What could have been a normal blog entry
Things that happened lately (in order of importance...no fuck that, in order of chronology...chronicological...fuck, I can't spell after three cups of Franzia White Zinfadnel, nor do I know how to spell Zinfandel, except for the spelling s-w-e-e-t. In chronological order, aka one goddamn thing after another)
1) Showed up for work. I don't even know why I'm mentioning this, except maybe to reiterate how clueless I was to events that would come to light throughout the course of the day. Little did I know. When I got to my cozy cubicle and filled my mug with coffee and french vanilla creamer, I was all good, settled in my element for the day. It was gonna be a good one. Sure. Keep thinking like that, you optimistic past version of yourself...
2) I can't let on too many details about my job because I do work for a major media conglomerate that will not hesitate to fire me if I step outta line. But. My boss was dealing with some heavy shit today. For whatever reason, folks up on high were giving her a hard time. Alright, what I want to know is how anyone can yell at my boss. Not only is she the most competant employee at the company, she is also hands-down the nicest woman I have met in the last three months. A conventional "good heart" is frozen compared to hers.
Random thought: I get along a lot better with guys that look at my chest (yes, I am aware of this, and yes, it is really flattering to know that my mid-sized breasts are appreciated. I tend to get lost between the "I wish her boobs were bigger" wish and the "Shit, man. I could look at those all day and the little guy would be happy" male breast-perspective valley, but sometimes they get some good feedback). Wait - what was (2) again? Shit, I forgot. Alright, onward.
3) The head of our department scored us skybox V.I.P. tickets to the pre-season Clipper vs. Sonics game tomorrow night. I think they're also called BOX SEATS (I have never been in a box seat, nor did I think I would ever have a box seat experience in my lifetime. I believe it entails something along the lines of a hotel room, only instead of looking out the window into the 90 West Highway piercing some vast Iowa prairie, you're spying down the half-court line looking for Jack Nicholson, and upon realizing, "Stupid...Jack only does Laker games," you desperately search the crowd for someone like Carson Daly or [newly elected L.A. Mayor] Antonio Villaragosa). Apparently, I have been working so hard the past few months that I deserve a reward. No, more likely, the head of our department likes to finangle what he calls "goodies" from the guys upstairs, and he's very good at this. It was with the pride of a lion that he called us lowly departmental assistants into his canivorous office and told us about the Clipper game. This news actually took me back memory lane, all the way to 1991, Memorial Colesium (fuck you, Blogger. I can't spell Colleseum and you're not correcting me like Word does), when I was a BALL GIRL for the PORTLAND TRAILBLAZERS who were, at the time, the best professional sports team ever. This was the era of (cue C+C Music Factory's "The Power," dim the lights, crank up the announcer's mic) Terry Porter at point, Clyde "The Glide" Drexler in the 2-guard, Jerome Kersey at small, Buck Williams (usually giving Karl Malone something to cry about), and Kevin Duckworth at center...oh, this is a story for another time, a time of nostalgia...to be a pre-adolescent basketball fan again...to read Larry Bird's autobiography and then go out and practice my jumper...now those were the days.
4) Anyway, to get back to 2005, so much for the Clipper game. The whole time I was ducking out of the room, pacing nervously, checking my out-of-batteries phone, drinking a bottle of wine as fast as a wino, worrying about how my mom was doing. Cancer sucks ass. It ruins everything. Sometimes I'll be having a pretty good day, you know, someone will make me laugh, we'll win our soccer game, I'll get to have drinks with an old friend, I'll hear an amazing song for the first time...and then I'll think to myself, "Wow, life is pretty sweet. Too bad my mom has cancer." And then it'll just be ruined. Sucks.
5) After the Clipper game I smuggled the cheese and cracker plates out of the box with the intention of bringing it to work or to some malnourished Halloween party. But then we saw this homeless dude who wanted to clean my ride's (the VP's Lexus) windshield, so I gave him the food, in case he was hungry, or knew of anyone else who was hungry. I sure didn't. Since my mom can't eat, I've kind of lost my appetite. In a society obsessed with food and taking obesity to a heavy level, I'm just concerned with the nutrients (and coffee = wake up, alcohol = sleep) at this point. In a world full of drugs and highs and ex-boyfriends in rehab, I'm just hoping my mom's pain subsides so she doesn't have to continue being this junkie by necessity. To reiterate: cancer sucks. Don't get it if you want radiation on your ass and chemo forcing unwanted anorexia, stealing away your ability to eat and drink like a normal person.
