2 bleeding...
ruined the curve of the right pinky, now its just a horizontal line dividing the tip of my finger...
jacked up the cuticle of the right middle...
the shape of the right index is so jagged, it's going to grow back looking like some sort of cookie cutter...
cuticle altogether gone on left thumb...
Hangnail taunting me on the left middle that, I can assure you, will be gone by the end of the day...
In other news, there is a raging bitch in my office who doesn't like me, whom I will heretofore refer to as "the arch-nemesis." I will have to give a full account of her wickedness at a later date.
There are 2 temp guys who I have been bojangling with at various times during the past week (they have my back in the raging bitch situation). And for the love of God, I have never seen anybody drink more hot cocoa than these two guys. They each drink at least 3 cups a day, if not more. Whenever one goes to the breakroom, he says to the other "Yo, you want some cocoa, son?" And I laugh a little more in my head whenever one of them comes back with a steaming cupfull. It's like they had never tasted it before or something. They drink it in the morning, with their lunch...they go mid-afternoon and then they usually have their nightcap, too right before leaving. Aright, I could go on about this, but I gotta get outta here.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
Day 3 (wednesday)
Variables:
Outfit: khaki pants, long-sleeve green shirt, brown boots
Hours of sleep last night: 6
# of dollars in my checking account: $243
weather: freezing, snowing all day
# of days standing between me and my first paycheck: 11
This morning I accidentally stapled my building key card and broke it. Now I have to get a new one from the office administrator tomorrow. I just hope he doesn't ask for it back to try to fix it and see the staple holes. I don't know how I would explain that.
I made a mistake in docketing something yesterday that bit me in the ass today. When a mistake gets through (which they rarely do since everything is triple or quadruple checked by several different people before going to the attorneys) the attorneys are not happy. They descend to our floor from their isolated ivory tower (the half floor above us) and curtly inform us of what a mess we have made.
So yeah, that sucked.
I am PRAYING for a snow day tomorrow even though I know its not going to happen. I would get sooo drunk tomorrow if I didn't have to go to work.
Outfit: khaki pants, long-sleeve green shirt, brown boots
Hours of sleep last night: 6
# of dollars in my checking account: $243
weather: freezing, snowing all day
# of days standing between me and my first paycheck: 11
This morning I accidentally stapled my building key card and broke it. Now I have to get a new one from the office administrator tomorrow. I just hope he doesn't ask for it back to try to fix it and see the staple holes. I don't know how I would explain that.
I made a mistake in docketing something yesterday that bit me in the ass today. When a mistake gets through (which they rarely do since everything is triple or quadruple checked by several different people before going to the attorneys) the attorneys are not happy. They descend to our floor from their isolated ivory tower (the half floor above us) and curtly inform us of what a mess we have made.
So yeah, that sucked.
I am PRAYING for a snow day tomorrow even though I know its not going to happen. I would get sooo drunk tomorrow if I didn't have to go to work.
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
VS fashion show blues
Victoria's Secret fashion show + Seal - Giselle = kinda strugglin'
Anybody agree? This year's show was disappointing. They of course delivered on all the models and the outlandish getups and sets, but the entertainment aspect went horribly awry if you ask me.
An aging Heidi Clum was a mediocre host, at best. Heidi, in all her leggy glory, is no substitute for Giselle. I think we can all agree that we would have rather relinquished Heidi into retirement before G.
The Spicegirls' (also aging, not so gracefully) new song was nothing to write home about. Posh looked too smug to be there.
It annoyed the crap out of me that I kept having to see Lo's mousy face peeping up from the front row. What's next, Jenn Bunny walking the runway?
And I don't know if I can even comment on the the wretched disaster that was Seal. Whoever's misguided decision it was to enter him as the main event should seriously be fired. And the duet with Heidi was like seeing an actual trainwreck occur in front of my eyes, except I could and did look away.
So last year's was a tough act to follow, I get that...Justin, Giselle, Karolina in the 4 bjillion dollar diamond bra. But they could have and should have done better this year.
Anybody agree? This year's show was disappointing. They of course delivered on all the models and the outlandish getups and sets, but the entertainment aspect went horribly awry if you ask me.
An aging Heidi Clum was a mediocre host, at best. Heidi, in all her leggy glory, is no substitute for Giselle. I think we can all agree that we would have rather relinquished Heidi into retirement before G.
The Spicegirls' (also aging, not so gracefully) new song was nothing to write home about. Posh looked too smug to be there.
It annoyed the crap out of me that I kept having to see Lo's mousy face peeping up from the front row. What's next, Jenn Bunny walking the runway?
And I don't know if I can even comment on the the wretched disaster that was Seal. Whoever's misguided decision it was to enter him as the main event should seriously be fired. And the duet with Heidi was like seeing an actual trainwreck occur in front of my eyes, except I could and did look away.
So last year's was a tough act to follow, I get that...Justin, Giselle, Karolina in the 4 bjillion dollar diamond bra. But they could have and should have done better this year.
Day 2 (tuesday)
Variables:
Outfit: black pants, black boots, black collared blouse and light blue sweater vest
Hours of sleep last night: 7
# of dollars in checking account: $269
weather: snow flurries in the morning, sunny and cold in the afternoon
# of days between me and my first paycheck: 12
So today was ok. I've started to work out a notes/filing system that helps me keep track of the infinite amount of transactions and applications I have to learn. I now am somewhat organized and can at least find instructions on what to do in most cases, whereas before my notes were a complete and utter mess, unkempt and unreadable.
I still have not braved the break room for lunch, where some staff sit, socialize and watch soap operas. But I do go in there to make coffee and get water. They have a variety of tea and coffee selections, so today I decided to go for a cappucino. I didn't realize that the mix I grabbed was just for the topping. When I got back to my desk I took a big gulp of hot milk and foam and almost spit it out. It seemed to amuse my trainer though.
Um yeah today really wasn't that exciting. Our receptionist spent most of the day putting up and decorating the Christmas tree and I sat there wishing I could switch jobs with her. I finally switched the greeting on my phone. I got out of work for 15 minutes in the morning to meet with a woman about health insurance. Yeah ok, I think I'm done here.
Aaah, I miss my freedom.
Hours of sleep last night: 7
# of dollars in checking account: $269
weather: snow flurries in the morning, sunny and cold in the afternoon
# of days between me and my first paycheck: 12
So today was ok. I've started to work out a notes/filing system that helps me keep track of the infinite amount of transactions and applications I have to learn. I now am somewhat organized and can at least find instructions on what to do in most cases, whereas before my notes were a complete and utter mess, unkempt and unreadable.
I still have not braved the break room for lunch, where some staff sit, socialize and watch soap operas. But I do go in there to make coffee and get water. They have a variety of tea and coffee selections, so today I decided to go for a cappucino. I didn't realize that the mix I grabbed was just for the topping. When I got back to my desk I took a big gulp of hot milk and foam and almost spit it out. It seemed to amuse my trainer though.
Um yeah today really wasn't that exciting. Our receptionist spent most of the day putting up and decorating the Christmas tree and I sat there wishing I could switch jobs with her. I finally switched the greeting on my phone. I got out of work for 15 minutes in the morning to meet with a woman about health insurance. Yeah ok, I think I'm done here.
Aaah, I miss my freedom.
Monday, December 3, 2007
Day 1 (monday)
Variables:
Outfit: black pants, pink sweater, red flat shoes
Hours of sleep last night: 7
# of dollars in checking account: $-38
weather: partly sunny, extremely windy and cold
# of days standing between me and my first pay check: 13
A frustrating morning gave way to a rather efficient and productive afternoon. I met 3 new people today, including one more of the attorneys who reside one floor up from me. I think now I have met 5 of them (there are 12) This one was quite friendly, albeit, terse and poorly groomed.
Oft there are excruciatingly awkward exchanges between my trainer and I as our senses of humor are mutually indecipherable. I have no idea when he is attempting a joke and he is even less apt to recognize my tomfoolery. So, usually he informs me after by saying "that was a joke" and I proceed to laugh. In my case, I'll say my piece and then when he doesn't laugh or acknowledge humorous intent I trail off and ask a work-related question.
I went to the bank during my lunch break to try to figure shit out for this credit card I applied for last week and to transfer the last of my funds from savings to checking. I now have $300 to last me from now until my first paycheck, which comes on the 15th.
Oh yeah and I found out my trainer will be taking a personal day next Monday, so I will be all by my lonesome with a massive amount of work. That leaves 4 days for me to learn all those things of vital importance to be completed accurately throughout the course of the day, which is a lot. I'll let you know how that turns out.
A frustrating morning gave way to a rather efficient and productive afternoon. I met 3 new people today, including one more of the attorneys who reside one floor up from me. I think now I have met 5 of them (there are 12) This one was quite friendly, albeit, terse and poorly groomed.
