Tuesday, July 31, 2012

Slow Motion Reunion

This evening (Well I guess its now yesterday but I am not here so sh) I am bringing Sable (my lovely dog) to my lovely sisters house for a sleepover. Because I am going away my hairy monster of a dog needs somewhere to stay with someone who can tolerate her immense shedding regime.

Lucky for me, Sandy bought a farm and said Sable could have a few days of a play date with Ajax, her super adorable son (granted hes now 12) whom she used to live with when we all lived together. I am really hoping they remember each other, I am sure they will. But I am more hoping that they run towards each other in slow motion with their hair flapping majestically in the wind. Although Ajax just got shaved and Sable is more fluffy then anything so her hair doesn't exactly flap.

Anyways, I think I will film their reunion because its going to be adorable... If they remember each other. If not, then it will be a super awkward next week for her because she isn't really one for other dogs and takes a while to warm up. Although that's kind of the rights you get as an old lady.

Tonight I need to pack. I first need to pick up a whole bunch of stuff I forgot... I meant to buy new underpants because no matter how many loads of laundry I do most of mine have vanished. I need to find a whole bunch of socks.

This is our first road trip together just the two of us. I am hoping that it will go fine and hopefully we don't get lost. We tend to get lost driving to places we go on a regular basis so its not looking so good. I really hope it goes well. I have all the hotels booked up until the very last night where we don't quite know where we will be yet so we couldn't pre-book. I am so excited and I hope I see a whale.

The best thing about vacation: Not being at work.

I got to remind my boss this morning that I wasn't going to be here, and the first thing he said was oh well who will help me? Nice people. I don't care. Tomorrow I will sleep in until like.. 7 which is two hours of sleeping in so that's awesome. Maybe, if I get all ready and packed tonight I can sleep in even later.

Anyways, I need to try to make a few more posts for while I am away, I am not going to promise anything of quality because... you know I have such high standards as it is. But you know.. I will be on holidays. Hopefully I will have some awesome stories for when I get back though!


Slow Motion Reunion

This evening (Well I guess its now yesterday but I am not here so sh) I am bringing Sable (my lovely dog) to my lovely sisters house for a sleepover. Because I am going away my hairy monster of a dog needs somewhere to stay with someone who can tolerate her immense shedding regime.

Lucky for me, Sandy bought a farm and said Sable could have a few days of a play date with Ajax, her super adorable son (granted hes now 12) whom she used to live with when we all lived together. I am really hoping they remember each other, I am sure they will. But I am more hoping that they run towards each other in slow motion with their hair flapping majestically in the wind. Although Ajax just got shaved and Sable is more fluffy then anything so her hair doesn't exactly flap.

Anyways, I think I will film their reunion because its going to be adorable... If they remember each other. If not, then it will be a super awkward next week for her because she isn't really one for other dogs and takes a while to warm up. Although that's kind of the rights you get as an old lady.

Tonight I need to pack. I first need to pick up a whole bunch of stuff I forgot... I meant to buy new underpants because no matter how many loads of laundry I do most of mine have vanished. I need to find a whole bunch of socks.

This is our first road trip together just the two of us. I am hoping that it will go fine and hopefully we don't get lost. We tend to get lost driving to places we go on a regular basis so its not looking so good. I really hope it goes well. I have all the hotels booked up until the very last night where we don't quite know where we will be yet so we couldn't pre-book. I am so excited and I hope I see a whale.

The best thing about vacation: Not being at work.

I got to remind my boss this morning that I wasn't going to be here, and the first thing he said was oh well who will help me? Nice people. I don't care. Tomorrow I will sleep in until like.. 7 which is two hours of sleeping in so that's awesome. Maybe, if I get all ready and packed tonight I can sleep in even later.

Anyways, I need to try to make a few more posts for while I am away, I am not going to promise anything of quality because... you know I have such high standards as it is. But you know.. I will be on holidays. Hopefully I will have some awesome stories for when I get back though!


Monday, July 30, 2012

Monday is a Cold Shower

If Sunday is a dirty trick then Monday is a cold shower. Its just this ultimate let down of a day. The only thing saving me from complete destruction is that today, is my last work day before my holidays! I took the rest of the week off to go on an adventure and so instead of being at work sitting in the cubicle where happiness goes to die I will be out exploring the world.

I need to build up a bit of a back log of entries so I can keep my streak going of not missing a day. Probably will just be sad drawings with little notes.

Anyways, today I want to discuss the bus. In particular, I would like to discuss the bus I take in the mornings.

My bus is a spectrum of crazy. From the drivers to the riders this bus is a collection of strange people.

I get to start almost everyday waiting to get onto my bus while a creepy witch lady hobbles off mumbling some evil curse on me. It is no wonder I get sick all the time and why I haven't won the lottery... I am cursed on a daily basis. Then, I say good morning to the bus driver who proceeds to glare angrily at me until I go sit down. I go sit in my spot at the back usually on the same side unless the lady who looks like a female robot version of the old leader of North Korea who proceeds to twitch about and then sits on the outside seat. There are many things that piss me off, I am a generally cranky person, however to sit on the outside seat of a bus and refuse to move even once it fills is a particularly low level of assery. Once I am sitting I tend to turn on the Monkees Greatest Hits and promptly fall asleep.

 Now, this may all sounds pretty normal to those who take the bus often because granted there's nothing all that unique about old lady witches and robot-ladies but every so often the most wonderfully strange and creepy man jumps onto the bus. The singing Italian. There is a man who is probably not much taller than me (I am only 5'2) and he is the roundest little old man. At first you look at him and are like oh what a funny little old man. No. You would be so wrong. This old man then begins to sing in Italian for a while, and then when he gets bored of that he marches around sitting awkwardly close to people even when theres empty seats and proceeds to try to make conversation. Main problem with this is he barely speaks English, he knows about three words that I have ever heard: Hello, Cigarette, and Change. The best part about him, is the days when he has been clearly sedated and cannot speak he still walks around creepily leering at people and rubbing his fingers together in the "give me money" motion. Every time he gets on the bus I look out the window intently, never wavering to check for his location, because should he catch you looking at him he will attack. This sounds very rude and heartless... You may be thinking "But Tanya, this poor old man is probably just in need of money..." And my answer is "But Internet, I can barely afford to heat my own house let alone support this mans smoking habit."

