Friday, July 23, 2004


Thanks to God, indeed. This week has been neverending for me, made worse yet by the fact that I overheard one of my co-workers utter the phrase, "Where did this week go? It's flown by!" Uh huh. Maybe it feels that way because this is your first week back from about 2 weeks of vacation? Just guessing.

So C. and I are taking a trip to Dallas this weekend. C. has a friend who lives there; therefore we're escaping the mania of the City for southern comfort(s). I'm stressing out a little because I need to leave work early in order to make my flight. Meanwhile, my boss has been out for two days. Ah, the luxuries of being an executive.

Another stressful moment occurred yesterday when the extremely good looking co-worker who recently got married went on vacation. Yesterday, at the end of the day, she informed me that she would be beginning her two week vacation. This saddens me deeply because she is truly one of the few competent, intelligent people here. Another great thing about her is that she is more than willing to help me with problems, questions, and foreign officeplace rituals. She's basically my go-to person. Whenever I'm uncertain, not only will she know the answer, but she'll be able to give it to me on the spot, from memory. No joke. So now I'm basically on my own. Grrreat. She did however bestow upon me some very brilliant wisdom: "Act as if everyone here is retarded, and you'll never be disappointed." Truer words... truer words.

Speaking of retarded... yesterday I successfully returned my boss's watch to the expensive watchmaker, got a full refund, AND convinced them to give me a free cleaning (not without serious attitude from the "service professional"). I felt like a louse convincing them that they owed me a free cleaning becuase of the apparent scratches they had inflicted upon the timepiece. In reality, I saw no scratches that were not part of the uniform and obvious useage of the watch over years of being worn. Nonetheless, I knew that my boss would be angry if it were not cleaned, so I simply pointed at things that were not there. Granted, the service professional woman should be confused. But I don't know if being mean to me was the right idea. When someone spends multiple thousands of dollars on something, I sort of expect that he or she will be buying service with a smile (even if they plunge the proverbial knife into your back while they take your watch behind closed doors to other service professionals). Guess not. At least I know that when I'm rich, I can still bicker with disgruntled employees. Hurray!

Oh yeah, HAPPY BIRTHDAY, G-DAWG!!!! Welcome to my year...


Wednesday, July 21, 2004

Adventures in babysitting

Lately, I haven't really had anything to post about... I guess. So here's a rather funny ocurrence from today's day on the job. So bossman had a very expensive watch that was "too tight." [Insert whine here.] So the overpriced timepiece needed an additional link, no--make that a HALF link, added to the linking band. Alright, no problem. I actually do get a kick out of making my boss happy; I like to do what I can. So I had to walk a rather far distance to go to the flagship store, where I could get the link. Believe you me that I called ahead just to make sure they had the necessary (overpriced) link on hand, and that they could do it today, and... and... and... the list of 'ands' goes on and on. I've taken one too many long journeys somewhere only to be told that what I wanted couldn't be done. So having knocked out that issue, I trodded over to the store. Fast forward about 35 minutes. The watch is fixed, and Drone is trodding back to the office. I was pretty certain that I would receive little to no praise, but I didn't really care. Came back and received an unexpected response: "Now it's too loose." Grrrreat. So I now have to return to the store, get a refund, AND convince the store that they must buff the watch up (all at no expense, because bossman maintains that they scratched the band while adding a half link). Can't wait to bitch and fight for a watch that's not even mine. Hurray!


