Job Update

Well, looks like Robo's having as difficult a time getting a new recruit as I am solidifying a new post (though my huge, hopefully final-before-hire, interview at huge hoo-ha dreamjob is this coming Thursday--fingers crossed).

Robo has offered the Drone position to four people so far. Robo's record now stands at 0 for 4. Poor sap. But I can't really say that I'm surprised. Anyway, he's been forced to hire a temp, as I've said that I'm leaving pretty soon. So I have to train the temp, who'll probably not even be here that long. Ho hum. Guess I might as well go out on an inefficient note, as I pretty much endured inefficient and ridiculous conditions my entire employ. Only fitting.

Happy Booze, I mean, Memorial Day!

Segway Update: the Bush Files

In case you were wondering, there is a God... and He makes me laugh. Like milk shooting out my nose laugh. Thanks to the ever-wise FAB, I have just been informed that George W. Bush is the proud owner of many a Segway. Here he is on a lovely afteroon jaunt, enjoying his Segway (in the grass, I might add. Look at the picture again, you'll see. This must have spelled the beginning of the end, Dubbya's fatal flaw if you will). As they say, what goes up... ahem.

And if you'll notice, in the last quadrant of the final picture, it seems as if Bush is running away, screaming like a little girl from his fallen Segway. Priceless. Ah. Nice. Good times.

This Father's Day, give your Dad a gift he'll never forget!

Heh. Right. So I forgot to mention that I saw a guy using one of these down in Miami. Then, this morning on my way to work, I saw an old man zipping along Fifth Avenue on one. Pretty cool actually. People got the hell out of his way for fear of being run over. I should note that the old man had hanging from the handelbars two wooden walking canes that were gently rocking back and forth as he sped through pedestrians half and even one-third his age. Kind of cool when technology allows old people to feel superior. Err. Anyway, as I saw person #2 (within the span of a few days) using the Segway (don't get me started on the name), I pondered, 'A trend? Will this be the new Razor Scooter (you'll kindly note that this product is 'out of stock,' and I don't think it's because of overwhleming popularity and demand)? A mere flash in the pan or is it one step in the direction of revolutionizing personal transportation?'



Basically, I'm wondering if this contraption will catch on with the masses and will one day replace walking. My gut instinct is to say, Feh. Hells friggin' no. I can only picture it now. Kids cruising at the maximum rate of 25 miles per hour, mowing over pedestrians and crashing into walls. According to the Segway's website, "Riders are responsible for riding their Segway HT at appropriate speeds." M Hm. I feel so much better. These will be the same people that jab me in the eyeball with their umbrellas, step on my heels, and push me into the closing subway doors so that they can make it home to hubbie, all without skipping a beat. No thanks.

On the other hand, it is one more way to obviate the need for physical activity, and we Americans seem to love that option. Obesity of all obesities, here we come. Yee haw! Let's all take our Segways from the couch at home to the drive-through window of Mickey D's, and then back again. Fun. Additionally, the Segway does move damn fast and seems cool enough, albeit posing a serious safety risk. All of that loveliness, combined with the realization that the minute I say this shit won't fly, it will be the next big thing, makes me think it will indeed become the friend of the modern-day walking lardoon and foe of the walk-a-day. I'm not sure about the futuristic Segway's future, so for now I'm on the fence.

Oh. holy. pile. of. crap. "Hey babe" company accountant has once again arrived to do his shizat. This means he will once again, aside from incessantly calling me babe, bogart my computer terminal which will mean no blogging or perusing the Internet for a very long while. It will also mean that I will be way behind on my work.

Even crappier is that I wasn't expecting his arrival, so I could do nothing to prepare for it. Robo did not inform me that he was coming (now THERE'S a surprise). Anyway, I'll be relegated to no man's land for a while. Maybe I'll take a long lunch. Whatever. Waaa.

Drone gets all Tony Robbins on your ass



All this talk of jobs has got me really effing pissed off about my current job (and jobs in general, for that matter). I cannot adequately relay just how absent-minded and uninspiring my current boss (Robo) is. Don't get me wrong: personally, he's a very nice guy. I'd love to have a casual conversation with him over coffee or find out how his family is doing. As for being a decent human being, I have no real qualms with him. But as a leader? Well, he was dubbed Robo for a reason, many reasons actually. One of which, perhaps most notably, is that he never seems to retain knowledge (i.e., learn from his mistakes or gain new skills that would help improve his business). He merely steers a straight and narrow course, the same exact course regardless of mitigating circumstances. He's perfectly fine with allowing history to, for better and mostly for worse, repeat itself. Time. And time. AGAIN. No. matter. what. In short: Oblivion, thy name is Robo.

I can no longer deal with it. That's basically why I'm quitting this sinking ship. Basically exhausted from bailing water out of this rusting tugboat and performing the job of four full-timers, only to get paid less than what one should reasonable make. So I'm out.