And then we wouldn't be friends anymore because you would think I was an ass. And I think I would get over it in time but would still think of you on slightly cloudy days.

Bye for now Internet!

PS: The most important part about the Singing Italian is his wardrobe. He varies between dressing like a woman middle school teacher, a construction worker, a farmer, and a crazy Italian. He has in his possession a full middle-school-teacher parka complete with fuzzy hood and embroidered back, Carhart style-construction-grade brown overalls and work boots, jean overalls and plaid shirts, and then the way-too-thin white button ups with some kind of creepy short shorts and shiny shoes. All on the same guy, often in one week.

Monday is a Cold Shower

If Sunday is a dirty trick then Monday is a cold shower. Its just this ultimate let down of a day. The only thing saving me from complete destruction is that today, is my last work day before my holidays! I took the rest of the week off to go on an adventure and so instead of being at work sitting in the cubicle where happiness goes to die I will be out exploring the world.

I need to build up a bit of a back log of entries so I can keep my streak going of not missing a day. Probably will just be sad drawings with little notes.

Anyways, today I want to discuss the bus. In particular, I would like to discuss the bus I take in the mornings.

My bus is a spectrum of crazy. From the drivers to the riders this bus is a collection of strange people.

I get to start almost everyday waiting to get onto my bus while a creepy witch lady hobbles off mumbling some evil curse on me. It is no wonder I get sick all the time and why I haven't won the lottery... I am cursed on a daily basis. Then, I say good morning to the bus driver who proceeds to glare angrily at me until I go sit down. I go sit in my spot at the back usually on the same side unless the lady who looks like a female robot version of the old leader of North Korea who proceeds to twitch about and then sits on the outside seat. There are many things that piss me off, I am a generally cranky person, however to sit on the outside seat of a bus and refuse to move even once it fills is a particularly low level of assery. Once I am sitting I tend to turn on the Monkees Greatest Hits and promptly fall asleep.

 Now, this may all sounds pretty normal to those who take the bus often because granted there's nothing all that unique about old lady witches and robot-ladies but every so often the most wonderfully strange and creepy man jumps onto the bus. The singing Italian. There is a man who is probably not much taller than me (I am only 5'2) and he is the roundest little old man. At first you look at him and are like oh what a funny little old man. No. You would be so wrong. This old man then begins to sing in Italian for a while, and then when he gets bored of that he marches around sitting awkwardly close to people even when theres empty seats and proceeds to try to make conversation. Main problem with this is he barely speaks English, he knows about three words that I have ever heard: Hello, Cigarette, and Change. The best part about him, is the days when he has been clearly sedated and cannot speak he still walks around creepily leering at people and rubbing his fingers together in the "give me money" motion. Every time he gets on the bus I look out the window intently, never wavering to check for his location, because should he catch you looking at him he will attack. This sounds very rude and heartless... You may be thinking "But Tanya, this poor old man is probably just in need of money..." And my answer is "But Internet, I can barely afford to heat my own house let alone support this mans smoking habit."

And then we wouldn't be friends anymore because you would think I was an ass. And I think I would get over it in time but would still think of you on slightly cloudy days.

Bye for now Internet!

PS: The most important part about the Singing Italian is his wardrobe. He varies between dressing like a woman middle school teacher, a construction worker, a farmer, and a crazy Italian. He has in his possession a full middle-school-teacher parka complete with fuzzy hood and embroidered back, Carhart style-construction-grade brown overalls and work boots, jean overalls and plaid shirts, and then the way-too-thin white button ups with some kind of creepy short shorts and shiny shoes. All on the same guy, often in one week.

Sunday, July 29, 2012

Sunday is a Dirty Trick.

Ten things I would rather do then go to work tomorrow:

1. go to the dentist
2. have blood taken
3. give a massage to a fat old man with back hair and tiny monkeys stuck in his skin folds
4. clean my office (no I haven't done that yet, don't yell at me I will get there...)
5. shave my head
6. run a marathon
7. eat a banana (stupid devils fruit)
8. learn a new language and be forced to present to their leader the importance of their continued alliance with Canada in which my failing to convince them would commence a battle.
9. perform surgery on a batman
10. live off of only cold scrambled eggs for 6 months.

Do you see how much my job is stupid?

Dave and I watched most of Office Space last night and it made me a bit nervous that I easily hate my job twelve and half times more than the lead character and that I would feel absolutely no guilt in stealing 300000$ from my company should I have the knowledge of how to do it. Granted, I would never be able to do that, nor would I because I lied, I would totally feel guilt... It would probably follow me around like a hunchback possum screaming in my ear once every hour and that would make my days pretty uncomfortable at best.

Sunday is a nasty trick. you wake up all happy you have another day off but the closer it gets to bed time the more you realize that you wasted the last two days and that you have not done literally any of the thousand things you promised you would do. My office is still a disaster, My laundry is not even done (I did put in one load though! Yay me? PS Who ever thought that laundry should go in the basement needs a solid slap to the forehead. Who the hell wants to walk their clothes down some stairs only to walk them back up an hour and a half later? Anyways this tangent wont help anything.) Also, I am no where near packed for our trip. I don't have a single clue where my camera charger is and that is unacceptable.

At least my car is finally fixed. Now I need to get used to driving like a regular adult again and not like a prepubescent boy stealing the car when their parents go to the neighbours to drink wine coolers and discuss the latest episode of Game of Thrones. I really need to start watching that to see what all the fuss is about.

Anyways, until tomorrow folks!   

PS: I love to push the spell check button and watch my post turn completely yellow. I suck at spelling/typing.



Sunday is a Dirty Trick.

Ten things I would rather do then go to work tomorrow:

1. go to the dentist
2. have blood taken
3. give a massage to a fat old man with back hair and tiny monkeys stuck in his skin folds
4. clean my office (no I haven't done that yet, don't yell at me I will get there...)
5. shave my head
6. run a marathon
7. eat a banana (stupid devils fruit)
8. learn a new language and be forced to present to their leader the importance of their continued alliance with Canada in which my failing to convince them would commence a battle.
9. perform surgery on a batman
10. live off of only cold scrambled eggs for 6 months.

Do you see how much my job is stupid?

