Pete and Life

This is Pete.
Pete is stress free.
Pete works for Performa.

"I hope you can give me 5 minutes of your time for Pete's sake!"

Gotta love salespeople and their gifts.

In other news, I'm rocking my life for the most part. Perhaps I'm smoking a little more. Perhaps I've put on a little weight 'round my tummy. Perhaps the heart isn't quite what it used to be. But all in all, if someone asked me if I was happy, my hesitation period before answering "yes" is wayy shorter than it was a few months ago.


Some would tell me that I asked for this. I chose a life that never promised a Cloud 9 existence. I'm going to be 30 without a husband, without a baby, and without any promise of either in the near future. I'm not sure what I'm following - my heart, or my habits? I can't tell the difference anymore. I can't tell which one is pushing me to continue on to destruction, and which one is trying desperately to save me from doing just that.

Head, meet desk

I don't belong in my world today.

Stop By

Bear with me, as I am writing this before having my morning coffee; it's too hot and I can't work without caffeine. So I choose to blog for a bit.

I came into work late yesterday. Twenty minutes. I didn't freak out too much, since it was raining and traffic sucked and I'm usually early by at least 10 minutes every day. However, this particular morning our CEO decided to visit the Marketing Department, and decided to stand right by the door. My non-caffeinated self barely noticed and I face-planted into his chest. Late. And wet. Ugh. He is not a man you want to do that to. Small talk and jokes are not his strong suit...making money and keeping me employed are though, so I like him. He also dresses like a god.

I feel I'm failing a little in life at the moment, and I blame it all on Sims 2, a game that I've decided to uninstall as soon as I get home today. It's scarily addictive. I get home at 7, play it til 10, and that's all I accomplish after work. My laundry hasn't been touched in a week, my room's a mess, I haven't done a thing about the diamond-theme banquet I'm in charge of decorating, and, as you've noticed, my blogging has lagged.

Also, if people could stop getting engaged and married and pregnant, that would help me out a bunch.

Honest Priority

The thing about having more than one person in charge is that there's always more than one priority. They asked me about this during the interview. How would you take on multiple Due Yesterday tasks?

I was hopped up on many, many pain killers my interview morning, crampin' style. My tongue slurred something about prioritizing and organizing, the 2 'zings I suck at. I was careful not to say I would do that personally, because it would be a lie. They nodded. The VP even 'good answer'ed me.

Now I wish they called me on it. I wish the VP laughed me out the door. "Go sew some dolphin needlepoint," they should have said, patting me on the back like it's my first day of school and I ended up in the teacher's lounge. I'm getting pulled along by deadlines. Pulled? No. What's the thing where they tied the guy's limbs up to 5 horses?

Here's how I prioritize, honestly. I look at 2 tasks, and ask myself 'which one of these will I get to finish before wanting to kill someone?'. The winner goes against the 3rd task, and so on, until the ultimate champion is chosen. The ultimate champion is usually Facebook status updates (don't know how it sneaks in there). So far, not getting much done.

Chill Pill, Girl

It's a definite sign that my paranoia is upon me when I think their meeting request is about firing me. Over 2 spelling mistakes. I had excuses all prepared. I typed it up too fast. It was before my morning coffee. I was distracted by a list of tasks that are piling up on my desk. I was forced to type with my nose when bandits tied me up to steal my wine cork vase.

"We love your thoughts on the new Facebook Fan Page. We want you to design a presentation for the VP to the CEO's of Ontario shelters. Want a coffee?"

Ugh.

Speak Low, When You Speak Love

He has the kind of voice that makes you swoon. I sometimes complicate my emails so that he'd have to come over and say the anticipated word that enters my body like a smooth, hot cup of cappuccino: "Hey."
If the entire cubicle row couldn't hear him, I'd swear he whispers it right in my ear.
He's make a great 'Hot Boyfriend' in any animated series.

And I have no idea if he's taller than me, or where he lives, or what makes him laugh. I don't really care. If Antonio Banderas worked with you, would you waste precious minutes asking him questions or measuring heights? Hell no. You'd let the man talk. I've become very good at "explain this" and "why did you" and "what is the best way of taking off a girl's clothes?" (just kidding). I'd make a good therapist for men with sexy voices. It's all about hitting the ball back in their court. I assume he totally knows what I'm up to, especially after I had him read through my copy out loud. You know, so I could make an objective opinion about the word "regulate" in the second paragraph (shockingly, I ended up using it). My boyfriend is rolling his eyes right now.

Outside of my loins, it took me an hour and a half to write an email to my grandparents. Thank the heavens for English-Lithuanian translator websites.

