OH HAPPY DAY

the world is my oyster (but not clam, lol) dear readers!

i just found out about 30 seconds before i left work that cubefarm bosslady is being transferred to a land far, far away. out of my hair, out of my business... being out is good all over again...

i didn't think i had time to do laundry before i went out tonight, but low and behold, ha ha HA!, i DID have time! now i have a hot wardrobe for this weekend!

AND, the piece de resistance: I AM CONNECTED VIA DSL!!!!!!! PRAISE ALLAH, HALLELUIA, CAN I GET AN AMEN!?!?!?!?!?

i am so giddy i may go and touch myself.

and double so now that i can download porn at lightening speeds...!

you win some, you lose some...

one of my former coworkers moved to a land far, far away about two years ago. she and i banter fairly often about the inanity of big brother and all the propaganda they give us-- she can fully relate-- so in a fit of 'i don't need the consistent reminders about how i sold out taking up valuable space in my desk' (not like i'd put the crapola out ON my desk like a good little prole, mind you), i decided to package all the things we're supposed to have pinned up (mission statement on a plastic tent-card, for example: essentially canned common sense written using a watered-down corporate overtone) and overnighted it her to the land of burly, rugged men. i can hear it now... bigbossman: 'where is the YES! campaign brochure the company just allocated to each person? it is an important element of how we're choosing to do business going forward for both internal and external clients.' 'well, sir, since [that area] is a two-day zone, it's entirely possible it's somewhere over, well, who the hell knows, actually.'

one for me.

come home and halleluia, ups left a 'sorry we missed you!' sticky on my door (you're not sorry at all) noting my package from earthlink. i call them and have to navigate around some snotty automated service that gave me flack when i asked for an agent, but finally transferred me. ('no problem.' no, automated thingy, it is NOT a problem: it's your fucking job! and congratulations on getting me to the point where i am referring to you as if you were a person!) but, eventually, after my 11 minute wait time, i get some sweet southern belle who, when i told her i'd sooner pick up the package at the facility (up the street from my flophouse) noted that, 'that request would have had to have gone in before 7. it's 703.' PLEASE! PLEASE TRY! 'i'm sorry, but if i try, i get an error message kicked back to me and my supervisor does, too. then i get yelled at. he made me cry once.' 'oh dear. my dsl isn't nearly that important. thank you anyway. tomorrow will be fine.' 'i live in an area where dsl isn't an option. cable either. i have a satellite dish and when it rains, i get nothing. nothing at all.' 'um. ok. tomorrow sounds great. i have to go now.'

one for them.

man alive, i'm going to lose it soon

1. WHERE THE HELL IS MY DSL MODEM?

2. as i go to mail my big brother survey, i noticed the control number is my social juxtaposed- and not even all that well. GRR. i should have jizzed on the envelope to seal it to give them a dna sample. wish i thought of that earlier.

3. and as for the haircut... got as far as union square, but decided to go shopping instead: in the store, i looked at my hair in the mirror and thought, nah, maybe later this week. or next. besides, she's actually thrown me out of the chair when it's too short for her to play with. 'no no, too short short. no to come back next week or two.' just. cut. my. fucking. hair. but it's ok, i love her. we have this tacit understanding: she can eat greasy crap, take sips of her coffee, scream at her coworkers, stop mid-snip to take a phone call, go out for a smoke, etc., and in return, she never asks me anything about myself. one time her son apparently called, and blew hell at her, and when they were done dukeing it out in russian, she asked me, 'you good to your mother? you good son?' 'oh yeah.' [i knew where this was going. i'm not stupid...] 'my son. he drives me CRATZY.' 'um. wow. scary shit. a little shorter?' 'yes yes, you and shorter shorter, i know, not done yet. you like my son, more more more more.'

so i get done shopping, come home, and realize that somehow between union square and here in my little village, my hair fro'd. great. GREAT. when i'm done with my power dinner of champions, spaghettio's with muenster and some green beans (don't judge me), i'm going to get hair anti-fro goo at cvs and head to the photo place for a reprint. that is guaranteed to be a blog entry in itself...

aah, me and the seagulls... we're sympatico...

made my amends to the piping plovers and the terns, both have gotten bad raps (my fault, undoubtedly...) 'good people' you know. i really enjoy their company... the clams, well, another week or two and we're going to have to just sort it out next summer. but me and the gulls, nah, about what was i fussing? it's all good...

the beach was more than pristine today, the waves, sun, temperature, everything was just perfect. thought that maybe, just maybe, it wouldn't be a bad idea to settle out there full-time... put corporate america behind me for just a tad... maybe ten years in new york city is enough... after all, i need to work it out with them clams...

BIG BROTHER is watching

so i get a questionnaire from the census bureau about, um, two months ago. i don't bother to return it.

you see, here's the thing: i'm not a government conspiracy theorist, not even a little teeny weeny tad bit-ist, but when i looked over the survey and it said it wanted to know when i left for work, how long it took me to get there, where i worked, their address, and how much i made... hmm... made me kind of wonder... so i tore it up and never thought twice about it. until the second mailing arrived. ('second verse, same as the first!')

then the phone calls came... last week (beloved labor day) so i ignored it. then again this weekend: 'please call us back before we have to call local authorities.' (oh please.) but i called anyway, thinking it's best to save face in the air of george w., god knows he's a fucking incompetent lunatic, and you know what THOSE people are capable of doing... [and i'm a registered conservative...]

'oh, there must be some misunderstanding. i sent it in last week. i see exactly how important it is for the u. s. government to know where the need is for hospitals, schools, and grocers. you have such! an! important! job!'

'well, i'll be sure to note that in your case file,[ winston,] and if your response is not received in the next seven to ten business days, a representative from the united states of america census bureau may well contact you. and may i confirm that that the number you're calling me from is the number of the building where you reside in?' (sweetness, here is how you speak english outside of knoxville: 'and may i confirm that the number from where you're calling me is the number associated to the building in which you reside?') and NO, that's not correct... sorry smartness... why i have a cel...

please, dear and loyal readers, be sure to buy a bail bond, won't you?