I just wish that I could work with intelligent people who understand that thinking outside of the box is not merely a saying but actually something that can be done. For real. Like actually. And that it's not always easy to do so. More or less, Robo and I conflict when it comes to the status quo. He wants merely to uphold it while I refuse to be satisfied with it. Upon announcing my departure (roughly three or four weeks ago) over lunch, Robo told me (and I quote), "I'm not looking for an Olympic athlete [in a Drone] but someone who can jog really well." Wow. This was Robo's response to my assertion that I get paid slightly less than what one person deserves for what I do, and yet I actually do the job of 4+ individuals. (I used more words to relay this thought, but for brevity, that's the idea.) So in essence, I was presenting Robo with an ultimatum: pay me more or I'll have to leave. Robo's response was not to take note of my concerns but rather was to indicate that I should work 'less hard' in order to justify my crappy pay. It was at that moment that I realized I couldn't be associated with anyone who felt that way. I'm all for underachieving (sometimes), but I mean, come on. That's just sad. No salary, no matter how large, could make me content to coexist with supreme mediocrity.

So Robo wants me to be a lazy-assed idiot who doesn't mind being below average or, at best, just on par with OK. Hm. And I want to leave this job why??? Because every day that I'm here I feel my brain slowly melting away. Is it too much to ask that I enjoy what I do and that I work with ambitious (yet friendly) people? I'm starting to think so. I'm not even asking for huge pay, because I'm a firm believer that happiness in the professional world will ultimately lead to the Benjamins (thanks, P. Diddy). So focus on the former; the latter will follow. Those are my two cents, anyway.

Why oh why couldn't I be a trust fund baby? All of this contemplation leads me to the same self-indlugent thought: What did I do to deserve this (crap)? And then I wonder, what did Paris Hilton do to deserve all her many fortunes? Why can't I be in a homemade porn and be slutty for a living? That's the ticket. I mean, err. Here's to satisfying employ, all my fellow Drones. Never settle for jogging really well!!! OK, that was my motivational speech hoo-ha for the millenium. No more. I promise. I think.

You know I love Shiba Inus and everything, but what the hell's the deal with this picture? And this (German is it?) website that the picture's on? Those crazy Shiba-Inu-drool-catchin'-fun-lovin' Germans.

8 x 7 = 56... grams of fat.

Ever since my earlier post on Paula's Home Cooking, I've been thinking about healthy eating and nutritional stuff. Got me to thinking about something that happened on my flight back from Miami to the Big Apple. Please note that I consider myself to be a pretty healthy person. Go to the gym on a daily basis, gunna run a Marathon soon, watch what I eat, blah blah blah. So before I got on my flight to NYC, I bought a snack at the Magazine whozit place that seems to clone itself every fifty paces in America's airports.

It was a small bag of mostly raisins (about 70%, I'd say), peanuts (about 25% maybe), and "lentils" (this is how the list of ingredients labeled the fake M&Ms: lentils--I guess because they're shaped like lentils. Anyway....). I proceeded to eat the whole bag while I watched a DVD on my laptop. Seriously. This bag was not huge. Maybe six small fistfulls in all. As I began to crumple up the plastic vacuum-packed bag that said snack came in, I couldn't help but notice that the Nutrition Facts stated there were 8 servings. Eight.

OK, I know this game. Out of curiosity, I scanned below for the amount of fat per serving. 7 grams. Seven grams of fat. Instantly did the math, and just about as quickly was kind of furious. My first thought? What the hell? 56 grams of fat for basically nothing? D-d-damn! I couldn't really believe it. It's good fat, I know. Yadda yadda yadda. Just couldn't believe my eyes. Watch out for them bags of trail mix and shit.

Mm. Live rats.

Speaking of health. This is rather hilariamous and fun. Or not. Depending on how you look at it. Look up your favorite NYC restaurant and see how many rats crap near the food you eat. Enjoy! For instance, check out this yummy Chinese restaurant of which I was a frequent patron when I was in college. Mmmm:

EMPIRE CORNER
935 AMSTERDAM AVENUE, NY 10025
Inspection Date: 04/12/2004
Failed inspection. Follow-up inspection required.
Violations were cited in the following significant area(s) and those requiring immediate action were addressed.

1. Cold food held above 41°F (smoked fish above 38°F) except during necessary preparation.
2. Canned food product observed swollen, leaking, rusted, severely dented.
3. Food Protection Certificate not held by supervisor of food operations.
4. Evidence of rats or live rats present in facility.
If you would like to receive a copy of the full inspection report, call "311" (for City Government*) between 9 A.M. and 5 P.M., Monday through Friday, and state that you would like to obtain a copy of a restaurant inspection report.

A Department representative will take your information and mail you the most recent inspection reports for up to five establishments, free of charge.

*(Outside the five boroughs of New York City, call "212-NEW-YORK".)

The right-click button on my mouse no longer functions. If I want to perform any of the functions to which this 'click' used to provide a shortcut, I must now scroll to the menu option or punch in the miscellaneous Ctrl + Shift + whatever shortcut that NO-body (Read: I) bothers to memorize.

I wonder if this malfunction has anything to do with my lightly slamming said mouse on my desk when I was frustrated that my computer was operating at the pace of a walker-assisted granny who's near-sighted and deaf? Hm.