Oft there are excruciatingly awkward exchanges between my trainer and I as our senses of humor are mutually indecipherable. I have no idea when he is attempting a joke and he is even less apt to recognize my tomfoolery. So, usually he informs me after by saying "that was a joke" and I proceed to laugh. In my case, I'll say my piece and then when he doesn't laugh or acknowledge humorous intent I trail off and ask a work-related question.
I went to the bank during my lunch break to try to figure shit out for this credit card I applied for last week and to transfer the last of my funds from savings to checking. I now have $300 to last me from now until my first paycheck, which comes on the 15th.
Oh yeah and I found out my trainer will be taking a personal day next Monday, so I will be all by my lonesome with a massive amount of work. That leaves 4 days for me to learn all those things of vital importance to be completed accurately throughout the course of the day, which is a lot. I'll let you know how that turns out.
Sunday, December 2, 2007
Baby steps
Ok so I decided I'm going to blog every day this week, Mon through Friday...give you all an extra special glimpse into what my days are like. At the end of each day, when my hovering supervisor is gone, I'm going to give some highlights and lowlights of the day and then reflect back at the end of the week.
I thought this might be a good way to chart my progress at this new job, for better or worse. Work efficiency, socialization, the works. Hopefully I will have improved on some things by the end of the week and if not, well there's always next week.
Wish me luck.
I thought this might be a good way to chart my progress at this new job, for better or worse. Work efficiency, socialization, the works. Hopefully I will have improved on some things by the end of the week and if not, well there's always next week.
Wish me luck.
Monday, November 26, 2007
First Day Observations
Greetings from the corporate world. I thought I'd share just a few opening remarks regarding the very serious and important nature of my new day job.
Atmosphere: pleasant, quiet. Enough people around to talk to and run my mouth with if I so choose, but not enough to distract me too much. Cubicle with a killer view. The last cubicle I inhabited donned a few travel pics and a newspaper cutout of Daniel Craig. I'm going to try to do better with this one, so if anyone has pics or ideas and wants to contribute to my office space, send them my way.
Supervisor: served in the marine corp for 6 years...looks the part, but nonetheless a very nice man with albeit, a gentle soul. Took me out to lunch today and seems very concerned with, not only my professional development and performance, but also my personal well-being and emotional health.
Receptionist: this woman is kind of ridiculous. A little bit older and very accomodating. Made it her personal responsibilty to make me feel smotheringly welcome today. Actually took the coat off my back to hang it up for me. Soft spoken and slightly askew.
Immediate Trainer: A very nice and patient man, but definitely OCD in an extreme way. One of those eerily organized people...not so much as a hair on his finger is out of place. I believe he could sense my waning attention during the three hours I spent observing him today. My desk after one day is already messier than his. Shit.
Other profiles to come, just wanted to record some of those first impressions that will soon fade into annoyance or friendships or clashes or any ofthose things that mold and harden over the passage of time.
Overall, though...as of right now, I would say that I am very fond of my new workplace and its constituents.
Although, this Clark Kent job, so to speak, should not be construed as my only vocation, for by night I'm still livin' the dream as resident gangster-at-large, Peace, killaz.
'Till the next...
Atmosphere: pleasant, quiet. Enough people around to talk to and run my mouth with if I so choose, but not enough to distract me too much. Cubicle with a killer view. The last cubicle I inhabited donned a few travel pics and a newspaper cutout of Daniel Craig. I'm going to try to do better with this one, so if anyone has pics or ideas and wants to contribute to my office space, send them my way.
Supervisor: served in the marine corp for 6 years...looks the part, but nonetheless a very nice man with albeit, a gentle soul. Took me out to lunch today and seems very concerned with, not only my professional development and performance, but also my personal well-being and emotional health.
Receptionist: this woman is kind of ridiculous. A little bit older and very accomodating. Made it her personal responsibilty to make me feel smotheringly welcome today. Actually took the coat off my back to hang it up for me. Soft spoken and slightly askew.
Immediate Trainer: A very nice and patient man, but definitely OCD in an extreme way. One of those eerily organized people...not so much as a hair on his finger is out of place. I believe he could sense my waning attention during the three hours I spent observing him today. My desk after one day is already messier than his. Shit.
Other profiles to come, just wanted to record some of those first impressions that will soon fade into annoyance or friendships or clashes or any ofthose things that mold and harden over the passage of time.
Overall, though...as of right now, I would say that I am very fond of my new workplace and its constituents.
Although, this Clark Kent job, so to speak, should not be construed as my only vocation, for by night I'm still livin' the dream as resident gangster-at-large, Peace, killaz.
'Till the next...
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
sketchiness
So I was gonna follow up to last blog because it was only half way finished, but this is funnier so maybe next blog I’ll finish whatever it was I was writing about last time.
My street is so fucking sketchy. So a little while ago we were informed by a neighbor that some shady looking gentlemen (one with corn rows) marinating in a burgundy oldsmobile were inquiring about the tenants of ** R street (my house). I looked out the window and saw a burgundy car across the street, so I decided to pack up and go to Big Bear as a diversion while I scoped out the scene. When I walked out the door the car was gone.
As I was walking down the street, 2 ladies across the street started yelling at me "Hey! What time is it?" I didn't know they were hollering at me so I didn't answer and when they continued to shout I stopped and turned to them and they both looked at me like they were going to cross the street and bitch slap me for being insolent. So I reached in my bag for my cell phone and told them it was 3:25. One of them shrieked "3:25, it ain't 3:25!" and they both looked back at me expecting me to check my cell phone again. So I reached in my bag again, looked at my phone and said back, "yes, it's 3:25." The feistier one of the two raised her left eyebrow up so far at me, it practically disappeared into her hairline. So I raised my eyebrow at her just to let her know that I wasn't kidding about the time. She turned around to go inside and said to the other lady (maybe her daughter or her sister) "Come on, let's go, it ain't 3:25!" So then the other lady who wasn't quite to the stoop yet hollered back at me "ay, you stay around here?" And I said "Yeah, I live right up the street, pointing back up to the vicinity of my house. Then.. "You live alone?" ... "No, I have roommates" and then of course the attitude-saturated retort "You better be careful girl!" I nodded in agreement as I turned to be on my away, watching them out of the corner of my eye as the younger lady followed the elder, waddling toward the door and listening as she pecked on about how I must be wrong about the time.
So I continued down the street, headed toward Big Bear and all seemed to be business as usual. No sign of the bergundy oldsmobile. So I've been sitting at Big Bear ever since, with a watchful eye on the southern hemisphere of the street and its ongoings.A little while ago, a cab driver came in here and asked me if I had a 20 for 4 fives. I don't know why a cab driver would need bigger bills, that makes no sense to me, but I pulled out my wallet and gave him what I thought was a 20 without really looking at it. He walked out only to come back in 20 seconds later barking at me about ripping him off or something. He shoves a one dollar bill in my face all "This a one dollar bill! One dollar! I give you 4 fives!" I told him to back up and I looked in my wallet, realized my mistake and gave him a 20.
But, seriously, was that really necessary to cause a scene over that? After that everyone in here looked at me like I was some sort of con artist. Not my day I guess.
Sidenote: Big Bear started putting out free filtered water, which I think was a good move, considering their exorbitant prices for simple coffee drinks and bite size food they try to pass off as actual sandwiches.
Ok, so I guess I'm about to pack up again and walk back up to my house. And survey the block again for any suspicious characters. I may enlist the help of my friends who are probably still bojangling on their stoops before heading in for the night. They still have about a half an hour of sunlight left to soak up.
Anyway, till the next...
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Bexin Hemophin
At long last, a new blog post. Sorry to all you haters who I have kept waiting for over a month, but I operate on my own schedule and I don't respond well to being rushed. You'll get the blog when I'm good and ready to write it and not a moment sooner.
That said, there's a lot to catch up on. The main reason I have not written in so long is that I have been working desperately to find a real job. One day, I woke up and thought I am waiting tables at a 2 1/2 star restaurant and I'm 24 with a college degree. So, I decided to pick myself up, stop wiling away my free hours blogging and such, and get a job. And I did.
You are looking at (well, not so much looking at as reading the thoughts of) the new Docketing Clerk for a big, powerful and very important intellectual property law firm in D.C. (to which I will refer to as ip). So how d'ya like them apples, bitches? Maybe I should get some property rights to this blog. Copyright the shit out of my intellectual property.
I digress...the interviewing process...and the road I traveled to get a job and quit the god awful restaurant that I worked at.
Ok, so stage 1 of finding a job: picking and choosing fairy tale jobs at magazines and TV stations and publications that sound really interesting to me and I would really do well at. This stage takes its course the first couple weeks of looking for a job. Thoughts included in application process: "ooh that sounds fun and interesting...I would really rock that job....I wouldn't mind doing that all day...if I got that job I could really improve and move up in the company...oh shit if I got that job everyone would be jealous of me and think that I have a really cool job..." and various other things of that nature.
