Thursday, April 28, 2005

Oops, I did it again

Let me lead off by saying that I rocked my final exam last night. I finished early and hightailed it out of the class. I still have to finish my final project, but that should be cake. Speaking of cake, yesterday was my work friend’s, Cool Brit’s, birthday. She went out for drinks after work, and I joined her and her friends after my exam. Slammed a margarita to catch up with them, summarily got instantly drunk because I hadn’t eaten anything, and skipped the bill on said drink because I forgot about it until an hour later. Whoops. So then Cool Brit, Cool Brit’s friend (the rest left after the margarita-selling establishment), and I went to a sceney, so-called ‘hip’ club. It’s supposed to be set up like a chic apartment. I’m not really into the have-to-be-cool scene, but it was fun because I was with friends. Otherwise, it would have been the kind of place that made me want to vomit from all the pretense and ego.

Well, half a double vodka martini later (so is that just a regular martini, then?) I came to my senses and realized that I should go home for some sleep. It was a work night after all. And, as I previously mentioned, I’m officially sleep deprived. Rolling into a cab, I made the horrific mistake that many drunkards before me have made and many after me will surely make: I made the drunken cell phone call to the ex. Why oh why did I think it would be a good idea to call C. at 12:30?? C. sounded seriously pissed. Not to mention completely ripped from sound sleep. I apologized profusely and then hung up after saying, ‘Go back to sleep.’ The response I got was, ‘I will [click].’ Oy.

So what did I do next? The logical thing, of course. I made another drunken call to someone I thought might be more receptive to my liquid persuasion: the good kisser who’s totally in to me and mentioned something about being a night owl. Sweet. Sure enough: good kisser picked up, was awake and enthusiastic, and listened intently to all of my giddy drunkitudes. And. I invited the good kisser to Cool Brit’s weekend celebration of her birthday this Friday night. What. Was I thinking? I guess it’s cool, but now I know that my friends will totally be judging and critiquing. If anything, I feel badly for the good kisser. Arm yourself, cutey. Arm yourself.


Wednesday, April 27, 2005

Agent Double O-Drone

OK, guys. Like I expected, it’s terribly difficult to post anything. BUT. Ever the creative little drone that I am, I have found my loophole. I’m composing my posts in Word (so it looks like I’m drafting a business letter or what have you from afar) and then cutting and pasting to Blogger. Hurray. So, again: my desk rules. I have sunlight now and a great view. I may arguably have one of the best views in the City. It’s actually a little distracting. Whatever. In a good way.

So my date last night was cool. After I left work at about 9, I met up with the good kisser for dinner at 10 in my ‘hood. It was really easy going and cool. I’m into it. So I’m going to pursue it with as much vigilance as I can (given that I’m pretty much overextended already with work and school). I refuse to believe that I can’t have a social life outside of work. This is my version of a rebellion. Dating. What a concept. So I’ll keep you updated.

Speaking of overextended, I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m officially sleep deprived. Like clinically or whatever. I got no sleep Saturday night (my own fault). I got two hours sleep Sunday night (my own fault—I was making out with the good kisser). Monday night I had class until late. Maybe got four hours of sleep. Tuesday night was good kisser again. And I also had schoolwork to do, so I got about three hours of sleep. This morning, as usual, I woke up to the sound of my alarm radio set to a blah easy listening station (I set it to such a station so that I won’t get too comfortable with the music and will want to get up and turn it off). Well. When I looked at the time, I realized that I had been listening to the radio for an hour and twenty minutes. I was majorly behind schedule. But it’s cool. I got ready in five minutes flat and made it to work on time. Sleep deprivation, thy name is Drone.

What else? Work has been challenging. My friends at work have been getting treated pretty poorly by our superiors. Today is Cool Brit’s birthday and nobody has said anything to her. They’re pretty much barking at her, per usual, and treating her like dog poo. So uncool. So Tall Brooklyn and I took her to a bar for a drink and lunch in celebration of her big day. I’m also supposed to meet up for drinks tonight after my final exam at school… Hm. I’d better set my alarm for 5AM just in case. Blah. And I had a majorly important task to complete today. I got to drive my boss’s car from one parking garage to another. Oh yeah. And it was post-Cool Brit birthday lunch. Where I’d had a few beers. Nice. I was imaging the scenario. Drone crashed boss’s expensive car while intoxicated. For the record, I was waaaaay under the legal limit, but I was scared nonetheless. Anyway, I drove that shit like it was my genitals on wheels. Let’s just say I took care of it. And I guess that’s it for now.

My final exam in school is tonight. After that, all I have to do is complete my final project, and then I’m free of my horrible ‘professor.’ Man, ain’t life a bowl of cherries. I’ll say it is. Where’s my good kisser??


Tuesday, April 26, 2005

Big Brother is watching

OK, ladies and gentleman. I stayed late at work today (tonight) after a late meeting to set up my new desk. I'm all moved in and the view is amazing. I love it. However. My back is now to everyone, and my computer screen is even more visible than my back. To everyone. Ergo, it will be increasingly difficult to do anything non-business related on my computer. Ho hum. We'll see how it goes. Don't get me wrong. I'm never quitting this and will do whatever it takes to keep posting. Just might have to be when the office is empty. Or when, like, I get the Internet at home like a normal person. But I guess normal people have money. So there. Alright, peace out and stay tuned.


Paris gets waxy

I hope they at least fix her boinky eyeballs. [last item]


Oy Vey

Hope all the lovely Jews out there had a safe and enjoyable Passover. That was the Holiday, correct? Man, I'm out of it.

Work has been out of control busy. I haven't had one spare second to devote to my big symbolic desk move. My new desk is literally fifteen feet from my current desk. If I crane my neck, I can see it whilst I type. However, it does have an amazing view. And gets natural sunlight. And, like I mentioned, it's basically a symbolic thing. Once I'm seated there, I'm a new emplolyee with a new role. Sweet. Or not. I'm pretty much betting, as with most promotions that are nominal in nature, I'll be expected to do twice as much work for just about the same pay. But, oo oo, look at my shiny new title, everbody. My title. See my business card? It's new? Yeah, whatever. Short end of the story is that I'm insanely busy, and I need. to find time. to move into my new desk!

School is nutso, too. My two hour final exam is tomorrow night, and I've had scant time to study or prepare for it. Plus, my term project (i.e., 25% of my grade) is supposed to be at a certain stage of completion, and I'm about 20% behind that pace! Ahhh. No worries. I'm sure it'll all work out. I get by with a little help from my friends.

So, I'm kind of anxious. Sunday night, I actually met someone cool at the bar/club I went to. I actually met a lot of cool, random people. I was in an unusual state. I was actually feeling receptive to human interaction and contact. Imagine that. So I encouraged conversatioin from interesting looking and sounding people. Towards the end of the night I had a cool conversation with somebody for about an hour or so. Then ended the night with my first random makeout session in a long time. It was good. Damn good. But it was also 4AM. So we exchanged numbers, I went home, and we made a plan to meet up soon. Get this. I actually met someone cool enough that they're willing to meet on the fly and get a "beer and pizza." Sure, that could sound slovenly and unromantic or whatever, but I think it's cool. Little does Makeout know, I don't really eat pizza or anything one might consider fattening (please excus my dietary freakishness). Technicality. I still like the idea of somebody who's into that for a 'date.' Anyway, I really want to get out of work early(ish) so that I can meet up. But I fear that I'll be here late. Ho hum.

I wish that Mary-Kate would come and save me. Just walk right up to my superiors and splash them in the face with her Venti coffee. Thereby temporarily blinding them. Allowing her to grace me with a tap from her pixie wand that would shrink me to her size, and we would both be carried away by her 10-foot-tall bodyguards. [check out the new pics of M-K on Pink's post] .

M-K is such a friggin' little pixie rockstar. She never disappoints me. Always with the scraggly hair, the ginormous granny goggles, and--who could forget--the Venti. Rock me, M-K. Rock me hard.