Dave and I watched most of Office Space last night and it made me a bit nervous that I easily hate my job twelve and half times more than the lead character and that I would feel absolutely no guilt in stealing 300000$ from my company should I have the knowledge of how to do it. Granted, I would never be able to do that, nor would I because I lied, I would totally feel guilt... It would probably follow me around like a hunchback possum screaming in my ear once every hour and that would make my days pretty uncomfortable at best.

Sunday is a nasty trick. you wake up all happy you have another day off but the closer it gets to bed time the more you realize that you wasted the last two days and that you have not done literally any of the thousand things you promised you would do. My office is still a disaster, My laundry is not even done (I did put in one load though! Yay me? PS Who ever thought that laundry should go in the basement needs a solid slap to the forehead. Who the hell wants to walk their clothes down some stairs only to walk them back up an hour and a half later? Anyways this tangent wont help anything.) Also, I am no where near packed for our trip. I don't have a single clue where my camera charger is and that is unacceptable.

At least my car is finally fixed. Now I need to get used to driving like a regular adult again and not like a prepubescent boy stealing the car when their parents go to the neighbours to drink wine coolers and discuss the latest episode of Game of Thrones. I really need to start watching that to see what all the fuss is about.

Anyways, until tomorrow folks!   

PS: I love to push the spell check button and watch my post turn completely yellow. I suck at spelling/typing.



Saturday, July 28, 2012

Get to Know Me! (If you really want to...)


I don't have a lot of interesting stuff to talk about today. I am not at work because its Saturday so that means I am not bitter and angry today which means thinking up sarcastic comments on the world is more of a challenge.

I would like to say that my home office is a total mess and not at all up to snuff with how clean it should be ` is in my mind. How am I to proudly display my THOR hammer or batman masks if there are papers and cans everywhere? This is not a healthy environment for someone like me. I don't really understand how I am a crazy OCD/anal idiot about the organization of really weird things like blankets and pillows on my bed, but my desk constantly looks like a tornado has run over it four and a half times.

I will  commence cleaning in a moment. If you don't believe that I have a Thor hammer, you would be so wrong... Best 5$ I ever spent.


Anyways, the main thing I would like to discuss today, is how can someone be so organized with some parts of their life, yet when it comes to others they are the absolute worst.

See, the main thing is that I know I CAN clean like a crazy mother f*#$er. I am part dutch. Them dutch folk got the cleaning thing down. And yet, my desk is coverered in the most bizarre selection of crap.





Here is a partial list of what I have:
1. Thor Hammer
2. Two batman masks
3. Four muppet finger puppets
4. one bag of stale baked lays
5. three digital cameras
6. many empty cans of soda
7. a couple USB keys
8. three notebooks
9. my sketchbook
10. bills
And more...

Now why do I need all this here? Other than the Batman masks and Thor's hammer, I need about none of it. The problem is, I trusted Ikea to sell me an efficient desk. I did not really think through the whole "no drawers" concept mostly because I knew the drawers would just be full of mess instead, however I still think that would be better than what it is now. This is really boring and not at all interesting, witty, or fun. 

I should write about interesting things so people start to read this... Whats interesting for people? Correction, what is interesting for people that I know anything about? That narrows it down to about... nothing. Shit.

Oh well. I think I might go read my new comics because they have been in my house for three days and I haven't had time to read them.

BUT FIRST!

Because I am so far a pretty mysterious and weird-seeming creature, I thought I would enlighten you to some more weird and mysterious things about me... here is a random quiz I found to help you get to know me better!


1. What time did you go to bed last night and were you alone? 
I went to bed.... probably around 11. I was falling asleep watching the Olympic parade thing... I got tricked into it and then was shocked by how many countries I have never heard of... Then almost failing Geography in high school made a lot more sense. Sorry teacher for hating you so much.. 


2. If you could be given ANY gift what would it be? 

 Any gift eh? ...hmm... I wouldn't mind having Adam West's batmobile? That would look pretty much 10000 times cooler then anyone else on my blocks car for sure.

3. What was the last film that really moved/disturbed/thrilled you and why?

The Dark Knight Rises was pretty awesome and exciting. I really loved the ending

4. What is your favourite TV show of all time ie you've seen them all, can watch it over and over again and quote lines from it?
F.R.I.E.N.D.S. I have all ten seasons yet still watch it on TV almost every day...

5. Whats your favourite way to wake up and whats the first thing you do?
My favourite way to wake up is by myself. I hate being woken up by others or by alarms. The first thing I do is go to the bathroom because I have a bladder the size of a small weasel.

6. What would you call yourself if you could choose your own name?
Batman.

7. If you had to do a bushtucker challenge (you have to eat insects/grubs etc) what would be the worst thing you had to eat?
Why is craps name would I do this challenge? All of it would be the worst... I don't think you know me very well quiz.. I don't eat bugs. that's stupid.

8. Whats the worst/most embarrassing CD/Album you've ever owned and do you still have it? The first CD's I bought were Shaggy and Christina Agulleira at the same time. I definitely still own them both.

9. what would be your dream vehicle (bikes, cars, boats, batcar and millenium falcon is allowed!)?
Other than the batmobile I want a yellow mini cooper... it will be mine.

10. Whats your favourite fantasy people sandwich?
I don't understand this question.. perhaps because its maybe dirty? I am too tired today so instead I will make up my own question: Which person would I like to share a sandwich with? No one, sandwiches are too small to share you greedy ass.

11. What characteristics do you dislike in yourself?
Apparently I am a greedy asshole and wont share a sandwich with anyone... that's pretty undesirable.

12. Your favourite item of clothing and why?
My yellow shoes of course! Or my batman shirts... or my new XMEN ones pretty excellent. I am pretty nerdy so anything with someone from a comic book is basically treated like its worth more then my car... granted that's not hard my cars one big pothole from expiring.

13. If you could go anywhere in the world on vacation, where would it be and who would it be with?
I really want to travel around Europe with Crystal. Ireland, England, Holland, Scotland, and Greece too because it would be fun.

14. If you could have any animal/creature, What would be your ultimate pet be?
Dog-sized stegosaurus (minus spiky tail.) Or a pug or English bulldog even though they are pretty basic I still want one. OR! If I could have anything, a  monkey would be pretty cool if someone else trained it and made it not turn all violent when it got older.