Monday, July 19, 2004

There's a [good] reason C. calls me "piggy"
As much as I like to take offense when significant other C. affectionately refers to me as "piggy," there truly is a reason for this cuddly pet name. Though I'm (usually) a very healthy eater and I go to the gym on a daily basis, I tend to... go overboard, shall we say, when it comes to snacking in front of the TV. I love to eat an entire tub of yogurt with granola, which usually has few to no horrible consequeneces.
Last night, enraptured by the neverending news of "Martyr Stewart" and her five month sentence, I went overboard. So, my stomach hurts today. A lot. Like some insane leprechaun (armed with a straight razor), who thought my gastrointestinal system was the hiding place for his pot of gold, started hacking away at my stomach's lining in order to find the lucky charms. Here's why. Last night I ate an entire bag of these. No joke. The whole thing. The only saving grace is that I ate the whole thing over the course of two sittings. Don't ask me why I did it.
I'm not on the Atkin's diet. I do not wish to be on the Atkin's diet. I do not moderate my carbs. I do not wish to moderate my carbs. Nonetheless, I fell into some evil trap of thinking that I can eat a whole bag of yummy tasting (note: I really like coconut flavored things) low-calorie cookies without suffering horrible repercussions. Next time I will pay closer attention to the warning (printed in red, right on the ol' bag): "Excessive consumption of product may have a laxative effect." "May," my ass. Try: Ate too many? Brace yourself, motherfucker. 


Friday, July 16, 2004

Drone is very tired this morning. I couldn't sleep last night at all. I think maybe it's because I drank a bunch of wine last night. I had a great meal that included salmon, spinach, and a lot of vino. As the restuarant was extremely busy (I'm convinced that Thursday night is the new Friday night... or something), C. and I waited outside to be seated. One great feature of the place is that you can go in, get a glass of wine, and drink it (legally) on the sidewalk. Having not eaten anything that day (let's just say that work's busy), the first sidewalk glass of vino went straight to the ol' Drone brain. Feeling tipsy, I thought, 'Why not another?' Why not another indeed. So having almost finished my second glass, I was being seated. At that point the waiter probably could have put a bowl of fungus in front of me, and I would have lapped it up (a: because I was starving, and; b: because I was too sauced to have noticed). Anyway, great meal and great conversation followed. But I think the wine wrecked my deep sleep R.E.M. I was kicking, turning, and waking up a lot. Blah. Anyway, Friday's here are supposed to be slow (i.e., my boss and three other people are out). So I was all cocky this morning as I was getting ready thinking, 'Psh. I'll take my nice ol' time gettin' ready.' Good thing I wasn't TOO leaded, because my boss decided to come in today (though I understand he's leaving at noon). Anyway, my head hurts and my eyes have that creaky, stiff thing going on. If the phone rings, I'm out to lunch... in more ways than one.


* Hurray for intelligence.
* I really, really, REALLY don't get elected officials who don't vote 89.9% of the time. Isn't it, like, your JOB to vote?


Thursday, July 15, 2004

Snafu? Or just plain brainless?

Oh man. So literally three seconds ago, a weird thing happened here at work. A very tall, very white, rather old suit-clad guy who works here just said something totally thoughtless. We have a temp. named B. who is up here during a busy time. It is important to mention both that B. is an African-American (female) and that she is the only African-American on the entire floor. So old guy (head of a division) just informed B. that another co-worker "will be enslaving you to his service in a few minutes." I mean. Uhm. B. just kind of smirked and then disappeared. It was one of those moments when you want to run and hide. What was old guy thinking? I'm sure he didn't have a clue as it was coming out of his mouth that it could be construed as inappropriate, but... it kind of was. Anyway.


Wednesday, July 14, 2004

Two random, pre-I'm leaving work thoughts:

* Just moments ago, the Federal Marriage Amendment lost in the Senate by a vote of 50-48. To see how your Senator voted, click here (Vote 155). So we narrowly defeated a Presidential attempt (in what is tantamount to the first ever attempt in our nation's history) to amend the Constitution in order to limit the freedom of American citizens. Though this cloture motion was rejected, I still beg of you to vote come November.

* I have this very beautiul, young female co-worker (that she is beautiful is niether here nor there, I guess) who was recently married. Two things about her recent marriage that annoy me. One, she fails to go an hour without mentioning her new husband or that he is French; and two, she never fails to eye her huge diamond wedding ring whenever (I'm not kidding) I catch the sight of her. Gooh. Good for the newlyweds, I supppose. Now get back to work.