Man, I'm delirious. Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.


Monday, April 25, 2005

Lord Have Mercy

It's official. Mary-Kate is my favorite. Ee-yikes.


Gossip Folk

Read the last bit here. Aside from this being a stupid ass notion (that of hinting at real gossip but not giving the actual reveal), this is the lamest tidbit I've ever read. What the hell? You're kidding me. A boss (let alone an executive) took credit for other people's work?! Er?! Whu. I'm very dismayed!

Dude. I'm dismayed on an hourly basis at the work I do for which others take full credit. While I'm standing there to hear them betray me firsthand. Man, those trash digging gossip artists better brush up and earn their keep.


No. No. NO!

How is it only 10:23 on Monday morning, and I've already dealt with a crisis and uttered the word bullshit?? This is crazy. My hungover head and sleep deprived body cannot handle this. You know when you start whining to yourself like a toddler (pounding fists whilst flailing legs and crying out indiscernible whines), tell yourself that you're a grown adult and can't whine... but then continue to whine despite your self-directed admonishment? Well I do. And I refuse to cease my whining. It helps. Waaaaa.

Oh, and were I to be more willing to share more specific details about my personal and professional life you would find it ridiculous how STUPID and meaningless this so-called drama I'm dealing with is. Let's use an analogy, shall. Imagine Paris Hilton if you will. Paris sits down to a meal when someone notices that a waiter has accidentally spattered a little tomatoe sauce on her dress. But she hasn't noticed. So the manager scrambles to make sure it gets clean without her noticing it was ever there. That's the magnitude of the drama. Spoiled people suck. It gets to the point where servile people anticipate their demands and end up jumping through hoops that they set up for themselves. The spoiled person no longer even has to make demands once he or she has established a reputation for being priveleged, demanding, and entitled. Gooh. Talking in this cryptic double speak is too challenging. Let's just say that I wish were rich and famous. With a personal trainer. And a car. And a dog. And a hot lover. OK. Now I'm depressed. And it's only 10:35 on Monday. If anyone asks, I'm on the other line!


M-K, Caffeine. Caffeine, M-K.

Jeezle! Will Mary-Kate's ravenous appetite for the black nectar ever be satiated??? Methinks not. I love you, Mary-Kate. Step into my world and I will give you a Starbucks card every day. Just jump into my pocket and away we shall fly to Seattle Headquarters for drinking and reveling.

As for me, I need a cup about... half the size of M-K's. I decided to go out last night. Yes, I decided to temp fate and have another go at Sunday night on the town. But this time I checked my coat, kept my apartment keys close the my loins (in my pocket), and didn't get too drunk (3 beers and 50,000 cigarettes). Mainly, I'm just tired. Went to bed at 4 and woke up at 7. See, M-K? You and I truly would be a match made in heaven. We could talk about our mutual love of coffee. We'd share storied of Sugarfree Vanilla Latte days gone by and the present days of house blend with Sweet 'n Low. Call me.


Friday, April 22, 2005

Help me, Rhonda

Grr. My super head honcho boss was not in today. The second in command left at about 3. However, the third in command (still in the executive realm and not in my league of the underlings) is still here tip tap typing away on his computer and doing work. I'm sorry, but I really want to go home. The minute he leaves, it will just the underlings left to their own devices. The proverbial mice to the cat. Leave, cat. Leave. Step away from the computer.

I'm so tired that my eyes are starting to droop. I do have certain things that I want to get accomplished, but they don't have to be done today. Leave it all for Monday. Fine Monday.

So my best bud, her G-ness, gave me a little shoutout today. Thought I'd reciprocate the love by linking back to her page. What am I if not willing to give in return for a little action. Speaking of action. I'd like to have some this weekend. My last opportunity was, as you may recall, completely blown with my getting completely bombed last Sunday night and losing my entire collection of meaningful single-person salary trinkets. However, I'm rather impressed how quickly I've rebuilt.

Monday night I collected my new set of apartment keys from my super.

Wednesday during my lunch hour I bought a new phone (an exact replacement of my lost phone, which was brand new and only in my possession for 5 days when I lost it) and activated service. A little aside: the woman who helped me activate my new phone was named Katrinika and had long curly fingernails with little unicorns painted on them. She somehow manipulated the nanotechnology inside the guts of my new phone with her monstrous nails. Oh yeah, every other word out of her mouth was, 'Baby.' OK. Moving on.

Last night, I charged and programmed my new iPod mini. And not without frustration. When I tried to install the new iPod software, my Mac prompted me to enter my user passphrase (a password that I presumably set up when I installed my operating device years ago). Well, I had no idea what the passphrase was, so my computer prompted me to 'contact the network administrator.' Uhm. Hello? I'm at home. Not work. I refuse to put up with this shit. I AM the administrator. Do. what. I. TELLYOU! I think I hit the computer a few times and was definitely having words with it. Long story, short: I had to re-install my operation system in order to reset the password in order to install the iPod, just to get started. Once that shit was taken care of, I uploaded all of my music. Now I'm good to go.

Finally, I need to replace my cigarettes. I have yet to take care of that, but I'm sure I will shortly as the weekend is quickly approaching.

As for the vest that I lost: I hated that anyway. Whoever stole it: the jokes on you. Or not.

Oh, so you know how I said that I have to creatively hop from site to site each day in order to access certain sites and blog, etc.? Well, I still totally have to do that. If I try to access most blogs directly, I get Websensed ('web filtering designed to increase employee productivity'... right). Each time I get blocked, I get a reason for the block: "Adult Material," "Bulletins," "Interactive Material." But my favorite to date is "Tasteless." Quite a value judgement, I must say. That could be Paris Hilton's new catch phrase. Just "tasteless." If something sucks, she'd just say, "Tasteless." It works.

Oh. Since I'm on to Paris Hilton. I was watching the Movie Life: House of Wax special on MTV last night. Aside from the fact that I will never get Paris Hilton's eyes (and how boinky and off kilter they are), I hate it when she utters the word "cute." During the episode last night, Paris was holding a kuala in her arms while photos were being taken. 1,000 flashbulbs later, Paris asked her sister Nicky (aka her personal assistant) to take her hat off and make her hair look "cute." If you listen to Paris's voice, it's pretty normal... until she says the word CUTE. Everytime she says the word CUTE, her voice goes all babydoll and just freakin' weird. It seems to be an involuntary response. WTF is up with that?! Ahh. Like scratching a blackboard. TASTELESS!

OK, ready to go. Stop working, third in command. Just stop!!


Fun with captions (aka Adventures in Hilary-sitting)

Yes, yes, YES! Pink has more photos of Hilary Duff and her personal assistant. It may look like they're making a movie, but I suspect that only Hilary is truly being paid to act. Haylie is being paid to serve. Check it out:

So, for Photo #1:

Hay: That Starbucks over there is such a long way to walk for coffee.
Hil: [Sigh.] Hay, I've told you like a million times. I need my coffee. What am I paying you for, anyway? Jeez.

Photo #2:

Hil: OK, Hay. Fuckin' drive me there, then. And make it quick.

Photo #3:

(That guy with the hat--presumably the hip director of the film--mistook Haylie Duff for an actor in the film.... hence, Haylie's reaction)

Photo #4:

(The guy taking the picture asked Hil and Hay to look in his direction. Haylie couldn't even to that right.)


Thursday, April 21, 2005

Do you mind?

Hello, All. Two thoughts right now.

First, I seem to be going through a phase right now. When I was four or five years old I went through a phase of wetting the bed. Consistent dreams of rivers and pools, only to wake up in piss. No matter what I seemed to do, I wet the bed. And then as quickly as the phase began, it seemed to go away. Inexplicably.