Strike 1. Yeah right you're not gonna get any of those jobs. This isn't neverland or a low budget Kate Hudson movie or whatever. You probably won't get call backs or even a courtesy email out of any of these places so get your head out of the clouds and start exploring other options
Stage 2 of finding a job: opening yourself up to things you may not have thought about or are particularly interested in. At this point, I started getting interviews, which was great, except for the fact that I don't make the best first impression. I try my darndest, don't get me wrong, but I usually say or do something to put them off by the end of the interview. I've been told that my voice is "monotoned and sadistic" and my personality "daria-esque" so you can imagine how that usually goes over in an interview. Although occasionally I find someone who seems to follow my step, even through my awkward blunders and rambling narcissism. At this point, I really get freaked out, as the person will soon realize that I am interviewing for a job that I don't want and will likely discover my thinly-veiled disdain.
Thus, the tension between interviewer and interviewee rises. Questioning and rambling persists on both sides, because given the right triggers, I can talk all day. There are always more questions to be asked and more holes to fill with my always sharp and occasionally appropriate wit. Hopefully, interviewer can look past the disdain and see that interviewee is, in fact, shrewd and could do the job better than most if given the chance.
Strike 2. You're not going to get any of those jobs either. Even the ones where you thought the hiring person loved you...you got a second interview, everything was going well, things were looking up. Nope, no job
That said, there's a lot to catch up on. The main reason I have not written in so long is that I have been working desperately to find a real job. One day, I woke up and thought I am waiting tables at a 2 1/2 star restaurant and I'm 24 with a college degree. So, I decided to pick myself up, stop wiling away my free hours blogging and such, and get a job. And I did.
You are looking at (well, not so much looking at as reading the thoughts of) the new Docketing Clerk for a big, powerful and very important intellectual property law firm in D.C. (to which I will refer to as ip). So how d'ya like them apples, bitches? Maybe I should get some property rights to this blog. Copyright the shit out of my intellectual property.
I digress...the interviewing process...and the road I traveled to get a job and quit the god awful restaurant that I worked at.
Ok, so stage 1 of finding a job: picking and choosing fairy tale jobs at magazines and TV stations and publications that sound really interesting to me and I would really do well at. This stage takes its course the first couple weeks of looking for a job. Thoughts included in application process: "ooh that sounds fun and interesting...I would really rock that job....I wouldn't mind doing that all day...if I got that job I could really improve and move up in the company...oh shit if I got that job everyone would be jealous of me and think that I have a really cool job..." and various other things of that nature.
Strike 1. Yeah right you're not gonna get any of those jobs. This isn't neverland or a low budget Kate Hudson movie or whatever. You probably won't get call backs or even a courtesy email out of any of these places so get your head out of the clouds and start exploring other options
Stage 2 of finding a job: opening yourself up to things you may not have thought about or are particularly interested in. At this point, I started getting interviews, which was great, except for the fact that I don't make the best first impression. I try my darndest, don't get me wrong, but I usually say or do something to put them off by the end of the interview. I've been told that my voice is "monotoned and sadistic" and my personality "daria-esque" so you can imagine how that usually goes over in an interview. Although occasionally I find someone who seems to follow my step, even through my awkward blunders and rambling narcissism. At this point, I really get freaked out, as the person will soon realize that I am interviewing for a job that I don't want and will likely discover my thinly-veiled disdain.
Thus, the tension between interviewer and interviewee rises. Questioning and rambling persists on both sides, because given the right triggers, I can talk all day. There are always more questions to be asked and more holes to fill with my always sharp and occasionally appropriate wit. Hopefully, interviewer can look past the disdain and see that interviewee is, in fact, shrewd and could do the job better than most if given the chance.
Strike 2. You're not going to get any of those jobs either. Even the ones where you thought the hiring person loved you...you got a second interview, everything was going well, things were looking up. Nope, no job
Friday, September 28, 2007
Requiem for a Bike
She was a good bike...loyal and faithful to her owner. I'm sure she was loyal and faithful to various other, more responsible owners before her.
Her active days came to an abrupt end when a wreckless rider thought she was coherent and dexterous enough to pop a wheelie at night after a few cocktails. I'm sure Red (aforementioned bike) wanted to pop that wheelie. She did everything she could to try to get up onto that curb. If she could have flown, she would have. If determination was enough, Red would still be with us. But physical laws of this universe prevented it.
As momentum rised and caution declined, the moment approached. And what, in the imagination of the rider, was supposed to be a beautiful and agile manipulation of human, machine and nature, turned into an abject display of negligence, which in turn resulted in the ultimate demise of said, bike.
Red halted at the curb and owner flew forward. After peeling herself up out of a most contorted position (after what I think was a momentary loss of consciousness), owner regained mind function and ran to Red. She looked to be in tact, albeit a little beaten up, and owner rejoiced for her bike's (and her own body's) apparent durability. But aaah, her relief was premature and neither body, nor bike would prove consistent with owner's delusions of adequacy.
Once owner started walking her bike, she noticed the flat tire (with rubber dangling and falling off the tire) and bent wheel and axle glaring her in the face. It took a minute to sink in, but owner began to realize what she had done. Red's wheels were still reluctantly turning, but the damage was too great, the knife had cut too deep. Thus, owner made the diffiult decision to let Red go and there she sits, locked up to a lamp post, looking out over the National Mall.
As I said, she was a good bike; loyal and faithful to me. She transported me to and from my job for over four months and I am greatful to her. She came from Rockville, Maryland and before that I'm not sure where she was. She had one squeaky break that made me so agitated, but now I see that maybe it was just her way of demanding attention, as we all have a tendency to do from time to time.
But as for Red, I want you to know that I'm sorry for putting you out of commission. And from the bottom of my heart, I thank you for your service to me. You were a beautiful mystery and you will not be forgotten.
Her active days came to an abrupt end when a wreckless rider thought she was coherent and dexterous enough to pop a wheelie at night after a few cocktails. I'm sure Red (aforementioned bike) wanted to pop that wheelie. She did everything she could to try to get up onto that curb. If she could have flown, she would have. If determination was enough, Red would still be with us. But physical laws of this universe prevented it.
As momentum rised and caution declined, the moment approached. And what, in the imagination of the rider, was supposed to be a beautiful and agile manipulation of human, machine and nature, turned into an abject display of negligence, which in turn resulted in the ultimate demise of said, bike.
Red halted at the curb and owner flew forward. After peeling herself up out of a most contorted position (after what I think was a momentary loss of consciousness), owner regained mind function and ran to Red. She looked to be in tact, albeit a little beaten up, and owner rejoiced for her bike's (and her own body's) apparent durability. But aaah, her relief was premature and neither body, nor bike would prove consistent with owner's delusions of adequacy.
Once owner started walking her bike, she noticed the flat tire (with rubber dangling and falling off the tire) and bent wheel and axle glaring her in the face. It took a minute to sink in, but owner began to realize what she had done. Red's wheels were still reluctantly turning, but the damage was too great, the knife had cut too deep. Thus, owner made the diffiult decision to let Red go and there she sits, locked up to a lamp post, looking out over the National Mall.
As I said, she was a good bike; loyal and faithful to me. She transported me to and from my job for over four months and I am greatful to her. She came from Rockville, Maryland and before that I'm not sure where she was. She had one squeaky break that made me so agitated, but now I see that maybe it was just her way of demanding attention, as we all have a tendency to do from time to time.
But as for Red, I want you to know that I'm sorry for putting you out of commission. And from the bottom of my heart, I thank you for your service to me. You were a beautiful mystery and you will not be forgotten.
Friday, September 21, 2007
The Self-Righteous Douchebags I have to Serve
So I'm a waitress at an upscale restaurant in downtown D.C. Our clientele is varied, but for the most part, I'm used to serving the business class and government affiliates. Some observations...
They sit down at their tables, exchanging pleasantries and such, squeezing out their most casually professional faces to sit down for a business lunch. I greet the table, getting a feel for who I'm dealing with (government, real estate, financial officers, sales reps, etc. etc.) Sometimes, there's a jokester at the table who tries to induce a smile out of their visibly agitated waitress. I ask for their drink order and wait while they exchange glances, trying to deduce if anyone else at the table wants an alcoholic beverage as desperately as they do. Once one person gets a confirmation look from somebody else at the table, he or she (usually he) takes the lead and orders a beer, or maybe a liquor drink if he wants to exhibit an overt display of balls. The others at the table let out a sigh of relief, as now it is acceptable and socially appropriate (as rules of etiquette dictate that one cannot drink alone) for the rest of the company to order the drinks they have been thinking about drinking since the anouncement of the lunch they have so eagerly awaited.
