It’s About Freakin’ Time!

In the eternity I had my eyeballs glued to the LCD, there was a big truckload of nothing. And then in the two weeks my internet was out, it ironically turns up online (along with a plethora of curiosities, i.e. How in the name of Mother Nature are Michael Jackson’s kids white?!).

This is something I’m imploring the high heavens to not disappoint. Also I’m hoping it would save me from having to explain the tattoo on my back. Strangely enough, a lot of people are having difficulty reconciling Hillary Swank with the role. I don’t agree with that at all. Had they picked Jessica Simpson, you’ll recognize me at the movies as the lunatic aiming an AK47 at the celluloid. Enjoy.

 

Dispatches From Loonyville

1. One of the stranger additions to my vocabulary courtesy of Merriam-Webster’s Word of the Day:

eclogue   \ECK-log\   noun
: a poem in which shepherds converse

Pardon my ignorance but I’ve never heard of a poem about conversing shepherds before. There must be a substantial number of them to warrant a word in the dictionary. If you know of one, please send it me. I’m curious.

2. An email of complaint from a peeved employee:

(and I quote…)

Good day!

 Make I request if you can mention it to the Operations Managers to advise Supervisors to have their post shift meeting held in any of the conference room available. Time and again they are having their team meeting in the area right beside my team and veraciously creating disturbance in our pre-shift overtime. Twice had I dissuade them of their noise level but most of the agents seems not to understand the paramountcy of what we do.

A subtle reminder never to hit Shift F7 in rage.

3. True story:

On what seemed like another monotonous day at work, an enraged supervisor runs down the hall after an equally furious subordinate. A stunned silence ensues across the floor. Everyone’s neck was craned to see what the ruckus was about.

“Come back here!” she yells. “This is insubordination!” Unfazed, the underling continues to stomp off towards the exit.

Coincidentally, this happened on the same day they were giving out free corn dogs at the office. After the drama died down and people started going back to their workstations, I overheard a colleague say, “I wonder who got her corn dog?”

The sad thing about this is that everybody was wondering the exact same thing.

 

Pecha De Peligro

I am now of the opinion that destitution is a highly effective motivational tool. An invisible force that eradicates sheer laziness and drives you to do things you wouldn’t normally do.

Case in point:

Last Friday after work, I took a jeep. Then the MRT. Then a 15 minute walk to the LRT station and then a trike to complete the final leg of a tedious commute home. The ordeal took almost two hours, travel time that would otherwise be sliced to a mere 20 minutes had I hailed a cab right outside my office building.

The second I got home, I cooked. (Wait…What’s that sound? Is that the collective noise of apocalyptic naysayers shifting nervously in their seats? She’s in the kitchen!! The end is near!!)

Gingerly, I ingested my hard knock meal. Then I washed the dishes that piled up on the kitchen sink. After that, I got rigged to go out and run some errands. When I got home, I tidied up the apartment. I started speculating over whether doing the laundry is still feasible. I took a rain check. My joints were beginning to give way to gravity.

After 9 hours of rigmarole in the office, chores and a pathetic financial state, the one consolation I have left lies in the fact that I am free to collapse on the couch and take a well-earned breather.

What do I find?

Now somebody please explain to me how this is fair.

 

When Things Go KABLOOEY…

Can’t imagine how THAT was like.

Possibly similar to being trapped in an enclosed space for 18 hours seated next to an overweight man with irritable bowel syndrome. If the flatulence doesn’t get you, something else will. You are guaranteed never to have another dull moment…Ever.

Or maybe it’s like being stuffed in an empty beer barrel and thrown down the Niagara Falls. The operative word here being “empty”. The greatest of cosmic jokes do not allow the luxury of getting shitfaced on the way down to your doom.

Or is it like flailing haplessly 10 storeys up while waiting to be dropped into a giant vat filled with garbage juice?

Hmmm…Can’t really decide which picture makes the best fit.

You’re wondering what I’m drivelling about. The point of this entry is anyone’s guess. I learned that the best way to rant is to make it as vague as possible lest some idiot takes your words and twists them out of proportion. And I don’t want to have to explain myself.

Also, remaining in a state of indistinction gives you the freedom to plug in whatever mishaps you’ve got going on and still have this whole thing make sense.

Well I’m glad I got mine over and done with. Otherwise, 18 hours with Mr. Fart-A-Lot will begin looking  like a very attractive alternative.

Mondays suck! The defense rests.

 

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