Tag Archives: #poetry

Admin Life, Am I Right?

I can count on my hands, the hands of others, an infants new toes, all of the millions of times I stated with vigor that I would never be sitting at a boring desk job, which is really to conclude that all words mean absolutely nothing.

Still at the temp job and now taking photos with the staff for holiday cards, creating a summary of myself for our website, and setting up my newly redone office. Cue panic.

To manage the sinking feeling in my chest that my life is becoming obsolete and I’m falling into a stapler and paper shredder abyss, I devised myself a small game. I call it my amusement tally and the premise is to collect the hysterically stereotypical elements of my administrative assistant life and then remember them all at once and laugh in the bathroom stall.

Example of Tally –

How many days does my boss talk about how the team across the hall wouldn’t share their wifi with us so we wont share our fridge with them?

Answer: Every day

How many times does my other boss sigh to himself because the other boss says if you do it in this order, it creates order”

Answer: Every hour

Last month I got a huge chuckle out of a situation that was not funny in the moment but is perfectly hilarious now. It was one of my bosses birthday and the other boss walks to my desk and plants a stickie note there that says my other bosses name and then writes “birthday lunch 12:30.” By the time I read it he has left and is on a call with a client.

I have so many questions.

Does the other boss know that this lunch is happening or is it a surprise? She has mentioned nothing about this and she mentions everything that ever enters her mind ever. Also why can’t you give me this information out loud? Does it feel more surprise-ish if we pass secret notes? Do I put a corresponding stickie note on your desk that says “Yes. I’m in.” ? Are you inviting me to go or is this mandatory? Am I getting paid still for an extended lunch? I have zero cash on me at the moment since you have passed me this mysterious neon note an hour before the possible surprise lunch begins. Are you driving? Do you all normally drink at lunch? Are we still going back to the office after? Also I’m straight broke, are you buying?

At 12:30 with the most anxiety I’ve felt in awhile, I simply followed my bosses out to their cars and got in one, decided to just answer yes to everything since everything is lost on me anyhow, did not pay for a penny of lunch, participated in office talk for two hours, came back to my desk to lay my head down on it and thank the universe for delivering me back here, to this desk, and to these letters I have to send out. I could have kissed those letters.

In two weeks we are having a similar work luncheon of which I plan on finding out every detail about beforehand so my social anxiety can take a breather, and I can sort everything out from transportation to outfits to planned topics such as the stock market and the new housing development being put in in the neighborhood. Maybe googling “things I don’t care about” would be faster.

Some of my amusement tally I’ve become used to, much to my dismay. Like I don’t even notice the hilarity of squabbles over the fridge and sharing the copy machines anymore because it’s white noise but luckily I am around when my bosses fight over where to put a fake plant and if we should start our filing tabs to the left now so there is some forced and designed joy left for me to have.

Occasionally I turn my head to the side facing our door, as if I am Pam Beesley looking at the camera when Michael Scott says or does something and it makes me feel better that the door frame and outer hall understand my struggles and can relate and are also saying “omg” or texting me “smh” in equal annoyance.

More stories to come after my next business luncheon, of which I’m sure I’ll find myself nodding about office hierarchy and salary comparisons, and then off to have a bottle of wine after as my reward for not making up a family emergency to leave! Can’t wait!

 

 

 

 

 

 

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I’m Awake

While you stay sleeping.

Is the start of my most recent sad/pathetic poem I wrote, because I am nothing if not a stereotype.
Some other recent pieces of work have titles such as:

“The Walls that Say Nothing”
“That Night”
To call it cringe worthy would be an understatement.
Funny that my poems mention nothing about almost peeing in my neighbors bushes, which is the true highlight of the whole thing.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I have fallen for The Boy Next Door.

No, but like literally his door is right next to mine and he sleeps feet away in the room next to mine.

I didn’t see it coming and had you told me that one day I’d wake up, devestated that he doesn’t want to discuss the foundation of our blossoming relationship, I would have LAUGHED and told you that you were the dumbest shit person alive.

Two weeks ago at a packed bar one night me and Boy Next Door have the most PG drunk hookup you’ve ever been bored enough to consider.