15. What did you want to be when you were little and do you think you ever will be?
I wanted to be Batman or Batgirl... never Robin. hes lame. Will I ever be Batgirl? Well... I need to lose some weight first because I cannot fit into that spandex quite yet, or if I could I could promise you the only thing that would stop the villains would be their appalled and shocked attempts to guard their faces.

16. Whats the next planned event you're looking to in your life?
I am going on a road trip with the boy next week. I am nervous a bit... He tends to get cranky when he gets lost and we almost always get lost...

17. What were you doing before you started this?
I was going to clean and do laundry but instead sat down...

18. What was the last thing you ate that you really shouldnt of ?
I had KD for supper... it was so so good too.. I might have more today because I hate myself apparently.

19. If you were an ice cream/haagen daz/ben an jerrys flavour what would you be?
Self-Loathing and Sarcasm? with sprinkles though, that softens the bitter tang.

20. Who was the last person you spoke to that you didn't want to talk to?
People at work I guess...

21. What was your favourite toy as a child  . . .and now?
Um... depending on what age you are referring it would be Barbies... or ... no it is always Barbies.
Now I am pretty excited about my Thor hammer, not going to lie its the best 5$ I have ever spent

22. When was the last time you cried laughing and why?
Any time I hang out with Crystal. Because that's just what we do.

23. What is stashed under your bed/mattress?
hundreds of socks. My bed eats them and leaves me only the holey ones. My bed is kind of an ass hole like that.

24. What did you dream about last night?
I don't know about last night but this morning I fell back asleep when Dave left and dreamt about that new Dance movie, except I bet my version was better...

25. What are you really afraid of? 
I have an anxiety disorder so I am afraid of basically everything on the face of the Earth and beyond. Its a good time. 





PS: My Desk is pretty awesome and you should be jealous.

Get to Know Me! (If you really want to...)

 
I don't have a lot of interesting stuff to talk about today. I am not at work because its Saturday so that means I am not bitter and angry today which means thinking up sarcastic comments on the world is more of a challenge.

I would like to say that my home office is a total mess and not at all up to snuff with how clean it should be ` is in my mind. How am I to proudly display my THOR hammer or batman masks if there are papers and cans everywhere? This is not a healthy environment for someone like me. I don't really understand how I am a crazy OCD/anal idiot about the organization of really weird things like blankets and pillows on my bed, but my desk constantly looks like a tornado has run over it four and a half times.

I will  commence cleaning in a moment. If you don't believe that I have a Thor hammer, you would be so wrong... Best 5$ I ever spent.


Anyways, the main thing I would like to discuss today, is how can someone be so organized with some parts of their life, yet when it comes to others they are the absolute worst.

See, the main thing is that I know I CAN clean like a crazy mother f*#$er. I am part dutch. Them dutch folk got the cleaning thing down. And yet, my desk is coverered in the most bizarre selection of crap.





Here is a partial list of what I have:
1. Thor Hammer
2. Two batman masks
3. Four muppet finger puppets
4. one bag of stale baked lays
5. three digital cameras
6. many empty cans of soda
7. a couple USB keys
8. three notebooks
9. my sketchbook
10. bills
And more...

Now why do I need all this here? Other than the Batman masks and Thor's hammer, I need about none of it. The problem is, I trusted Ikea to sell me an efficient desk. I did not really think through the whole "no drawers" concept mostly because I knew the drawers would just be full of mess instead, however I still think that would be better than what it is now. This is really boring and not at all interesting, witty, or fun. 

I should write about interesting things so people start to read this... Whats interesting for people? Correction, what is interesting for people that I know anything about? That narrows it down to about... nothing. Shit.

Oh well. I think I might go read my new comics because they have been in my house for three days and I haven't had time to read them.

BUT FIRST!

Because I am so far a pretty mysterious and weird-seeming creature, I thought I would enlighten you to some more weird and mysterious things about me... here is a random quiz I found to help you get to know me better!

Friday, July 27, 2012

Elevator Personality Test

You can tell a lot about a person by the way they ride the elevator. In my time at this job ,I have probably accumulated several hours of elevator-ride time. I work on the 18th Floor of my building so taking the stairs is not really an option for the chubby out of shape girl. Also, you can’t actually access the stairs going up and they don’t like you to come out of them at the bottom (it might actually set of alarms I am not sure). They like to check your pass if you want to go in for security purposes. Also, I think it just makes their jobs a bit more fun to see all the really bad pictures all day.

Back to the elevators!

There are 5 main types of people as I have found through my very advanced psychological experiment through my vast and varied sample groups... Obviously this is legit people.

 

Type 1: The Button Presser

This is the person who presses the button eight times even when its already lit up. They proceed to press the floor they are going to and immediately tap on the door close button in hopes that it will actually close. (In my building especially that button is a cruel joke placed by engineers looking to ruin these peoples days). Then, when the elevator stops at any number of the floors (in all honesty at this building it usually stops at every floor) they sigh dramatically and as soon as the person is on/off they slam the door close button repeatedly until it finally closes.

General characteristics: Ego-centric, impatient, usually rude, characteristic dramatic sigh at all stops

Exceptions: Sometimes when you’re running late and the elevator won’t come, you have to push the button repeatedly just to give you brain something to focus on other than your lateness.

Are you this person? Answer the following questions:

1.      Do you believe that pressing the door close button actually works?

2.      Do you tap your foot as you ride?

3.      Do you sigh dramatically because the elevator dare stop and interrupt your schedule?

4.      Do you believe the elevators are scheming against you to try to get you fired?

If you answered Yes to any or all of these questions, you are a Type 1 – button presser. Please proceed to your nearest psychiatrist and obtain some mild sedatives before your colleagues attack you – or worse, the elevators.

Type 2: Captain Molasses

This is the person who is standing waiting for the elevator patiently, usually off in their own space-cadet world. They hear the ding of the elevator notifying its arrival but don’t really look to see which elevator it is (We have 6 elevators in our building). They listen and notice the doors are open but usually at this point someone they know is walking by and they proceed to chat as they slowly mosey to the elevator. The poor chump already in the elevator stands holding the door out of politeness until the person reaches the door, holds it themselves, and continues to chat for another moment causing the person inside to turn purple in rage (especially if they are Type 1). Once they are in the elevator they slowly push the button and wait patiently. When they arrive at their floor they ooze out of the elevator as if their back end was stuck in a vacuum and are always sure to cover the entire space of the door blocking that poor elevator-person behind until they feel it necessary to dislodge and mosey out.

