"You Better Belize It" Is a Bad Pun

From an unnamed production office for an undisclosed television show in an address-withheld building in LA where the elevators are shockingly slow...

Ten days from now, I'm going to Belize.  Belize!  The real place and not a frat infested LA club named that which, as far as I know, doesn't exist but I can totally picture that it would and there would be rum and "Rain Forest Wet T-Shirt" contests on Wednesdays or whatever, and if by chance someone dragged me there I would look critically at the other girls and call them ruins, like Mayan ruins, which is why it would be funny.  But no- I'm going to the real and glorious country of Belize where my boss can't even e-mail me if she really, really needs something because this underpaid worker is shutting off her cell phone and all e-mails with it when she goes because that international plan stuff is way too expensive to pay for when all I anticipate getting is my daily Groupon e-mail.   

The problem, however, about being so excited to go on vacation is that I am so excited to go on vacation!  Like, so excited that I'm not getting anything done all day except deciding which dresses to pack and reading about sandwiches I could be eating... Eating on a beach!  The other problem with being so excited about this impending delight is that I sit in a room all day with people who are not going to Belize and so are already done listening to me talk about Belize, and also they don't even know anything about Belize so what could I possibly want with them anyway?  They're doing things during our time off like going to visit their families or bravely hiking a difficult trail for a week... But guess what: There are families and walking in Belize, and also that's where Belize is!

So, from now until ten days from now, every assignment I half-ass, and every Scrabble letter I play aren't for nothing.  No.  They are getting me one half-assed assignment and one Scrabble letter closer to a relaxing vacation where I don't have those kinds of stresses.  Hallelujah.

Heads Will Roll

From an unnamed production office for an undisclosed television show in an address-withheld building in LA where the elevators are shockingly slow...

 ...Because they're made of wax!  Well, this one is!  Wax that my circle cheese was wrapped in that allowed me to combine two of the best things today: Crafts and snacks.  I worked very hard to make this wax head unattractive- but ambiguously so- in hopes that it can represent anyone who is bothering me. A wax proxy, if you will (if only I could play "wax proxy" in my current Scrabble game that I am losing by about 200 points). Although I haven't considered what to do if multiple people are lame at the same time.  I guess I've got some cheese to eat (yes!).

You Say Hello, I Say Do We Have To?

From an unnamed production office for an undisclosed television show in an address-withheld building in LA where the elevators are shockingly slow...

On my floor at work there is a guy I don't know whose desk is, let's call it, one hundred feet from mine (keep in mind that if you told me that one hundred feet was also the average distance from the floor to the ceiling I would, with only brief hesitation, believe you).  I pass him on my frequent, previously-discussed trips to the ladies' room, and every time I go to the break room to visit the Peanut M&M's in the vending machine (I don't bring them home to my desk, but I like to gaze longingly at them and imagine the day that I learn how to run without doubling over wheezing so that I might- on that day- justify making them my very own).  I do not know this man's name.  I know that it isn't the same as the guy whose desk is immediately next to his, but most of the time I can't remember that guy's name either, so my process of elimination isn't what I would call strong.

Well last week this guy and I literally ran into each other in the hall.  Our office has lots of abrupt turns and narrow passageways, and- full disclosure- I worked with a blind girl before and I- with full sight- bumped into twice as many things as she did walking- literally- blind, so this hallway shoulder check was more than likely my fault.  Anyway, in the wake of our elbows colliding, this guy feels that we now have to say hello to each other.  Aggressively.  Not just in that really awkward way that I already have to say hello to my coworkers around the building when we are walking towards each other from a distance in the hall, and have to choose at which point in our long approach we are going to acknowledge each other with some greeting, and then either look at our phones or some interesting imaginary thing on the floor so that we don't have to make steady eye contact until we clear each other.  I mean, nameless shoulder checker wants to do that, too, but in addition he now shouts from his desk whenever I pass to say hello, and once I say it back, we've exhausted our conversational repertoire.  Because what could we talk about?  Work?  I don't even think he plays Scrabble.

Multi-Taskmaster

From an unnamed production office for an undisclosed television show in an address-withheld building in LA where the elevators are shockingly slow...

 I feel as though I am really getting this week of to a good start as far as productivity.  Look at that picture right up there!  Look at all those tabs.  That means I'm doing stuff.  As I type this, I am listening to a show that I need to watch for work, G-Chatting with S, playing Scrabble with my coworker, thinking critical thoughts about something I just read on Facebook because please- there is no reason to talk about peeing on a stick and other such personal things on a social networking site, counting down to when I am allowed to eat my lunch in 29 minutes, wondering if people are thinking that my hair looks weird today because I put it in bun even though I've never put my hair in a bun before but I did today because it's raining and my hair already has little hope of looking nice but once there's moisture in the air just absolutely forget it, closing my eyes for mini-naps, wondering if anyone can tell that I have had this sweater since 2001... oops- I just took a quick break to show a coworker an album of pictures of my dog in its entirety... and now I'm back and also eavesdropping on my coworkers' conversation about some bad decisions that they made over the weekend.  This is what employers are talking about when they say that they want attention to detail and the ability to multi-task, right?  Man.  I really am under-using my talents here.

Update: I just read this back after I posted it, and thought to myself, "Wait- Haven't I written this post before with just a slight variation in the details?"  And yes, I have.  Because all of my days are just a slight variation on this post, an endless string of pointless activities to distract me from the grand pointless activity that is my job, and when I stop crying into my leftovers about it I'll try to at least come up with a new way to complain about it.

Monday Monday

From an unnamed production office for an undisclosed television show in an address-withheld building in LA where the elevators are shockingly slow...

I know a lot of people complain far and Facebook-wide about Mondays.  And I do understand it.  I get it.  On Friday I was able to get a 49 point word in my Scrabble game.  Today?  Monday?  18 points.  Can't get higher to save my life.  I mean- I have six vowels and a V, right?  Rough.  And last week on, for example, Thursday, we got two boxes of Sprinkles cupcakes delivered to my office.  Beginning of the week bummer?  Just pound cake in the break room, and like two or three people who were in there "cooking their lunches" and "filling up their coffee cups" for so long that I wasn't even able to take the giant/multiple pieces I wanted.  Monday No-fun-day on that one.  And- by the way- If one sweet treat horror wasn't enough, last week I had at least 12 more Thin Mints in the bottom drawer of my desk.  New work week starts today, and all of a sudden the ones I ate last week are still gone?  Harsh.  And on top of all that, the beginning of the week means taking a lot of time away from actual work to try to get people to ask me what I did over the weekend.  Which- ask me!- was preeeeetty fun.  If only Monday were different somehow, I could have had my nose to the grindstone instead of self-servingly manipulating casual workplace conversation.  If only.  If only Monday could be less... Monday.  And if only the grindstone could be my couch.