When I was six years old, I went through a phase of knocking over my drinking glass at the dinner table. Almost every night I would accidentally knock over my plastic tumbler full of fruit juice, publicly spilling the juice all over my mom's white table cloth and summarily humiliating myself. It got to the point where I would sit down at the table and stare at my glass. Fearing that I would tip over the glass as a matter of course. My family would basically wait for it to happen. Frustration and then laughter (at my expense) would ensue. And again, as quickly as the phase began, it ended.

When I was thirteen years old, I went through a phase of breaking things by accident. No matter what I seemed to, no matter what I seemed to get my hands onto: things would break. I broke my grandfather's cherished, authentic, ceramic hula doll from when he was stationed in Hawaii as an Air Force pilot in the 1940's. I'm not quite sure how I reached up to the fireplace mantle that was higher than my reach at the time, but I'll never forget it smashing to bits on the kitchen tile floor. I also ended up breaking my grandfather's twelve foot high outdoor satellite that controlled our satellite television at the time. Before the age of teeny tiny satellite dishes that are perched on home rooves, people had humongoid satellite dishes in their backyards that looked like they belonged at some NASA headquarter. Well, the thirteen-year-old 'breaker' was apparently changing channels too rapidly and permanently destoyed the dish. I just remember the TV going haywire and finding the dish bouncing from left to right and making a grinding noise. Yeah. Again, as quickly as the phase came on, it left me. Thankfully.

Well, folks. I'm twenty-four now. And I seem to be going through a phase of losing shit. Since I lost my entire life this past Sunday night, I have also two more things. They're not worth mentioning, but seriously. What the hell is my problem. I get to the point where I yell at myself for being so stupid and thoughtless. Stop it already, Drone!!

Second, my boss asking me obnoxiously to do obnoxious things and then asking condescendingly in front of others, 'Do you mind?' Like that makes your demand any more civilized or acceptable. Of course I mind being talked to like a slave. But what am I supposed to say? It reminds me of Ellen DeGeneres's stand-up routine where she talks about saying 'Just kidding' to erase stupid or cruel comments. Like, "Your hair looks like shit.... Just kidding.' As if saying that makes their comment OK. It doesn't. Oh, you're kidding, are you? Well then you don't know how to kid properly. Because we should be both be laughing, says Ellen. I hate comments like that, too. Phony and designed to get the offender off the hook. Yes, I mind.


Wednesday, April 20, 2005

Stop Being Desperate [Paris]

Ever the media whore, Paris willingly airs her dirty laundry and speaks out. But, she leaves just enough information out to keep us guessing. I suspect the thing that Nicole "did" was to lose more weight than Paris. Paris looks to have a little love going on around her midsection while Nicole seems to be disappearing before our eyes. Loves it? Oh no. Paris? Hates it. [via Pink]


Moving' on up

Heh. Guess what. Drone just got a promotion at work. No joke. One of my bosses just pulled me in and let me know. More money, new desk, new job. And I get to hire the person to fill my current position. I'm sure this will all take an extremely long time from start to finish, but hey. Even in theory this is pretty cool. Kind of takes me out of my eh mood. But not really. How odd. Oh well. Yay.



That's the kind of mood I'm in today. Eh. I just spent about $500 that I don't have becuase I was incredibly careless on Sunday night and lost track of my possessions in a crowded club in the least trustworthy city in the nation. Don't get me wrong. I love New York City with all of my heart. But when I realize that I've misplaced something, I pretty much take it for granted that it will be stolen and taken for the finder's own in about ten seconds flat.

I've never once lost something and had some do-gooder call me out of the blue to let me know that they found my shit. I, however, have done that on about five occasions. As long as I find something with contact information, I'll do my best to return it without any reward for myself. If there's no contact information, I'll usually turn it in to the most responsible fixture that is closest to where I found the item. And then I might peruse the Craig's List Lost & Found section to see if someone's gone there to report their loss. I even remember this one time that I returned a girl's entire purse with about $1,000 worth of cash inside. I guess it really depends on the person who finds it and not really the place in which it's lost. Oh well. Like I always am lucky enough to say, I've got my health. Money schmoney. Fate has forced me to get a cool new mini iPod (the green metallic one).

So I am indeed experiencing an eh moment. Can't be helped. So this morning I was pondering the difference, if any, between the words cue and queue. As verbs. I was trying to email someone that I was going to be cuing? or queuing? something to print. Turns out "to cue" is just a variant of "to queue." Either works. What an exciting result that was. Please remember what I just said about being in an eh state, and forgive my blahness.

What else? My new favorite breakfast is a shake that I saw the Low Calorie Comando make on The Food Network. It's basically this. Except I use skim milk and not soy milk. It's really filling and tasted really good. And for those of us who don't eat fruit as much as we should, this helps. Helps me.

Hm. So going along with this whole stream of consciousness thing, let me talk about Rachael Ray on The Food Network. This woman has three whole shows on the Food Network. Not to mention books and endorsement deals with the likes of Burger King. She's a bona fide food celebrity. And people definitely have opinions about her. Whenever I find someone who, like me, loves The Food Network, they either love or hate Rachael Ray. I've always said that I like her a lot. But there is the whole annoying "E.V.O.O." thing. That's her abbreviation for Extra Virgin Olive Oil on her show for 30-minute meals. She also has this nervous laugh mannerism that can be perceived as pretty fake and awkward. She does say things like yumm-O!, stoup (her word for a soup meets stew), and Wowsa-doo! I guess I can see how she can be perceived as annoying. I'm starting to think that maybe I do find her annoying... but that I like that fact. That maybe her liabilities are actually her assets. I dunno. All I know is that she's laughing all the way to bank, so there must be some people out there who love her.

That's all for now.


Tuesday, April 19, 2005

Private eyes are watching you

I'm totally having fun with this satellite stuff. Try it. Gets old after a few minutes, but that's a few minutes less that you have to focus on the boring work at hand.


Drone: The Rebuilding

So I'm pretty well done with rebuilding the mess I made for myself Sunday night.

I met my super after work yesterday and claimed a shiny new set of keys to my apartment. Luckily, my old set didn't have any identifying information; so hopefully noone will be coming to my place.

Today during my lunch break I bought a new cell phone and had that activated. Did I forget to mention that the phone I lost was brand spankin' new? I think I'd had it for five days. I got it as part of my cell phone company's offer to give me a free, cool phone. This time around I had to pay the full $160.00. God, I'm a bonehead.

Finally, I will show you my new iPod. I shall have it in two days. Sweet.

Losing your shit is both costly and annoying. Who knew??


Usher: Idiot

Two things are for sure. Looks like Drone isn't the only one who got jacked recently. And, two: Usher really is as stupid and moronic as I think he is:

Usher had $100,000 worth of luggage stolen while staying at the Trump International Hotel and Tower in New York on Friday. According to a hotel spokesperson, the singer brought all of his luggage up to his hotel room with the exception of one bag, which was to be picked up by a member of his posse. Unfortunately, a thief grabbed the bag instead, and when Usher found out, he called Donald Trump personally to complain. Trump issued a statement saying the missing bag was not the fault of his staff, but that he would reimburse Mr. Entertainment for his loss. [from]


I miss you, iPod

I truly do. The gym isn't the same. I feel so vulnerable and lonely without you. The subway ride in to work and back home is simply unbearable. I actually have to focus on my other senses now. Like smell. Do you know what it's like to smell? On the subway?? I hope that whoever stole you from me is enjoying you and treating you well. I just feel so violated, knowing that they're perusing my personally constructed playlists. [Shiver.] Putting their grubby hands all over your body. For shame. I miss you.

Oh, yes. I miss you too apartment keys, cell phone, cigarettes, and gym membership card with. my. NAME. on it. By the by, if you happened to be out late on Sunday night in New York City and found these things... holla.