OK. So I may have lightly slammed it four times in a row... on a couple of occassions... last week. Yesterday. Today. Every day. Guess I'll sign up for those anger management courses now. Not. I only do it when noone's around because my effin' computer is waaaay too slow for the 20th, let alone the 21st, century. I love the Mac G4 that I go home to each night. Makes me smug each morning that I greet my over-worked 'work' PC. However, I do feel slightly akin to my work computer in the 'overworked' department. Oh, well. Guess I'll leave the shitty mouse for the next Robo report to discover. Heh.

Lardoon, anyone?

In case you didn't know, I have a pension for FoodTV. Many a lazy-assed Sunday morning have I woken up, rolled over to grab the remote, clicked on FoodTV and watched whomever was on the TV making whatever kind of food for whatever reason. I don't really cook a lot, but there's something I like about watching people cook in the kitchen. I've always liked food and always liked watching it being prepared (if it's prepared well, that is).

So there's this one show: Paula's Home Cooking. This is one show I watch out of sheer amazement and astonishment. Her unofficial patented phrase seems to be, by my estimation, "and then we add a stick 'a butter, y'all." For those of us who opt for an egg white omelette or skip dessert once in a while, Paula is a delightfully fresh breath of 'throw caution to the greased skillet' air.

Eight whole eggs? Yup! Full cream? Throw it in y'all. A pound a' sugar? The more, the merrier. And two sticks of butter? Of course! This woman cooks like hardly any of us would dare eat even in our wildest imaginations and then goes ten miles further. Suffice it to say that Paula won't be joining the low-carb revolution anytime soon. Hell, I doubt if Paula even knows there's a low-FAT revolution out there. Anyway, I marvel on a weekly basis as Paula devises and introduces new and improved methods to make a single serving of any kind of food contain more than 2000 calories. Two words: fat bomb. I laugh, I cry, and then I laugh some more. But last week, Paula introduced to me to, not a fattening recipe, but rather a delightful new word (as she was frying bacon in oil that was about to be wrapped around a honey-cured ham). Lardoon: A bit of fat pork or bacon used in larding. That about sums up Paula's Home Cooking: larding. Plus, I laughed at the sonic genious of this exciting new vocabulary word. Anything with LARD in the stem of its name HAS to be saved for later use. It's effin' funny. Say it. Out loud. Use it in a sentence today. Trust me, you'll see what I mean. Lardoon, anyone?

He's ba-ack...

I have returned from my amazing escape from the City to sunny Miami. Four whole days of pure rest and relaxtion. I am ridiculously tan from hours of swimming in the crystal blue waters of Miami's famed South Beach followed by paddle ball, falling asleep in the sun, and hours of tennis. While I don't look exactly like George Hamilton, I do remind myself of his leather-like epidermis. All in all, it was an amazing respite. Ate at amazing restaurants, drank plenty of alcohol, and saw loads of pretty people. Hoo-ray for escapes.

Just dove right into all my work-related E-mails (I believe there were 98 in total. Horray!), and now they're all gone... for the moment anyhow. But I'm back in Blog-ville (not to mention the land of Robo). I am no longer a beach bum, but rather just a plain ol' Drone once again. On the exciting news front, I got a call on my cell phone (in Miami) letting me know that I have a confirmed meeting with super head honcho of major job prospect. This will be the fourth, and possibly final, interview along the heirarchy of major hoo-ha company. If I do not get this position, yes, it will be a major blow to my system, but it won't be the end. Hope it works out though. More to follow.... Thanks for welcoming me back... I assume.

One thing before I head off to Sun-ville

So every day I walk past the CNN Time Warner Studios here in in NYC (think the TODAY Show studios less all the fake smiles, Katie Couric, and the coming outside to say hello to the peions shizat).

Today, I happened to be reading the CNN Studios digital news crawl that features little snipits of what's going on in the world whilst I waited to cross the street. There, sandwiched between news that 6 people had died and an update of the impending situation in Iraq was the ever-important blurp that 'Showtime gives the go-ahead to Richard Pryor Pilot.' Uhm, thanks. Reminds me of this quasi-intellectual quote I sometimes see on the subway, as part of some ad: 'When did the fake news become more important than the real news?' Indeed. PS: I know that I might go straight to Hell for this one, but upon reading the aforementioned blurp, I couldn't help but get a vivid mental image of Richard Pryor lighting himself on fire and waving his arms wildly in the air (in a haha ala Kramer from Seinfeld sort of way, not in an oh that's so sad sort of way), wondering if this might somehow play into his pilot. I woooonder.

On the road again

Tomorrow morning, Drone will be utilizing the nation's best airline to visit the sunny destination of Miami. Praise the Holy Shiba Inu. Food, fun, and sun. And did I mention four whole days away from Robo?? Four. com-PLETE. days. Yee haw! In a last ditch attempt to squeeze out all of my sick time and paid vacation time, I'm taking a mini-vacation this weekend and the weekend of the Marathon.

