As a Jersey girl, I find it necessary to visit every mall in the state. It's one of our common goals as girls in Jersey. That and simultaneously spraying enough hairspray in our already sprayed hair to cause the ozone layer to thin out over Atlantic City for the duration of said spray...while navigating a jughandle on our way to a Bon Jovi concert.
Ok, obviously I'm being sarcastic. If you didn't catch that you should start here and work your way forward. And if you're still not picking up on it, you don't know me at all, in which case, hi, welcome, there are cookies on the table in the corner and welcome to a crash course in Hesper.
Anyway, here is the gist of the adventure. After work on Wednesday, Zombie Leftovers, her boyfriend (who I do not know well enought to give a real nickname to so I will call him Mr. Bob), and I decided to take a mini-trip to the Bergen Mall to visit The Pirate. Now, this seems seemingly simple. Get on a highway, drive, arrive, yayness. I assure you that simple, this was not.
First of all, I woke up at 5:15 for no real reason except that my body is clearly rebelling against me for trying to be an adult and getting back at me using reverse-psychology. Instead of trying to sleep in, it keeps trying to wake me up earlier just because it can. Then I went to work all day, culminating with working with 5-6 year olds on Annie, which was super fun, but tiring. Sooo...when Zombie Leftovers claimed that the Bergen Mall was 25 minutes away (or so) I figured it was no big deal. What she didn't tell me was that she didn't take traffic or her extreme lack of directions into account.
The traffic was the usual rush-hour traffic, so no one can be held responsible for that. Since no one who reads this will be familiar with the roads I'll be referencing, I'll just put it in super layman's terms. We got off the major interstate highway, turned onto a local highway (going the wrong direction as per Zombie Leftovers' directions) and were in downtown crazy Jersey town. I don't even know which town it was at that point, all I do know is that after 10-15 minutes going the wrong direction, we pulled over to a gas station where every attendant gave us different directions. And suggested that instead of the Bergen Mall, we go to the Garden State Plaza. Finally a nice business suit guy gave us decent directions. Now, by "us" I mean "Zombie Leftovers" because she's the one who got out of the car to ask.
We turn around, head back in the right direction, and Zombie Leftovers announces that she knew that we went the wrong way, declares herself "right" and decides to get adventurous yet again and tells us to take a random right-hand turn onto a road that "may be right...or something." For some reason, I listen to her. Now we're in some ridiculous residential area with no sign of anything that remotely resembles a mall. We turn around. Zombie Leftovers announces that she knew it was wrong and that she was right. Again.
Now we're back on the local highway and we go past the ramp from which we entered in the first place. Zombie Leftovers announces that she's right. We finally find the right place to be and pull into the parking lot. Zombie Leftovers declares that she's right.
We walk into one store, only to find out that it is not, in fact, connected to the rest of the mall. We head upstairs and attempt to find an entrance to the actual mall. By the time we finally do see The Pirate, it's nearly 6:30 and we left at about 5. 25 minutes my ass. Oh, and Zombie Leftovers relayed the story to The Pirate, frequently expressing that she was right and she knew we were going the wrong way. Thankfully, Mr. Bob and I cleared up any misconceptions The Pirate may have fairly quickly.
Long story short, the next time we take a random road trip, Zombie Leftovers will not be the navigator, I don't care how correct she is.
Thursday, November 16, 2006
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
It's a blog about nothing!
I'm feeling incredibly random so this post will be incredibly random. Deal. Yes, I just ordered you.
So, I'm moving. Sorry to sort of blurt it out in the first sentence, but I figured it would be the best way to take care of it...put it out there and be done with it.
So far, the announcement of my moving has produced a wide range of emotions from my family and friends. My sister, for example, burt into tears until I pointed out that I would need help shopping for new bedding and towels. My brother was less emotional and asked if I got into one too many fights with my father. My parents have been supportive. I know this because they are doing everything in their power to remind me why I want to move out in the first place. These small reminders have been helpful, really, because for a split second after it was official, I did freak out and think "oh, but wait...maybe I don't want to?" but then my father immediately asked me if I had checked the weather report because he didn't think the jacket I was wearing was conducive to the cold weather and I should really watch the weather channel more often. Also, my car needs an oil change and do I know how to take care of that?
