From the guy who brought you “petty cash isn’t for little expenses”:
Apparently this: >5%
reads as “less than five percent”
And he’s an accountant. I thought they were supposed to be good at math? I mean, I can almost forgive his poor grammar and sub-par vocabulary, but come on! That is truly ludicrous.
I really don’t like it when on a specific day, people at work feel the need to tell me that I look good, when they’re not in the habit otherwise. Do I look like crap normally? Probably. Especially by office work, ad agency standards, I’m not the keenest dresser. I’m not really holding myself up to that aesthetic, so whatever. So what brings about the random admiration of my wardrobe in the work place? That’s right, you guessed it, it’s laundry day. Awesome. My bottom of the barrel, last resort outfit actually looks better than my favorite. I’d rather be wearing a hoodie, folks. Oh well, what are you going to do?
Current mood: apathetic
You know who you are! You’re that person that keeps leaving magazines next to the toilet at work. I don’t normally go in there to do anything that would take the amount of time required to read a whole article. But there it is. Open even. And it’s crap. It’s always People or Entertainment Weekly. Some garbage I don’t need to be reading when I don’t need to be reading. It’s just so darn distracting, though. So there I am, reading about Jennifer Aniston’s vacation with Courtney Cox, while my co-workers wait their turns, and I’m sure they think I’m doing something I’m not. And then suddenly I realize, I’m supposed to be emailing Kyler (oh Kyler). I feel like an idiot, because who cares who Jude Law is sleeping with really, and why would that make me lose my sense of my surroundings? How is it that I so easily get pulled into sitting in that ugly orange bathroom, reading a magazine I would never feel the need to read in the real world, when I only need to be there for thirty seconds tops? At least at my hair dude’s salon, there’s time to finish a trashy article. I don’t understand. I just don’t understand.
Current mood: nerdy
Oh Kyler from MSN. Oh how stupid you are. Oh how you drive me crazy. Do you not read my email before you reply? Do you not think before you reply? Do you not understand the words that are coming out of my mouth? Oh how I loathe to work with you, oh Kyler of MSN. How you aggravate me. Oh, woe is me.
“We hold these truths to be self evident . . . “
Peggy Lu needs a new job! In order to form a more perfect union, I have just finished sending out a resume. Cross your fingers, my friends. Something has got to change for me. No more A/P. I need something interesting, challenging, stimulating, ever-changing, and not dull. I don’t need my job to be the end-all, be-all of my existence, but it would be nice if it was something I didn’t dread getting up for. Right now, I’m trying to extend the three day weekend by not going to bed. I’m going to hate life from around two to three tomorrow afternoon, when I start to fade, and my boss starts breathing down my neck.
There is absolutely no reason why I should be awake right now. Yet here I am. Wasting precious sleep time on the internet. Stupid internet.
The truth is, I don’t want to go to work tomorrow. So the longer I stay up, then the more it’s going to feel like I don’t have to go, but there’s no way I’m getting out of it. I’m going to be miserable tomorrow. I know it already. I just hope my boss doesn’t catch me nodding off at my desk. I must not hit my head on my computer screen when my head slumps forward. That would be a dead give away.
I should have gone to bed early like a good girl. I should have done a lot of things differently today. I certainly didn’t need the big brownie. Could have stopped at a dozen crawfish, instead of two. There were at least two unnecessary phone calls. I wasted some gas, too. Geesh, I’m terrible. Zero impulse control. Terrible.
I am a little bit inebriated. I went out to lunch with a co-worker, and we had a couple of beers. Now I’m just trying to pretend to be sober. I’m failing miserably. I want to either pass out, or do some ballet. Either of those activities would make my buzz completely obvious to everyone in my office.
Is it 6 yet?
I am at work, and I am incredibly bored. I finished all the work I have to do for the rest of this week, but I still have to be here, and I still have to look busy. So I’m sitting here, typing all of this blog entry into a word document, so as to avoid detection. You see, even though I hustled, and completed all of my assignments ahead of schedule, my company doesn’t really believe in rewarding that. So, if you finish early, you’re not allowed to sit at your desk, and quietly surf the internet, like you might be able to do at other places, like I have been able to do at other companies. Don’t get me wrong. There are perks to working here. We have a total pub culture going here. Half of our clients are beers, like Newcastle, Corona, and Guinness. We have a frig full of beer, and come 3:30, I’ll be having one, but in the meantime . . .
So, if you know me, you already know that I am prone to do the dialing under the influence. (If you didn’t know that, you do now.) Usually I am more than willing to be on the receiving end, as well. Fair is fair. Chances are, if I have your phone number, then you’ll get a call from me at some point, so I don’t feel justified complaining if you return the favor. However, I’m not too happy about the three phone calls I’ve gotten this morning. It’s one thing to call at 1 on Friday night/Saturday morning, but to call me at 6 in the morning on Friday, when I still have one more day of work before my weekend starts, and then to keep calling back and laughing in my face, because I have to work, and you’re in Vegas and have been up playing poker all night, well that’s a completely different story. There’s nothing cute about it. So, drunk dialer, you know who you are, and you can go to Hades.
How many more hours until the weekend starts? Too many. Way too many. I could easily see myself drinking entirely too much coffee today, purely out of boredom. Oh, and I’m going out tonight, but not until later, so I’ll probably be chilling around SF, waiting for my friends to get here, with nothing to do, and tired, tired, tired.
Waaa. I need to stop being so whiney.
Peggy Lu Who's Just Sayin' 