Come on ta my desk

It was really quiet today, until I started giving out new scissors like they were candy. Then it turned into a party. This is seriously my life. At least now I know what gets my boys off.

Next week: gel pens. I'll keep you posted. I might get to live out my sex at the office fantasy.

Taking the Bad with the Good

I'm antsy to get out of here and head to the closest bookstore. My throat needs a chamomile and my eyes need to look at something that isn't a screen. I have the worst computer chair in the world, but I'm too lazy to switch it with the empty cubicle's swirly. So I suffer. And my throat hurts. So I suffer more. I'm still a bit damp from my break because of the rain and it's sending occasional chills down my spine. My water bottle smells like the sandwich I brought that I decided I didn't want. My skirt is all wrinkled. I have a zit the size of Calcutta on my face.

I had 'fries with that' for lunch, which raised my spirits enough to get through the rest of this afternoon. I won 3 out of 35 games of Spider Solitaire, which is a new record for me. I made a couple new friends and laughed out loud with an old one. I completed 5 to-do's and feel really accomplished. One of my salesmen is a retired professional skateboarder. I only have an hour to go. My playlist has 50 of the best songs I know, and I've been dancing in my chair for most of the day. I get to have fish for dinner. The zit will be gone by the weekend.

Goating and Gloating

I smell like a barn. Not even kidding. 2 people requested a meeting with me and I declined. Because I smell like a freaking barn.

The shirt that I'm wearing today has been worn since Saturday. I drove to Wasaga in it. I cheerleadered in it. I drank in it. I drove back in it. I dined in it. I fed goats and camels and peacocks and monkeys in it (word of advice, don't be too nice to goats. They'll walk all over you). I dined yet again in it. I've spilled soup, coffee, beer, wine, tomato cream sauce, and animal feed on it. This morning I had to wear it to the office because I was too lazy to go home to change last night. Lazy and drinking. Lazy and drinking and wanting to get laid. What.

The good news is, though, I went to the zoo! And I went to Wasaga! And I had a great birthday weekend again! And if doing those things means I have to go to work smelling like a farm stuffed into a warm closet for 3 days, then so be it. Sniff me people - that's the scent of success.

Canned beans

I did mention that I hate salesmen, right? Some metaphor about flies shamelessly helping themselves to the wine of my life. Get. The freak. Away from me.

The following is an excerpt of my and the receptionist Sandy's day.

*ring ring*

"Reception."
"Hi, it's me. Bryan's coming in this afternoon and I don't want to see him."
"Ok, but you owe me."
"Fine, whatever."

After lunch...*ring ring*

"Anne speaking."
"Bryan's here."
"I told you I wasn't here."
"He just saw you come into the building."
"Well, tell him I'm in a meeting."
"But he's watching me talk to you."
"Pretend you're leaving a message."
"So no."
"Ugh."

I had such faith in people until I worked with the fakeness that salespeople possess. I will resent them until I die for jading me like that. They don't really want to have lunch with you. They could care less how your weekend was. Their secretaries gave you the Christmas wine, they signed the card in the car on the way over. They don't actually think what you say is funny.

Over time, my realizations have created a persona that is only concerned with communicating to their true side. How was my lunch break? Fine, thanks, what do you want. No, you can't come up to my office. How much, who's the contact, that was due a week ago, change this, add it to the quote, bring me back a sample after you fix the colour.

Don't screw with me. I've got enough men in my life that do that.

Ink Porn

I’ve stuck my pen into every part of my face today.

I’m still getting used to the new me. The me that sits at a cubicle on the top floor of a corporate building. The me that is in charge of hiring designers intead of the other way around. The me that wears skirts every day instead of the usual sweatpant/way-too-old-to-still-wear t-shirt. The me with hair coifs.

Apparently the new me also likes to stick pens my face. In my defense, though, a pen offers mucho acupuncture-like relief. I can press it into my eyelid and the headache goes away almost instantly. Press it into my cheek, and I don’t feel like scarfing on the keyboard because I only had a salad with the girls for lunch. I’ve bitten it, massaged my temples with it, rubbed my forehead with it, and my tongue knows exactly how to make the tip appear…all in an attempt to add fuel to the fire of a born-again habit that I’d long forgotten. I am an Ink Porn Queen.

I’m still quite blue, but with a little help from my friends (pardon the Beatles lyric), I’m beginning to realize what’s worth worrying about. My heart is often in a knot, of course, but taking time with the pain a few minutes a day seems to help a bunch. If he can wait forever, so will I – but I guarantee I’ll have a much more fabulous time doing it.

Oh, and I bought the most amazing office clothes. The boys simply can’t stand not to look at me twice.