Boss Gets an A en route to an F

Okay, so my boss (who is extremely huge... in the importance sense of the word--his waistline is actually quite impressive) just called me from off site to ask if someone whom I'm helping right now is 'nice' or 'really weird.' Uhm. I like that you're implying that you trust me enough to get my honest opinion and all, but I'm not falling for that one. Do you honestly think I'd say, 'He's super weird. I hate him'? Uhm no. If this were the black list , you'd get an A for making me feel like you trust me, but an F for putting me in an awkward position. Of course, my response will now and forever be (even if it were George Bush), 'He is very nice' [insert cheesy smile].


Okay, admittedly I don't have a lot to say right this moment, but I actually have a free minute (for a change)... so I'm using it to post. Okay, so what's on my mind? Oh.

*To the, ahem, large-bottomed woman in the subway system: Please move said land mass aside when the subway car doors are opening. I'm sick of this scene. Imagine an overcrowded subway platform during evening rush hour. The cars are jam packed. The platforms are jam packed. As the announcement advises, 'Please step aside and let passangers OFF be-FORE entering [read: charging] the opening doors.' What is it with people? Does it not register that charging the exiting passengers the instant the car doors open is perhaps not the most efficient way of doing things? This is really starting to piss me off. A few days ago, I was waiting on one of these crowded platforms. As the train pulled into the station and rolled to a stop, I found myself standing right in front of a set of doors. So I began to step aside, anticipating the doors opening and the passengers flooding off. Just as I stepped aside and cleared a path, aforementioned girthful woman stepped in said cleared path. So basically she was staring down the passengers who were getting ready to come out. Like a charging rhino, she pushed through passengers to get on. I watched in disbelief and waited my turn (until everyone was off). Gooh. Note: I was not making room for your bottom whilst I stepped aside. Get a clue.

*I am more than a little excited for a very cool chick's birthday celebration dinner this Friday evening. Another cool chick, significant other C., and I are taking her to a fancy schmancy restuarant. All that I need say is that 'appropriate attire' (said the snooty french receptionist from whom I acquired reservations for 4) is required. Heh. So I guess that I'd better buff up my Keds.


Monday, July 12, 2004


So recently, Drone's father has been seriously pushing to take out a life insurance policy on little Drone. He called months ago to let me know what a great idea this is and how terrific an investment a life insurance policy can be... blah blah blah.

Basically, I responded that I can't see how a life insurnace policy on myself should be a priority, as I haven't even established any kind of smarty pants adult person kind of savings account or whatever, like an IRA. So I fail to see how preparing for others' lives after my own death should take precedent over preparing for my own retirement in this life. I just don't. But Dad keeps saying that I should do it do it do it. I thought that ignoring the requests or shirking the responsibility of making a definitive commitment would settle the issue. Or at least let it flitter off to vaguesville. But no. Today I got the following E-mail:


I'd appreciate it if we could arrange to spend 20-25 minutes on the
phone going over the insurance information your Dad's asked us to put in place for you. I'd like to suggest two alternatives:

· Friday afternoon @ 4:00 [Nope.]
· Monday between 10-11:30 or between 2-4. [Hells nope.]
Please let us know if any of these time will work for you. [They don't.]

Alternatively, I could call you on Saturday [Are you out of your damn gourd??] at a mutually convenient time. [Try never.]

If you prefer not to receive any additional e-mail communication [Ah, now we're talkin'], please click the following link:

Northwestern Mutual

So, anyway. I know that my pops loves his little Drone. But my dad's never pushed for anything. I keep conjuring up these irrational conspiracy theories ala Clue the board game that my father and Colonel Mustard are secretly planning to whack me with a candlestick in the billiardroom for the insurance money. I know that's crazy, but why on Earth is dad pushing for this? Ugh. Any comments on similar experiences would be... calming at the very least.