Talkin' 'bout my generation

Oh, folks. Funny drama to relay to you today. It's a sordid tale of friends that cut ties for the weirdest reason and haven't spoken in two whole years. The players are Drone and a person we'll call Crazy Cat Lady. See, Drone used to work for Crazy Cat Lady at a really big company when Drone was in college. It was a fun job. A jovial work environment. Well, the jovial atmosphere led Drone to hanging out with CCL outside of work. Drinks after work, here. A trip to CCL's Hamptons house on the weekend, there. Nice, right?

It was nice. A seemingly cool older friend. A boss I actually liked and respected. CCL was hard as nails at work, but I respected that. She was what some people might refer to as anal retentive. Extremely picky, finicky, and perfectionist in the truest sense of the word. Letters to first time correspondents HAD to be signed off "Sincerely" while long time contacts and associates HAD to be signed off with "Truly yours." No deviation was ever allowed!! Anyway. CCL was such a good friend that she even attended my college graduation. Seated right next to my parents. That good a friend. And friends do each other favors, right? I think so.

So every Christmas, CCL would travel to a warm location for Holiday. I, the generous Drone that I was, offered to watch her brothel of cats while she was away. For about a week I would stay at her apartment, clean the apartment, watch the cats, feed the cats, play with the cats, etc. Did I mention that she paid me 20 (measly) bucks a day? But I didn't care that she was cheap. I was her friend, and I enjoyed doing it for her.

Well after one cat-sitting in particular had finished, I noticed an extremely OCD gene present itself in the CCL. I received a detailed E-mail from CCL detailing in bullet format exactly all of the things she found when she arrived home from holiday. I wish wish wish that I still had this E-mail, but alas I deleted it. However, Gina read it at the time and can back me up. The E-mail listed the following things among numerous others:

--I noticed that there were two bars of soap missing instead of the one I left out for you. Did you really use both of them? If so, please let me know.

--I noticed that my magazines were in an unusal order. I believe that my Us Weekly was underneath my Self. I don't mind if you look at my periodicals, but I just ask that you return them to their original order.

--I noticed that there were a few crumbs on the counter. Please make sure to sweep the counter with the brush under the sink after you eat.

--I noticed that the treadmill was still plugged in. As you know, I request that you unplug the treadmill after every use.

--I noticed that you used one body towel and two face towels folded on the bathroom counter. Please let me know if you intended for me to wash these or if you washed them already.

Folks. I could go on. After reading the CCL E-mail and consutling with friends, it was decided that (sadly) CCL was indeed a little coocoo for Cocoa Puffs. So, in the heat of my feeling insulted (not to mention Big Brother-ed on a grand scale) I responded to each and every charge (via E-mail) with a rather biting tone. And I was very insulted.

I wasn't getting paid a ton of money to maintain her apartment and track my every movement to make certain that her apartment had no trace of my ever having been there. I didn't sign up to watch the apartment of an OCD individual. Or did I?

So after I sent my E-mail, I resolved that it would be best for our friendship if I never watch her cats again. Nonetheless, CCL asked if I would watch her apartment in the coming weeks. I said that I would 'be in New Jersey' (a lie, but all I could think of on the spot). How about next Christmas?? (Yes, she booked me a year in advance for this shit. Is it any surprise? Hello, OCD. Thy name is CCL.) I'll be in New Jersey then, too. I think CCL got the hint. But you know what. Like everything, she went to the extreme.

CCL never called me again and stopped emailing me. I'm not really a begger or a game player, so I stopped communicating too. Over the years, I've thought of her and wondered what exactly happened and that maybe I should give her another chance. So. Last week I sent her the following E-mail:

Hi, [CCL]. [Drone], here. I just wanted to let you know that I've been thinking of you lately and hoping that everything's going great on your end. I feel like we've lost touch, and I'm not too certain why. If I've ever done anything that made you want to cut ties, I hope that we can discuss and resolve? I miss talking with you very much and would love to catch up anytime at your convenience. Please don't hesitate to email or call anytime. Your friend, [Drone]

This was sent last Friday. Today, I received a response. After not communicating for two years.

[Drone], I really don't want to revisit the past. I wish you the best, but you and I have very different points of view regarding friendship - probably a generational thing. Take care. [The Crazy Cat Lady]

Probably a generational thing? WTF? Yeah. You're right. My generation must know a lot more about OCD behavior and must be able to recognize it more readily--moreso than the 'older' generations can. Kudos on the maturity you seem to be demonstrating on behalf of your generation. So weird. I'm chalking this up to yet another run in with yet another "eccentric" New York character. My best wishes to the CCL. Enjoy 'your' generation... and mind the gap.


Monday, April 18, 2005

Night. Mare.

Nightmare. Nighmarenightmarenightmare! Deep breaths, Drone. Deep breaths.

OK, folks. How was your weekend? Good? Oh, good. Mine, you ask?

Well, Friday night was uneventful in a great way. Watched TV, went to the gym, slept. All good. Saturday was great too. Great weather. Beautiful outside. Saturday night was awesome. My fly by the seat of his pants older brother rolled into the City unannounced, and we hung out. It was really fun. My brother met up with four of his best friends from high school. People whose names are burned in my brain from when I was six years old and my brother was in high school. Bro man and his friends are all about six years my senior. Most of them are married and have cool careers. It was very trippy to see them all and catch up. I stayed up until 2AM shooting the shit with my brother, my brother's awesome friend from high school, and my brother's friend's husband. It was really fun.

Sunday. Oh Sunday. Well, it started out innocently enough. Then I got a call from Tall Brooklyn (work friend). Tall Brooklyn and Cool Brit (both friends from work) were going to have a 3PM brunch, and I was invited to join waaaaay downtown. So I went. I had nothing else to do and really like both of them. When I got there, there was a small group of friends and new people that I'd never met. All good. We were sitting at an outside table. I said to the waitress that I was hot and could she suggest a cold drink. So I had a margarita on the rocks. Fine.

Then we proceeded to a cheap Mexican joint that serves frozen (strong. ass.) maragaritas "to go." Yeah. I'm pretty 100% certain that it's illegal, but I love it (you know, the whole carrying an alcoholic beverage--aka, an open bottle--out into the street). Two of those $7 biatches later, and I was read' to go.

So we proceeded to a girl's (friend of Cool Brit) rooftop for more booze, shit shootin', and cigarettes. Still great. At about 7, we started doing the 'what should we do next' dance? Drone was drunk and wanted to go out. So the four of us who had it in us, proceeded to a bar. Two Stellas and an Irish Car Bomb later, Drone was even more trashed.

The four of us proceeded to the next bar. A shot of tequila and another Stella for Drone. Much shit shooting took place. Much fun was had. Well, then the girls decided to bail. So it was down to Tall Brooklyn and Drone. We decided to go to a completey new 'hood and do the damn thing right. So we went to a crazy busy Sunday night club/bar. It was awesome. Two Asian beers, a shot of tequila, and many cigarettes (yes. actual cigarettes. this place is SO awesome that you can actually smoke inside without being arrested) later, and the drunkeness was just. beyond. Not sick beyond. But 'is that person cute? Because I think their face is all blurry' beyond. Yeah. So Tall Brooklyn and I were doing the rounds. Squeezing through the crowd. Shoving. Being shoved. All healthy crowd navigating behavior. But this is where it gets kind of hectic.

So, I go down this set of stairs with Tall Brooklyn right behind me. Or so I think. I turn around to point out an unfortunate looking individual when I realize that Tall Brooklyn is not behind me. Nowhere to be found. MIA. OH. FUCK. This place is huge. Like an ant farm and swarming with little ants. And guess what, I think Tall Brooklyn has my fleece vest in his hands. The one with my cell phone, apartment keys, iPod, and cigarettes. Sweet candy.

I don't know if I can adqueately relay just how difficult it would be to find a lost person in the huge. loud. place where we went, but I think the whole needle in the haystack analogy works quite well. At first I was real clam about the whole situation. I put myself in a visible place and stayed put. Nothing. Then I looked everywhere. Every. where. Nothing. Nada. This is when I started to panic. Becuase I don't have a phone now, and I don't know Brooklyn Tall's cell number by heart. For that matter, I don't know anyone's number. It's all saved in my phone's address book. I'm lucky that I even remember my own number. Ugh. So I couldn't call him.

