Mutterings

1. Ignore :: "Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain."
   
2. Death :: "'Til death do us part."
   
3. Missy :: "Listen here, Missy."
   
4. Ballet :: "Aw, mom, not again!"
   
5. Guest :: "Guests, like fish, begin to smell after three days." —Benjamin Franklin
   
6. Campus :: Off-campus housing.
   
7. Lonely :: "This is a song / for the lonely / can you hear me tonight?"
   
8. Company :: "Come and knock on our door / We've been waiting for you..."
   
9. Helicopter :: Magnum, P.I.
   
10. Sterile :: Doesn't really matter.
    

Miss Jackson

Good heavens! What did I miss? Poor Janet. Why was she singing with that pud anyway?

All the Ducks Are Swimming in the Water

If you're ever in the mood for some relaxing, chill-out music, or if you need some good noise to drown out not-so-good noise, The Thievery Corporation can provide you with just that. And so can Lemon Jelly.

This office is small, and for the most part it's quiet, but every now and then, Chatty Kathy comes by looking to tell her latest gossip/family drama/health problems. It drives me nuts. I'm the kind of person who keeps to himself, doesn't speak unless spoken to, and really minds his own business. And I never share personal information with people at work. So, when Loose-Lips Loretta comes along, or when one of the senior managers decides to tell his story of Superbowl Sunday (you just had to be there, really), I pop in my headphones and turn up the tunes. This music really does cut the noise in a way that's not as obtrusive as say, your favorite sing-along album. You know what I mean? Not many lyrics to distract you, no annoying guitar riffs or soprano fermatas, it's just altogether peaceful.

And if anyone reads this and has suggestions for similar artists, please drop me a line.

Oh my goodness! Oh my goodness!

Oh my goodness, oh my goodness!

TGIF, folks! TGIFF! This place is driving me mental. Everyone is so sugary sweet. No one swears. No one even says "Oh my god." It's "oh my goodness," or "oh my heavens." It's just ick. It reminds me of that girl in the movie Annie who only ever said "oh my goodness, oh my goodness." I have to have my headphones on for all of this stuff. I'd almost rather listen to Marilyn Manson than this crap. Please!! Let this moment end!!

In other news:

Today's Friday Five is too daring for me to even attempt.

I hope this day goes by quickly and painlessly. In fact, send me home early. I'll take the cut in pay. I don't care!!!

News Flash! (and get ready to laugh)

Admin 1 accidentally took Admin 2's paper from the printer along with her own! Craziness ensues as Admin 2 frantically searches for her print outs..."Oh my goodness! Did I send them upstairs? Gosh, was it third floor or fourth? Oh good heavens"...only to find that her cube-neighbor had them the whole time. ROTFLMFAO!!

Bring me the big knife, I'm gonna cut my throat.

Did you say something?

1. Identity :: Secret
2. Reveal :: Take it all off
3. Live :: from New York, it's Saturday Night
4. Attitude :: Check your attitude at the door
5. Night :: Creature of the night
6. Nevada :: Nickels (a.k.a. Here I Come!!)
7. Weekend :: Working for the Weekend
8. Write :: MacWrite Pro
9. Friend :: Thank you for being a friend
10. Seventeen :: Seventeen Again

OK, this sucks.

All I can think about is my roadtrip to Vegas in April. That's why I'm working. I have to remind myself that this stupid temp job is only to get me to Vegas in April. And I hate feeling that way about a job that I have to go to every day. The least I could do is find some pleasure in it, but aside from the paycheck, there is none.

One thing I really enjoy about being a temp, however, is that I have no ties to this place or these people. I am free to mock and ridicule all of the pompous goobers walking around like they're all important. It's nice to be able to laugh at them, knowing that I'll never see them again after all of this. And they are goobers. Big, fat, white men with mobile phones plastered to their ears, speaking very loudly, as if we need to know that Jeff in LA is in conference with a major movie studio, like being twice removed from the situation makes you that much more important. And who the hell dressed you this morning, greaseball?

It's a paycheck. It's temporary. A month and a half left. I'm very excited.

What, is it winter?

OK, I know it's the middle of winter out there, but for crying out loud. When I got in my car this morning, the thermometer read 36°F (2°C)! So, what's up with that already?