Office purgatory

From, I just find this hysterically funny. Not only have I recently been in this position but as it turns out, one of my most awesome friends finds herself in roughly this predicament... Really does feel good:

STILL WORKING AFTER YOU KNOW YOU'RE GOING TO QUIT: After months of whining that you can't take it anymore, you finally got off your lazy ass and decided to quit your job. But since it won't happen for another couple of months, you haven't given notice.

You're in office purgatory -- biding your time while your motivation goes from nothing to shit. You greet every request from your boss with the same eye roll you gave your mom when she asked you to take out the garbage. Productivity now means getting mileage out of the "I know something you don't know, and it's that I'm getting the fuck out of here!" face you've been smugly wearing at every department meeting. You want to just throw a huge temper tantrum and storm out, but you somehow remain patient. Because the light at the end of the tunnel may be a long way off, but at least it's there. B- -- Tom Panarese


I love dogs as much, if not more, than anyone else on the face of this planet, but come on: "Breed of dog: DOG"? That's just lazy.


Time, please

Whether you find it sad or not, the highlight of my work day today has been resetting my boss's digital watch. He came to my desk about 30 minutes ago to ask if I was 'good with these things.' The wrong answer would of course have been, 'No. I'm terrible. Never ask me to help you.' So I answered quite the opposite: 'Sure. Let me take a look at it, and I'll bring it right back.' Turns out, I had filed the watch manual (for this exact watch) in my extremely organized (read: Type A Personality) files when I was cleaning his office (no comment from the peanut gallery, please. I know already. I have accepted my lot in life... for now). Anyway. With the manual, I was read' to go. Brought the watch back in perfectly set condition, and my boss was very pleased. Perhaps sad to say, but yes, indeed, this has been the highlight of my day. But the day is still (realtive to my experience) young. I might wow 'em with a speedy yogurt purchase. One can dream...


Just another manic Monday

It's official: I have the Monday morning blues. I feel full, pretty tired, and a little worn down. The weather isn't helping anything either. It's a constant color of pale yellow-grey outside. Inside, work is frantic, and I'm feeling more than a teentsy bit apathetic. I'm probably just experiencing withdrawal. I actually relaxed this weekend. I went to a faraway land know as New Jeresy, where people have homes on actual land and drive cars to get to and fro. Nobody pushed me down a subway stairwell and no ginormous bus tried to run me over whilst flying through a red light. And I only heard one siren the whole weekend (it was a car alarm that we accidentally set off). I actually woke up on Sunday morning to perfect silence. Then I walked downstairs to a kitchen where oatmeal and scrambled eggs were already prepared. I then took said food to a beautiful screened-in porch (with fans silently running to create an awesome breeze). There, I ate food and read The Sunday New York Times in perfect silence. I don't think you understand what I'm saying. I was sitting on a porch... an outside porch. It was quite. DEAD. Quiet. I read the entire paper without cursing anything. Ah. It was awesome. And now I'm back in the bustling City. Needless to say, I've heard my fair share of sirens, and I was none to delighted to board the subway this morning. Waaa. When can I be rich and retire? I need that monkey paw talisman wishing thingamajig. (Thanks for the thought, midwetsgrrl.)


Thursday, July 08, 2004

Don't call me back

I know that I rarely mention my family on this ol' blogola, but this made me laugh. So Drone's grandmother called and left a voicemail message on his cellphone:

Hi, Drone. Just thought I'd call you to tell you that we love you. [2 second pause] And everything else. [2 second pause] Don't call me back. [Click]

Hm. Are you taking manic depressive pills again, granny Drone? Nah. PS: I'm not calling you back because I want to respect your wishes. Love you!


Lay off the caffeine

No. Just no.


Tuesday, July 06, 2004

Being back from a four day weekend is not very fun. Because we all worked so hard last week, Friday was a free day at new job. Needless to say, I was elated at that news. Therefore, Drone has not been at work since the PM of last Thursday.