Then I come back with their drinks and take the food order, which is never a simple process. They all have questions, as their liberal educations have taught them never to take anything at face value. They must get a full and thorough account of the options before letting me make the decision. They ask for my recommendations and I tell them what to order. If the person is aware and sensible, he or she will order what I recommend, but occasionally, I'll get the ones who ask what I prefer, then brazenly order the thing I tried to steer them away from. And that's fine, but begs the question... why ask at all if you already knew what you wanted? Maybe it's that liberal education rearing its ugly head again (well, I guess it's not always an ugly head, depending on the context of its emergence).
Now that the majority of my speaking role is done, they're free to start their meeting and I'm free to quietly observe what is at best, a steady gallup of getting people up to speed on recent developments and at worst, a disorganized mess of scatterbrained ideas, mixed with unprofessional and not so subtle or astutely executed sexual jokes. Most of these people just talk in circles, without a logical direction or outline. One time, I had two employees of PEPCO meeting at my table (our D.C. electricity supplier) and I was seriously unnerved by their 10-minute discussion of a female co-worker, clearly prioritizing that over a binder full of work in front of them on the table. Suffice it to say that, in my observations, the "business lunch" does not yield much productivity. It seems to me like those sitting, eating and working alone accomplish more than the group effort involved in a meeting.
But hey, what do I know, I'm just a waitress.
They sit down at their tables, exchanging pleasantries and such, squeezing out their most casually professional faces to sit down for a business lunch. I greet the table, getting a feel for who I'm dealing with (government, real estate, financial officers, sales reps, etc. etc.) Sometimes, there's a jokester at the table who tries to induce a smile out of their visibly agitated waitress. I ask for their drink order and wait while they exchange glances, trying to deduce if anyone else at the table wants an alcoholic beverage as desperately as they do. Once one person gets a confirmation look from somebody else at the table, he or she (usually he) takes the lead and orders a beer, or maybe a liquor drink if he wants to exhibit an overt display of balls. The others at the table let out a sigh of relief, as now it is acceptable and socially appropriate (as rules of etiquette dictate that one cannot drink alone) for the rest of the company to order the drinks they have been thinking about drinking since the anouncement of the lunch they have so eagerly awaited.
Then I come back with their drinks and take the food order, which is never a simple process. They all have questions, as their liberal educations have taught them never to take anything at face value. They must get a full and thorough account of the options before letting me make the decision. They ask for my recommendations and I tell them what to order. If the person is aware and sensible, he or she will order what I recommend, but occasionally, I'll get the ones who ask what I prefer, then brazenly order the thing I tried to steer them away from. And that's fine, but begs the question... why ask at all if you already knew what you wanted? Maybe it's that liberal education rearing its ugly head again (well, I guess it's not always an ugly head, depending on the context of its emergence).
Now that the majority of my speaking role is done, they're free to start their meeting and I'm free to quietly observe what is at best, a steady gallup of getting people up to speed on recent developments and at worst, a disorganized mess of scatterbrained ideas, mixed with unprofessional and not so subtle or astutely executed sexual jokes. Most of these people just talk in circles, without a logical direction or outline. One time, I had two employees of PEPCO meeting at my table (our D.C. electricity supplier) and I was seriously unnerved by their 10-minute discussion of a female co-worker, clearly prioritizing that over a binder full of work in front of them on the table. Suffice it to say that, in my observations, the "business lunch" does not yield much productivity. It seems to me like those sitting, eating and working alone accomplish more than the group effort involved in a meeting.
But hey, what do I know, I'm just a waitress.
Friday, September 14, 2007
The Restaurant
Ok, I know you all have been eagerly awaiting the next post and I have been withholding, I know. But I have been working a lot lately and I don't have a job, with access to a computer so eat me. Instead, I have a job with access to conceptually and cooperatively oblivious people who interact like cavemen and behave like children.
Thus far, I have not written much about work, because when I'm not there, I prefer not to think about it. However, all I have been doing lately is working so I guess it deserves some attention.
So, I bike to work, which is probably the most therapeutic 10 minutes of my day. The first person I encounter usually is this one valet guy who started approaching me about a month ago. He comes up to me while I'm locking up my bike so he'll get about 2 minutes of face time with me before I go in. Originally, he was trying to pull me into a scheme where he would pay me to use my bike to park cars. But, to my disappointment, I think he was just using that as an excuse to talk to me since the whole plan that we mapped out doesn't really make logical sense and I don't think he would have paid me anyway.
Anyway, I still don't know his name and you know how a window passes for introductions...and when put off they become harder and harder to make. All I know is that some people I work with refer to him as "Heavy D" since he's a little meatball of a man with a tiny head. He certainly knew my name though. The first time he ever approached me he said "Hello Vanessa" and when I asked how he knew my name he just gave me a creepy a look that said "that's not all I know about you." One night after work I went to the bar across the street and he came over with some of the other valets. He ended up driving my friend and I to a bar across town and it turns out he drives this tricked out rangerover with sweet rims. I asked him if it was one of his valeted cars and he got all hot and bothered. But seriously, would you think a valet guy could afford a car like that? Anyway, he asked what I wanted to listen to and I said Christina Aguilera and he puts the musice video to Lady Marmalaide on the TV screen in the front. My friend and I were jamming out at first, but then things just got kind of awkward seeing as though that video is pretty sexual.
Ok, so that's Heavy D the first guy I usually see coming into work. He tries to make small talk...sometimes Im receptive to it, sometimes I'm not in the mood. Then, I enter the restaurant...a place, just like most other places of business, managed and operated by self-serving, hypocritical morons and worked by underachieving, lackadaisical weasels, just trying to make a buck between other, more exciting times of the day.
I will delve into this microcosm next blog, as I am tired now and don't feel like talking about my work anymore.
Thus far, I have not written much about work, because when I'm not there, I prefer not to think about it. However, all I have been doing lately is working so I guess it deserves some attention.
So, I bike to work, which is probably the most therapeutic 10 minutes of my day. The first person I encounter usually is this one valet guy who started approaching me about a month ago. He comes up to me while I'm locking up my bike so he'll get about 2 minutes of face time with me before I go in. Originally, he was trying to pull me into a scheme where he would pay me to use my bike to park cars. But, to my disappointment, I think he was just using that as an excuse to talk to me since the whole plan that we mapped out doesn't really make logical sense and I don't think he would have paid me anyway.
Anyway, I still don't know his name and you know how a window passes for introductions...and when put off they become harder and harder to make. All I know is that some people I work with refer to him as "Heavy D" since he's a little meatball of a man with a tiny head. He certainly knew my name though. The first time he ever approached me he said "Hello Vanessa" and when I asked how he knew my name he just gave me a creepy a look that said "that's not all I know about you." One night after work I went to the bar across the street and he came over with some of the other valets. He ended up driving my friend and I to a bar across town and it turns out he drives this tricked out rangerover with sweet rims. I asked him if it was one of his valeted cars and he got all hot and bothered. But seriously, would you think a valet guy could afford a car like that? Anyway, he asked what I wanted to listen to and I said Christina Aguilera and he puts the musice video to Lady Marmalaide on the TV screen in the front. My friend and I were jamming out at first, but then things just got kind of awkward seeing as though that video is pretty sexual.
Ok, so that's Heavy D the first guy I usually see coming into work. He tries to make small talk...sometimes Im receptive to it, sometimes I'm not in the mood. Then, I enter the restaurant...a place, just like most other places of business, managed and operated by self-serving, hypocritical morons and worked by underachieving, lackadaisical weasels, just trying to make a buck between other, more exciting times of the day.
I will delve into this microcosm next blog, as I am tired now and don't feel like talking about my work anymore.
Sunday, August 5, 2007
Vacation mode: Part 1
So I had some time off work for "vacation" if that's the right word, I don't know. I said I would give a full account, but it's kind of just a blur now so I'll give some highlights.
I left with Cuz and Sis to go up there on Sunday night [oh yeah and here's a little bit about her...
Cuz- lives in Akron, Ohio (currently leading in the race for crappiest U.S. city), but loves it. Why is it that people who live in crappy cities always swear by how amazing they are? Anyway, we've always been close, despite never having lived in the same place. Constant onslaught of corny, horrendous jokes that get worse in delivery each time I see her. Three sports obsessed brothers, a sports maniac Dad and a crazy, Catholic mom.]
Day 1: Rainy. Went to see Hairspray (Zac Effron lookin' good, ladies). Slaughtered Cuz in air hockey (I challenge anyone who wants to play me). There was a table at the theatre so that's where we played. Some creepy old guy was standing next to the table watching the whole game. The theatre was packed with kids, it made me nautious. It was a rainy day during one of the busiest vacation weeks of the summer so I should have known we were going into the eye of the storm to go see Hairspray. But seriously, when a million brats come together at a movie theatre at the beach, the result is an intolerable brain hammering of noise, trash, toys and mess. A wierd smell clogs up your nasal passages also, until you're so desperate for fresh air, you can barely even pay attention to the movie anymore.
