being an fucking prick because I don't want him to think he has the power to upset me, when really, he doesn't. I am just easily upsettable. And I'm just so fucking frustrated that this is the second time this week he has taken it upon himself to scold me for something when he could just, I don't know, talk to me like a person.
#@$($&@#)(*$)(#*$)#@*.
You know what?
He can go fuck a cactus.
a#_g@*(_+#$&@de,jmd#*(&(~!!!!
@#asd)(@!__!fedw)W$*%_=%&~! #Q$asdf)(*#$)*!!!!!!!!!!!!!
One thing you should know know about me: I cry. I cry a lot.
When you make me sad, I cry. When you make me mad, I cry. When you condescend to me, I cry. When you're rude to me, I cry. I sometimes cry when I'm frustrated, or confused, or surprised, or bored. Funny, I don't usually cry when I'm actually physically in pain, but any sort of emotional turmoil = tears. Unstoppable.
I had a boyfriend in high school who would yell at me when I cried while we were fighting because he said I was trying to "emotionally manipulate" him. He didn't seem to understand that yelling at me would not make this better.
And when I cry, there is no hiding it or mistaking it. My eyes and face get bright red, and even once the tears stop I'm messy faced for hours. I m not a subtle crier. I have not mastered the art of a single mournful tear.
Because I spent the first hour of work hiding in an office, crying, and trying not to let anyone see. Of course, of all people our CEO noticed when I poked my head out to grab my laptop, and I told him my windshield wiper broke.
Which is true, actually. I should get that fixed. Considering it's pouring. Which, come to think of it, I appreciate. The world is crying for me.
Anyway, my story.
As I have mentioned, this week I've been cleaning the shit out of my place of business. I have done it with a smile (at least outwardly...), have not complained (at least not to my boss...) and have done everything that's asked of me. Despite the fact that in my humble opinion I was given an insufficient amount of time to get this done, I am completely on schedule and pretty much rocked it. Mind you, this whole endeavor is at the behest of a new executive who is, to be frank, a douchenozzle on a power trip.
I don't feel like telling the whole boring saga here (it involves chips and ice, you guys), but the short version is that I did not do one thing exactly as he requested this morning. One tiny thing, after a week of doing everything as I was fucking told whether I agreed with it or not, and I just thought that maybe with my two years of experience at this job I knew better than he did. Clearly I should have just done what he wanted, because I'm obviously just too fucking stupid to have thoughts or opinions or input, but I had to go and try to think for myself, which was a mistake.
And I quote, loosely:
(Please imagine a superior, nasally voice dripping with condescension.)
"This is not a democracy, you all clearly think it is but I am going to change that. Not that I'm a dictator. When I say chips and ice, I mean chips and ice. When I tell you to do something, you just do it, don't ask questions...well, I suppose you can ask questions, but I'm not asking for your input. Just do it."
Oh.
Okay.
Well then.
My fucking mistake.
So, then I fucking cried. Not in front of him, thank God, but I'm guessing word got around to him because I am a really fucking obvious crier. This bothers me even more than him being an fucking prick because I don't want him to think he has the power to upset me, when really, he doesn't. I am just easily upsettable. And I'm just so fucking frustrated that this is the second time this week he has taken it upon himself to scold me for something when he could just, I don't know, talk to me like a person.
#@$($&@#)(*$)(#*$)#@*.
He can go fuck a cactus.
Thursday, November 29, 2012
.JPG)
Chivalry died today.
Okay, I accept my role in this office. I am the bitch. I am the low man on the totem pole. I do what I'm told and crawl around on the floor and clean up people's shit. That's fine, whatever.
I also accept that my job this week involves nothing but organizing, tidying, cleaning, and dropping things on my feet. Sure, this is fine too. But if I am dragging a big piece of furniture across the floor, and you happen to walk right in front of me, and you have a penis, and arm muscles, you could like...help? Maybe? Is that not allowed? Because you make more money than me, and you use your brain for your job (supposedly), you don't even feel a twinge of guilt when you fucking walk around me? Seriously? That's where we're at right now? There's no chivalry in the walls of an office? Gotcha.
Believe me, I am a feminist. A loud and shouty one. I am perfectly capable of carrying heavy shit on my own and dragging boxes across the floor and lifting up desks. I can do all this just fine, thank you. But I do think that, if one happens to see me doing something along these lines, and one has the strength and ability to assist me and make my life a little easier without damaging one's own...one should. ONE SHOULD HELP.
My back hurts.
Fuck all y'all.
I also accept that my job this week involves nothing but organizing, tidying, cleaning, and dropping things on my feet. Sure, this is fine too. But if I am dragging a big piece of furniture across the floor, and you happen to walk right in front of me, and you have a penis, and arm muscles, you could like...help? Maybe? Is that not allowed? Because you make more money than me, and you use your brain for your job (supposedly), you don't even feel a twinge of guilt when you fucking walk around me? Seriously? That's where we're at right now? There's no chivalry in the walls of an office? Gotcha.