1) Showed up for work. I don't even know why I'm mentioning this, except maybe to reiterate how clueless I was to events that would come to light throughout the course of the day. Little did I know. When I got to my cozy cubicle and filled my mug with coffee and french vanilla creamer, I was all good, settled in my element for the day. It was gonna be a good one. Sure. Keep thinking like that, you optimistic past version of yourself...
2) I can't let on too many details about my job because I do work for a major media conglomerate that will not hesitate to fire me if I step outta line. But. My boss was dealing with some heavy shit today. For whatever reason, folks up on high were giving her a hard time. Alright, what I want to know is how anyone can yell at my boss. Not only is she the most competant employee at the company, she is also hands-down the nicest woman I have met in the last three months. A conventional "good heart" is frozen compared to hers.
Random thought: I get along a lot better with guys that look at my chest (yes, I am aware of this, and yes, it is really flattering to know that my mid-sized breasts are appreciated. I tend to get lost between the "I wish her boobs were bigger" wish and the "Shit, man. I could look at those all day and the little guy would be happy" male breast-perspective valley, but sometimes they get some good feedback). Wait - what was (2) again? Shit, I forgot. Alright, onward.
3) The head of our department scored us skybox V.I.P. tickets to the pre-season Clipper vs. Sonics game tomorrow night. I think they're also called BOX SEATS (I have never been in a box seat, nor did I think I would ever have a box seat experience in my lifetime. I believe it entails something along the lines of a hotel room, only instead of looking out the window into the 90 West Highway piercing some vast Iowa prairie, you're spying down the half-court line looking for Jack Nicholson, and upon realizing, "Stupid...Jack only does Laker games," you desperately search the crowd for someone like Carson Daly or [newly elected L.A. Mayor] Antonio Villaragosa). Apparently, I have been working so hard the past few months that I deserve a reward. No, more likely, the head of our department likes to finangle what he calls "goodies" from the guys upstairs, and he's very good at this. It was with the pride of a lion that he called us lowly departmental assistants into his canivorous office and told us about the Clipper game. This news actually took me back memory lane, all the way to 1991, Memorial Colesium (fuck you, Blogger. I can't spell Colleseum and you're not correcting me like Word does), when I was a BALL GIRL for the PORTLAND TRAILBLAZERS who were, at the time, the best professional sports team ever. This was the era of (cue C+C Music Factory's "The Power," dim the lights, crank up the announcer's mic) Terry Porter at point, Clyde "The Glide" Drexler in the 2-guard, Jerome Kersey at small, Buck Williams (usually giving Karl Malone something to cry about), and Kevin Duckworth at center...oh, this is a story for another time, a time of nostalgia...to be a pre-adolescent basketball fan again...to read Larry Bird's autobiography and then go out and practice my jumper...now those were the days.
4) Anyway, to get back to 2005, so much for the Clipper game. The whole time I was ducking out of the room, pacing nervously, checking my out-of-batteries phone, drinking a bottle of wine as fast as a wino, worrying about how my mom was doing. Cancer sucks ass. It ruins everything. Sometimes I'll be having a pretty good day, you know, someone will make me laugh, we'll win our soccer game, I'll get to have drinks with an old friend, I'll hear an amazing song for the first time...and then I'll think to myself, "Wow, life is pretty sweet. Too bad my mom has cancer." And then it'll just be ruined. Sucks.
5) After the Clipper game I smuggled the cheese and cracker plates out of the box with the intention of bringing it to work or to some malnourished Halloween party. But then we saw this homeless dude who wanted to clean my ride's (the VP's Lexus) windshield, so I gave him the food, in case he was hungry, or knew of anyone else who was hungry. I sure didn't. Since my mom can't eat, I've kind of lost my appetite. In a society obsessed with food and taking obesity to a heavy level, I'm just concerned with the nutrients (and coffee = wake up, alcohol = sleep) at this point. In a world full of drugs and highs and ex-boyfriends in rehab, I'm just hoping my mom's pain subsides so she doesn't have to continue being this junkie by necessity. To reiterate: cancer sucks. Don't get it if you want radiation on your ass and chemo forcing unwanted anorexia, stealing away your ability to eat and drink like a normal person.
posted by Jeanie at
10:02 AM
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