I'm doing the double-duty thing again, too. There's another mini-project out in Neverneverland, due on Sunday (or so they say) and I've been recruited to work the night shift. It's five or six hours a night, plus all day on Saturday and Sunday. I'm only doing it because not only will it contribute to my road trip funds, it will pay the damn rent, and maybe I'll get a phone out of it, too. I still haven't got one. And the longer I wait, the more I realize that having a mobile phone nowadays makes such a huge difference in the level of convenience under which we all live. You know?

So, I get up at 6 a.m. to SS&S, and then run out the door at 6:30 a.m. I wanted to minimize my driving times for this night work stuff, so I thought I'd cut my BART time in half by driving to Lafayette and parking there. I still can't park in Walnut Creek. It's just not cost effective. So I thought I'd have to leave early to get to Lafayette in time to grab a parking spot. I get there at 6:46 a.m., and half the lot is still empty. My train doesn't arrive until about 7:57 a.m.

So I sit in the lot, listen to music, eat my banahna, and watch the other working people run to catch their trains. And I realize that Lafayette station has a lot better looking men than Rockridge.

That's all, I guess.

Superstition ain't the way

1. Are you superstitious?
   Not really. I don't walk under ladders but that's really for safety issues rather than believing it to be a doorway to the devil. I think that particular doorway is currently located at 1600 Pennsylvania Ave NW, Washington, DC, 20500. Oh, did I say that out loud?

   Besides, I like black cats. There's a cute, fluffy little one in my neighborhood who loves to be scratched and petted. In fact, I've heard that they're strong and lucky creatures rather than the feared demons that we've been taught. Just goes to show you how far something can get screwed up simply by how many people ignore the truth.

2. What extremes have you heard of someone going to in the name of superstition?
   N/A

3. Believer or not, what's your favorite superstition?
   I can't say that I have a favorite; that would be odd. But one that is stronger, I guess, than others would be breaking mirrors and the bad luck associated with doing so. I just don't like it. And it's to the point that when I see someone on TV or in the movies break a mirror, I wonder if that person swore a personal protection spell or something beforehand to prevent any adverse events from affecting them. I'm serious. I don't like breaking mirrors or ripping or burning pictures of people.

4. Do you believe in luck? If yes, do you have a lucky number/article of clothing/ritual?
   Ha. Give me a break. Although I like the number 12. I see my birthday in digital clocks a lot, sometimes twice a day. Go figure. I don't know if that means I'm one of the clockwatchers or if it's just a coincidence.

5. Do you believe in astrology? Why or why not?
   I do, only because it's one of the more realistic views of the world around me than anything else I've seen so far, and doesn't that say something. Plus, Rob's horoscopes are thought-provoking and often pretty damn close. I realize that horoscopes have to be general enough to encompass the wide range of people in this world, but I can't help but be impressed, sometimes, at how accurate the descriptions of a Cancer are. I mean, that's me to a T. So that's one reason why I pay attention to astrology.
   

When you believe in things that you don't understand,
Then you suffer,
Superstition ain't the way
—Stevie Wonder

Happy Friday.

It's that time again.

1. Dragon :: Voyage of the Dawn Treader
2. Molecule :: H2O
3. Tire :: Caution! Tire Damage!!
4. Mighty :: Mouse
5. Octane :: Vin Diesel
6. Troll :: Like, OMG! Get a life and leave me alone! You're old enough to be my grandpa!
7. Atmosphere :: Upper Atmosphere Orbiter
8. Guide :: Dogs are the most admirable creatues on Earth.
9. Leash :: Laws Save Lives (kidding, sort of)
10. Dustmite :: Like, OMG! Vacuum much?

Another weekend spent working. And to think that if I weren't so dedicated to making money and such like that, I could have been home last night watching The Unsinkable Molly Brown with the unsinkable Debbie Reynolds. How better could I spend a Saturday night...Valentine's Day and all? With any luck, the last five days will pay the rent and give me some breathing room. Still, I enjoy it. I'm formatting documents for another pharmaceutical submission, and though I've been doing this for more or less four years, I am realizing that this may be my calling. I wouldn't consider it to be a profession, but I really like it. It's a pain in the ass, but I find it somehow fulfilling. There are worse things I could do...

