And again...still doing it....

MyHeritage: Family tree - Genealogy - Celebrity

This is still how I spend my time...

MyHeritage: Family tree - Genealogy - Celebrity

Boston Pride

So, I've had this blog for like a week and a half and am already seriously slacking. Bad news. You all(three of you...I think. That's if all of you are even reading it)are going to have to bare with me while I get this incomplete paper finished, because I'm spending every spare second at work trying to get it done and am then either napping or working when I'm home. But so much to say! So much rage to vent! I want to say it's a good thing I don't really have time to write, or this blog would be really, really "bloggy" and I didn't set this up for that. But quickly:

My boss is about to take over the entire courthouse management office. As of now we occupy a small corner in the back, but when it comes July 31st, everybody in the management office now is getting canned and he's taking over with his own staff(right now we just do maintenance for the courthouse). So, needless to say, there's much to be done. I'm just kind of pissed because when I started this job there was NOTHING to be done because it was still unclear who was taking over the office Aug. 1st(whether it would be us or BCMA who runs it now). I could bring my books and try to get work done...I've come to expect this. My boss now has a month to get ready to run the entire Boston courthouse, so I understand he's stressed, but today he loaded a 147 pg document on the computer with NINE HUNDRED AND NINETY SEVEN CODES on it(this isn't one of my exaggerations) and asked me to make sure every code was present on the 24 page hard copy of the report...I had to cross-reference 997 codes, and write down any that were missing. This took roughly eight, eye bleeding hours as my eyes darted from ancient computer screen to ancient document. As I did this, my boss sat in the conference room and watched the Celtics parade...

That's right: the parade. We had a parade today because one of our teams won a championship! Isn't that exciting?? Boston teams never win championships...oh, wait, there's a fucking parade here every month. All the roads close, everybody who might drive to work gets on the T, and all the rabid parade-goers use the T as well. Get to know your neighbor. The 35 year old with the green knee socks and Celtics headband which includes little bobbly four leaf clover ears. Girl, you look awesome. Don't let anybody tell you to get an effing life, least of all me. You were totally justified when you called out of work this morning(if you have a job) and painted your face like a five year old. We won a championship! And hey, it's great to see all the BU undergraduates again, too. Thank you for wearing skirts so short that I can see your uterus, otherwise I don't know how I'd identify you. I missed you.

Oh, and I'm in love with the other administrative assistant in the office, the one that runs the front desk...that makes three people right now, counting my boyfriend....

So I got bloggy....

In Remembrance

OK, so I promised you a blog after I did some work...that obviously never happened, so I didn't blog. I'm sure everybody was devastated. I also promised you in the coming attractions feature of the blog an explanation of how this blog has already gotten me in trouble. That will come as well. There's something else on my mind today(besides the fact that it's father's day..and my father and I are kind of estranged. I just couldn't find the "thanks for cheating on my mother multiple times" card I was looking for to really sum up how I feel)...

14 years ago on this date the world gained an angel...and lost somebody really, really special. She had the most free spirit of anybody I've ever known, and she was fearless. She loved her daughters more than I've ever seen any mother love their children. She was my mother when I thought my dad was dead. She was my mother's best friend, and I know that my mother has never even tried to find another one...for she was irreplaceable. She wanted me to learn to swim so badly that she jumped into her own pool fully clothed to demonstrate how easy it could be. She let us ride in the back of the station wagon so we could wave at the other drivers. She never got tired of hearing me sing, or watching our performances, or generally being excited about life. Most of all, she's responsible for the spirit of the person I love most in this world...a person who is truly her mother's daughter, and I can't think of a higher compliment. I hope it's okay that I'm writing about this; if it's not, please tell me and I'll take it down. R.I.P, Mrs. J....

No blogging until I do some work...no blogging until I do some work. It's 2:11 PM and I'm unfed and unmedicated(also still in the pjs). Until I do something about all of these things and hopefully have some quality time with a friend who, at this point, is feeling neglected(Immanuel Kant)....no blogging. But later, my pretties, later. I'm sure you're on the edge of your seats...

An addendum/clarification

First things first, you'd think that the commute home(I have to use three different fucking lines)would be slow, heinous, suffocating experience wherein I lose all personal boundaries because of my fellow 9-5ers, wouldn't you? That's why they call the time I get out of work "rush hour." Surprisingly enough, it's not the other commuters that are sucking slowly at my will to live. It's the Red Sox fans. The Red Sox fans are packing themselves onto every single line that comes within a five mile radius of Fenway Park. With their coolers and their fanny packs and their general wonder, this being their first train ride ever. They don't know to hold onto the damn poles, they're bouncing back and forth across the car like pin balls, and they seem to lack very basic skills(Kandy Kane, I know you like the Sox..I like the Sox. This is more a statement concerning tourists and drunks). The point is it's only been two days and I don't know how much longer I can take it. I should also say that the Celtics fans are no better...