Aside from the jacket thing, here is a list of question that they have asked me this week alone:
- Is there enough gas in my car to get me to work?
- Have I done my laundry recently?
- Do I really want to go out and get a drink on a weeknight? I have work tomorrow.
- Have I checked my bank statements recently?
- When is my cell phone bill due? I should really make sure not to forget to pay it.
- Did I make myself lunch for tomorrow?
- Am I awake? Do I know what time it is? Shouldn't I be getting ready for work?
Mind you, this is all stuff I not only took care of on my own when I was in college, but stuff that hasn't been an issue for the past, oh, year and half after college. Suddenly I'm completley inept and cannot possibly understand what it takes to live on my own without adult supervision. And when I point out that I am an adult and that there are plenty of things I can do without supervision (and many things I would *ahem* prefer to do without parental supervision), they tell me that even though they logically know I'm an adult they still think of me as a child.
My dad's reaction in particular has reminded me of "Father of the Bride"...specifically where Steve Martin has a flashback and pictures a 5 year old in pigtails sitting at the dining room table saying "I went to Paris and met a man and we're getting married, Daddy." I didn't really expect anything less, especially because I am the oldest, but fact of the matter is, I do not need to be spoonfed everything.
Ok, vent done. Sorry about that.
Now funny stuff.
So, the new office we are in is quirky. Quirkier than I am, which is difficult to beat. First of all, there are 5 of us sharing a single DSL line, which wouldn't be a big deal except that 2 are dealing with ginormous graphic-infused files that take up a lot of bandwidth. Basically, for those of you who do not want to try to follow my geekiness, the line to our office that gives us the internet is like a clogged artery waiting to cause a heart attack. So, when I'm trying to place an order or plan a field trip, the system will clog, causing my internet to cripple and my computer to freeze...much like an old woman who has had a stroke and is now paralyzed on the left side of her body. Yeah yeah, I mixed medical analogies. Either way it's bad and requires hospitalization.
One of the possible solutions is to move The Perfectionist (formerly known as The New Girl) and The Boss Man to the old offices and The Tool, The Photographer, The Giggler and I will share a space. This is not good. I will cry. A lot. First of all, without The Boss Man around, The Tool will be a full-fledged wood shop of badness, Peter-Pan-Posing with his half-zipper all around the place. The Photographer is just a little cheesy which isn't that hard to deal with, but he's also an aspiring actor so he's a little dramatic. Allow me to give you an example:
The Tool: *cough cough cough choke choke cough cough cough*
The Boss Man: You ok?
The Tool: Yeah, my twizzler went down the wrong pipe.
Me: Twizzler? That IS a pipe.
The Photographer: *spits soda out, dramatically hold hands on knees, laughs until face is red* That's hysterical!
Um, no. It wasn't a good joke. While I will admit that every now and then I have some good one-liners, this was not one of them. I know this, The Tool knows this, The Boss Man knows this. You wanted an excuse to spit your soda out.
The other funny thing our office does is ring. We have a doorbell so that we can let people into what I call The Crime Scene (the carpeting seriously looks just...gross) but it is actually a storage room that is not currently in use. We do have windows so it's not horribly depressing. But yeah, so the doorbell will ring when people aren't there. And I don't mean someone is pranking us...I mean that literally no one will be in the hallway and the doorbell will ring as if to say "Hi, just letting you know I still work and I'm a little bored because people didn't visit me today. So, um, HI!" Other times, when people ARE there, it won't ring. We have a bi-polar doorbell. Or the office is haunted. Either one, really.
One of these days I'll take a picture of the office to show you just how insane the setup really is.
So, I'm moving. Sorry to sort of blurt it out in the first sentence, but I figured it would be the best way to take care of it...put it out there and be done with it.
