bitterdiva

Waiting

They are dancing. A dance that occurs every moment of every day and never ends unless some catastrophe occurs to bring the well working machines to a halt. People step down, step in, step out, and step up. I stand here with my back against the wall; from what I could tell it had been a beautifully white polished tile. Now it was marbled with soot, fingerprints, stained blood, and several bullet holes. I watched the people dance all around me, paying no attention to something so insignificant that only certain grassroots organizations rallied for their cause.

The sounds of steps fade away into a mechanical rush and screeching of metal upon metal as the beast slows its momentum to a halt. The wind hits my face; the temperate urine-scented blast sending waves of nausea through my organs. My kind often falls low enough to open zippers and steady streams of piss in corners, tracks, and doorways that lead below the city. Humans are sick enough to submit themselves to near death entanglement with alcohol and decreased bladder control. Those bloody fools are the bane of this society. And although I stand with my back against the tile caring only for my personal agenda, the dancers slink away from the person in the tattered raincoat.

Occasionally they ask you for your story, feeling sorry for the poor pathetic human waiting for something better to dance its way out of the train and into their life. Some days I tell them truth and they become disgusted, prejudging a person based upon physical appearances. Other days I blur the boundaries of reality and fantasy so they walk away with a nugget so perplexing the warped story couldn’t be unraveled and they’re left in a zombie-like trance for the remainder of the day. I am just a person in a tattered raincoat waiting for my train, which never seems to arrive.

No prayers | 01:32 PM

Masquerading as a Monday

I always welcome a three-day weekend. Any day that I don’t have to go to work and not charge it to my sick/vacation time is always a good one. But slacker beware, those Tuesdays will hit you double than the normal Monday. All throughout the day, your system keeps telling you it’s a Monday because you slept late the day before even though your daily Harry Potter calendar tells you that it’s a Tuesday.

So your system is thrown off kilter, but that’s all right, you can adjust and to do such just keeping looking at your calendar and keep reminding yourself that it is in fact Tuesday. The other beautiful thing about having Monday holidays is that if you’re the lucky person who has class on a Monday, especially if it’s a tedious and boring class (such as English Composition I) you don’t have to go! Just remember that on Tuesday so you don’t repeat a similar incident that occurred last Tuesday when you thought your class was that night when it turned out it was Wednesday all along.

Ah work, a place I go to earn the BIG bucks, all 93 of them on any given day. I come in, sit down, check my e-mail, stare off at space, listen to whatever live music I have placed on the computer or misuse the bandwidth and listen to the Chamber of Secrets soundtrack. I check my work e-mail and as usual I don’t really have anything to read, unless it’s a project waiting for me. I love projects, especially on Tuesdays masquerading as Mondays – they always seem to pop up on those days.

No e-mail? Excellent. I chug along the day printing out envelopes; all 610 of them sorted into their respective workshop locations. I even offer my services to help stuffing the now printed envelopes. I realize that our department should have our own printer with the capacity to print out a large amount of envelopes so I can do those 610 all in one pop instead of in batches or sitting there to put another 10 in my pathetic manual feed tray.

Then my little inbox starts to get stuffed with 5 or 6 envelopes from my boss. I need to print out 50 e-mails for a person but they’re forwarded forwards. It couldn’t have been something simple as to right click and print? Nope. I have to open two files for each e-mail and then select that wonderful option of editing message because outlook wouldn’t allow me to do that already. Oh and since it’s a B&W printer, I have to reformat the font color so the person I’m printing them out for can read. For some reason (Microsoft sucks) Outlook loves to crash every so often and so does the Spool. I thought that my newly bumped up RAM would eliminate such problems but nope, Microsoft still sucks with every possible application I have of theirs on my computer.

Fine whatever, tasks are completed and I’m closer to the time when I leave this place a little bit grumpier than when I first entered these tinted, mirrored doors. But that’s not all folks! For a limited time or after 160,000 miles (whichever fate deals you) you get the fun experience of driving in rush-hour traffic on the highway with your left rear strut catastrophically failing and giving you the most pleasurable experience of every bump, pothole, road joint vibrating and jostling your brain in your head. Don’t freak out though because you’re extremely exhausted, depleted of normal serotonin levels, and you find yourself safely at your boyfriend’s place of business (at least he’s not a pimp in the ghetto – though if he was, you’d probably driving a Caddy with hydraulics). At least you don’t have to drive the car the back roads – you get him to do it.