General characteristics: Lazy, slow, and social

Exceptions: Someone who is injured and cannot physically move faster gets a free pass.

        Are you this person? Answer the following questions:

1.      Do you walk slower than most people?

2.      Do you stand in the door way of the elevator long enough for it to start closing?

3.      Do your fellow elevator riders look at you in disgust?

4.      Do you find yourself looking to waste time by chatting with people you don’t really like?

If you answered yes to any of these questions then you need to pick up the pace and stop getting in peoples way because you are a Type 2 – Captain Molasses. If you want to move slow, please just stay out of the way so the others don’t go crazy?

Type 3: The Creeper

This is the person who no matter how empty the elevator is, always stands directly behind/beside you, close enough you can feel their breath. Fairly self explanatory, but a million times more traumatizing then any other elevator experience short of it getting stuck for many hours. The worst situation possible would be being stuck in an elevator with this person... that would be terrible.

General characteristics: Lack of basic social skills, thinks they are being friendly, creepy as all crap.

Exceptions: There are no exceptions for this, step the F*&? Back. Now. Thank you.

Are you this person? Answer the following questions:

1.      Do you like to stand close to people?

2.      Do you often stand so close you can smell the person’s shampoo?

3.      Are you able to comment on a person’s scalp condition that you are not intimately involved with?

4.      Do you breath in a fashion resembling Darth Vader?          

If you answered yes to any or all of these questions then back the F!@# up you Type 3 – The Creeper. People don’t like you as much as you think they do, they are simply just afraid you will axe murder them if they dare say anything to you. Take it from me; people will be nicer to you if you stop breathing on them. Seriously. I promise.

Type 4: Gobblers

These are the people that, whether or not you know them, blabber on to you for the entire duration of your decent/assent about things you couldn’t care less about. They tell you about their ex-mother-in-laws botched face lift, their “Uncle” Cathy’s sex change, anything to keep the awkward silence from reminding them of their own insecurities.

General characteristics: insecure, social, probably from a small town, gossip, good intentions but at 7 am no one cares so please stop.

Exceptions: You can chat if you know the person... or if they give you the general, “How’s she going” nod. But in the city that is rare.  So please just keep to the awkward social protocol of entering the elevator and shutting up.

Are you this person? Answer the following questions:

1.      Do you find that people around you are no longer answering your question switch any more then the common “mmhmm’s” or “okay’s”?

2.      Do you find people turn away when they see you waiting for the elevator?

3.      Do you notice people turning up their IPod’s when you start to talk?

4.      Do you find your throat is sore from talking by the end of the day?

If you answered yes to any or all of these then you are a Type 4 – Gobbler. You should probably be quiet for a little bit and try to internalize this and before you go on gobbling to everyone how you are a gobbler or any other stories, think to yourself these two very important things: 1. Does it affect anyone at all? 2. Even if it does, do you think they will care? Chances are the answer is no... so just stay quiet for a bit.

Type 5: Ninjas

These are the people that as soon as the elevator doors open they sneak in and try to get the doors closed before anyone else jumps in. They are courteous if someone else gets in but they are the lucky ones who seem to have the elevators arriving at their simplest whim and they seem to be able to make it more than one floor down before it stops again. They are magic people and are very lucky.

Characteristics: excellent timing, clever, 6th sense of elevator-preparedness

Exceptions: When caught trying to close the door when someone is coming is very awkward once the other person makes it. You lose ninja status if people are making it into your elevators too often and then you are relabelled as a Type 1, unable to reapply for ninja status for at least 6 months.

Are you this person? Answer the following questions:

1.      Can you escape your building without your boss knowing?

2.      Can you get out of the building and back to your desk with a coffee or snack without anyone even knowing you were gone?

3.      Do the elevators actually close the doors when you try to?

4.      Are you proficient in elevator martial arts? Yes its a thing, if you don’t know then the answer is no.

If you answered yes to any or all of these then lucky you, you are a Type 5 – Ninja! You are the sneakiest of all the elevator riders and you have the privilege of spending most of your time in the elevator unaccompanied by chatty, neck breathing, button pressing slow pokes. Good on you.

 

 BONUS TYPE: THE CHILD

This is a rare form of person that is not one of the most basic types but comes out mostly when in crowds of people who are all friends / related. Not specifically referring to an actual child, this is the person who feels it necessary to jump on the elevator, push all the buttons in goofy patterns, and in general have no respect for others.

General Characteristics: Immature, usually only occurs in groups, typically loud and laughing, potentially drunk.

Exceptions: Not even actual children should do this, parents should not submit other people to their demon spawn kids. If you kid can't handle the elevator take the stairs. That is mean yes, but if you aren't alone then don't let your kids near the elevator buttons.

(No test necessary, you know who you are...)

 

So, all that said, these basic profiles of elevator riders can be translated out to the real world by the general characteristics. Next time you want to judge a person’s character, bring them into an elevator in a strange place they don’t know and see what happens. By the way, I drew you another picture. Yes I am so generous, thank you.

 


 

 

Elevator Personality Test

You can tell a lot about a person by the way they ride the elevator. In my time at this job ,I have probably accumulated several hours of elevator-ride time. I work on the 18th Floor of my building so taking the stairs is not really an option for the chubby out of shape girl. Also, you can’t actually access the stairs going up and they don’t like you to come out of them at the bottom (it might actually set of alarms I am not sure). They like to check your pass if you want to go in for security purposes. Also, I think it just makes their jobs a bit more fun to see all the really bad pictures all day.
Back to the elevators!
There are 5 main types of people as I have found through my very advanced psychological experiment through my vast and varied sample groups... Obviously this is legit people.