Day 2: Sunny and hot. Blondie arrives. We all get a little burned. Sis looks like a tomato by the end of the day. We go to the Starboard in Dewey later on that night.
Aaah, Dewey Beach. What a show. It's kinda trashy. It's nightlife attracts the old and the young. My fave spot is the Starboard. They have beer pong tables set up to use. We always play and there are always wierd, oblivious people who come up to us asking what the game is. It always stuns me when someone doesn't know what beer pong is. I mean, what have these people been living in caves? I guess rural Delaware is more or less the same thing. Nonetheless, they're only missing out on the most innovative, forward-looking, tour-de-force of drinking techology produced in the last century. Ok, now I'm just rambling.
Ok, back on track. The Starboard. Always a shitshow. People probably 16-60 getting hammered and acting afool. Inhibitions checked at the door. It's the Starboard...anything goes!
So, of course, I get drunk. Blondie gets drunk. Cuz Gets drunk. Sis gets tanked, starts spitting out the racial slurs. We start talking to some douchebag guys. It's amazing how low your standards get when you're on vacation mode. Cuz attracted some crazy ghetto guy in a gold Tu Pac t-shirt when we were outside.
So, then we go home and of course the rents have locked us out. We spend about a half an hour calling cell phones and banging on doors and windows, but since everyone in my family sleeps like death, we weren't having much success in waking anybody up. Blondie layed down on the patio all "I guess we're just gonna have to sleep out here." Finally my brother, who was sleeping on the couch a foot away from the door (and all the banging) woke up and let us in.
Ok, anyway, that's gonna do it for now. I've been at Big Bear for the past two hours and this airy-voiced woman sitting with her computer at the table next to me keeps saying inane things and harping on me to get the apple danish. She just jumped up like a lunatic trying to swat at a flying ant. It landed on my table and she tried to kill it with her newspaper, nearly spilling my macchiato. When I told her not to worry about it, she just started laughing and moved to the other side of her table. Great, now she's facing me. And they just put, like a six foot long table in the middle of Big Bear, which changes the whole dynamic. I feel like up is down and black is white. Anyway, I gotta get out of here. Oh yeah, and I'm going to see Labyrinth at E street later...that's gonna be sweet! More about vacation next post.
I left with Cuz and Sis to go up there on Sunday night [oh yeah and here's a little bit about her...
Cuz- lives in Akron, Ohio (currently leading in the race for crappiest U.S. city), but loves it. Why is it that people who live in crappy cities always swear by how amazing they are? Anyway, we've always been close, despite never having lived in the same place. Constant onslaught of corny, horrendous jokes that get worse in delivery each time I see her. Three sports obsessed brothers, a sports maniac Dad and a crazy, Catholic mom.]
Day 1: Rainy. Went to see Hairspray (Zac Effron lookin' good, ladies). Slaughtered Cuz in air hockey (I challenge anyone who wants to play me). There was a table at the theatre so that's where we played. Some creepy old guy was standing next to the table watching the whole game. The theatre was packed with kids, it made me nautious. It was a rainy day during one of the busiest vacation weeks of the summer so I should have known we were going into the eye of the storm to go see Hairspray. But seriously, when a million brats come together at a movie theatre at the beach, the result is an intolerable brain hammering of noise, trash, toys and mess. A wierd smell clogs up your nasal passages also, until you're so desperate for fresh air, you can barely even pay attention to the movie anymore.
Day 2: Sunny and hot. Blondie arrives. We all get a little burned. Sis looks like a tomato by the end of the day. We go to the Starboard in Dewey later on that night.
Aaah, Dewey Beach. What a show. It's kinda trashy. It's nightlife attracts the old and the young. My fave spot is the Starboard. They have beer pong tables set up to use. We always play and there are always wierd, oblivious people who come up to us asking what the game is. It always stuns me when someone doesn't know what beer pong is. I mean, what have these people been living in caves? I guess rural Delaware is more or less the same thing. Nonetheless, they're only missing out on the most innovative, forward-looking, tour-de-force of drinking techology produced in the last century. Ok, now I'm just rambling.
Ok, back on track. The Starboard. Always a shitshow. People probably 16-60 getting hammered and acting afool. Inhibitions checked at the door. It's the Starboard...anything goes!
So, of course, I get drunk. Blondie gets drunk. Cuz Gets drunk. Sis gets tanked, starts spitting out the racial slurs. We start talking to some douchebag guys. It's amazing how low your standards get when you're on vacation mode. Cuz attracted some crazy ghetto guy in a gold Tu Pac t-shirt when we were outside.
So, then we go home and of course the rents have locked us out. We spend about a half an hour calling cell phones and banging on doors and windows, but since everyone in my family sleeps like death, we weren't having much success in waking anybody up. Blondie layed down on the patio all "I guess we're just gonna have to sleep out here." Finally my brother, who was sleeping on the couch a foot away from the door (and all the banging) woke up and let us in.
Ok, anyway, that's gonna do it for now. I've been at Big Bear for the past two hours and this airy-voiced woman sitting with her computer at the table next to me keeps saying inane things and harping on me to get the apple danish. She just jumped up like a lunatic trying to swat at a flying ant. It landed on my table and she tried to kill it with her newspaper, nearly spilling my macchiato. When I told her not to worry about it, she just started laughing and moved to the other side of her table. Great, now she's facing me. And they just put, like a six foot long table in the middle of Big Bear, which changes the whole dynamic. I feel like up is down and black is white. Anyway, I gotta get out of here. Oh yeah, and I'm going to see Labyrinth at E street later...that's gonna be sweet! More about vacation next post.
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Shiny Red 10 Speed
My bicycle. It's a beaut.
It's red. Probably about 10 years old. It has rectangular reflectors on each wheel and one that's off-center below the handle bars. No straps on the pedals. Turn down handle bars. Small, hard, black seat that doesn't even fit a third of my ass on it. 10 SPEED is spelled out in black lettering on both sides of the first bar, I guess just to reinforce that feature. Maybe at the time it was made that was some sort of major breakthrough in bike technology. But it just seems so proud to be a 10 speed. Breaks work, but the left one sounds like a small child screeching when I press it. The right one is as smooth and silent as a veloceraptor's attack from the side.
No, I don't wear a helmet.
I bike to work now. It's about 20 blocks away...about a ten minute ride. A bike really is the fastest way of getting around the city since you don't really have to abide by all the traffic laws. Going to work in a car takes more like 20 minutes. I ride on the streets with the city looking down on me from all sides.
Haven't gotten hit by anything yet, but then I've only been riding for about a month. And when I get pedaling on that thing, there's no stopping me...music pumping, hair blowin' in the wind (makes me wonder what it would feel like to actually own a car).
So if anyone sees a flash of red pass them on the street, you'll know who it is!
Oh yeah and I'm going on vacation tomorrow. Meetin' up with the 'rents at their summer rental house in Bethany Beach. Cuz and Sis are driving down with me (I don't know if I've introduced Cuz yet, but I'll unleash her next post). I know family vacay doesn't sound very eventful, but you don't know my family. So, I will give a full account when I get back. Sis has been saving quarters for months to spend on the claw machines (she's 23, btw). Last year we left our house in Reston and she forgot her cup full of quarters and she threw a shit fit and made us turn around to go back and get it. We'll see what crap she manages to win this year.
'Till the next...
It's red. Probably about 10 years old. It has rectangular reflectors on each wheel and one that's off-center below the handle bars. No straps on the pedals. Turn down handle bars. Small, hard, black seat that doesn't even fit a third of my ass on it. 10 SPEED is spelled out in black lettering on both sides of the first bar, I guess just to reinforce that feature. Maybe at the time it was made that was some sort of major breakthrough in bike technology. But it just seems so proud to be a 10 speed. Breaks work, but the left one sounds like a small child screeching when I press it. The right one is as smooth and silent as a veloceraptor's attack from the side.
No, I don't wear a helmet.
I bike to work now. It's about 20 blocks away...about a ten minute ride. A bike really is the fastest way of getting around the city since you don't really have to abide by all the traffic laws. Going to work in a car takes more like 20 minutes. I ride on the streets with the city looking down on me from all sides.
Haven't gotten hit by anything yet, but then I've only been riding for about a month. And when I get pedaling on that thing, there's no stopping me...music pumping, hair blowin' in the wind (makes me wonder what it would feel like to actually own a car).
So if anyone sees a flash of red pass them on the street, you'll know who it is!
Oh yeah and I'm going on vacation tomorrow. Meetin' up with the 'rents at their summer rental house in Bethany Beach. Cuz and Sis are driving down with me (I don't know if I've introduced Cuz yet, but I'll unleash her next post). I know family vacay doesn't sound very eventful, but you don't know my family. So, I will give a full account when I get back. Sis has been saving quarters for months to spend on the claw machines (she's 23, btw). Last year we left our house in Reston and she forgot her cup full of quarters and she threw a shit fit and made us turn around to go back and get it. We'll see what crap she manages to win this year.