* As for today, I've been running around like a friggin' madman getting things diligently done for my current (but not-for-long, woo hoo) job. Still have heard nothing from dream job since my most recent (third) interview with said company. They'd better not try to fade into obscurity, never letting me know one way or another. Hey, big hoo-ha company: I know that you're a huge place and you have a lot to do, but I don't really give a rat's ass. I promise that for once in my life I'll be that stalker blind date who must be TOLD TO HIS FACE that he is not the one. It's OK if 'it's you and not me'... just let me know. Thanks.

* Tried to have my phatass sandwich from yesterday again today, but the non-English speaking man at the to-go joint failed to satisfy my inquiry as to whether the empty slot in the fridge section allocated for phatass Salmon sandwiches could be re-filled. He merely grunted and pointed to a seriously long line. I then removed the typed description (on a little laminated card) of said phatass sandwich from the fridge and placed it in his line of vision, followed by an exaggerated shrug of my shoulders (think cartoonish question mark over Drone's head). Again, he grunted and pointed to long line. So I bailed and got a salad with shrimp, feta cheese and tuna. Guess lightning can't strike twice. But I sincerely wish that its occurence could involve conversation more sophisticated than prehistoric caveman speak. Gooh.

Pardon the Dust

In light of my centennial of-sorts, I've decided to leap into the foray of bloggy newness. I own the fact that I'm not so brilliant when it comes to flawlessly transferring my old crap to this new look, so pardon me while I get things straight. Hoo-ray for wasting more time!

Just in case you didn't know, I'm obsessed with these friggin' cute, loyal Shiba Inus. I haven't gotten mine just yet, but maybe soon I'll be rich. Right. For now I'll just make the Shiba Inu the unofficial mascot of Robo-ville.

100 and counting...

Hey, my previous post was my 100th! Hurray!! Uhm. Ok, now that the wild celebration has concluded (amongst myself and the 20 or fewer coolios who are gracious enough to follow me each day along this journey), on to the 101st:

* Just had a phatass Smoked Salmon, Tomato, Cucumber and "Horseradish cream" sandwich on Pumpernickel Bread from Fresco's. Also partaked, er, partook, uhm... had a Diet Coke with Lime and a double expresso to boot. Hurray for caffeine coursing through my veins at warp speed!! PS: If I could imagine what Windex tastes like, I would imagine it tastes something like Diet Coke with Lime. Mm. Windex.

* Work drove me insane earlier this morning. Has slowed down considerably since then. Feeling better knowing that I'm free from my indentured servitude in less than a month. Who needs a new job to transition to?? Not I! PS: Still waiting to hear about dream job, but am submitting more resumes in the meantime to cover my ass. Gooh.

* Got bored and saw TROY last night. Note to all: Brad Pitt is a terrible actor. He's great eye candy for the ladies and gay men, but he. is. a. bad. actor. Sorry. Deal. The rest of the movie was incredible. Really enjoyed it. Great fighting scenes and hand-to-hand combat sequences. Did Homer's Iliad quite proud, I'd say. Now that I'm thinking, if there's one thing Brad's horrific lack of acting chops DOES do, it definitely highlights how awesome other truly gifted actors and actresses are. Every scene that featured Mr. Aniston served as an amazing contrast. While I was thinking how horrible Pitt was, I was also simultaneously thinking, 'Damn, that no-name lady playing Achilles's (Pitt's) mom is awesome!' So if you wanna look good, saddle up to a scene with Brad. I guess. Oh yeah, also watch out for the kid who plays Patroklos--possibly worse than Pitt (read: the worst actor known to mankind). Suggestion: for the scenes where Pitt and Patroklos are the only actors on camera, I would strongly advise firmly placing your index fingers in your respective ear canals while humming "la la la," closing your eyes and shaking your head from left to right... or something of the sort. Worked for me.

* Going to Miami on Friday morning!! Hurray!!!!

I come from a land down under (AKA, Uhm, no)

So a non-English speaking client (get outta here) just called Drone. That doesn't mean she didn't attempt to speak English. Oh no it doesn't. In addition to the lovely (read: effin' frustrating and confusion-provoking) clicks, pauses, and echos that present themselves during an international call from God knows where middle-of-the-Amazon bumblefuck nowhere, Drone ALSO has to endure terribly incomprehensible accents and equally stupid requests.

So the idiot woman calls and informs me (from what I could scrounge) that she has been unsuccesful in sending us a fax. Sounds easy enough to me: I'll just give you the right number, and we'll both go merrily about our respective business. Wrong. So she says, "Please to transfer me to the fax number." Uhm, transfer you to the fax line? I mean, I can tell you the correct number.

I asked her to give me the number she was dialing and, big surprise, it was incorrect. But she insisted that I transfer her to the fax line: "Please to transfer me to the fax number. Thank you."

Listen, I don't know what kind of space age world you're living in out in no-speaka-any-English-ville, but here in the Big Apple it's pretty impossible to transfer a speaking human being to a data transfer line. Moron. I gave her the right number and basically said, "Thank you, goodbye." Click. Maybe next time I'll just ask her to to place her fax on the teleportation device and beam it on over here.

Had the interview. Was short and sweet. Very European guy (accent and all) chatted me up for about thirty minutes. I'd say it went pretty well. Must say that I'd rather the interview was longer, but he's a busy guy and I didn't want to eat up all of his time. Anywho, I'll just have to wait and find out what (if any) is the next step. I'm so close I can taste it. Better not be the all too familiar taste of crap.