It's 3AM. On a Sunday night. And I don't have my apartment keys. And I have work tomorrow. Oh shit. I went from pretty calm to wondering where I would be sleeping. On the street? No friggin' way. What the hell am I going to do? I've never (drunkenly or otherwise) uttered the phrase, 'I don't know what to do' so many times in my life. I was out of ideas. And going crazy. I tried to make best friends with the bouncer at the door so that he'd keep an eye out for my friend. Which I did. And he did. Keep an eye out, that is. But it didn't result in me finding my friend and my possessions. So, after about an hour of frantically searching for Tall Brooklyn ala 'Where's My Missing Daughter Who Was Kidnapped at K-MART' premiering on a Lifetime Television for Women channel near you, I had no other choice that to leave. But where to go?

My superintendent doesn't actually live in my building, and I knew there was no way he's be able to do anything for me at 4 in the morning. SO. What did I do? The most dignified and respectful thing a little Drone could do.

I went to my ex's apartment and held the door buzzer firmly until the door was answered. Oh yeah. I'm a high class guy. Trying to mask my (obvious) drunkitude, I slurred through Dronelike sobbing what had happened to me. C. was amazing. Pulled me in, took out my contacts, said everything would be alright, and fell asleep with me. Damn. So nice. I so went to the right place. But I also felt HORRIBLE showing up like that. So not cool. Anyway.

So here I am at work. Still drunk and trying to keep everything together because you know what? You remember that jacket I had? With my whole life in it? That I thought Brooklyn Tall had? Well. When Brooklyn Tall came in to work this morning, we shared our respective sides of the story to see exactly what went down. Long story, short: we lost eachother and both left. But. Tall Brooklyn did not have my fleece vest/jacket with him. He disavowed all knowledge of said vest. Oh holy fuck.

So now I'm at work. I'm drunk. I'm tired. AND. Someone has my cell phone, my iPod, and my apartment keys. I'm now coordinating getting new keys to my apartment. I'm going to miss class tonight, because I don't have my stuff for school and I can't get into my apartment. Tall Brooklyn has hope that the bar/club might have my vest. Highly doubtful, folks. There were probably 8 MILLIONBILLION people traversing through that shit. And. We live in New York. The least honest City in the world. If someone were indeed to find my shit they would either: a) steal it, or; b) throw it in the trash. I did leave a message with the manager of the club, but I'm sure he's out getting a BJ from a clubgoer/model and could care less about my stuff.

Oh, folks. What a bad day. I wish that my vest would just turn up. I don't want to deal with the whole cell phone thing. Getting a new one blah blah blah. Calling my super was bad enough. Damn. Like I said, what a nightmare. If I really think about last night, I believe that I made a majorly boner move on four separate occassions. Including the upholstered bar stool I tried boozehoundingly to stand on in the club that summarily collapsed under my weight. Yeah. Nightmare. Night. MARE!


Friday, April 15, 2005

Lots to say...

...but not a lot of time in which to say it. Work's been crazy, so here's something quirky for all the ladies and the men-loving fellas out there. I thought this was just entertaining enough to help you pass the time, if you're: A) bored at work, and; 2) have headphones with which to hear the *in-depth* interviews. Yeah. [via towleroad via Socialite]

Update: Oh man. I don't even need to hear this guy's voice on speaker to know that he's a freak.


Butt update

So this site is not intended to be a political site or one that reflects my or really anyone else's personal politics. Usually. But since I was only twice removed from this event, I thought I'd share something interesting. The guy who addressed Scalia decided to send out the following letter regarding his comment to various individuals, which I think helps contextualize better his comment, if you're interested. That is all.

As the student who asked Justice Scalia about his sexual conduct, I am responding to your posts to explain why I believe I had a right to confront Justice Scalia in the manner I did Tuesday, why any gay or sympathetic person has that same right. It should be clear that I intended to be offensive, obnoxious, and inflammatory. There is a time to discuss and there are times when acts and opposition are necessary. Debate is useless when one participant denies the full dignity of the other. How am I to docilely engage a man who sarcastically rants about the “beauty of homosexual relationships” (at the Q&A) and believes that gay school teachers will try to convert children to a homosexual lifestyle (at oral argument for Lawrence)? Although I my question was legally relevant, as I explain below, an independent motivation for my speech-act was to simply subject a homophobic government official to the same indignity to which he would subject millions of gay Americans. It was partially a naked act of resistance and a refusal to be silenced. I wanted to make him and everyone in the room aware of the dehumanizing effect of trivializing such an important relationship. Justice Scalia has no pity for the millions of gay Americans on whom sodomy laws and official homophobia have such an effect, so it is difficult to sympathize with his brief moment of "humiliation," as some have called it. The fact that I am a law student and Scalia is a Supreme Court Justice does not require me to circumscribe my justified opposition and outrage within the bounds of jurisprudential discourse. Law school and the law profession do not negate my identity as a member of an oppressed minority confronting injustice. Even so, I did have a legal point: Justice Kennedy’s majority opinion in Lawrence asked whether criminalizing homosexual conduct advanced a state interest “which could justify the intrusion into the personal and private life of the individual.” Scalia did not answer this question in his dissent because he believed the state need only assert a legitimate interest to defeat non-fundamental liberties. I basically asked him this question again - it is now the law of the land. He said he did not know whether the interest was significant enough. I then asked him if he sodomizes his wife to subject his intimate relations to the scrutiny he cavalierly would allow others – by force, if necessary. Everyone knew at that moment how significant the interest is. Beyond exerting official power against homosexuals, Scalia is an outspoken and high-profile homophobe. After the aforementioned sarcastic remarks about gay people’s relationships, can anyone doubt how little respect he has for LGBT Americans? Even if no case touching gay rights ever came before him, his comments from the bench (that employment non-discrimination is some kind of “homosexual agenda,” etc.) and within our very walls are unacceptable to any self-respecting gay person or principled opponent of discrimination. The idea that I should have treated a man with such repugnant views with deference because he is a high government official evinces either a dangerously un-American acceptance of authority or insensitivity to the gay community’s grievances.

Friends have forwarded me emails complaining of the “liberal” student who asked “the question.” That some of my classmates are shallow and insensitive enough to conceptualize my complaint as mere partisan politics is disheartening. Though I should not have to, I will share with everyone that I am neither a Democrat nor Republican and do not consider myself a “liberal” except in the classical sense. I hope that we can separate a simple demand for equality under the law and outrage over being denied it from so much dogmatic ideological baggage. LGBT Americans are still a persecuted minority and our struggle for equal rights is still vital. 4 out of 5 LGBT kids are harassed in school – tell them to debate their harassers. Suicide rates for them are much higher than for others. We still cannot serve in the military, have little protection from employment and other forms of discrimination, and are denied the 1000+ benefits that accrue from official recognition of marriage. I know some who support gay rights oppose my question and our protest. Do not presume to tell me when and with how much urgency to stand up for our rights. I am 17 months out of a lifelong closet and have lost too much time to heterosexist hegemony to tolerate those who say, as Dr. King put it, “just wait.” If you cannot stomach a breach of decorum when justified outrage erupts then your support is nearly worthless anyway. At least do not allow yourselves to become complicit in discrimination by demanding obedience from its victims. Many of our classmates chose NYU over higher-ranked schools because of our reputation as a “private university in the public service” and our commitment to certain values. We were the first law school to require that employers pledge not to discriminate on the basis of sexual orientation. Of Scalia’s law schools that have “signed on to the homosexual agenda,” our signature stands out like John Hancock’s. We won a federal injunction in the FAIR litigation as an “expressive association” that counts acceptance of sexual orientation as a core value. Those who worry about our school’s prestige should remember how we got here and consider whether flattering those who mock what we believe and are otherwise willing to fight for appears prestigious or pathetic. We protestors did not embarrass NYU, Scalia embarrassed NYU. We stood up to a bigot for the values that make NYU more than a great place to learn the law.

