Tag Archives: on the job

This world is full of what?

Crashing bores you say? I hear you, Morrissey!

Right now I am using the power of my mind to make my most troublesome client explode. If you hear a hideous screech and a wet pop from Westchester County, you’ll know I’ve done it for the team. Why is it that the smallest jobs are always the most painful and demanding? It’s like the difference in getting your leg shot off and a papercut, I guess. At least you go into shock with the gunshot.

This breed of client is composed of people who hem and haw, who don’t know a decent font from a hole in their butt, but magically they are qualified art directors. They may take it upon themselves to send you color swatches they made in MSPaint. (Although someone from a Fortune 500 company once did this to me as well.) They follow the legendary clueless Si Newhouse school of thought (oh no, this is going to prevent me from ever working for Conde Nast), glibly tossing off direction like “Can you make it more ‘fall?????'” Each extraneous piece of punctuation is like a knife in my gut. Whatever, this person is SO FIRED. As soon as the invoice comes back paid. It’s like I’m Razorfish, and it’s 1998. Wow, I’m wearing a long sweater coat, and everyone on the train stinks of Gucci Rush. Diddley doo, diddley doo, diddley doo.

Very well

It’s Sunday, which is apparently a day for mealy apples and horrors with slab serifs. It is also the anniversary of my sister’s birthday! If you see her, smack her.

Mr H is interviewing today, because work never stops in our home sweatshop. His subject is a man named Hung. A co-worker warmly endorsed Hung from a previous job.

Apprently Hung is very polite, and every morning when he came in to work, he would great his office mate by saying “How are you today, Steven?” And Steven would say “I’m well, Hung! Very well, Hung.”

I’d hire Hung on the basis of that testimony alone. This is America!

Blimey

Hey lipsmackers, I am on a spree. I wrote a really snotty email to Banana Republic the other day about their half-assed use of CSS in their redesign, and they wrote back personally and thanked me for finding something they hadn’t tested. Dawww you guys! Hire me, and I will tell you how to fix it too. Until then, I remain a crank on the internet.

I have another nasty letter out to UrbanBaby.com for not replying with their daily newsletter ad rates for one of my clients. Oh, you feel left out? You want a nasty letter too? Consider this entire website that nasty letter.

The next poison missive from the desk of Oh No You Di’n’t goes to: my hair stylist. Oh, sweet Boston stylist, I never should have left you. I am going back to you next week, if you will have me, for I just received the worst possible hair cut. I do not think I have had a hair cut this bad since my sainted mother strapped me into the swing set and stuck a bowl on my head. This one is close, in that it stops abruptly under my ears while continuing to drape down my back. Yet it blossoms forth in such a way that my head looks like a triangle screwed onto my shoulders. I am not sure how my now ex-stylist did this, because she barely removed any hair. I just shuddered and gaped, and she said “You’re going to make me cry,” and I said “Likewise!” I am not sure how these things happen, but they should not happen to me.

Oh, it’s been like three weeks. I am OVER that hurricane! What hurricane? Exactly.

Two, two, two days later

Than the last time I posted. Isn’t that amazing? Soon it will be the future. And…um. I am listening to Devo. The internet is in such a good mood lately, probably because it’s spring and the internet is getting mad laid. Just speculating. And maybe the internet got its hands on some painkillers as well.

Have you noticed how diligent I’ve been with taking my B-complex vitamins? Yeah, I am impressed too. My hooves and coat have never been shinier. I am not even going to taunt you by telling you that my gums don’t bleed when I floss. Booyeah.

Yesterday I was talking to Northern Virginia, and I put NoVa on mute because it was the part of the meeting that didn’t concern me, which is to say most of the meeting. Luckily I am a meeting cobra, and when something does concern me, I will strike. Wa-pow. And I had Oprah on, and Oprah was talking about pooping. This is one of my favorite topics evah. She had a doctor on the royal dais next to her, and he lifted up a medical-looking towel from a table and unveiled a normal colon and a bloated colon. That’s right, if you persist in eating a terrible diet, your colon will distend and never bounce back. A colon can handle a lot, but we all have our limits. There were other good tips about pooping too. You would think this comes naturally, but not to some people. I was really pleased to have my own output validated by a professional opinion.

It’s almost time to shriek Chinese at the people upstairs. I can’t wait. You see a woman on the street, and you wish to approach her.

Ten pounds of nothing in a five pound bag

Man, it has just been a pigfucker of a week. Lambchop had to suffer business travel, and I had to recuperate from illness and deal with a client that told me “wooden” is spelled with a double “d.” It was all I could do to refrain from lapping from a bowl of beer at 10 a.m. yesterday. Then I realized “You work at home, idiot, go nuts.” Ha! I am a little slow on the draw.

This shot proves that children are vampires. Can you hear the hissing? That’s two inches of my sexy hip in that shot. The paparazzi doesn’t miss a damn trick around here.

Why are there children everywhere? I had a baby over again, and I let him play with the hairdryer in the tub and make fajitas. Everyone’s all “when are you going to have the sex and get the pregnant?” And I’m all “why, you want to watch?” They probably do. Perverts. I prefer children on a time-share basis. But, like going to an actual timeshare, someone is always waiting to pounce on you and make you go to a seminar on why you should invest further. I am the best Auntie ever, because I let the kids have all the coffee they want, and I never met a repetitive game I didn’t like. I honed this skill by taking drugs. Ask me what I can do with glitter putty.