Oh, PS: Yesterday, walking home from work I saw this actor (I never really watch his show) chatting about his career with his agent. How cliche... but cool. Love New York.

Ain't no mountain high enough

Well, the next big interview on the stairwell to employment is upon me. Within thirty minutes, I will be waiting patiently to see a huge head honcho of a potential dream job. I've had three interviews just to get to him, and will need to see yet one MORE person even if this goes well. That said, I'm pretty psyched. I may get the job; I may not get the job. Whatever. Prayers welcomed.

On a great note, I have a mini-vacation to look forward to. In the name of using my remaining vacation time at current poo-pie position, I have scheduled a nice four day weekend in Miami, Florida. Friday, Saturday, Sunday, and Monday: little ol' Drone will be basking in sun and enjoying a paid vacation. Hopefully, Drone will be reveling from a succesful interview and potentially an offer for a paying (read: better) gig. Oooh, only twenty-five minutes, now, until the mountain climb commences.

I know that I'm blabbing on and about this job that I'm seriously close to getting (which will make my potenial NOT-getting-this-job even more embarassing, but whatever), but I'm going crazy here. I keep having these horror fantasies that one of my job references will get called and will say something bad about me (note: that's not really a real possibility, but I'm still a worst case scenario freakfest usually). Damn it. I just want to get this shi-ite out of the way and get offered a new job. Why is life so damn stressful?? Gooh.

On a lighter note, Robo and I did another little joint interview this morning of a kid that's just about to graduate from an Ivy League school. He was decked out in his nice business suit (ahem, shout out to the bitchy HR lady from prior big-hoo-ha Drone interview who didn't like my jeans), but he made one little (read: stupid) blunder. At the inception of the interview, Robo asked wannabe-Drone for a clean copy of his resume. Wannabe shuffled throught his nice leather portfolio and said that it would be "preferable" if Robo printed out a copy from the E-mail he had sent to Robo. Uhm, ok. NEXT! What an idiot. Anyway, please oh please oh please let me get this job I want. Otherwise, I'm seriously screwed.

So the weekend was awesome in New York City. The weather (aside from a huge rainstorm on Saturday night) was amazingly beautiful. Friday night I saw Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind with a friend and then went to an awesome Japanese restuaruant for some gorging with two friends. Other than that, just really relaxed and vegged out. Sunday night I went to a nice Italian place in NoHo, where I spotted practically the entire editorial staff of UsWeekly dining (don't ask me how I know these people by face, I just do... think The Fabulous Life of... and other such horrific VH1 and E! television programs) and the hilariamous teacher lady actress from Malcolm in the Middle, whom I spoke to and complimented for being hilariamous.

As for the job hunt, I'm anxiously awaiting my noon interview manana. Can't wait. Hoping with every fiber of my being that I'll get this job.

We're off to see The Wizard: Job Update

Well now it's getting serious. 4PM meeting from yesterday went without a hitch. It was great. I love the high-level associate woman I met with, had an awesome conversation with her, and now will be meeting her boss. This next rung on the ladder (next meeting) is tentatively scheduled for next Tuesday. Ultimately, if I got this job, I'd be working for Tuesday guy's boss. So after Tuesday interview, if everything goes well, I would meet the person that I'd actually be working for. It's like a huge mountain climb I'm climbing to see the wonderful Wizard of Oz. Here's hoping.

Next Robo interview: today at 3PM. Should be ineteresting to sit in on this one. The girl wrote a ridiculously "I'm so smart" cover letter that is riddled with vocabulary buzzwords. I thought it was too verbose and pompous, but Robo told me he thought it was one of the best cover letters he'd ever seen in his life and that the girl definitely demonstrated a firm grasp on the English language. Or on a thesaurus. Same difference, I guess.

Drone discovers a new love...

I just fell in love... with a new (new to Drone, anyway) breed of dog. I mean, come on. Saw a pair walking on the street together with their owner, this morning on my way to work. I practically attacked the dogs with pets and fawning when the happy owner told me that Basenjis do not bark. Adorable? Friendly? Don't eat a lot? Don't bark? In the words of some game show person, I think we have a winner.

Minute-by-Minute Job Update

Woo hoo. Got the cell phone call I referred to below, just now. Gunna meet with the next level at 4 o'clock today. I think I can, I think I can...

Be. Aggressive. Be. Be. Agressive.

So, Temp-4-Life (hm, sounds like one of those Brit-Pop Girl groups) girl was very demure and a little strange. Robo thought there was "something off about her." Well. Then the two of you should get along juuuust fine, I thought. Can't wait to sit in on more interviews. Right.

So, on to my interview. Went extremely well. After hitting it out of the park with HR lady, said HR lady wanted me to meet the next batch of people (the Director of the relevent Division, who works under the actual person I might work for). I suggested that I meet with the Director today... now... as in, I'll wait in the lobby for my second-round interview (in the name of confident aggression), and HR lady thought that was a cool idea. She called the next level up, but he/they were in a meeting. She may call me on my cell today to meet with him/them, or I might meet another day (this week... i.e., the sooner, the better, she said). So this is a seriously promising lead for Drone. Very happy about it, even if nothing ultimately works out in this case. Hurray for progress! Keep those friggin' fingers crossed, please.