I repeat my willingess to discuss this issue calmly with anyone who respects my identity as a gay man. I have had many productive talks with classmates since Tuesday and I hope that will continue.



Thursday, April 14, 2005

Just for Fun Sweet.

It looks like Haylie Duff is attending her weekly chapter meeting.

Q: How do I look, you guys??

A: Who are you and where's Hilary??

Hello?! This is so fucking Haylie Duff's role in a nutshell. It just is:

"The good news is... you get to go to the Oscars, Emmys and all of the glamorous premieres...The bad news is... you get to schlep the make-up bag and gown." [from above link]

Here's Haylie getting all dolled up to assist Hilary at the Nick Teen Choice Awards:

Hairguy: Dude, Hay. In this light you almost look like Hilary.
Hay: Oh shit. Really?! Let's take a picture.



So, Friend #4 had a lot to do with organizing this event. I'm guessing Scalia won't be RSVP-ing 'Yes' again any time in the near future. Oh that I could have been a fly on the wall at that event. Damn it.


Job of the Week

So I get this almost daily E-mail from my alma mater letting me know about temporary job opportunities. Here's a real winner:

Description: Friendly person needed to accompany me to doctor's appointment. (No, I'm not old, just a chicken!) Cannot wear fragrances, as I am allergic. I will drive both ways.
Qualifications=Must be friendly, easy-going.
Duration=Tuesday, April 19, approx. 2pm to 4pm

I almost gave out this lady's contact information, you know, in case you wanted the job. But then I thought that even I'd probably be ringing up to prank her ass. So I wanted first dibs. Or alternatively, I'd be really serious about wanting the job and then show up after having bathed in CK-1.


Uptown pusher

Man, what a day. I've done an unhealthy share of paper pushing today. Don't really do that too much. I started remembering why I hated the job that originally led me to start this site: my boring non-descript business-oriented job that had me working under the namesake of this blog, Robo. Good ol' Robo. Anyway, one of my professional goals is to remove myself completely from paperwork. Let others do it. If I ascend high enough within my field, that is entirely possible. But, man. Paperwork seriously sucks. You spend a ridiculous amount of time (if you're as obssesively meticulous as I tend to be) writing E-mails, making photocopies, highlighting shit, entering information into databases and Excel spreadsheets, and THEN. Doing all the work to make sure that you've got backup for when people say they didn't get the paperwork you sent them, etc. Really, you're doing nothing. You're making nothing. You're using information that already exists and just rearringing it or sending it on to someone else. Totally fruitless. I hate it.

Aside from the paper pushing, I did my usual job of coralling people and making sure that my boss is happy and has his snacks and various designer items properly appointed. I am quite the diligent little Drone (Read: This shit better pay off. and soon.).

So class is going well. I'm approaching the finishing line for this rather challenging class I'm taking. Challenging because of the coursework and, more of note, challenging because of my crazy teacher. I'll be a little sad to leave her insanity. A very little. OK, no I won't. I'll try to trip her after the grades are turned in. OK, before the grades are turned in. OK. Tonight.

Man, I feel full. Haven't been going to the gym as often as I would like. There was a time when I'd go for two hours a day, six days a week (at LEAST). Now, I go maybe 2 hours a day, four days a week. At most. Waaa. What did I eat today, you ask?? Let us just see:

  • three cups of coffee (just call me M-K)*
  • one cigarette borrowed from Tall Brooklyn


  • 1/2 turkey sandwich
  • one Fresca

Afternoon snack

  • 1/2 turkey snadwich
  • small bag of nuts & dried fruit (vending machine purchase)
  • 3 Diet Cokes

That doesn't sound like a whole hell of a lot. But damn it if I don't feel stuffed. Things that make you go, 'Hm.'

*This is so fucking sweet. For some reason I found this image when I search for "Mary-Kate coffee" on Google. Nice.


Carry my bag!

If you haven't gathered yet, I love this guy's site. It's simply the best. Better than all the rest. Better than anyone. OK, you get the idea. Here is yet one more post featuring yet another piece of photographic evidence that Haylie Duff is Hilary Duff's personal assistant.


Wednesday, April 13, 2005

Haha. No.

Oh, man. Today, Drone's bosses are in the 'aren't I so funny?' mood. Every other ten minutes is a politically incorrect joke or a degrading comment at some other co-worker's expense (behind said co-worker's back). I make it point NEVER to join in and/or egg the joking on. If I like or respect someone, I will not make them the butt of jokes behind their backs. Period. So. I've had to come up with new and creative reactions to said jokes that serve both as: (1) my ackowledgement without offending the jokester, and; (2) a response that does not reward said comment. These reactions include, but are not limited to:

  • Hm. Yeah.
  • I understand. Right.
  • That's strange.
  • I see.
  • [Head nod.]
  • [Head tilt.]
  • I'm not really sure.
  • I've never really thought about that.
  • I see your point.

With all this creative diplomacy it's a wonder that I have time to do, you know, my JOB.


Rebel without a friend

OK, so I don't know if I mentioned but I'm basically all alone in this big city. When I came to the Apple for school (six years ago), I had not one friend, family member, or associate in New York City. None that I was aware of anyway. So I was forging the way for all future Drone relatives. I was the Cristopher Columbus of the Drone clan, if you will. Except I didn't murder any Native Americans or stomp out the local ecosystems. Much. So, yeah. I chose to embark on a journey or self discovery and make my own way without help from basically anyone.

It took me a good year to acquire what I deem were and still are a few "great friends." By a few I mean three. I had a ton of acquaintances, but they did nothing for me. Ask me to remember any of their last names, and I wouldn't be able to. Three years later I probably acquired about two more great friends. So what does this bring the tally to? Five. OK. Five friends.

Fast forward to graduation. Yay! 120 G's of my father's and various scholarship's money later, I was in the professional world making less money annually than I paid to go to school each year. Fun. That year consisted of hanging out with three of the five best friends that stayed in the City. Watching reality TV on Wednesday nights, smoking cigarettes, painting newly acquired shoebox-sized apartments, drinking booze--the usual.

Then, Drone began dating someone. Seriously. It was an intense love at the beginning. So for about a year, Drone dropped off the friend radar and sank into the wonderfully obscuring oblivion of so-called love. I lost contact with friends and family. You know how that goes. I am still seeing this love, but on less definite and committed terms.

Well, friend #1 moved to Atlanta (you know who you are). Friend #2 moved to Wisconsin and then Ithaca, NY. Friend #3 just moved to London for work. Friend #4 goes to law school and is frequently very busy. Friend #5 is still pretty mad at me after dropping off of the friend radar when I fell into the bosom of Lady Love. He said that things are cool, but Friend #5 tends not to return my calls or E-mails with any predictability. So. I basically hang out with Friend #4 when I can.

Now. About Drone. As my friends can defend, Drone can be a very shy individual. At the very least, it takes Drone a long time to open up, to trust, and to invest in new friendships. I tend to be jaded and disinterested. Freud me later, and just take that for granted. I feel this entry from Black Table to be fitting of my general mood on the subject, if it offer any insight:

GROCERY STORE GUY: While I was buying a six-pack of Guinness to drown my sorrows, you came into my life. Walking down the beer aisle with your cute little girlfriend (how did you get her?), you flashed me a smile and a thumbs up and said "Great beer, man." Get over yourself. First off, it's not some special hip microbrew; it's Guinness. Second off, this is in a city. That means I'm desensitized to strangers, and I hate you. I just want my beer. Go away. You, for thinking you're cool and in Haight-Ashbury when you're neither: C -

Recently, I've started hanging out with two cool co-workers outside of work (we'll call them Cool Brit and Brooklyn Tall). Please note that I've been working with these two for almost a year and almost six months, resepctively). I usually frown upon cavorting with work mates, because I fear getting drunk and divulging too much about... well, about anything. Basically about getting too comfortable. Mixing work and pleasure in any fashion is usually a challenging equation for me to solve. But, as you can see, I'm running low on human interaction.