Called the place, got an estimate $350 clams. Putting it in perspective: it takes me 5 days to earn the amount to pay off that bill and that’s pretty sad. Cars are expensive, insurance is expensive, New York state is becoming expensive, and now it appears that SUNY tuition will become more expensive. Hey mofos, how ‘bout forking over a pay raise my way so I can remain at your organization?

So the moral of the story is, three day weekends are good, but those masquerading Tuesdays will kill you every time. Alright, maybe kill is too harsh, how about maim. Maiming is good, along with burning and pillaging – it’s my favourite pastime.

No prayers | 01:16 PM

One for the books

Classes have begun again and thus far it’s been an interesting semester. My English Composition I class is full of teachers and idiots. I’m the most intelligent person in the class and the professor has developed his own method of creating an outline for research papers. Speaking of which, the basis of the class is creating a research paper based on our own lives. Now, I’m not a pedant, nor am I an English major or a paper whiz but the last time I recall, a research paper is objective not subjective. Since when does my life and opinions count as objective material? This guy reminds me of Harvey Lipschultz from Boston Public but less racist and more intelligent. He also seems to enjoy hearing himself speak.

The focus of my paper thus far is going to be website design/development as it pertains to writing and blogging. After all this time of hearing Kristian moan and wail about various articles in various media formats of the blogging genre, I’m writing my own paper about the matter. I may change this however; I was originally going to focus on the actual development of a piece of literature by myself but my professor seemed more interested in the website area of it. I told the class that most of my ideas come from my very surreal wacked-out dreams and my professor immediately asks if they are fueled by beer. I have now been pegged the freakshow of the class. Eh, every class has to have one.

Last night I was trying to escape my office quickly to venture to my website design class when waiting for the car to warm up in my office’s lot I realize that my schedule is currently sitting on my desk. Unfortunately I couldn’t retrieve it for after 5 pm the doors lock, every single one of them - the front door, the downstairs door to the upstairs door, the upstairs door, the elevator, and the side doors. I just go to the building where I’m supposed to be and realize I don’t remember which room my class is in.

Frantically running around, I ask every person I meet if they have my class and no one does. I call Kris from a pay phone because dummy me forgot her cell phone at home. I get the number, go to the class and see it’s been moved to across campus in the proper building for a computer class. Arriving 10 minutes late, I find a seat and log onto my account. Twenty minutes in I start thinking, if a web programmer doesn’t know how much information is stored on a CD in comparison to a floppy there’s a problem here. I bring up the schedule online and see that the class I am in is not Website Design and Development but Personal Computer Concepts.

Thankfully, Trillian is installed on my account there so I ask Kris to check my schedule again since I am apparently in the wrong class. Thinking I was joking, since most of my classes are waaay to easy for me, he just sits there playing on the computer. After 10 minutes I message him again asking for the answer and he tells me he thought I wasn’t serious. It turns out that my class is Wednesday night instead of Tuesday night.

For two months now I’ve been saying to everyone, I have class Mondays and Tuesdays and that I’m free Wednesdays to watch Dawsons Creek. Well I guess not, but now I don’t have to worry about being late for 24. I’m just wondering how I could mistake a W for a T all the times I stared at my schedule? Maybe my brain is too fried to be taking classes.

1 prayer | 10:21 AM

Boredom gives birth to creativity

2 prayers | 08:32 AM

Winter Blunderland

Happy New Year you crazy ass mofos! Mine was spent being ill for the past several days and cleaning and shoveling out our igloo. The one benefit of having too much snow on the banks is that you have to pack it down. And what better way to pack down the snow than climbing up the mound and collapsing on top. I had a marvelous time being Queen of the Hill even if I almost took down the half dead tree. I sort of felt like Legolas walking on top of the snow in Fellowship of the Ring.

No prayers | 09:32 AM