'Till the next...
Monday, July 9, 2007
Friend Update
Remember those charmers I mentioned in the First? Well, they're still hangin' in there, stirring up trouble. Here's a little update on their status (you'll see a few newbies with blogworthy news as well)...
Dirty D- Maniac friend from high school. Lives outside of Milwaukee now, away from most friends and family. Pregnant. Keeping it. That kid is gonna be jacked in the head.
Friend- Single again and ready to mingle after quite the Alanis Morisette break-up
Blondie- unemployed going on a month now with no end in sight.
Fratastic- Big interview for a job in the Big Ap (could be leaving us if he gets it). Discovered his massive collection of Phish CDs, which poses a challenge to the whole fratastic persona
Ghetto Jew- around all the time even though he doesn't live with us. Sneakers up the waz.
?- maybe moving. Blondie doens't seem to mind.
Metro- hands down his pants all the time. Aloof. Don't know what's wrong with him these days.
Dirty D- Maniac friend from high school. Lives outside of Milwaukee now, away from most friends and family. Pregnant. Keeping it. That kid is gonna be jacked in the head.
Friend- Single again and ready to mingle after quite the Alanis Morisette break-up
Blondie- unemployed going on a month now with no end in sight.
Fratastic- Big interview for a job in the Big Ap (could be leaving us if he gets it). Discovered his massive collection of Phish CDs, which poses a challenge to the whole fratastic persona
Ghetto Jew- around all the time even though he doesn't live with us. Sneakers up the waz.
?- maybe moving. Blondie doens't seem to mind.
Metro- hands down his pants all the time. Aloof. Don't know what's wrong with him these days.
Tuesday, July 3, 2007
Yeung Fong/ Savemore/ KFC
The triumvirate of unaccomodating, poorly run, borderline dangerous food places that flank my neighborhood.
Yeung Fong- The Chinese place across the street. I went there a lot when I first moved here, but then tapered off, realizing how bland and rubbery their food tastes. The General Tso's chicken tastes remarkably similar to the sesame chicken...and to the sweet and sour chicken...and every other chicken dish they have. Their sauces taste unnaturally gooey...to the point where I am questioning what it is that I'm eating. Their spring rolls are pretty money, though, although I guess it would be pretty hard to fuck those up. They also have a myriad of other things on their menu that I would be terrified to try, such as gyros, crab cakes, buffalo wings, fish sticks and God knows what else.
There is always a gang of hoodrats hanging out outside of Yeung Fong, filtering in and out with their big paper bags full of those mouthwatering delights concocted at Yeung Fong. Sometimes I'll see kids clumsily trying to ride skateboards that they probably stole from some unsuspecting white hipster kid (probably twice their age) a couple neigborhoods over. A favorite spot for the young blood to marinate and holler at the ladies. Going in there you have to wait a little while for your food, which puts you in position to receive catcalls from both inside and outside, since the door is always open and there is nowhere to stand inside to escape the line of sight of those lingering outside.
This is also where I first discovered the jacket, which I have since seen on only the trendiest of hoodgoers. It's a black bubble coat (big enough to fit whatever you can imagine in its numerous pockets) with bright gold dollar signs covering every inch of it. Some of them wear it through every season and the ones who do stand a little bit taller and strut a little bit fiercer (as if owning a jacket with dollar signs on it is some sort of substitute for actually having money) Who knew?
The Savemore- This place is pretty scary, no lie. I don't enjoy going in there at all, much less alone, but if I need something its the closest grocery store (if you can even call it that) so I'll go. But only during the day. It just seems like a hotbed for muggers and petty thieves. And its a complete hole in the wall so once you get inside I get the sinking feeling that whatever goes on in there can't be heard from the outside. The men who hang out in front of the savemore are a slimier and a bit older breed than those who hang out in front of Yeung Fong. I try not to look good when I go in there because having to walk past them going in and out the door makes me extremely nervous. And they can sense that, which makes me easy bait.
Anyway, it's slim pickins inside this "grocery store" or convenient store, whatever you want to call it. I went in there to get lemons, limes and heinekens for the Vietnamese New Year shindig Metro and ? were having at our house (they both studied in Nam) and all I came out with was some Busch light and old bay for the shrimp. They do have the big cases of vitamin water, though, which keeps me going back. Other than that, I always feel like I'm being watched in there, which isn't a pleasant feeling.
KFC- The mother of all lower income eateries and nexus of ghetto life in Eastern Shaw. This place is ridiculous. I never know what to expect going in there and coming out I feel nothing but relief. Sometimes, on its off hours it can be tolerable, but at its peak hours...I guess you could refer to it as the perfect storm.
The worst is a dinner rush on a weekend evening (around 7) in hot sunny weather. Blondie and I made the reckless mistake of walking right into mouth of the lion one evening about a month ago.
First, you have the people who work there who don't know their arms from their elbows and don't care what chicken goes where or how long it takes to get there. Although I guess I would be pretty lazy and apathetic, too if my work life revolved around chicken and biscuits. You have the agitated customers, who start to get a little crazy when they have to wait for their insulin shot that is fried chicken. You have the bums and beggars outside who sometimes infiltrate the store, preying on the naive and innocent-looking (i.e. confused white people). You have the straight crackheads who troll around for any kind of scrap of food they can get their grubby hands on even if it means digging through the dumpster in the back.
The time Blondie and I went in there during peak hours, this one crackhead targeted us outside while we were waiting 20 more minutes for white meat to come out of the oven. Then he followed us in inside, harassing us mercilessly for money and food, until another white guy came in and he switched gears for his next wave of harassment. When that didn't work out for him he came back to us, though and I had to enlist the help of a friendly hoodgoer who was next to us in line to wait for us to get our bucket of chicken and walk us out. He kindly obliged and we made it out alive.
But anyway, whether it's the neon lights of Yeung Fong, the overwhelming sense of sketchiness I feel every time I pass the Savemore or the radioactive smell of grease emanating from KFC, they are all sensations I have grown accustomed to in my frequent walks to and from the metro station. All three have steel bars on the windows and doors; an aesthetic that reflects the unwelcome treatment you usually receive inside.
But remember, if you're willing to go through all of that and then some, at least you'll come back with some mediocre chinese food, groceries that you didn't want and don't need and a sweet ass bucket of fried chicken.
Yeung Fong- The Chinese place across the street. I went there a lot when I first moved here, but then tapered off, realizing how bland and rubbery their food tastes. The General Tso's chicken tastes remarkably similar to the sesame chicken...and to the sweet and sour chicken...and every other chicken dish they have. Their sauces taste unnaturally gooey...to the point where I am questioning what it is that I'm eating. Their spring rolls are pretty money, though, although I guess it would be pretty hard to fuck those up. They also have a myriad of other things on their menu that I would be terrified to try, such as gyros, crab cakes, buffalo wings, fish sticks and God knows what else.
There is always a gang of hoodrats hanging out outside of Yeung Fong, filtering in and out with their big paper bags full of those mouthwatering delights concocted at Yeung Fong. Sometimes I'll see kids clumsily trying to ride skateboards that they probably stole from some unsuspecting white hipster kid (probably twice their age) a couple neigborhoods over. A favorite spot for the young blood to marinate and holler at the ladies. Going in there you have to wait a little while for your food, which puts you in position to receive catcalls from both inside and outside, since the door is always open and there is nowhere to stand inside to escape the line of sight of those lingering outside.
This is also where I first discovered the jacket, which I have since seen on only the trendiest of hoodgoers. It's a black bubble coat (big enough to fit whatever you can imagine in its numerous pockets) with bright gold dollar signs covering every inch of it. Some of them wear it through every season and the ones who do stand a little bit taller and strut a little bit fiercer (as if owning a jacket with dollar signs on it is some sort of substitute for actually having money) Who knew?
The Savemore- This place is pretty scary, no lie. I don't enjoy going in there at all, much less alone, but if I need something its the closest grocery store (if you can even call it that) so I'll go. But only during the day. It just seems like a hotbed for muggers and petty thieves. And its a complete hole in the wall so once you get inside I get the sinking feeling that whatever goes on in there can't be heard from the outside. The men who hang out in front of the savemore are a slimier and a bit older breed than those who hang out in front of Yeung Fong. I try not to look good when I go in there because having to walk past them going in and out the door makes me extremely nervous. And they can sense that, which makes me easy bait.
Anyway, it's slim pickins inside this "grocery store" or convenient store, whatever you want to call it. I went in there to get lemons, limes and heinekens for the Vietnamese New Year shindig Metro and ? were having at our house (they both studied in Nam) and all I came out with was some Busch light and old bay for the shrimp. They do have the big cases of vitamin water, though, which keeps me going back. Other than that, I always feel like I'm being watched in there, which isn't a pleasant feeling.