Oh, bliss. So this morning I will be sitting in on Robo's interview of girl who has seemingly been a temp for the past 2 years at roughly 40 different offices. Hope she gets the job! Then it's off to my own interview for a damn cool job. Hope the stars are aligned.

Well, lunch went just as planned. I am staying until the first of June, will train the poor, clueless sap that agrees to work here for two weeks and then will exodus, err... I mean exit. So in essence my ET of departure is circa June 15th. This, of course, all goes out the window if dream job says, 'Start tomorrow.' For serious. I'll calmly give a guilt-free salute to Robo and say, 'See ya.' Loyalty schmoyalty. Great lunch though. Seared salmon, coffee, Diet Coke. Mmm.

Robo revealed that he has basically done absolutely nothing to find a replacement in the last three weeks (which is the span of time between when I told him I was bailing until now). You should have seen the sheer look of panic on his face when I admitted how much I'm interviewing. Wish I could be more smug (and say I had an offer), but alas, blah blah blah. Anyway, I was dead on. Robo's front row seat to my (previously quiet and behind-the-scenes) job search yesterday made him git up 'n go. It's a good thing. I know I'm leaving, so this just adds some much-needed solidity to my plans. It has to be said, though, (absent of all arrogance and smugness, I swear) that looking at the resumes of these kids applying, I feel pretty damn superior (which makes me wonder why it's so hard to get a decent job). For example, this one girl has had temp jobs lasting no more that 15 days each for the past. two. years. No joke. And she listed every job. (Note: her resume is in 8 point font, single-spaced, and three pages long. Oh, and did I mention that Robo wants to interview her tomorrow? That would be... poetic justice I think they call it?) Aaanyway, the saga continues. I really really hope tomorrow's interview leads to something concrete because I'm actually really into it (from what I've seen/heard so far). So fingers crossed.

On a somewhat unrelated note, my Hotmail account has been sucking major ballage lately, riddling my life with more than unwelcome "ERROR" messages. Error this, Hotmail. This is my primary (read: only) resource to apply for jobs. Yes, I could open a Yahoo account or whatever, but come on. That's just a digression from the point at hand. Get your Hotmail shiyat together, biatches!

T Minus... however long 'til June 1st

Per Gina's demand, I am blogging an update. Things have been rather hectic lately. Robo is slowly looking for a new Drone, and Drone is running around like a chicken with its head lobbed off looking for a new job. Robo indeed knows I'm leaving, and he's letting me look for a new job, but it's very diffcult to work full time and look for a job full time. Basically it's impossible. Yesterday I had a 2-hour interview with a pretty cool staffing agency. After the shmoozy-shmooze hour, they set me up on a computer to test my Word, Excel, PowerPoint, and basic typing skills. (PS: I could go on for about an hour on the computerized 'test', but I won't bore you.) Funnily enough I aced the PowerPoint test. Wanna guess how many times I've used the program in my whole life? Twice. Typing was great too, think I did 65 WPM with about 2% error. Nice. Anyway. Cool staffing agency called me and got me a really awesome interview scheduled for tomorrow. Definitely not getting my hopes up, but I'm looking forward to it. Will DEFinitely be wearing a fitted suit and will look the part... just so there's NO WAY IN HELL a bitchy HR whore can job-block me for my dress. It's another creative industry job, so here's hoping.

On a completely related note, Robo took note of my interview yesterday (duh, I was wearing a dapper shirt and tie and was gone for about 2 hours, whoops), asking me how it went and stuff. I simply said, "It went well, thank you." Felt friggin' weird discussing that with him. But it obviously lit some sort of fire under his ass, becuase I now see his job posting on some of the job sites I check and a girl called a second ago about the job. Heh. Poor suckers. Anyway, Robo and I are having a lunch today to discuss where we are in terms of moving forward. I guess I'll say June 1st I'm planning to train the idiot who accepts my job, and then two weeks later (when said sucker is trained), I will leave. Hopefully I can take some time off between shit job and new awesomely cool job. Time will tell. Gooh. I hate needing a job.

I must apologize for my lack of blogging lately. I am in serious crap-my-pants mode with respect to the job search. My current job sucks ass, and I'm diligently looking for a better one. Anyway, that's been sort of all consuming as of late. Other stuff:

* Saw Mean Girls this weekend. Actually pretty entertaining. Someone gets hit by a bus, and there's a huge fat (stereotypically) gay male character. What else could you hope for in a film?

* How 'bout we not call them at all? Thanks. PS: I find it utterly hilariamous that one has been singled out as the thin one while the other has been dubbed the fat one. I'm sure they'd both be fine if they stuffed their faces with some twinkies. Gimme a break.

* Really, really, REALLY effing want a dog. Been doing some dreaming.