So far, the announcement of my moving has produced a wide range of emotions from my family and friends. My sister, for example, burt into tears until I pointed out that I would need help shopping for new bedding and towels. My brother was less emotional and asked if I got into one too many fights with my father. My parents have been supportive. I know this because they are doing everything in their power to remind me why I want to move out in the first place. These small reminders have been helpful, really, because for a split second after it was official, I did freak out and think "oh, but wait...maybe I don't want to?" but then my father immediately asked me if I had checked the weather report because he didn't think the jacket I was wearing was conducive to the cold weather and I should really watch the weather channel more often. Also, my car needs an oil change and do I know how to take care of that?
Aside from the jacket thing, here is a list of question that they have asked me this week alone:
- Is there enough gas in my car to get me to work?
- Have I done my laundry recently?
- Do I really want to go out and get a drink on a weeknight? I have work tomorrow.
- Have I checked my bank statements recently?
- When is my cell phone bill due? I should really make sure not to forget to pay it.
- Did I make myself lunch for tomorrow?
- Am I awake? Do I know what time it is? Shouldn't I be getting ready for work?
Mind you, this is all stuff I not only took care of on my own when I was in college, but stuff that hasn't been an issue for the past, oh, year and half after college. Suddenly I'm completley inept and cannot possibly understand what it takes to live on my own without adult supervision. And when I point out that I am an adult and that there are plenty of things I can do without supervision (and many things I would *ahem* prefer to do without parental supervision), they tell me that even though they logically know I'm an adult they still think of me as a child.
My dad's reaction in particular has reminded me of "Father of the Bride"...specifically where Steve Martin has a flashback and pictures a 5 year old in pigtails sitting at the dining room table saying "I went to Paris and met a man and we're getting married, Daddy." I didn't really expect anything less, especially because I am the oldest, but fact of the matter is, I do not need to be spoonfed everything.
Ok, vent done. Sorry about that.
Now funny stuff.
So, the new office we are in is quirky. Quirkier than I am, which is difficult to beat. First of all, there are 5 of us sharing a single DSL line, which wouldn't be a big deal except that 2 are dealing with ginormous graphic-infused files that take up a lot of bandwidth. Basically, for those of you who do not want to try to follow my geekiness, the line to our office that gives us the internet is like a clogged artery waiting to cause a heart attack. So, when I'm trying to place an order or plan a field trip, the system will clog, causing my internet to cripple and my computer to freeze...much like an old woman who has had a stroke and is now paralyzed on the left side of her body. Yeah yeah, I mixed medical analogies. Either way it's bad and requires hospitalization.
One of the possible solutions is to move The Perfectionist (formerly known as The New Girl) and The Boss Man to the old offices and The Tool, The Photographer, The Giggler and I will share a space. This is not good. I will cry. A lot. First of all, without The Boss Man around, The Tool will be a full-fledged wood shop of badness, Peter-Pan-Posing with his half-zipper all around the place. The Photographer is just a little cheesy which isn't that hard to deal with, but he's also an aspiring actor so he's a little dramatic. Allow me to give you an example:
The Tool: *cough cough cough choke choke cough cough cough*
The Boss Man: You ok?
The Tool: Yeah, my twizzler went down the wrong pipe.
Me: Twizzler? That IS a pipe.
The Photographer: *spits soda out, dramatically hold hands on knees, laughs until face is red* That's hysterical!
Um, no. It wasn't a good joke. While I will admit that every now and then I have some good one-liners, this was not one of them. I know this, The Tool knows this, The Boss Man knows this. You wanted an excuse to spit your soda out.
The other funny thing our office does is ring. We have a doorbell so that we can let people into what I call The Crime Scene (the carpeting seriously looks just...gross) but it is actually a storage room that is not currently in use. We do have windows so it's not horribly depressing. But yeah, so the doorbell will ring when people aren't there. And I don't mean someone is pranking us...I mean that literally no one will be in the hallway and the doorbell will ring as if to say "Hi, just letting you know I still work and I'm a little bored because people didn't visit me today. So, um, HI!" Other times, when people ARE there, it won't ring. We have a bi-polar doorbell. Or the office is haunted. Either one, really.
One of these days I'll take a picture of the office to show you just how insane the setup really is.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