This weekend, significant other C. and I went to Woodstock. We rented a car, got the hizell out of the City, and spent two and a half glorious days in a mountaintop house. It was a really cool mansion that now rents out four rooms to guests. Kind of like a bed 'n breakfast without all the doilies.

I slept for about 12 hours each night, to wake up to the best gourmet breakfasts I've ever had. During the day, I walked around Woodstock, enjoyed organic food lunches, browsed the shops, went hiking, and slept some more. It was great.

Came back into the City and saw White Chicks. It had its moments, so overall I'd give it a B+. Whatever that means. And today, I'm back at work. Hurray!


Thursday, July 01, 2004

So-called yogurt

Since Via referred to my yogurt incident, I feel it my obligation to tell the tale. The scene: probably my third day at new job; new boss wants yogurt; oh, new boss wants yogurt for himself and two others. Sure, no problem. I'm thinking the kind of yogurt that I love... you know, Dannon's or Stonyfield or something of the kind. The variety in which you'd put granola. I soon find out that they want Tasti-D.

First of all, this shit ain't "yogurt." It's not even frozen yogurt. It's a freakin' super whipped batch of icycles or whatever, with which overly calorie conscious New Yorkers are obsessed because it's 99% fat free or what have you. As the website states: frozen dessert. Not yogurt. That's almost as dubious, if not more so, as calling a sugar-filled cookie a 'newton with fruit and cake.' Anyway. After I got that clear, I had to find out where to get it in this area. Was all set to go to the place from where I could procur said dessert ("with chocolate sprinkles... on the side"--no comment). Turns out, the place that's right in the area is not serving Tasti-D today because the machine is broken. Terrific. So I find out another place to get similar stuff, this time at Crema Lita. Almost the same, but better tasting (I think).

So I trod off to Crema Lita, armed with my boss's personal credit card. This is actually a long walk (not nearby at all), as apparently Tasti-D are not a-plenty in this 'hood. Well, wuddya know. Drone arrives at Crema Lita and the girl behind the counter, noticing my AmEx in hand, inquired, "You know we only accept cash, right?" Why no I do not know that. No cash on my person (I'm sorry, but even if I did, I'm not fronting my boss's ice cream with sprinkles tab), I trodded back to the office and informed the trio of frozen dessert-craving folks of the bad news. They weren't really happy, to say the least. I informed them that I would need cash AND would have to go somewhere other than Tasti-D. One of the three (not my direct boss) barked that I should go to La Prarie to get it.

First of all, it's La Perla Market; there's no such place as La Prarie. And secondly, La Perla has been closed for months due to construction. I found this out by trial of course. So, getting frustrated, I practically ran to Crema Lita (sweating underneath the hot NY sun in my work clothes) in order to obatin three orders of vanilla ICE. CREAM. with sprinkles. Finally got there. Gave the counter girl her CASH (I mean, what kind of place doesn't accept credit of any kind? Fuckers.). And ran all the way back, fearing with every death-defying leap through traffic that I would be scolded for not getting Tasti-D. I said nothing and simply laid it out to be eaten. Fast forward ten minutes. My boss asks me what he had tasted, because it was incredibly delicious. Crema Lita, I said. So now my boss has a new favorite... ahem... "yogurt." Whatever. Baby.


Today's a "big" day

So in about thirty minutes, my [new] boss's boss comes in to review his (my boss's) work. Let's just say that this big boss really is BIG (i.e., he has no boss). So my boss is running around, very excited for this meeting. Strange to see a dictator of sorts melt into a puddle of subservience. Kind of reminds me of third grade, when my bitchy drill sergeant-like teacher (Ms. Cooper! Stand in line! My! name! is! Shirley. Cooper! And you WILL stand in line!) would act all nice at the Parent/Teacher Conferences. I always told my mom beforehand that Ms. Cooper was mean. Moms knew what was down, Ms. "Coop-a"! As do I, Mr. Bossman. Heh.