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.