Dust in the Wind

OK, so maybe I need a diva every so often. I've been ambient and jellied, and I enjoy it. But I picked out some stuff I hadn't heard in a while, anyway. I am rediscovering the lyric and mellifluous voice of Sarah Brightman. It's not as harsh as I remembered it to be. The accompanying music is soft and fluid enough to make the whole of it enjoyable. And I threw in some Diana Krall just for that smooth, relaxing feel that makes me sway ever so in my chair. What the hell. These people think I'm weird as it is. It's not just the gay thing, either, which I'm sure still shocks a few of them. (The "Oh my goodness" lady never speaks to me, even though I say "hi" every morning. I'm convinced she's boycotting this queer on religious grounds.) "Do you ever see Michael eat? He never takes a lunch break. He never leaves his desk! How strange." The truth is that if I did leave my cube at lunch, I'm afraid I wouldn't find any reason to return. "Focus on my goals," I am telling myself.

And speaking of divas...this weekends's work was horrendous. Another 21.5 hours @ $XX/hour pays rent. That's good news. But in my delirium on Sunday night, I made the correlation that these documents were so ugly, they were like Dolly Parton's coat of many colors except on paper. Gawd, I am such a fag!!

And on a final note this morning, I woke up to 60° F (15° C) weather, almost tropical, gusty, overcast skies threatening to precipitate. It was quite a change from a week ago.

That's all. Probably more evening work tonight. I'm so damn tired. I can barely keep me eyes open.

TGIF

I know I was begging to do any kind of work just a few months ago, but as of today, this place is so not worth it. First of all, as I've said before, I'm a temp. Temporary. Not permanent. Will leave someday. As a result, I've conditioned myself not to care too much about the people or the work itself. That doesn't mean I'm sloppy. I just don't put a lot of heart and soul into the work I do. And it's in Walnut Creek, like, the county seat for ignorant white men and their subservient women. This morning I walk in, and there are Mardi Gras beads and a mask on my desk. I ask out loud for anyone who's listening, "What's this?" I hear a chiding voice from over the cube wall say, "It's Mardi Gras." I reply, "no it's not." Is it? It's Friday, not Tuesday. Whatever. So then a partner, a short, balding man with a paunch steps out of his office and says, "You know what we've been thinking? A couple of the guys and I were going to put these beads on, go to city hall in San Francisco to get married. Yuk yuk yuk." And then he goes into his Republican diatribe about "who does [Gavin Newsom] think he is...just gets into office and he thinks he can make this kind of a change behind the people's backs. Et cetera, ad nauseum..." And on top of that, the day will be filled with silly (straight) innuendo about how people really get those beads in New Orleans. "You know what you have to do to get those beads, don't you?" Yeah, you have to take your pants down and show some cock. Silly rabbit, Mardi Gras is a lot more than you ever bargained for, guaranteed.

And then, if that's not the best way to start my day, I get the most rude e-mail from some snotty bitch in the San Francsico office telling me that the work I did for her yesterday was completely wrong, and that I should pay attention to what I'm doing because it's all wrong. Hello? So I talk with my supervisor who tells me that this is common and that it is bound to happen and that I shouldn't take it personally. OK, but you all have to remember that I am a temp. Temporary. I will leave, and I can leave and when I do, I'll be leaving with the work of two people in my fat little fingers, and you'll be that much up the creek without a paddle. So, I mean, you all can stay here for umpteen years and deal with the horseshit of overstressed morons who take their problems out on the lower staff because they can, but I don't think I can do that. It's been a long time since I've been treated like that, and I have to say to my credit that I am the reason for not being treated that way. I go out of my way to make sure that the people for whom I do work get the work they ask for completed in a timely manner, correct and accurate, and on the whole, it benefits both of us. Seriously, it's been years since someone has jumped my shit. And then to have my case reinforced with the supervisor telling me that what I do here is great and that people ask for my help because they know it can be done quickly and well. And this is the thanks I get from them. I'm over it. I mean, it happened about fifteen minutes ago, and in the time it took me to type this up, the bitch has worked her way out of my mind. Now I'm just waiting for 5:30 PM so I can claim my 40 hours and go the fuck home. Only I'm working this weekend, again, and well, why not?

I've given a lot of thought in the last six years as to why I'm here. I know, it's one of those questions that has become a cliché, it's asked so much, but really. I have only ever found my direction when I was in the navy, and then I quit because being queer is more important. Since then, I've wandered around looking for something that can make my soul happy. And I have to wonder if my fate in this life is not just to work and be worked. You know? Some people seem to be born, literally, into being successful and wealthy. Some people are lucky enough to win the lottery or Megabucks or whatever. Some people just work all their lives and survive. I don't think it's a cop-out to admit that I'm not going to be a rich man in this life. I think it's realistic and it could be pessimistic, but I'm starting to accept that being a working class dog (and just getting by) is OK for me...as long as people like this whore in San Francisco leave me the fuck alone and learn to appreciate the work I do. I know, that's like trying to get water from the moon, which might not be all the impossible anymore, you know.