Type 1: The Button Presser
This is the person who presses the button eight times even when its already lit up. They proceed to press the floor they are going to and immediately tap on the door close button in hopes that it will actually close. (In my building especially that button is a cruel joke placed by engineers looking to ruin these peoples days). Then, when the elevator stops at any number of the floors (in all honesty at this building it usually stops at every floor) they sigh dramatically and as soon as the person is on/off they slam the door close button repeatedly until it finally closes.
General characteristics: Ego-centric, impatient, usually rude, characteristic dramatic sigh at all stops
Exceptions: Sometimes when you’re running late and the elevator won’t come, you have to push the button repeatedly just to give you brain something to focus on other than your lateness.
Are you this person? Answer the following questions:
1.      Do you believe that pressing the door close button actually works?
2.      Do you tap your foot as you ride?
3.      Do you sigh dramatically because the elevator dare stop and interrupt your schedule?
4.      Do you believe the elevators are scheming against you to try to get you fired?
If you answered Yes to any or all of these questions, you are a Type 1 – button presser. Please proceed to your nearest psychiatrist and obtain some mild sedatives before your colleagues attack you – or worse, the elevators.
Type 2: Captain Molasses
This is the person who is standing waiting for the elevator patiently, usually off in their own space-cadet world. They hear the ding of the elevator notifying its arrival but don’t really look to see which elevator it is (We have 6 elevators in our building). They listen and notice the doors are open but usually at this point someone they know is walking by and they proceed to chat as they slowly mosey to the elevator. The poor chump already in the elevator stands holding the door out of politeness until the person reaches the door, holds it themselves, and continues to chat for another moment causing the person inside to turn purple in rage (especially if they are Type 1). Once they are in the elevator they slowly push the button and wait patiently. When they arrive at their floor they ooze out of the elevator as if their back end was stuck in a vacuum and are always sure to cover the entire space of the door blocking that poor elevator-person behind until they feel it necessary to dislodge and mosey out.
General characteristics: Lazy, slow, and social
Exceptions: Someone who is injured and cannot physically move faster gets a free pass.
        Are you this person? Answer the following questions:
1.      Do you walk slower than most people?
2.      Do you stand in the door way of the elevator long enough for it to start closing?
3.      Do your fellow elevator riders look at you in disgust?
4.      Do you find yourself looking to waste time by chatting with people you don’t really like?
If you answered yes to any of these questions then you need to pick up the pace and stop getting in peoples way because you are a Type 2 – Captain Molasses. If you want to move slow, please just stay out of the way so the others don’t go crazy?
Type 3: The Creeper
This is the person who no matter how empty the elevator is, always stands directly behind/beside you, close enough you can feel their breath. Fairly self explanatory, but a million times more traumatizing then any other elevator experience short of it getting stuck for many hours. The worst situation possible would be being stuck in an elevator with this person... that would be terrible.
General characteristics: Lack of basic social skills, thinks they are being friendly, creepy as all crap.
Exceptions: There are no exceptions for this, step the F*&? Back. Now. Thank you.
Are you this person? Answer the following questions:
1.      Do you like to stand close to people?
2.      Do you often stand so close you can smell the person’s shampoo?
3.      Are you able to comment on a person’s scalp condition that you are not intimately involved with?
4.      Do you breath in a fashion resembling Darth Vader?          
If you answered yes to any or all of these questions then back the F!@# up you Type 3 – The Creeper. People don’t like you as much as you think they do, they are simply just afraid you will axe murder them if they dare say anything to you. Take it from me; people will be nicer to you if you stop breathing on them. Seriously. I promise.
Type 4: Gobblers
These are the people that, whether or not you know them, blabber on to you for the entire duration of your decent/assent about things you couldn’t care less about. They tell you about their ex-mother-in-laws botched face lift, their “Uncle” Cathy’s sex change, anything to keep the awkward silence from reminding them of their own insecurities.
General characteristics: insecure, social, probably from a small town, gossip, good intentions but at 7 am no one cares so please stop.
Exceptions: You can chat if you know the person... or if they give you the general, “How’s she going” nod. But in the city that is rare.  So please just keep to the awkward social protocol of entering the elevator and shutting up.
Are you this person? Answer the following questions:
1.      Do you find that people around you are no longer answering your question switch any more then the common “mmhmm’s” or “okay’s”?
2.      Do you find people turn away when they see you waiting for the elevator?
3.      Do you notice people turning up their IPod’s when you start to talk?
4.      Do you find your throat is sore from talking by the end of the day?
If you answered yes to any or all of these then you are a Type 4 – Gobbler. You should probably be quiet for a little bit and try to internalize this and before you go on gobbling to everyone how you are a gobbler or any other stories, think to yourself these two very important things: 1. Does it affect anyone at all? 2. Even if it does, do you think they will care? Chances are the answer is no... so just stay quiet for a bit.
Type 5: Ninjas
These are the people that as soon as the elevator doors open they sneak in and try to get the doors closed before anyone else jumps in. They are courteous if someone else gets in but they are the lucky ones who seem to have the elevators arriving at their simplest whim and they seem to be able to make it more than one floor down before it stops again. They are magic people and are very lucky.
Characteristics: excellent timing, clever, 6th sense of elevator-preparedness
Exceptions: When caught trying to close the door when someone is coming is very awkward once the other person makes it. You lose ninja status if people are making it into your elevators too often and then you are relabelled as a Type 1, unable to reapply for ninja status for at least 6 months.
Are you this person? Answer the following questions:
1.      Can you escape your building without your boss knowing?
2.      Can you get out of the building and back to your desk with a coffee or snack without anyone even knowing you were gone?
3.      Do the elevators actually close the doors when you try to?
4.      Are you proficient in elevator martial arts? Yes its a thing, if you don’t know then the answer is no.
If you answered yes to any or all of these then lucky you, you are a Type 5 – Ninja! You are the sneakiest of all the elevator riders and you have the privilege of spending most of your time in the elevator unaccompanied by chatty, neck breathing, button pressing slow pokes. Good on you.

 BONUS TYPE: THE CHILD
This is a rare form of person that is not one of the most basic types but comes out mostly when in crowds of people who are all friends / related. Not specifically referring to an actual child, this is the person who feels it necessary to jump on the elevator, push all the buttons in goofy patterns, and in general have no respect for others.
General Characteristics: Immature, usually only occurs in groups, typically loud and laughing, potentially drunk.
Exceptions: Not even actual children should do this, parents should not submit other people to their demon spawn kids. If you kid can't handle the elevator take the stairs. That is mean yes, but if you aren't alone then don't let your kids near the elevator buttons.
(No test necessary, you know who you are...)