Be sure to tune in on President’s Day, when Lambchop and I launch spirited campaigns for President of Vomitola! We promise to assassinate each other’s characters and woo you with false promises and titillating images. Then you’ll vote, and one of us will be left crumpled and whimpering on the bathroom floor as the other begins eroding civil liberties. OK, I am off to pluck my eyebrows in preparation for the evening gown competition.

Smashy Go Lucky

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I am fond of pointing out the beauties that I encounter in my daily bicycle ride to work. Birds nesting on tree-lined Comm. Ave., pretty girls in summery skirts, a tiny man pouring a bucket of greasy entrails into a gutter in chinatown, with a brown handrolled cigarette dangling wetly from his lips. It’s poetry! Today because of the warmth, all kinds of people are out and about town! i saw a prostitute staggering down the street wearing only a denim jacket and a large pair of underpants. She was lurching sideways, leaning heavily on some bloke, waving a smoke and grinning blearily as if life could furnish nothing greater.

It can’t!

Then I get to work and I am treated to overheard principals of office chippie dating. Hey fellas, if you are single, here is what women apparently want:

“…a man who can take me to a Mozart concert and still shake his butt around at 50 cent.”

There you have it!

PS I will be in the STUDIO tonight. Hurrah!

-xo

Continuing Chronicles of Bartleby

There is nothing better than sitting in a dark, climate-controlled office, shivering in a summer dress with a sun burn. I should search for a dusty air filter to stare at.

The last few days have been very jolly in the way that people can’t help being when the weather changes- long bike rides along the Charles, new clothes, parties and dirty jokes. I get a bang out of strolling around my neighborhood with a bright pink cocktail in hand.

The newest of the new drinks on offer at my house is the Los Angeles Iced Tea, which still has five kinds of liquor but replaces sour mix with Rock Star. This concoction gives rise to some interesting dreams. I woke up convinced not only that Prince showed up to our party, but that I had run into some ex-type bastard to find that both of his legs had been amputated. He invited me for a drink and I stood him up. Ha! Stood him up, he had no legs! His Purple Badness was not in actual attendance, but I can hold out hope that ex-bastard is scooching around on a dolly somewhere. No doubt he is merely off taking his James Spader lessons.

But I am not bitter, see how the sun it does shine.

-xo

Fashion Police Update

I have been encouraging the receptionist on my floor to not only Inform on those who violate the dress code, but to prepare a full Joan Rivers style report every day, on everyone’s dress. Why stop at simply policing open-toed shoes and corduroy pants (strictly VERBOTEN)? We should report the magenta blazers, the bulky shoulderpads, the cheap perfume, and the continued presence of holiday sweaters. Just this morning I saw some cellulite hugging oatmeal pants in the copy room! We should also give commendations for snazzy eyewear and slimming pencil skirts. I shall be preparing a full review for HQ!

I have not seen that old plastic faced gorgon, Ms. Rivers, do her thing at the Oscars. I have not seen an award show, or a star-studded tribute of any kind while I was in Berlin. So I actually plan to have a Grouch the Oscars night at my house. Which will involve champagne, tiaras, and lots of jeering. I suppose it will also involve watching the oscars.

-xo

Dressing for Excess

I have just heard that dress code infractions at the ol’ McJobby Job le Job are to be noted by the receptionist and reported to HQ. Does this mean no more feather boa? Is my tweed cap to be silenced? So I am working on my resume, which causes me to think in bulleted lists of the Things I did Yesterday:

*eat a canoli

*watch a film about noodles

*read a book about waiting, entitled “Waiting”.

Buy a copy of Wired magazine and note that the aforementioned trio Freezepop have a full pager in there. I am preparing myself for them to be hugely famous so that I can write a tell-all. I better start stealing their underwear.

I asked everyone at dinner if they were to be inducted into the Make a Wish Foundation through clerical error and not, say, leukemia, for what would they ask. We had two Bowie-related requests (I would do an exhibition with the Man in Pants. Picture me quaffing wine at our opening, full of mutual adulation!) One wish was to go on tour opening for Duran Duran. Another would modestly wish for a house. Asians are so practical!

And strangely of all, one of us would like to be nine years old. Permanently. Which sparked a lively discussion on the value of consciousness and creativity versus an unconscious sort of happiness.

Personally, as much as I am avoiding adulthood, I would never return to the age of nine. My paintings are better now. Oh, and so is the sex.

-xo

Why do birds suddenly appear?

The man upstairs from me has a piano, and he’s been playing “April in Paris.” I can hear it through the ceiling, and sometimes a peel of a woman’s laughter. We smile and nod in the hallways, as we are both persons of leisure, doing leisurely things.

I don’t think I can ever work in an office again. Life is is going swimmingly, and it directly relates to not dragging myself in to be abused every day by people with no understanding of what my job actually entails. I’m still doing freelance, but on my own terms. Now I’m just waiting for summer time, when I’m told the living is easy.

-xxoo