In which I totally blame Google...
I, lost in the rapids on the river of change, forgot to go see Goblinbox at the Biker Rally. I was super excited to be invited to go. Then I read this and was completely bummed I missed a latex pecker! Damn you, Google. I thought I set a reminder. I didn't. Apparently. I still choose to blame Google. It should have known that I meant to save the reminder. It knows when I type monicker what I really meant was moniker, for sobbing out loud! I will give Google another chance because I love him. He only does it when he's drinking.
The New Job
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Thursday, September 10, 2009
*Waves Hello*
In which I have been dying to talk to you.
Where to begin... It's been a while since I posted to the blog. Basically because everything I wanted to say was sort of a secret. But not really a secret. I will explain. I have been driving 90 miles, round trip, on a daily commute for work since March. At first, it wasn't that bad. I had time to myself and could sing at the top of my lungs for forty-five whole minutes. As time ticked by, it became a boring, tedious, frustrating drive that I have come to completely despise. My car broke down a few times. Why? Because it is a P.O.S.
I was between 1-15 minutes late, at least once a week, due to traffic revisions.
I was told on more than one occasion and by more than one individual that "someone is gunning for you" or "you don't know how close you came to getting fired." While it is true that fear may be a motivator for some, it is not for me. It's the opposite. After I had, admittedly, made a mistake in writing the date wrong for start date of my first vacation after 2.4 years, I received a phone call. The tone was rather curt in nature. I was asked if I was coming to work. I responded that I was on vacation. Also, I had talked about it for, literally, months prior, not to mention, everyone else knew too. So, I called the one manager and explained that I had written it down wrong and apologized but I would not be into work that day. Essentially, I called in, which by the way, I have done an extremely rare amount of occasions. That phone call also had a brusque tone. After I over analyzed the two conversations for a couple of days, I decided to be proactive. I applied to a total of two jobs. I'm not an overachiever. I noticed I was getting the silent treatment from one person.
Where to begin... It's been a while since I posted to the blog. Basically because everything I wanted to say was sort of a secret. But not really a secret. I will explain. I have been driving 90 miles, round trip, on a daily commute for work since March. At first, it wasn't that bad. I had time to myself and could sing at the top of my lungs for forty-five whole minutes. As time ticked by, it became a boring, tedious, frustrating drive that I have come to completely despise. My car broke down a few times. Why? Because it is a P.O.S.
I was between 1-15 minutes late, at least once a week, due to traffic revisions.
I was told on more than one occasion and by more than one individual that "someone is gunning for you" or "you don't know how close you came to getting fired." While it is true that fear may be a motivator for some, it is not for me. It's the opposite. After I had, admittedly, made a mistake in writing the date wrong for start date of my first vacation after 2.4 years, I received a phone call. The tone was rather curt in nature. I was asked if I was coming to work. I responded that I was on vacation. Also, I had talked about it for, literally, months prior, not to mention, everyone else knew too. So, I called the one manager and explained that I had written it down wrong and apologized but I would not be into work that day. Essentially, I called in, which by the way, I have done an extremely rare amount of occasions. That phone call also had a brusque tone. After I over analyzed the two conversations for a couple of days, I decided to be proactive. I applied to a total of two jobs. I'm not an overachiever. I noticed I was getting the silent treatment from one person.
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