KFC- The mother of all lower income eateries and nexus of ghetto life in Eastern Shaw. This place is ridiculous. I never know what to expect going in there and coming out I feel nothing but relief. Sometimes, on its off hours it can be tolerable, but at its peak hours...I guess you could refer to it as the perfect storm.
The worst is a dinner rush on a weekend evening (around 7) in hot sunny weather. Blondie and I made the reckless mistake of walking right into mouth of the lion one evening about a month ago.
First, you have the people who work there who don't know their arms from their elbows and don't care what chicken goes where or how long it takes to get there. Although I guess I would be pretty lazy and apathetic, too if my work life revolved around chicken and biscuits. You have the agitated customers, who start to get a little crazy when they have to wait for their insulin shot that is fried chicken. You have the bums and beggars outside who sometimes infiltrate the store, preying on the naive and innocent-looking (i.e. confused white people). You have the straight crackheads who troll around for any kind of scrap of food they can get their grubby hands on even if it means digging through the dumpster in the back.
The time Blondie and I went in there during peak hours, this one crackhead targeted us outside while we were waiting 20 more minutes for white meat to come out of the oven. Then he followed us in inside, harassing us mercilessly for money and food, until another white guy came in and he switched gears for his next wave of harassment. When that didn't work out for him he came back to us, though and I had to enlist the help of a friendly hoodgoer who was next to us in line to wait for us to get our bucket of chicken and walk us out. He kindly obliged and we made it out alive.
But anyway, whether it's the neon lights of Yeung Fong, the overwhelming sense of sketchiness I feel every time I pass the Savemore or the radioactive smell of grease emanating from KFC, they are all sensations I have grown accustomed to in my frequent walks to and from the metro station. All three have steel bars on the windows and doors; an aesthetic that reflects the unwelcome treatment you usually receive inside.
But remember, if you're willing to go through all of that and then some, at least you'll come back with some mediocre chinese food, groceries that you didn't want and don't need and a sweet ass bucket of fried chicken.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
The Third: The Neighborhood, Part 2
Ok, so more about the neighborhood...
Across the street and down about 10 houses is the old, black lady who sits on her stoop all day just staring. I've seen some of the aforementioned men going in and out of the same house so one or more of them might be related to her. She just sits on a lawn chair and stares though, doesn't say anything. I used to wave at her when I walked by, but I got no response so I stopped. She sits on the uppermost portion of her stoop, however, which renders her higher than the men who sit on the sidewalk and the people walking by. She presides over the block and its residents every day. This position, along with her rather intense demeanor reinforces her role as matriarch of the neighborhood.
Down on our end of the block about 4 or five houses down lives another cute family. I haven't figured out what's wrong with them yet (i.e. why the hell they live in the crackhood). Man, woman, 2 cute little girls....maybe bastards I don't know.
Down one block and on the corner sits the much anticipated Big Bear Cafe. Since we moved in, it has been under construction (about 4 1/2 months). It's just a coffee shop though so I have no idea what is taking so long. It seems like they are getting pretty close to opening though, since they have hung their sign, put a statue of a bear on the roof, planted flowers in the garden and set up patio furniture. (Have you guessed yet...they're hippies) ? has maintained an ongoing interaction with them since we started seeing them at work in there about 2 months ago. Of course, they offered him a job.
Then there is the mysterious hot guy and his roommate who live at the other end of the street. I started seeing this guy around and wanted to talk to him, but never got the chance. Then one day Blondie and I were walking down the back ally to go to the liquor store and they were having a little soiree of their own out back. Mysterious hot guy's roomate came out to talk to us, but at that point I didn't know that was where mysterious hot guy lived so I just thought he was kind of creepy and acted really awkward because I was stoned out of my mind. He invited us up to his patio where all the peeps were and mysterious hot guy showed his face. At which point, I kind of had a mental freakout and tried to act more relaxed and cool, but paradoxically only acted more stoned and awkward. Blondie gave them our phone numbers and adress. We have yet to hear from them. Dagger. I guess I blew that one. Blondie probably would have snagged him anyway.
And just a quick overview of the rest of the block and its quirks... there is a brick church at the end of the block on our end with stained glass windows. The street is quaintly lined with trees and flowers (an anomaly considering the fantastic specimens of crazy that reside here). The one and only Noble heads the restoration committee for our block. We just got our street repaved and sidewalks redone. The current project is getting new mailboxes, lining the sidewalks for each house.
But as I have tried to emphasize, the vintage beauty of the street is inconsistent with the freak show it contains.
And that's where I live.
Across the street and down about 10 houses is the old, black lady who sits on her stoop all day just staring. I've seen some of the aforementioned men going in and out of the same house so one or more of them might be related to her. She just sits on a lawn chair and stares though, doesn't say anything. I used to wave at her when I walked by, but I got no response so I stopped. She sits on the uppermost portion of her stoop, however, which renders her higher than the men who sit on the sidewalk and the people walking by. She presides over the block and its residents every day. This position, along with her rather intense demeanor reinforces her role as matriarch of the neighborhood.
Down on our end of the block about 4 or five houses down lives another cute family. I haven't figured out what's wrong with them yet (i.e. why the hell they live in the crackhood). Man, woman, 2 cute little girls....maybe bastards I don't know.
Down one block and on the corner sits the much anticipated Big Bear Cafe. Since we moved in, it has been under construction (about 4 1/2 months). It's just a coffee shop though so I have no idea what is taking so long. It seems like they are getting pretty close to opening though, since they have hung their sign, put a statue of a bear on the roof, planted flowers in the garden and set up patio furniture. (Have you guessed yet...they're hippies) ? has maintained an ongoing interaction with them since we started seeing them at work in there about 2 months ago. Of course, they offered him a job.
Then there is the mysterious hot guy and his roommate who live at the other end of the street. I started seeing this guy around and wanted to talk to him, but never got the chance. Then one day Blondie and I were walking down the back ally to go to the liquor store and they were having a little soiree of their own out back. Mysterious hot guy's roomate came out to talk to us, but at that point I didn't know that was where mysterious hot guy lived so I just thought he was kind of creepy and acted really awkward because I was stoned out of my mind. He invited us up to his patio where all the peeps were and mysterious hot guy showed his face. At which point, I kind of had a mental freakout and tried to act more relaxed and cool, but paradoxically only acted more stoned and awkward. Blondie gave them our phone numbers and adress. We have yet to hear from them. Dagger. I guess I blew that one. Blondie probably would have snagged him anyway.
And just a quick overview of the rest of the block and its quirks... there is a brick church at the end of the block on our end with stained glass windows. The street is quaintly lined with trees and flowers (an anomaly considering the fantastic specimens of crazy that reside here). The one and only Noble heads the restoration committee for our block. We just got our street repaved and sidewalks redone. The current project is getting new mailboxes, lining the sidewalks for each house.
But as I have tried to emphasize, the vintage beauty of the street is inconsistent with the freak show it contains.
And that's where I live.
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Blog the second: The Neighborhood, Part 1
So, I guess the neighborhood I live in deserves a fair introduction as well. It's as much of a character as any of the wankers previously mentioned.
I live in Shaw, which sort of speaks for itself...and coming from Reston and JMU it's not exactly what I'm used to. We have issues with our house every week...from the AC not working to the water being shut off, locks not working, subterranean tenants boiling with hatred for us, disfunctional outlets, fuses blowing...the list goes on. Our next door neighbor does some troubleshooting for these problems, as she is I guess the acting landlord in lieu of our actual landlord, the owner of the house; the elusive A. Grant. We still have yet to speak with him or contact him in any way since we've moved in. So, that's the house.
Starting with our immediate next door neighbors, there is the acting landlord lady, Noble: jetsetter/ bussiness woman/ saleswoman extraordinaire, her Asian boyfriend/ personal trainer, Jon and their cute, bastard daughter. Also, a live-in nanny who looks like Aunt Jamima and might be mute.
Then, there's the guy who lives in the basement apartment of our house, Mr. Harris; a surly black man who works for the British embassy, avoids all possible contact with us and enjoys writing subversive emails to our landlord expounding the new tenants (a.k.a. us) as the unruly, uncivilized spawn of the devil.
About 100 feet down the block you'll find the jolly black, middle-aged men who occupy both sides of the street for the entirety of the day. I'm not quite sure what they do except sit on their lawn chairs and talk...I've never seen them playing any sort of game or smoking or anything. They just sit...we enjoy a friendly exchange every time I walk by them, which is probably at least twice each day since I go to Windows (another post in itself) almost every day. One of them the other day said he would be glad to carry me to the store every day so i wouldn't have to walk and his cronies all erupted in laughter. I thought that would be nice and wished he wasn't kidding...I said back to him "or maybe you could push me in a stroller" and we agreed on this as a happy medium.
The guys who hang out on the other side of the street are a little more sleazy, but harmless, nonetheless. I've started a thing with them...when I walk by I always say hi and give my friendly smile, then about ten steps after I've walked past them I yell back "stop staring at my ass!" without turing around, which always gets a laugh.