Believe me, I am a feminist. A loud and shouty one. I am perfectly capable of carrying heavy shit on my own and dragging boxes across the floor and lifting up desks. I can do all this just fine, thank you. But I do think that, if one happens to see me doing something along these lines, and one has the strength and ability to assist me and make my life a little easier without damaging one's own...one should. ONE SHOULD HELP.
My back hurts.
Fuck all y'all.
A Thursday Morning
1) Wake up smiling, because it rained all night long.
2) Immediately stop smiling when you get out of bed to pee and step in cat vomit. Yes, Mr. Tree saw a wonderfully clean apartment, and decided, "I must puke here."
3) Catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and notice, for the second day in a row, that you're really almost bitty---extra ten pounds or not. Resume smiling because a shift in perspective is always nice.
4) Crawl back into bed and notice the power must have gone out overnight, as the clock is flashing. Decide this means you have a reasonable excuse for being tardy for work.
5) End up going to work on time anyway, because you fail at being late.
6) Eat a banana.
2) Immediately stop smiling when you get out of bed to pee and step in cat vomit. Yes, Mr. Tree saw a wonderfully clean apartment, and decided, "I must puke here."
3) Catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and notice, for the second day in a row, that you're really almost bitty---extra ten pounds or not. Resume smiling because a shift in perspective is always nice.
4) Crawl back into bed and notice the power must have gone out overnight, as the clock is flashing. Decide this means you have a reasonable excuse for being tardy for work.
5) End up going to work on time anyway, because you fail at being late.
6) Eat a banana.
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
Desk of Complaints
I would like to lodge a few formal complaints to the people of my world. Is there specific protocol I should follow? Is there a universal suggestion box perhaps? No?
I guess I'll just share them on the Internet.
1) There are now signs in my work kitchen that request you put your dishes in the dishwasher, so if you don't, you are officially just a willfully stupid asshole. And I hate you.
2) Just because we are friends, does not mean you are allowed to take your bad moods out on me. Stop snapping at me. I do not like it and it makes me feel hurt feelings.
3) Do not try to manipulate me by being a passive-aggressive little bitch, it won't work, I will not care, and it will just make me hate you. Act like a fucking man.
4) If you don't actually want any advice, or you're planning to come up with an excuse for every suggestion I have, then why are you asking me? It's a waste of my time and I get so very irritated, so very quickly.
5) There is absolutely no reason to have that one in your voice when you talk to me. I am not stupid, and do not need to be condescended to. Treat me like a person. FUCK.
I guess I'll just share them on the Internet.
1) There are now signs in my work kitchen that request you put your dishes in the dishwasher, so if you don't, you are officially just a willfully stupid asshole. And I hate you.
2) Just because we are friends, does not mean you are allowed to take your bad moods out on me. Stop snapping at me. I do not like it and it makes me feel hurt feelings.
3) Do not try to manipulate me by being a passive-aggressive little bitch, it won't work, I will not care, and it will just make me hate you. Act like a fucking man.
4) If you don't actually want any advice, or you're planning to come up with an excuse for every suggestion I have, then why are you asking me? It's a waste of my time and I get so very irritated, so very quickly.
5) There is absolutely no reason to have that one in your voice when you talk to me. I am not stupid, and do not need to be condescended to. Treat me like a person. FUCK.
That is all. For now.
The Holiday Spirit
Oh, it's not December yet, you say?
WELL I DON'T GIVE A FUCK. IT'S CHRISTMAS TIME.
I didn't have much of the holiday spirit last year, sadly. And Christmas is my favorite. I wasn't quite sure why, it was as wonderful a holiday as any (expect no less when my mother is in charge), but I just didn't feel that magical wintertime frisson. It was all a bit blah. I think I have figured it out, though: I didn't decorate our family tree last year, and clearly, that is the activity that flips the Jolly Santa portion of my brain.
And it is flipped. I've started decorating my apartment (pictures to come soon!), and am listening to Christmas music. I feel all warm and fuzzy. I can feel myself being nicer to strangers. It's magical!
My mom and I participated in one of our new favorite holiday traditions last night, the Nordstrom Private Shopping Night. This is our...third or fourth time? The store closes to all the little people, and unless you have a card with them and your name on a list, you can't get in. My mom has a card, I don't, obviously, because I'm poor. Mama drove all the way down to LA and we went to the Westside Pavilion near me for their event. Sparkly lights and trees and red everywhere. Bow-tied servers with tasty appetizers. Cookies. Champagne. They had an awesome violin player playing with a DJ, and he was an adorable piece of jailbait. I mean, maybe he was legal, but I felt inappropriate perving on him, so regardless, he was an infant. My mom and I both got some Christmas shopping done, which was the goal of the evening. I figure you found a good present for someone if you would prefer to keep it for yourself, so I hope my sis likes part of her gift. I also made sure to point out a million different things to my mother with commentary along the lines of "you can buy me that." The holiday spirit is about giving and taking, yes? Yes.
When I got home from our excursion, I turned on all my freshly hung colorful lights and crawled into bed, completely giddy and feeling festive. I just...fucking love Christmas.