Clarification: Burberry will, indeed, being enjoying two homes, not moving to a new one. JB has nice furniture, and she will ruin it. As it is, the whole hour we were in Petco getting a whole new set of cat stuff for his apartment he repeated "This is how much I love you" while waiting for his medal. JB feels bad for Burberry because she's neglected....love is a strong word. I'm just happy she'll no longer be alone on the weekends, even though I'd rather not spend them with her. Oh, and you can refer to him by his real name in the comments...I just use that nickname(given to him by his parents, I can't remember why) here so that he can't do a blog search using his name. Not that he ever would. Coming Attractions: Stay tuned for the next post...I'll explain how, with this very blog, I've already inadvertently done something to JB that I consider more hurtful than my finding his or any of the things I read. Hence the URL change.

Work Order Coordinator/Administrative Assistant

That's the job title, folks. If anybody can take a good look at it and maybe provide some insight as to what I should be doing, you'd be doing me a tremendous favor. Right now I'm blogging from work. This will be the first of many blogs from work, I think. My boss, who seems really cool and whose office is right behind me(which means he could come find me doing this at any moment) told me from the get go that it was really quiet here and that he hoped I liked reading. He basically said "Hey, why don't you bring all your work to the office and do the research for your Kant paper here, so you can get it done by Sunday like you need to." To my credit, I did bring the work with me. I'm also blogging right now and stared into space from 10-12......so yeah. What goes on here, you're probably wondering. Well, I have two computers, one nice new one with internets and facebook and gmail and blogger. I have another computer from early 1981, which is the one that I work on when I have work to do here. What happens is some bitch in the District Attorney's office or the Court of Appeals or SOME VERY IMPORTANT PLACE will call me up and speak to me for roughly 45 minutes about how one of lights in the office is just too bright, something really needs to be done about it. I will tell her somebody will be right down, hang up, mentally flip her off, and then go back to staring into space. After about 15 minutes of staring into space, I'll remember where I am and enter a work order into the computer for that woman who's being blinded by the sunlamp in her office, which means somebody will get to it at some point within the week. There are some calls that are so important that they need to be dealt with immediately....these are the exact same calls, they just come from judges. That's an exaggeration, but only a small one. Sometimes somebody smells something burning, or the Coast Guard is here and they need an escort up to the roof(apparently even the Coast Guard can't roam freely around the courthouse) and when this happens I have to get on the radio and get a technician to answer me. I've only had to do it once but it was the scariest moment of my life...like the first time I had to use the headset at Old Navy. I sure did get used to that quickly, though...pretty soon I had stolen one and was sitting in the parking lot on my days off asking if I could take my lunch break just to confuse everyone(Remember, Schninny?). God, they should just put my face next to "awesome" in the dictionary. I think there's more that could be said here, but I don't want to waste it all in one post. So, stay tuned.

However, let's talk about my feet for a moment. I roamed around Fort Point(the waterfront) for 45 minutes yesterday looking for the courthouse in hooker pumps. Now this is right near the financial district(and also the exact area where my Nordic friend that goes to school in Ireland who I will love until my dying day took me on our second date...besides the point) so there should have been 45 trillion other women trolling around in fancy outfits and hooker pumps, right? No..there were 45 trillion women motoring past me in fancy outfits and sneakers, with tote bags large enough to carry my apartment where they kept their hooker pumps. I had to soak my feet in the bottom part of the new litter box JB and I bought for Burberry(that's right, Kandy Kane, Burberry will soon enjoy having two homes) and they still looked like my toes had been hit by a sledge hammer. I'm barefoot under my desk right now...if anybody catches a glimpse of them, they're going to pass out. My face should be next to "asshole" in the dictionary.

I can't do things in a row

That's the news from the top...I can't do things in a row. Meaning, I can't go to lunch and then a movie, or go to work and then try to write, or watch a mindless television program and then watch another mindless television program without taking a 2-3 hour nap in between the activities. This was brought to my attention(with much love) over dinner last night when I began to lay out my elaborate plan involving working a 9-5 job and (gasp) trying to get school work done when I get home. The table pretty much burst into hysterical laughter, with one person yelling "You can't do things in a row!" It was a simple statement, but I feel like it sums up my life pretty accurately. Is it the sedatives? Is it some sort of deep character flaw? When I tried to explain that I needed to learn how to do "things in a row" because I have to work a full-time job this summer and I have to get my qualifying papers done, I was met with this stark reality : "You're almost 30 years old! You can't learn a new behavior now!"...or something to that effect. If that's true, that's the most horrifying bit of news I've received in a long time(well, probably since last weekend, when I found JB's blog)...and I think it just might be true. Which is going to make my life pretty difficult. If I ever get a job as a professor(which is unlikely, what with all the napping...I have to do the PhD first and then make it to the interviews), am I going to have to pass out in between my class and office hours? Are students going to find me sleeping? Do I have narcilepsy or is life just really, really hard? Or is it just really hot? I don't even really want to know the answers to these questions....