One of the queerest things I observe every day is the house on the other side of the street, towards the middle of the block (the block is full of row houses) with a window display of dolls in wedding dresses. The front window is fairly big...probably about 6 ft x 5 ft or something like that and propped up staring out at you, in all their menacing glory, are about 6 old, scraggly dolls (in various heights) fully clad in bridal attire. What's more is that if you look beyond the dolls there is nothing in the house to be seen....no furniture curtains, tables, whatever. As if to assert their sole occupancy and dominance over the house. Anyway, it's creepy and makes me think there is some crazy woman who is rotting in that house, like Miss Havisham, who was left at the altar or something millions of years ago.
Anyway, that's an introduction to the neighborhood...
More to come.
I live in Shaw, which sort of speaks for itself...and coming from Reston and JMU it's not exactly what I'm used to. We have issues with our house every week...from the AC not working to the water being shut off, locks not working, subterranean tenants boiling with hatred for us, disfunctional outlets, fuses blowing...the list goes on. Our next door neighbor does some troubleshooting for these problems, as she is I guess the acting landlord in lieu of our actual landlord, the owner of the house; the elusive A. Grant. We still have yet to speak with him or contact him in any way since we've moved in. So, that's the house.
Starting with our immediate next door neighbors, there is the acting landlord lady, Noble: jetsetter/ bussiness woman/ saleswoman extraordinaire, her Asian boyfriend/ personal trainer, Jon and their cute, bastard daughter. Also, a live-in nanny who looks like Aunt Jamima and might be mute.
Then, there's the guy who lives in the basement apartment of our house, Mr. Harris; a surly black man who works for the British embassy, avoids all possible contact with us and enjoys writing subversive emails to our landlord expounding the new tenants (a.k.a. us) as the unruly, uncivilized spawn of the devil.
About 100 feet down the block you'll find the jolly black, middle-aged men who occupy both sides of the street for the entirety of the day. I'm not quite sure what they do except sit on their lawn chairs and talk...I've never seen them playing any sort of game or smoking or anything. They just sit...we enjoy a friendly exchange every time I walk by them, which is probably at least twice each day since I go to Windows (another post in itself) almost every day. One of them the other day said he would be glad to carry me to the store every day so i wouldn't have to walk and his cronies all erupted in laughter. I thought that would be nice and wished he wasn't kidding...I said back to him "or maybe you could push me in a stroller" and we agreed on this as a happy medium.
The guys who hang out on the other side of the street are a little more sleazy, but harmless, nonetheless. I've started a thing with them...when I walk by I always say hi and give my friendly smile, then about ten steps after I've walked past them I yell back "stop staring at my ass!" without turing around, which always gets a laugh.
One of the queerest things I observe every day is the house on the other side of the street, towards the middle of the block (the block is full of row houses) with a window display of dolls in wedding dresses. The front window is fairly big...probably about 6 ft x 5 ft or something like that and propped up staring out at you, in all their menacing glory, are about 6 old, scraggly dolls (in various heights) fully clad in bridal attire. What's more is that if you look beyond the dolls there is nothing in the house to be seen....no furniture curtains, tables, whatever. As if to assert their sole occupancy and dominance over the house. Anyway, it's creepy and makes me think there is some crazy woman who is rotting in that house, like Miss Havisham, who was left at the altar or something millions of years ago.
Anyway, that's an introduction to the neighborhood...
More to come.
Monday, May 28, 2007
Blog the first
So I've been told I have stories that must be told. Here, begins my blog.
I guess I should introduce myself. I'm Vanessa and I live in D.C. currently. I'm a waitress and God, do I hate serving people. The job is whatever...it's kind of what I want right now...good money, people my age, bull shit, I can get off when I need to... to do whatever the hell it is I do (I don't even know sometimes), etc. But, Jesus dealing with the public is a bitch.
Likes, dislikes...I don't know. I'm fanatical about The Office right now. I thought the season finale was genius...what would happen if Dwight took over...damn I was reeling after I watched that. What else, I like to travel even though I don't get to do it that often. I spent one semester studying in Florence and got to travel Europe a little, it was the time of my life. Other than that I guess you could say that I'm not exactly a glass half-full type of person. But hey, I examine the world around me as I see it.
I guess I should introduce the cast of characters in my life right now, too. I have 4 loveable roommates whom I shall refer to as the following:
Blondie-The other girl I live with. She has the master bedroom, a closetfull of nice clothes, a decent job, plenty of dudes she keeps around and still finds something to complain about every day. Has a keen sense of style. Our house would probably look like shit if it wasn't for her. Fond of the couch. Drinks a lot
Metro- The most feminine of the guys I live with. By all practical and theoretical standards you would think he is gay, but he's not. Listens to God knows what kind of music. I find him doing the weirdest things sometimes. Scratches a lot (he has dry skin) Minor, underlying power struggle between the two of us (I will revisit this topic)
?- The one I cannot get for the life of me. Perhaps a drifter. Messy. Always singing, but somehow unaware of it. Prone to hyper rationalizations and demonstrations of academic prowess. Would have been well suited to the beat movement.
Fratastic- Probably the cleanest of all of us. Preppy as shit...owns dozens of Lecoste and Ralph Lauren polo shirts that he wears sometimes with seer-sucker pants, collar popped. But completely aware of the masquerade he creates, as if posing as a satire of himself. Has a way with the ladies.
And another two worth mentioning...
Friend- One of my oldest friends. Been through a lot together. Not altogether sane, but who is? Delusional when it comes to guys, but is doing ok with her current relationship. Peculiar love of all things 80s. Has a bite in her that you would not see coming.
Sis- The sister I love and have tons of fun with. Quirky to say the least. Boozetown, USA, but hilarious. Currently with a guy that she pulls around like her own personal chaufer. Good taste in music. Packrat bag lady.
I say all this with love and want nothing but the best for these people. Also, if it helps...here's the cast I've chosen to play these roles in the movie:
Me: Zooey Deschanel
Blondie: Scarlet Johansen
Metro: Tofer Grace
?: Paul Rudd
Fratastic: Josh Hartnett
Friend: Ana Faris
Sis: Natalie Portman
So, here it begins.
I guess I should introduce myself. I'm Vanessa and I live in D.C. currently. I'm a waitress and God, do I hate serving people. The job is whatever...it's kind of what I want right now...good money, people my age, bull shit, I can get off when I need to... to do whatever the hell it is I do (I don't even know sometimes), etc. But, Jesus dealing with the public is a bitch.
Likes, dislikes...I don't know. I'm fanatical about The Office right now. I thought the season finale was genius...what would happen if Dwight took over...damn I was reeling after I watched that. What else, I like to travel even though I don't get to do it that often. I spent one semester studying in Florence and got to travel Europe a little, it was the time of my life. Other than that I guess you could say that I'm not exactly a glass half-full type of person. But hey, I examine the world around me as I see it.
I guess I should introduce the cast of characters in my life right now, too. I have 4 loveable roommates whom I shall refer to as the following:
Blondie-The other girl I live with. She has the master bedroom, a closetfull of nice clothes, a decent job, plenty of dudes she keeps around and still finds something to complain about every day. Has a keen sense of style. Our house would probably look like shit if it wasn't for her. Fond of the couch. Drinks a lot
Metro- The most feminine of the guys I live with. By all practical and theoretical standards you would think he is gay, but he's not. Listens to God knows what kind of music. I find him doing the weirdest things sometimes. Scratches a lot (he has dry skin) Minor, underlying power struggle between the two of us (I will revisit this topic)
?- The one I cannot get for the life of me. Perhaps a drifter. Messy. Always singing, but somehow unaware of it. Prone to hyper rationalizations and demonstrations of academic prowess. Would have been well suited to the beat movement.
Fratastic- Probably the cleanest of all of us. Preppy as shit...owns dozens of Lecoste and Ralph Lauren polo shirts that he wears sometimes with seer-sucker pants, collar popped. But completely aware of the masquerade he creates, as if posing as a satire of himself. Has a way with the ladies.
And another two worth mentioning...
Friend- One of my oldest friends. Been through a lot together. Not altogether sane, but who is? Delusional when it comes to guys, but is doing ok with her current relationship. Peculiar love of all things 80s. Has a bite in her that you would not see coming.
Sis- The sister I love and have tons of fun with. Quirky to say the least. Boozetown, USA, but hilarious. Currently with a guy that she pulls around like her own personal chaufer. Good taste in music. Packrat bag lady.
I say all this with love and want nothing but the best for these people. Also, if it helps...here's the cast I've chosen to play these roles in the movie:
Me: Zooey Deschanel
Blondie: Scarlet Johansen
Metro: Tofer Grace
?: Paul Rudd
Fratastic: Josh Hartnett
Friend: Ana Faris
Sis: Natalie Portman
So, here it begins.
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