So, all that said, these basic profiles of elevator riders can be translated out to the real world by the general characteristics. Next time you want to judge a person’s character, bring them into an elevator in a strange place they don’t know and see what happens. By the way, I drew you another picture. Yes I am so generous, thank you.



Thursday, July 26, 2012

Why I need Crayons at Work

I firmly believe my productivity at work would skyrocket should I be provided with the appropriate tools to express my creativity should the mood strike. The problem with my job is everything follows a template, is formatted and quality controlled to the point of the size of the space between paragraphs is adjusted if it is off my 0.05 millimetres.
If this workplace allowed me to establish “creativity time” I truly believe it would not only increase productivity, but the morale as well.
This is the most grey and boring office building imaginable. People here are afraid to display any sort of personality whether it be in their ill-fitting suits or their lack of personal pictures. The most a person has in their office is one small picture of their children (on average there are likely four or five who have more).
In my office I have the most excellent ever-growing collage possible in a boring grey cubicle. I may not have any personal pictures up but I do have a picture of a baby elephant playing soccer, a bulldog in a tutu and a small article about dinosaur farts. Beat that class pictures of your children. Every time someone notices my bizarre display they always smile and say “Oh that’s nice...” in that creepy, slow, plotting way. I am waiting for the day that I am fired for being too colourful.
So, if this workplace could just see the bigger picture for a minute they would realize that personality equals productivity. If you let me wear the clothes I am comfortable in, and decorate my office in ways I want (without the constant fear of judgement) I will be happier, and when I am happier, I work better.
So back to the idea of creativity time. Should my work give me like... say 20 minutes a day to doodle, colour, sketch whatever, even though I am not very talented at any of those things it might help me not want to explode the rest of the day. And the less I want to explode, the happier I am, the happier I am, the more work will get done. This is just logic people, clear and simple. If you give me crayons, that clearly leads to me being a better human-stapler. I can almost promise.
The problem with this is that with my type of attention span, the honest to goodness real truth is that I would likely get caught colouring at all hours of the day which is why I cannot have crayons at work right now. I should probably just go get a job at the Crayola factory, I am sure they wouldn’t be as unfair about the no-colouring-during-work-hours rule. It would just be hypocritical on their part. Or, my work should just understand that my mind cannot be harness for their menial tasks and that I am just meant to draw pictures of a T-Rex driving a spaceship.

I spelled Extinct wrong? Damn the lack of spell check on Post-it Art! I would fix it but instead I will allow the Internet to laugh of my inadequacies. There are many so brace yourself.











Why I need Crayons at Work

I firmly believe my productivity at work would skyrocket should I be provided with the appropriate tools to express my creativity should the mood strike. The problem with my job is everything follows a template, is formatted and quality controlled to the point of the size of the space between paragraphs is adjusted if it is off my 0.05 millimetres.
If this workplace allowed me to establish “creativity time” I truly believe it would not only increase productivity, but the morale as well.
This is the most grey and boring office building imaginable. People here are afraid to display any sort of personality whether it be in their ill-fitting suits or their lack of personal pictures. The most a person has in their office is one small picture of their children (on average there are likely four or five who have more).
In my office I have the most excellent ever-growing collage possible in a boring grey cubicle. I may not have any personal pictures up but I do have a picture of a baby elephant playing soccer, a bulldog in a tutu and a small article about dinosaur farts. Beat that class pictures of your children. Every time someone notices my bizarre display they always smile and say “Oh that’s nice...” in that creepy, slow, plotting way. I am waiting for the day that I am fired for being too colourful.
So, if this workplace could just see the bigger picture for a minute they would realize that personality equals productivity. If you let me wear the clothes I am comfortable in, and decorate my office in ways I want (without the constant fear of judgement) I will be happier, and when I am happier, I work better.
So back to the idea of creativity time. Should my work give me like... say 20 minutes a day to doodle, colour, sketch whatever, even though I am not very talented at any of those things it might help me not want to explode the rest of the day. And the less I want to explode, the happier I am, the happier I am, the more work will get done. This is just logic people, clear and simple. If you give me crayons, that clearly leads to me being a better human-stapler. I can almost promise.
The problem with this is that with my type of attention span, the honest to goodness real truth is that I would likely get caught colouring at all hours of the day which is why I cannot have crayons at work right now. I should probably just go get a job at the Crayola factory, I am sure they wouldn’t be as unfair about the no-colouring-during-work-hours rule. It would just be hypocritical on their part. Or, my work should just understand that my mind cannot be harness for their menial tasks and that I am just meant to draw pictures of a T-Rex driving a spaceship.

I spelled Extinct wrong? Damn the lack of spell check on Post-it Art! I would fix it but instead I will allow the Internet to laugh of my inadequacies. There are many so brace yourself.