So here I am. Friend #4, Cool Brit, and Brooklyn Tall. Work keeps me busy at all times. When I'm not at work, I'm in school. When I'm not in school, I'm trying to go to the gym and catch up on sleep. What's a Drone to do???

Come back! God forbid I had to make new friends!!


Hump Day Rant

Dear Subway:

It's over. I'm sorry, but I just can't take it anymore. You and I are through.

I'm always on time. You're predicatably unpredictable and usually always late. Not to mention the fact that you don't even pretend to keep a schedule. You just show up whenever you feel like it. This relationship is always on your terms, and I've finally had it.

You smell like feces and you're flaking all over the place. That's just gross, sweetheart.

You fly off the handle when anything even remotely out of the ordinary happens. Even a drop of rain outside and you come to a screaching halt. What's that about? Like a little baby that's lost its bottle, you seemingly sit down on the floor Indian style with your arms folded and pout. Give me a break! You live in New York City for God's sake. You should know better.

You send me mixed signals all of the time. Sometimes I can understand what you're trying to say if I get real close but usually the words coming out of your mouth just sound like straight static. How am I supposed to know where you and I stand if I can't even understand your words??

I don't know why I keep doing this to myself. I know I should leave you, but each and every day I keep coming back. You're bad for me. We're bad for eachother. This is an abusive, co-dependent union, and it must. stop.

For these reasons and so many more, we're done.

So I'll see you tonight? K.



Tuesday, April 12, 2005

Check ya'self

Will somebody please tell Mariah Carey that she's not Beyonce? Thanks.


Neither here nor there

Two random thoughts.

Numero uno: A while back this super-important executive at my company was really stressed out and barked at me publicly, embarassing both himself and me. I stayed pretty calm at the time but was inwardly very shaken. It wasn't a light scathing but rather a public humiliation with yelling and frustration. I pretty much just took it like a little bitch. Then, I went to my sometimes kooky boss and told him what transpired. This is where I gained a lot of respect for my boss and actually felt indebted to him. He totally came to my defense and, as he is higher up than said barking exec, put the person in his place. Well, this exec has since needed me for many things and favors, which I gladly and willingly do for him. No snooty behavior on my end or sour resentment. At least not outwardly. A total case of killing with kindness. And you know what? It feels so damn good. I have to say. I've never once said anything bad about him or treated him with any disrespect. The nicer I am to him, the smaller he feels. I know this because of the way he deals with me since. It's like that feeling a (normal) person would get after he might take agression out on a puppy. Loves it. Try it out. But keep in mind that this only works on people with: a) souls, or alternatively; b) interest in being perceived as decent. Many companies feature individuals that have no reason to appreciate either. So, for them: just spite them any way you can.

Numero dos: I have this friend that is definitely someone that an objective person would deem hot. Very attractive. A good catch. However, whenever my friend goes out to a bar, it seems like only (people he perceives to be) trolls and freaks hit on him. Rightly so, he wonders, "Is this the best that I can get? Am I a troll?" He's starting to doubt himself because of this. Let me again state for the record that he's not a troll. Like I said, he's goodlooking. SO. What is with that? My friend Gina has tried to explain this phenomeno in the past. She says that so-called extremely unfortunate looking people have 'nothing to lose' and therefore shoot their proverbial wod of balls on approaching people that they notice are the hottest. That's what she has to say. So, by that theory, an everyday moron would be more willing to approach Gisele Bundchen that would a pretty hot person. I don't know. I only put this out there because I've noticed the same thing happening to me. Not that I consider myself off the charts hot or anything. I just feel like the caliber of hotness of those who come up to me is not what... I would expect or hope for. Dunno. Just a general 'what's up with that?'


Take the bad with the good

Welcome to the emotional rollercoaster that is my life, y'all. Today, I feel fine. School was great last night. I got an awesome grade on my midterm and on my last project before the final. Now, I get to focus on the final project, which I'm really excited about. So that helped a little.

And I took care of a looming work project. Well, not "took care of" as much as "started to tackle" the project. Let's just say that this project involves a terribly demanding and spoiled individual who talks to me like I'm a brainless concubine. Now, I'm not one to toot my own horn, but I'm an intelligent individual. Treat me with some modicum of dignity, and we'll get along just fine. Don't? And fear my wrath. So, anway. I was kind of letting this project drag on becuase I had no interest in helping this person AND becuase I had a million other things to do. But then I heard a voice in my head. It was the slightly bitchy and condescending voice of a former co-worker who, in a time of personal crisis, coldly advised me that "things only get out of control in you LET them get out of control." I seriously will never be able to forget this statement. At the time, it was the most annoying and seemingly unhelpful statement I thought I'd ever heard. But I've since referred to the statement at least a hundred times when trying to kick myself in the butt. Works every time. Places the blame squarely where it belongs if I get lazy. On me.

So yeah. Feeling a little better today. Hoping that I can go to the gym tonight and catch a glimpse of my gym crush. We'll see. Work might be a late one, thereby precluding me from going to the gym. Other than that, not much news. So, I might as well show you a super hot picture of my favorite caffeine-drinking, sunglass-wearing chick. I'm starting to question whether she even has eyeballs. What's with the glasses 24/7???? The eyes are the window to the soul, M-K? Give it up!


Monday, April 11, 2005

Uh oh

Danger, Will Robinson. Drone is feeling depressed. I can't help it. I'm noticing the depression starting to sink in. I never used to recognize when I was getting depression until my good friend keyed me into the whole clinical notion of it all.

I'm not saying that I'm clinically depressed or anything, but I'm feeling very sad all of a sudden. Could just be a "case of the Mondays." I hope so. But I've got the whole bag of personal worms busting at the seams: feeling lonely in love, feeling blahed out by current professional state, and sad that I have to be indoors when it's so nice outside.

Plus, I have all these looming projects at work that I have to do and seemingly no time (or real insterest) with which to complete them. And I have all this shit to do for school, too. Which means I'll be getting very little sleep in the coming days. I also haven't been hitting the gym as much in the past week for reasons mainly unknown, so I kind of feel slobby and lazy in that respect. I suspect this might have something to do with having so much footloose and fancy free fun this weekend. I tasted what it's like to do whatever I want and liked it a lot. Now I feel like I'm in a prison cell, subject to the will and whims of others. Lack of control = mondo depression for Drone. What to do? What to do?


So behind the times

I don't know how many of you used to have AT&T as your cell phone provider, but I used to. So I was automatically switched over to Cingular when the former was bought out by the latter. I, just this morning, activated my new phone. I realize that this shit is probably older than dirt and is, as Hilary Duff might say, so yesterday. But it's new to me. Has a camera and stuff. But I must say that I've never really been that person who needed to get the newest shit before anyone else. I mean, don't get me wrong. I'd love to have a Motorola Razor, or whatever. But I'm in no position to pay several hundred dollars for the technology. So, I suffer being waaay behind the times and getting the stuff for free about two years about some people purchase them. Whenever I transition to a new cell phone, it always reminds me of this time when I was in college.

I was tutoring two pretty wealthy siblings after school every day. When we'd finish studying, the siblings would oftentimes invite their mega-rich little 12-year-old friends over to play video games and stuff. And I was sort of the older brother/babysitter until the mom got home from work. Well, one day, super-mega-rich offspring saw my old Ericsson phone (roughly the size and weight of a bar a soap) and freaked out. "Oh man, look at this piece of shit." I'll bet this kid had my "new phone", then. Anyway, I never felt like such a wimpy loser as when this 12-year-old unknowingly belittled me for being poor. I played it off and probably called him fat and stupid. Which he probably was. So, I went out and bought a new, or what I thought was a nice new state of the art, phone. What do you think little fatty said? "Well, at least your up to LAST year." Sweet. Never going to try and keep up with the Joneses. Or their offspring.