WELL I DON'T GIVE A FUCK. IT'S CHRISTMAS TIME.
I didn't have much of the holiday spirit last year, sadly. And Christmas is my favorite. I wasn't quite sure why, it was as wonderful a holiday as any (expect no less when my mother is in charge), but I just didn't feel that magical wintertime frisson. It was all a bit blah. I think I have figured it out, though: I didn't decorate our family tree last year, and clearly, that is the activity that flips the Jolly Santa portion of my brain.
And it is flipped. I've started decorating my apartment (pictures to come soon!), and am listening to Christmas music. I feel all warm and fuzzy. I can feel myself being nicer to strangers. It's magical!
 |
| PSA: Don't ever try to drink champagne out of a bottle with a straw. IT WILL BUBBLE UP IN YOUR FACE. |
When I got home from our excursion, I turned on all my freshly hung colorful lights and crawled into bed, completely giddy and feeling festive. I just...fucking love Christmas.
The Best Worst Day Of My Life
I came into the office today with a positive attitude. For a change.
This week, I'm tasked with cleaning and organizing the shit out of this...shithole. When the company moved in almost two years ago, they had a ton of just random junk that got stuffed in various dark corners and things. And I'm getting rid of all that crap. So, you know...yay physical labor?
But, again, I was going to be positive. I mean, at least I have something to do, as opposed to my usual day. And yesterday went remarkably fast since I was actually being productive and like, doing shit. I made a decent dent in a couple of the easiest rooms yesterday, and today, I decided to tackle one of the worst---the dreaded back closet. And so, I wore yoga pants to work. I mean, I topped the yoga pants with a tunic and a necklace, so I don't look completely slovenly, but I feel slovenly. And it is glorious. Best day ever, right? I was planning on it.
But, I arrived at work, and immediately go to work, and...dust. Spiderwebs. Things that are heavy. Things that are like, what the fuck, what is this fucking nonsense here? Is it alive? I don't know. And why do we have so many boxes? What the hell is going on? What is the meaning of life? Is that a quarter? Still, I soldiered on. I planned a Diet Coke reward when I got most of the room cleared out. Which will take awhile.
BUT then, I returned to my desk to find a response to one of the emails I sent out to my bosses today. And the writer clearly had not read my other email yet, and reprimanded me for something I had already explained has nothing to do with me. AND NOW I FEEL MUCH RAGE. AND THERE WILL BE NO MORE POSITIVITY.
So I'm drinking a Diet Coke.
Worst day ever.
This week, I'm tasked with cleaning and organizing the shit out of this...shithole. When the company moved in almost two years ago, they had a ton of just random junk that got stuffed in various dark corners and things. And I'm getting rid of all that crap. So, you know...yay physical labor?
But, again, I was going to be positive. I mean, at least I have something to do, as opposed to my usual day. And yesterday went remarkably fast since I was actually being productive and like, doing shit. I made a decent dent in a couple of the easiest rooms yesterday, and today, I decided to tackle one of the worst---the dreaded back closet. And so, I wore yoga pants to work. I mean, I topped the yoga pants with a tunic and a necklace, so I don't look completely slovenly, but I feel slovenly. And it is glorious. Best day ever, right? I was planning on it.But, I arrived at work, and immediately go to work, and...dust. Spiderwebs. Things that are heavy. Things that are like, what the fuck, what is this fucking nonsense here? Is it alive? I don't know. And why do we have so many boxes? What the hell is going on? What is the meaning of life? Is that a quarter? Still, I soldiered on. I planned a Diet Coke reward when I got most of the room cleared out. Which will take awhile.
BUT then, I returned to my desk to find a response to one of the emails I sent out to my bosses today. And the writer clearly had not read my other email yet, and reprimanded me for something I had already explained has nothing to do with me. AND NOW I FEEL MUCH RAGE. AND THERE WILL BE NO MORE POSITIVITY.
So I'm drinking a Diet Coke.
Worst day ever.
Tuesday, November 27, 2012
The Dieting Brain
Sometimes I can't help but laugh at my own ridiculousness. Especially when it comes to the way I think about diet and exercise. The types of thoughts that pop into my head, the irrational rationalizations I come up with, the cravings I give into, the bargains I make with myself.
I am certifiably insane.
I'm sure I'm not alone in this.
Monday, November 26, 2012
Girl Meets WHOA!
GUYS.
SIT DOWN FOR THIS ONE.
Rumors have been floating around the Internet for a few weeks now, but I didn't want to get my hopes up, only to have them cruelly dashed. I didn't want to dream of a better tomorrow, only to find it is just the same old crap as today.
But now there is confirmation.
Cory and Topanga are BACK.
I am going to watch the shit out of this show. On the Internet.
SIT DOWN FOR THIS ONE.
Rumors have been floating around the Internet for a few weeks now, but I didn't want to get my hopes up, only to have them cruelly dashed. I didn't want to dream of a better tomorrow, only to find it is just the same old crap as today.
But now there is confirmation.
Cory and Topanga are BACK.
I am going to watch the shit out of this show. On the Internet.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)