Adventures of the Pearly Whites

After hearing the trials and travails of others, I feel compelled to relay a short story of my (perhaps surprising, given the circumstances) personal dental bliss. Let me preface my story by saying that I have been in a hospital probably three times in my entire life (one of those instances being when I came out of mommy's womb). Anyway, knock on wood, I'm a damn healthy person who has almost never contracted anything worse than a sniffle. It should then perhaps go without mentioning that I have never had any kind of health-related or emergency surgery in my entire life.

The only time I've ever gone under the knife was to have four wisdom teeth removed (at the same time... jeezle). But you know what? It was probably the most enjoyable experience I've ever had the pleasure of enduring. My father, who lives in a rather shi-shi locale (think resort community/hideaway for the B-list celebrities of the world), took me to an amazing oral surgeon/plastic surgeon to the Stars (yup, you read correctly on the dual nature of said dentist's practice).

Long story short, I took some dope-me-up pills about 30 minutes before the surgery, had an intravenus drip with some morphine-like yumminess, AND THEN was hooked up to gas right before. Oh yeah. I was seeing flying purple dragons and wavy-gravy of all sorts. All I remember was, the DDS assistant asked me to count backwards from 10, at which point I slurred, 'What's ten?' So here's wishing you lots of dope-me-up if you find yourself facing some tooth yanker...

Takin' the Good [Read: Interesting] with the Bad

* Yesterday, I more or less solved a problem for a foreign client. She sent me the following after I did so:

Dear [Drone]:

You are always so kind.

With this information I will [be happy...]

Best regards,
[Ms. Make-Drone-Unexpectedly Smile]

Hey, I'll take my happy days where I can get 'em.

* Today, I drafted a concise E-mail that basically castigated (but respectfully, of course) one of our clients for being very disorganzied in their requesting things of us which, duh, has led to unavoidable (albethem unecessary) delays in serving said client. So, I basically had to tell them in roundabout 'Thank You for your business' speak: 'Get your act together so we can serve you better, dumbasses.' Robo, much to my delight, referred to my E-mail as a "masterpiece of perfection." Heh. My skepticism that Robo even actually understands what he said aside, I'm glad to know he's finally appreciating my work... Ahem. Now. that. I'm. LEAVING. Gooh.

* Today, during my lunch break, I did something cool. Yesterday, while looking for a real job, I happened to stumble across a casting call for tennis players to be in a huge Hollywood film (as extras). The casting agency is a big one and advertised that they are looking for people to play tennis with the leading stars and their body doubles. The stars being Scarlett Johansson and Dennis Quaid. So I responded with a photo. (In case you didn't know, Drone used to be a competitive tennis player on a national level. It was basically his life for years.) I still love it and play it all the time and am still pretty darn good (kind of like riding a bike for me). Anyway, big hoo-ha casting agency called me in today, took a polaroid of me, and invited me to be filmed as a tryout to be Dennis Quaid's body double in this upcoming movie. Turns out I'm exactly his physical match in terms of height/weight/build/hair, etc. Oh. Did I mention the whole thing would PAY? Getting paid to be filmed doing what I love. Hm. Interesting concept. Will keep you posted if anything cooler happens with respect to this.

* On the real job front: no really new news. Am lining up a few interviews, but there's nothing really to speak of. More to follow...

Happy Cinco de Mayo, all you lovable banditos, you...

Let us celebrate Mexico's victory over the French on May 5, 1862... with New York's hardest Mexican booze and plenty of margaritas. For serious. How many ways are we gunna (Mexican Hat) dance around the fact that this is merely an excuse to get sauced before we come good and clean? Why deny it, I say? Let us not celebrate history! Let us drink, mis amigos! Drink!! Here's some inspiration if you're in the City.

Ok, I'll admit it. This whole job search has got me down. I've been furiously and diligently applying to companies for whose job opportunities I am overqualified, perfect, underqualified, really interested in, not so interested in, blah. blah. blah. For real. And I've been doing this for probably an entire six-week period. I've had a few interesting leads and gone on even fewer interviews, but it's seeming a scant bit hopeless at this point. Not saying I'm going to give up or anything, but I can't help but take it a little personally when I apply for a wharehouse stocking position (in the hopes of boosting my ego) only to hear nothing about the position. Guess a college degree doesn't really get what it used to. I envision these forces of Ivy League grad's working valet downtown or something. Mm, fun. Anyway, that's the update. If this whole Plan A doesn't work out (you know, getting another paying job), I might just resort to Plan B: whoring myself for creamed corn. Yum. Corn.

My "What the F...?" Moment of the Day

This E-mail sums it up:

Dear Mr. [Drone]:

Kindly confirm if the we can proceed as requested by a client:

- Please note that should be issued only 100 shares of US$1.00 each one for the captioned company.

- We would be gald iff you could send us 2 ou 3 blank shares.

Regards,
[Plain Ol' Idiot]

Please note that the subject line of the E-mail simply said "Questions." Hm. You're probably wondering, 'What the hell does that mean?' Well, folks. Join the club. Perhaps you might also be thinking, 'Drone knows a little bit more about this stuff, so maybe it makes more sense to him.' There, you'd be wrong-o. I mean, I know that a blank share is referring to a company share certificate. But what's this 'captioned company' in reference? Given the above context, just take it for granted that you and I have exactly the same ball of wax. Sigh.