So don't want to be here right now

Damn it. I am so friggin' cranky right now. People keep bothering me, and the phone keeps ringing off the hook. And I'm starting to notice a pile of stuff that needs to be done, but I can't tackle it because people are all. effing. over me. Leave me alone, people. Please! Please! Go to lunch or something. So that I can work through my lunch, as I always do, uninterrupted. Ahhh.

I had such a good weekend. Got mega-drunk on Saturday night with three friends from work. Started boozing at 5PM, was knock-me-over sauced by 6PM, and didn't come home 'til 2AM. Why can't every day be like that? Why oh why must I be a bottom-feeding professional? Sometimes, I just want to be Mariah Carey. Or Jim Carey. Basically anyone who can be a freak and get paid to act as such. Waaa.


Good morning

Happy Monday, folks. Looks like it's gunna be one of those days. For both M-K and me. Hello, caffeine.


Friday, April 08, 2005

Doin' it way big

Yes. And double yes! Crazy big glasses? Check. Billowy bedsheet/sweater? Check. Clunky bracelets? M hm. Ginormous bodyguard? Checkaroo. And who could forget the Venti-ness? Not M-K. And not I. Word to your mother. Incidentally, if anyone needs me, this is where I'll be today. Laughing my drone heart out.

PS: Dude, look. M-K's bodyguard is cheating on her with Ashley. Uh-oh. Guess they're not exclusive. So, we know they like Tasti-D and Starbucks. How original. And. Where are Ashley's clunky bracelets and billowy clothes?? Somebody'd better FedEx some kaftans and quick! Also of note: The humongoid bodyguard has teeny tiny sunglasses on. Even the tall lady in the background has medium-sized shades. But Granny Ashley? Well, judge for yourself. Rock those bitches with all your Balenciaga bag toting might, A. Word.


Thursday, April 07, 2005

Words to live by?

So here I am. Drinking my Yogi Green Tea at work. Also known as my lunch. Breakfast was a piping cold cup coffee. Oh yeah. Did I mention that my company has just sent out an E-mail delineating the new "Breakfast Policy" in detail? The short end of the stick: they're taking away all food and leaving us with coffee, tea, and "supplies." Nice. So for those of us who aren't permitted by their compulsive bosses to leave the office, meals become hot beverages. Beautiful.

Speaking of beautiful, Yogi Tea is knows for having little words of wisdom on the tea bag. Little uplifting nuggets, if you will. Well, my nugget today was, "Dutiful is beautiful." WTF? What corporate honcho got his way or won the bet and was permitted to have that saying printed? Dutiful is beautiful. Yes, oh Yogi Master. I bow down to you in subservience. Dutiful is beautiful, my ass. Rage against the machine. And against whoever writes those sayings.


I Heart the Mini-me's

Sweet. I'm actually getting pretty good at getting around the whole blocked sites thing. Takes creativity, but I'm doin' it. I feel like Sandra Bullock in The Net when she's covering her digital tracks in order to investigate the Praetorians. What? That was my favorite movie in the 8th grade. What do you want from me?

Anyway, the whole point of my posting this was to relay something I saw on Pink that made me think. First of all, I'm indebted to this site. Before I got wise, it quite literally was the only site that I could peruse for pleasure. I've added a few to the list, but it's not a long wrap sheet. Anyway, I love this site. Feeds my inner child. Writing, what? Gimme pictures. Glossy pictures. So, yes. Today's post features snaps of the Olsen Twins. Why do I love this twosome so much. Well, I can't say. But I just do. Maybe it's their ginormous sunglasses that they always wear. Maybe it's the ginormous, billowy clothing they always wear. Maybe it's the ginormous Venti Starbucks coffees they always seem to carry around. Maybe it's the ginormous wooden and plastic bracelets they adorn themselves with. Maybe it's their ginormous bodyguards. Hm. I'm seeing a common thread here. Little girls who like big things. What else is new? Heh.

Seriously, though. I've seen just about every New York celebrity up close and personal, but I've yet to see either on of them. Need to. Have to. That's hot. Loves it. Man, I'm tired.


Wednesday, April 06, 2005

Secret Agent [Drone]man

Holy Bejeezle, you guys. I don't know how I figured out how to access today, but I did. I found a loophole by first accessing other sites that linked to other sites that ultimately led me here. As you may or may not have been informed by my favorite G-ness, the computer folk at my company have blocked access to all sites deemed to have "interactive bulletins and forums," "adult material," or "explicit content." Whatever. I am an admitted loser, and I don't have the Internet at home, so I'm pretty much S.O.L. But maybe I can figure out how to be a sneaky little Drone once in a while. I'll give it my most valiant effort.

Wow. So much news. So little time. This calls for bullet format:
  • I was on jury duty for what turned out to be nine whole (business) days. I was selected for a criminal trial and had to serve for the duration of the trial. The first few days were the what seemed to be the best days of my life. It was quite literally a paid vacation, the likes of which my employers could do nothing about. It was like the Vacation Angel came down from high and swooped me up into here loving bosom. The hours were 9 to 5, with a two. hour. lunch. That's a good deal for me, folks. No matter how you slice it. Like I said, the first few days were awesome. All I did was read magazines, write down TO DO lists, contemplate my life, and privately made fun of weird people. And yes there were many. Including the defendant of a case for which I was not chosen. As the judge was interviewing 50 potential jurors, the shackled surrounded by three armed guards defendant began removing his pants. Sweet. So sad that I wasn't put on that case. The actual case I was put on was very difficult and arduous to sit through. All I'll say is that it was a criminal case and that deliberations were Twelve Angry Men realized. Nuts.
  • I returned to work, only to find that every single website I depend on for news and enjoyment had been blocked. Bew. EXCEPT. Pink. So, I've basically been going on awesome gossip and for a while. Life could be worse.
  • Work's been intense. What else is new. Love it though. My boss is still as... colorful as ever. My newest non-work-related task has been to find my boss a therapist that specializes in compulsive behvior. Since being assigned this task (two days ago), my boss has asked me no fewer than 12 times if I have found anyone great? Would that qualify as compulsively following up? Rhetoric, folks. Rhetoric.
  • School is going great. I still hate my horribly miserable, overweight guid-ess (feminine of guido) of a professor, but I've been getting the best grades. My teacher grades projects blindly and THEN reveals to the class whose project received the best grade. I've been that person three times in a row. Nice.
  • I did my taxes early and got a huge refund. Yes. Yes. Yes. If I can ever get time off of work, I'm totally going on vacation. L.A., anyone???
  • I think "springing forward" is the world's worst idea. Nice try with the whole happy go lightliness that the phrase "spring forward" conotes, but no. I don't really need the extra hour of sunlight at night, thanks. Please make a note of this, Mr. or Mrs. World Time Keeper... or whatever.
  • What else? Oh yeah. The weather is Fatty McFatness in NYC. 70's. Sunny. Perfect. Maybe I'll actually get to go out and enjoy.
  • Finally (of the many things that I want to relay but am rushing because I don't want Blogger to gobble up this rare post), I have a crush on someone at my gym. In order to see this certain someone, I have to go to the gym between the hours of 6:30 and 8PM on weeknights. Since I'm at class Mondays and Wednesdays, my only options are Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays. Couldn't go last night becuase I was at work until 10PM. Gooh. Thursday it is. I hope. Going to the gym and getting fit: B. Having a hottie to motivate you to go: A+. I'll keep you as posted as I can, given the Third Reichness of my company's current computer state.

I love you all. Thanks for hanging with me. I'll never knowingly quit this deal. Peace.