Like we’re talking long hugs and hand holding, which was  hotter than a drunk and  sweaty make out sesh, yes it’s baffling.
Then there’s me the next day, waking up with all the feels for a boy that I think I ignored the day before. Because i was eating?

We cross paths for the first time since “the night” and I watch myself  in slow motion putting my hand on his shoulder and saying “hey” as sultry as I know how.

Because it’s totally mutual right? I mean he hugged me,  held hands with me and was all about me, so…….

It’s like I’ve learned nothing from my own god damn blog.

In short, there was nothing returned and it was never spoke of again.  A Very Short Tale of Two People Who Never Had Sex. The End!

That night I couldn’t sleep a wink. Every peaceful YouTube video of harps and piano chords could not drown out the overwhelming anger I had at the person lying feet away.

I was also pretty angry with myself truthfully. To become such an idiot in such a short amount of time, I basically realized he was alive two days ago, how about we calm down.

The next night I decided to come at my inability to sleep with a new strategy. Sleeping pills and and cough syrup usually lend me down the road to obscure and terrifying nightmares, so I went with beer.

Arrived at a bar and requested  ever so daintily “whatever has the most alcohol”
and drank whatever she gave me pretty damn fast.

I am at a liquor store not even an hour and a half later picking up the biggest bottle of the highest percentage IPA there is in the store, it’s time to stop fucking around.

My new plan is to chug it in my car outside my house, because I can’t let Boy Next Door see me openly binge drinking, he’ll want to drink with me because we’re just two bros, having a cold one.
Hmm large beer, no bottle opener. I try and fail and now have two forever scars on my right index finger.

Buy a bottle opener because none of my friends are awake or helpful or as panicked about sleep as me, and get into my car and then drive it just down the block a little bit to comfortably sit in the dark next to a not too lit up neighbors house, thinking here we go I’ll just get to enjoy my beer and listen to some tunes.

What I didn’t know was how soon into this I’d have to pee.
Imagine being so determined that you have to pound a beer in order to sleep, but also  that your bladder is equally as determined not to drown. This is a battle of wills!

 

Now in reality I have peed in public probably five times. I’ve peed outside a bar at 3am, the front lawn of my college, a back alley and what my hazy memory tells me was the side of a hookah shop.

Needless to say I’m no stranger to it, but on a quiet residential? I’m technically not even drunk yet and never peed outside while stil in full reign of my mental faculties. I like to think that if I was trying to recall peeing somewhere in the open, that at least I could claim having very little memory of it. Oh the parking lot of jack in the box! That was the other one.

So anyways I circle some neighbors bushes for two minutes before realizing that I’ am way too sober for this, drive my car back down the street up to the house, chugged  the remaining 3/4 of the beer and ran.

When I was unlocking the front door, in the most pain of life, I remember being grateful that all the appeal that he had had for me was dead probably  the second he had walked back to his room that night, because me peeing my pants on our porch was only going to help solidify the fact that we’d never have sex in this lifetime.

Made it into the house, peed for an abnormally long period of time, tiptoed to my room and passed out probably from the exhilaration of being the biggest “badass” ever, if the term badass has changed over the years,  and now means “drinks alone in cars” then yes I am a poster child of that.

One positive that has come out of this, I was catalyzed to officially end things with One Night Stand Guy, who I’ve slept with a handful of times over the past few months while wishing on stars that I could develop feelings for him, but then failing  to remember to text him back for the sixth time that week.

Part of ending things with him last week was that  I didn’t want to be a shitty person and string him along anymore, since now I was feeling strung along and equally shitty.

The other reason is simply this: I could not  make feelings happen by sheer will of wanting them to.

In the span of one night I had now uncontrollable infatuation for Boy Next Door, yet I’ve been hoping crazy attraction for One Night Stand guy would one day just appear because he is cute and smart and super into me.

This for me was more of a you-can’t-control-who-you-are-attracted-to-even-though-it-would-be-way-fucking-easier-kind of lesson. And it’s annoying.

I will now return to the poem I was writing about soap and crying trees, wish me luck!