On and on it goes. Where it stops, nobody knows.

Mutterings and Then Some

1. Angel :: Bite me, please.
2. Birth :: Messy, but necessary.
3. Logic :: IDIC
4. Stars :: My God, it's full of stars.
5. Nursery :: Plants, flowers, and other growing things.
6. View :: Room with a View (duh)
7. Hart :: Are you kidding me? With that spelling, there's only one thing it could be: "Hart to Hart," baby.
8. Creation :: the myth of Creation
9. End :: Howards End
10. Fortune :: WHEEL! OF! FORTUNE!

At work again on the weekend. Show me the money, honey.

Tonight is the final episode of "Sex and the City." I am très bummed. I watched last week's ep last night, and I have to say that I truly want Carrie to go with Big because it's better for her than for her to stay with What's-His-Name. Personally, I think Big is a Babe, and always have, and I think that Carrie refused to let herself fall in love with him because she knew that he couldn't return the love in kind, and knowing that, why set yourself up to get hurt? I think that he may really have had a change of heart (no pun intended), and that she will finally let him in and let herself fall. At least that how I would end the series, and I'm a hopeless romantic. Besides, the whole struggling-artist thing is obnoxious after a while. No offense, people, but don't you think that at some point you just have to say enough is enough? I mean, if someone is going to be committed to their art, whatever it is, and if it consumes their every essence, what's left to share with someone else? It's a one-way street to Heartbreak City, honey. And from there? You're on the road for Reno.

I am going to try to get to the Midnight Sun tonight to watch the farewell episode. It's the only place in the Bay Area I know I can go to watch it and cry with a couple hundred other tear-soaked queers. I swear, every episode makes me cry at some point. I don't know what that means. I read something a while ago that has stuck with me, like a thorn in my heel. This person, whom I can't remember at this point, said that if you cry too much or at a silly commercial on the tube, you might be lacking some necessary emotional interaction somewhere else. Same with sappy love songs, or even songs that you remember from another time and with any other inspiring event. I don't know if I can agree with that and not admit to myself that I am emotionally deficient. I think I can admit that, but I would hate to think that if ever I did fall in love again, and if ever that love were returned to me, I would stop crying when I heard "Every Road Leads Back to You" as sung by Bette Midler. I don't think I'm making any sense here, and if I can't understand myself, how can anyone else? I ask you!!

Fin

While I won't reveal the ending for those who truly care and haven't see it yet, I will say that I was very satisfied with how it all wrapped up. It was happy and sad. And standing in a video bar for three hours being jostled and grabbed by a bunch of loud, pushy queens was not a good idea. Note to self: GET CABLE!

Blood, Sweat, and Tears

OMG! They are working me like a dog everywhere I go. Did I do something wrong again?

I was at the other job late last night. The music was on really loud. I was singing and such like that. It was a great time. Yep. The office has a peculiar function of turning off all the lights at a certain time at night. The building managers swear that it's only to prevent huge electricity bills, and it only affects the overhead lights. So, at 9:38 PM last night, the lights went out, and I sang louder. I don't think there's a correlation, though.

At 10:08 PM, the lights came back on and scared the shit out of me. I turned the music off and greeted the cleaning crew, janitor, whatever you want to call him. He's a short latino, cute in all aspects, but just about mute. I said hello to him, and mentioned that he scared the shit out of me, and he just looked at me and smiled. It kinda pissed me off because he couldn't understand me enough to respond! Like he only knows "hello" and "good-bye." So he couldn't laugh at how silly I was being, and he couldn't laugh at the joke I made about myself, and that hurt my ego a little.

I've lived in California for 14 years now, and this whole time I could have been fluent in Spanish. It never really occurred to me until recently that I should learn Spanish. I mean, this is America, after all, Land with an Unofficial Official Language. Land with No Borders! Land with No Immigration Laws! (Whoops, there's a tangent I can't really follow now. Sorry.) So is it my fault that I can't understand him, considering I've had more than ample time to become fluent in his language? Or is it his fault that he didn't learn mine (which is spoken by the majority...for now)? In any case, it's totally clear that if I am going to be friendly in the future (and as it stands now there will be plenty of opportunities with all the work that's coming), it appears that I will have to accommodate him. Unless I just ignore him, but that's rude. And he is really cute.