9-5 starts tomorrow. I want to give a good description, but I figured I'd wait because I don't really know what the job is....I find that's the best way to go into a new employment situation, no?

Anybody out there?

Just a quick post to say that I hope everybody is still alive....I heard a rumor that with the heat index it's about 111 degrees. I don't have the courage to confirm it. I'm also marginally curious as to whether or not I'm writing to myself(I realize the only two posts so far have been RIVETING, so this is probably a silly question). If you're reading, let me know!

the horror

So, I guess I should try to write in this thing regularly, though I have no idea if anybody is reading it. It's 6:55 on Friday night...no work has gotten done. I'm kind of booked up for the weekend, so that means that I will now have Monday and Tuesday of next week to do research for a paper that deserves at least three weeks of research, before I start my job on Wednesday. I will then have to work 9-5 for the first time in five years(and y'all know how good I am with adjustments, so it should be smooth as silk) while trying to write this paper(which should take me weeks) by Sunday--so I can then, on Monday, start work on my qualifying papers without which I can't advance to official PhD status. Okay, boring generalized anxiety disorder portion of the blog over.

Here's why I didn't get any work done. JB had his first migraine today. I don't have any experience with this, but my dad's head did explode when I was six(thanks Big Ed, for always referring to your aneurysm in such a sensitive way), so I tend to get a bit, I don't know, petrified when people that I love show up at my apartment with really scary neurological symptoms. He said he couldn't see out of the corner of his eyes, he had "tunnel vision," so he left work and came to my apartment. By the time he got here, he had a blinding headache and was vomiting. Now, anybody who knows me knows that...you know, I can't even say it.....the thing that starts with the "v" is pretty much my favorite thing ever. As in, I've had a crippling phobia revolving around vomiting, anybody else vomiting, seeing vomiting in movies, hearing the word "vomit," for as long as I can remember(I've paid many therapists to tell me that this is because my father vomited when he had his aneurysm, but I don't really buy that). Anywho, I'm here, in the fetal position, in my apartment, listening to my boyfriend get sick through the bathroom door, knowing his head feels like it's about to explode...and I will say, wondering if I'm about to go through the same ordeal that my mother went through 21 years ago. It helped that mammy was home today and that she's suffered from migraines and could clearly identify what was going on, but I could hear the fear even in her voice...if it got worse, we would have to go to the hospital. I could tell she was reliving that night. Luckily, after he'd gotten sick enough to let the nausea subside so he could get to sleep, he was cured--apparently that's all you need when you have a migraine, a couple hours of sleep and you feel like nothing has ever happened. However, today made me realize a number of things. 1. I have seen far too many horrible things happen to people who were far too young to have these horrible things happening(is this a sentence?) to not want to go to the hospital at the drop of a hat. 2. I am slowly closing in on being old enough to have to deal with horrible things happening to people I love, at least, if my history is any indication. 3. I really can't have children, because I really won't be able to take care of them if they get sick. The only reason I could take care of JB was because I knew he didn't have a virus. I am a horrible, selfish, phobic person who will remain childless solely because she fears....you know, that "v" thing. 4. The saddest part is that this is, by far, not the craziest thing about me. Not by a long shot. Y'all know it's true.

Why have you made me sink down to your level?

OK, so here it is...my contribution to the online craze that is blogging. Only 3 of you are privy to this blog. You know who you are. It will be painfully boring, as my life revolves around worrying about my anxiety over not doing work and not doing work. I'm doing this for two reasons, the first being, honestly, that my boyfriend, henceforth referred to as JB, has like 400 in which he has written about every female specimen under the sun except for me, whom he forgot about entirely. All 400 blogs were super secret, and I found all of them and then confronted him...that's right, nothing has changed. So I think the title of this blog sums things up nicely, because I'm burnt out and I'm seeking revenge(this is also the name of the best videogame ever made). At any rate, my boyfriend wrote soliloquies for every female under the sun(his History teacher, the girl who sat in front of his history teacher, that person that walked by the window right now) and never said one good thing about me...ever. Not even a "Hey, my life is marginally less painful than it was before I was in a relationship. That's almost nice." The fact that he never said anything bad about me(aside from the unremarkability of our first sexual experience and the fact that he pined over an ex for the first month of our relationship) is inconsequential.

Second reason: my life totally blows, and I need to keep in contact with you because I love you dearly. The only thing I'm really good at is procrastination(which is all I've been doing, because I have an ASS ton of work that my drug-addled brain simply can't handle)...and this will be a good place to do it. I mean, I live with one of you and I saw you yesterday for the first time in three weeks. If you're not one of the three people who I've told about this and you've stumbled here, I'm apologize in advance, but please stay awhile....