Wednesday, July 25, 2012

Job Hunt

Hello internet land.
This summer I have been looking for a job. I graduated with my degree in Psychology a few months ago and now I have the extra-delightful pleasure of trying to justify spending all that money when I no longer have any desire to go to grad school. Luckily all the debt sits on my own shoulders so I don’t feel overly responsible to anyone except myself, although it is kind of awkward to explain at the ever-present family interrogations. I think that if too many more people ask me what I am going to do with my life I will scream.
I have an interview tomorrow with a placement agency so maybe they can scavenge me up some English-speaking work because apparently in this city world it is impossible. I am all for speaking many languages, but they seem to punish those people who don’t and I don’t think that is fair. There are definitely a lot of people at my work who are mostly French, and their English is probably worse than my French – however I am the one who will be out of a job in a month and a half when my contract ends.
I miss the days of country living, when you need a job you ask your parents and they are basically forced to employ you because they chose some god-forsaken town in the middle of a corn field to make you live in and the only store isn’t hiring and hasn’t in ten years. I was lucky enough that both my parents owned their own businesses. When I was 12, (almost like child labour but totally voluntary I promise), I started my very first job.
My mother had begun her own photography business and worked at a lot of weddings. I carried the film. Yes, I am from the days of the mystical film children of the post-millennium. It’s this weird stuff that used to have pictures on it but now just makes it really hard to find anything useful. Anyways, I had a little backpack, and I carried the film and filters and random table cloth we used on the ground so the bride wouldn’t ruin her dress if she sat down.
I also became an expert dress-fluffer. If you have ever been to a wedding you know there’s always one person (usually the maid of honour) who is responsible for fluffing the train of the dress so it looks pretty in pictures. I mastered this technique and stole the jobs of many MOH... granted they usually couldn’t care less and a lot of the time weren’t paying attention to anything but their uncomfortable shoes.
I did this job for a very long time. Or at least what seemed like a very long time. Going to a wedding – sometimes two or three- a week is exhausting. You go in, you see the brides always running late, then you go to the church, see the groomsmen confused and scared, you see the groom sweating profusely, then the ceremony happens. The ceremony for some weddings was great and short. If you have to go to a catholic wedding, multiple times a month, you start to lose parts of yourself that you will never gain back. Each week a slice of my patience would be deteriorated and every time the minister/preacher/I can’t remember what they are called for Catholics, would begin the “Love is Patient, Love is Kind” speech, you lose another morsel of will to live.
Now that I no longer attend weddings every week, I find them fascinating again. I miss it almost. ALMOST. I do not miss running around all day in the heat without food or drink until you need to drive somewhere then you get two handfuls of chips and half a diet coke before your back out there fluffing up a storm. I do miss that moment when the bride walks into the church/patio/whereever when the groom tries to keep his cool but you know that he is smiling and clamping his teeth as tightly closed as he can because should he move too suddenly or open his mouth his heart might just explode out on the floor. And that would be a gross and sad start to a marriage.
Finding a job now is stupid. Internet searches seem to be the easiest way but then I see all these “help” sites saying that 2/3 of jobs aren’t even advertised. They then end. How am I supposed to know how to find this super-secret job? I went to university... They babbled at the front of the room for 3 hours a day and then made me write some essays. None of them told me about the secret under-ground job market run by leprechauns riding unicorns. Where the hell does this exist? Just tell me the internet... where the heck do I find a job if you are keeping them so secret? They should probably be teaching leprechaun hunting in high school so when you need to go find a job you will have the initial skills. 
I know it is my own responsibility to find a job, and to be resourceful. I just really like to image a leprechaun guarding a crazy safe full of open positions of great jobs accompanied by his cigar-smoking unicorn with an attitude problem and slight narcissism. (Yes, this is how my brain works. No, I don’t care if you judge me).
Until next time Internet!
Here is a  poorly drawn picture. Because its important:

Job Hunt

Hello internet land.
This summer I have been looking for a job. I graduated with my degree in Psychology a few months ago and now I have the extra-delightful pleasure of trying to justify spending all that money when I no longer have any desire to go to grad school. Luckily all the debt sits on my own shoulders so I don’t feel overly responsible to anyone except myself, although it is kind of awkward to explain at the ever-present family interrogations. I think that if too many more people ask me what I am going to do with my life I will scream.
I have an interview tomorrow with a placement agency so maybe they can scavenge me up some English-speaking work because apparently in this city world it is impossible. I am all for speaking many languages, but they seem to punish those people who don’t and I don’t think that is fair. There are definitely a lot of people at my work who are mostly French, and their English is probably worse than my French – however I am the one who will be out of a job in a month and a half when my contract ends.
I miss the days of country living, when you need a job you ask your parents and they are basically forced to employ you because they chose some god-forsaken town in the middle of a corn field to make you live in and the only store isn’t hiring and hasn’t in ten years. I was lucky enough that both my parents owned their own businesses. When I was 12, (almost like child labour but totally voluntary I promise), I started my very first job.
My mother had begun her own photography business and worked at a lot of weddings. I carried the film. Yes, I am from the days of the mystical film children of the post-millennium. It’s this weird stuff that used to have pictures on it but now just makes it really hard to find anything useful. Anyways, I had a little backpack, and I carried the film and filters and random table cloth we used on the ground so the bride wouldn’t ruin her dress if she sat down.
I also became an expert dress-fluffer. If you have ever been to a wedding you know there’s always one person (usually the maid of honour) who is responsible for fluffing the train of the dress so it looks pretty in pictures. I mastered this technique and stole the jobs of many MOH... granted they usually couldn’t care less and a lot of the time weren’t paying attention to anything but their uncomfortable shoes.
I did this job for a very long time. Or at least what seemed like a very long time. Going to a wedding – sometimes two or three- a week is exhausting. You go in, you see the brides always running late, then you go to the church, see the groomsmen confused and scared, you see the groom sweating profusely, then the ceremony happens. The ceremony for some weddings was great and short. If you have to go to a catholic wedding, multiple times a month, you start to lose parts of yourself that you will never gain back. Each week a slice of my patience would be deteriorated and every time the minister/preacher/I can’t remember what they are called for Catholics, would begin the “Love is Patient, Love is Kind” speech, you lose another morsel of will to live.
Now that I no longer attend weddings every week, I find them fascinating again. I miss it almost. ALMOST. I do not miss running around all day in the heat without food or drink until you need to drive somewhere then you get two handfuls of chips and half a diet coke before your back out there fluffing up a storm. I do miss that moment when the bride walks into the church/patio/whereever when the groom tries to keep his cool but you know that he is smiling and clamping his teeth as tightly closed as he can because should he move too suddenly or open his mouth his heart might just explode out on the floor. And that would be a gross and sad start to a marriage.
Finding a job now is stupid. Internet searches seem to be the easiest way but then I see all these “help” sites saying that 2/3 of jobs aren’t even advertised. They then end. How am I supposed to know how to find this super-secret job? I went to university... They babbled at the front of the room for 3 hours a day and then made me write some essays. None of them told me about the secret under-ground job market run by leprechauns riding unicorns. Where the hell does this exist? Just tell me the internet... where the heck do I find a job if you are keeping them so secret? They should probably be teaching leprechaun hunting in high school so when you need to go find a job you will have the initial skills. 
I know it is my own responsibility to find a job, and to be resourceful. I just really like to image a leprechaun guarding a crazy safe full of open positions of great jobs accompanied by his cigar-smoking unicorn with an attitude problem and slight narcissism. (Yes, this is how my brain works. No, I don’t care if you judge me).
Until next time Internet!
Here is a  poorly drawn picture. Because its important:

Shopping is Best When Done in the Comfort of Your Sweatpants!