Archive | February 6, 2007

Office Space

By on February 6, 2007 in The Diva

Last night, as we were sipping wine, I spouted out some piece of unsolicited advice and Delle nearly did a spittake as she said, “That’s coming from an Office Admin!”

“Ah, ah, ah,” I corrected her, and took another sip.  “Staff Analyst.”

I took this job late last year, and it not only moved me up the payscale in quite  a large leap, but it also moved me to another building, in another facet of the program.  Needless to say, there is not much call for me to revisit my old area. 

Today, for the first time since I left with my box o’ stuff, I went back over there.

And I wish I were exaggerating, because it was almost embarrassing, but you’d have thought the Pope just walked into the building.  Someone actually told me, “We didn’t realize how much our job sucks until after you left,” while hugging me.  It’s a very strange thing to see people react so strongly to your return.  People swarmed me with family photos (OHMYGOD, how the kids have grown!), they all wanted to see my wedding ring (I didn’t explain that it was my second one), and I wondered why I had ever left.  I really, really loved those people.

As I was walking back to my building, the VP of the program made his way out to the parking lot.  “Warming up quite a bit, huh?” he said.  I nodded and smiled.  “You can be as glum as you want, Sarah,” he said, “but I’m seeing the sun today for the first time in a week.”  And he trodded off.

Sometimes, I wonder why we climb the ladder.  My new job keeps me busy, and helps a lot in the bill-paying department, but I wonder why we sacrifice so much to sit in a cube day-in and day-out. 

I was greeted, upon my return, by my red Swingline stapler.

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Yeah, YOU.

By on February 6, 2007 in Uncategorized

My new pet peeve?  People who pretend that their cell phone is one of those already annoying Nextel Walkie-Talkie type phones.  Honey, just because you move the phone from your ear to your mouth does NOT make it a Nextel press-to-talk phones.  It simply makes you a moron.

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I’m Awful. (Dur.)

By on February 6, 2007 in The Biotch

You know, it’s not like I have a reason to hate Anna Nicole Smith.  I, like any red-blooded American, was horrified at every turn when she was given her own reality tv show, and then would never, ever admit to anyone that I ever watched it. (Because, as far as you people know, I NEVER DID.)

And then, bless her heart, she got knocked up.  Again.  And we don’t know who the daddy is.

Really and truly, I did feel for her when her son had such an untimely passing.

And then Bermuda kicked her out.  Of the country.  Ha.

But, for whatever reason, and it may boil down to me being a horrible person and quite the bitch, I was just overjoyed to see this on Yahoo today.

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The RENT Generation

By on February 6, 2007 in The Biotch

So a former coworker of mine sent me a newspaper article from his town where I used to work, outlining the criminal acts of someone we both knew.  She had been arrested for stealing some $500 cash and a wallet and who knows what else.  Her mother’s church had sprung for her bail, and she was released to that church’s halfway house.. which, since that day, she has gone missing from.  Her mother, understandably, is worried sick and frustrated, because not only does she now owe for skipped bail, but her child is wandering the streets with a severe drug addiction.

My purpose of this post?  This person is 32 years old.

I’ve often moaned over my hatred for the musical “Rent”.  You can love me or hate me over that one; I don’t care.  To be quite honest, the music is gorgeous.  It’s the ideology I can’t get behind.  I can’t stomach grown adults bitching about having to pay the rent.  About fighting THE MAN.  About how life is so downtrodden that they can’t follow their dreams in playing the guitar all day.

Um, that’s not a downtrodden life.  That’s what we like to call ADULTHOOD.

And I think the Rent Generation is an epidemic.  Grown, capable adults living at home for no reason.  Not successfully holding jobs.  Bouncing from career to career.  Deciding at this point to be a teacher; getting tired of kids and deciding to sell make-up.  Getting fired from both.  I don’t understand it.

Where did this sense of entitlement come from?  I would be, quite frankly, MORTIFIED to be dependent on anyone for anything.  When months are tight and we barely squeeze by, I cut back as much as I know how to.  We eat canned tuna, for pete’s sake.  We take out that can of white northern beans from umpteen years ago and figure out how to make that a meal.  But we do it.

I suppose I need to dismount my soapbox, because it’s awfully easy for me to get on it and be self-righteous on this topic, and that’s not what I want people to hear.  And, admittedly, I don’t know that I have any ideas for changing the current climate of “adulthood” now.  I remember seeing a newsstory on some evening national news almost ten years ago about how kids are moving back in with their parents after college.  And barely flipping burgers with their degrees.  They won’t grow up, the newscaster said.

The Peter Pan Generation.  How unfortunate.

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