Robo D'Oh of the Day



So Robo left the office about thirty minutes ago for Brooklyn. He informed ol' Drone that he was going to a meeting and would most likely not return to the office for the rest of the day (hurray!). Fast-forward to ten minutes ago. A nice man, speaking little to no English comes to see Robo, "We... hhhhhhhave... meeting... Mr. [Robo]... 2:30." I informed Mr. Phlegmy (he spit whenever he uttered those tricky 'H's) that Robo was out of the office and would unfortunately not be returning today. Mr. Phlegmy leaned up against my office door frame (you know, in that 'I can't believe it,' exhausted posture). He said that oh no, he was supposed to meet Robo. So I asked Phlegm Wod to take a seat while I contacted Robo on his cell. Called Robo and sure enough, Robo had scheduled an appointment (not through me) with Phlegmy, but failed to inform Phlegmy that the meeting was in Brooklyn at a third party's office. D'oh. Needless to say, Spitfire was none too pleased. So Phelgmy just left for Brooklyn, poor sap. As Robo said to me via his cell, 'Whoops, I made a huge mistake.' Yeah, tricky how those details come into play. Gooh.

Two things:

* I have decided that I am incapabale of shaving my damn face. Every friggin' time I try, I gash my effin' chin to bloody kingdom come. Sometimes I'm lucky and it only comes in the form of numerous little nicks and cuts that can be remedied by using a styptic pencil. However, more often than not, no matter how slowly I go (like the Queer Eye for the Straight Guy "FAB 5" say you should), I still manage to tear a bloody hole in my chin. Damn it. People are going to start thinking that I have a pet grizzly bear at home that lovingly swipes at me when I try to feed it.

* I put my foot down as of right now and utterly re-FUSE to shave my face hours, moments, or even seconds before a big date, interview, or miscellaneous big-deal-hoo-ha what have you; for Murphy's Law will AL-ways kick in (please see above). I have a horrible record of running late, trying to squeeze in a shave, and being made yet even later by chopping my face to smithereens. At least I can do something about this. Please note that this law also applies to getting zits and weird blemishes or whatever on your face. If you're running late, have to be somewhere important, or need to be presentable, you'll either chop your face up OR you'll get a nasty zit. In short, it is a cosmic rule that you will bloody up your face and/or get a huge leprosy-like pimple on your face if you need to be presentable for work. The former you can do something about, but the wonderful world will do you in any way it can. Waaaa!

State of the Union

If it's crappy and ya know it, vote for J.
If it's crappy and ya know it, vote for J.
If it's crappy and ya know it,
and ya really wanna show it...
If it's crappy and ya know it, vote for J.

Drone Gets A Little Wiser.

I should be wise enough now to know that anything and everything one can imagine will be posted on the Internet. This was, however, both unexpected and hilarious (i.e., that someone actually dedicated pure and exclusive Internet 'space' to this feature). PS: When did Lindsay Lohan go from this to this? Jeezle. Note to self: NEVER. Have a daughter. [enlightenment courtesy of thatsjustnotright.com]

Random follow-up note: The accompanying chick in the latter sex-a-licious photo of Lindsay Lohan reminds Drone of April from America's Next Top Model. That would be hee-larious if it actually was her.

I love animals and all (though I'm admittedly a 'dog person')--so don't get me wrong--but Blizzard looks kind of, uhm, slow shall we say? And, I'm not for certain, but is that a baby car seat that the cat is lounging in? Hm. Maybe there's just a fly resting on Blizzard's nose that we don't see, and he's just biding his time, focusing on said fly.

Me, Myself, and I (aka, There Is No Gene For The Human Spirit)

Well, lately I've been thinking a lot about the above. Desparately looking for spiritual fulfillment in the form of a (long term) career path establishing job. Been more difficult than I had hoped (but not than I expected). That's more or less the job hunt update. No real leads to speak of, but I refuse to give up.

This weekend was ok. Achieved my goal of going to the gym. Went every day, but that's not a real achievement as I usually do that anyway. Sadly, did not get drunk. Eh, whatever. Did watch said Janeane Garofolo special on HBO (sorry for screwing up the spelling of her name earlier). Muy funny. She also had a bit about how "if you go to the gym, you're not on my side... sorry, you're just not." Laughed a lot. Also rented a tape of Sandra Bernhard doing stand-up. Also watched Gattaca. A little obsessed with Uma Thurman and movies propogating messages about defying odds and achieving your dreams, what else can I say? Did not even touch mountain of clothing. Still clean though.

Robo's first interview for my current post was supposed to be today, but the girl canceled her interview. Man, if that's not good fate on that girl's part I don't know what is. Sadly, I do not think she will ever know just how lucky she was to dodge the horribly massive bullet that would be working underneath Robo. Hope she got a decent job somewhere else. Scratch that. Hope she got any job elsewhere. Scratch that. Hey, lucky girl: where'd you find your job????? (Kudos, non-Drone-wannabe, wherever you may be.)