Is it just my office or does everyone else have some sort of cake at least once a week? I feel like Elaine when she worked at J. Peterman and they had cake everyday for someone's birthday or other ridiculous occasion to the point where her body was craving a 3:30 sugar rush. Whether it is actually someone's birthday or a lobbyist thinks bringing in a cake will sway a vote or two, we consistently have cake in the office. Not only is it always in the office, it sits directly in my eyeline, staring me down, tempting me with its promise of a 15 minute burst of energy in my otherwise stale day. What's worse is that when I finally stop fighting my natural urges and get a piece of cake, there's a 50/50 chance that it tastes like crap. Last week's cake had so much sugar in it that my heart felt like it was going to burst out of my chest. All the more reason why eating the cake is so dangerous.
In today's case, it wasn't anyone's birthday. The occasion was looooove.
A conversation between Ms. Joanie and I:
Ms. Joanie: Come get some cake, ladybug
Me: What's the occasion?
Ms. Joanie: This dumb guy at my church baked it for me.
Me: Ooh Ms. Joanie you have an admirer!
Ms. Joanie: Well, that's just too bad. He can dream on.
That's Ms. Joanie. Breaking hearts one at a time. It was only later on that I found out the cake was actually baked into the shape of a heart. A heart. Yes, a bit cheesy, but gotta give a guy props for trying to woo a woman with a homemade heart-shaped cake.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Sunday, February 27, 2011
"If at first you don't secede, try again"
As all (three) of you know from my first entry, I work as a page in the South Carolina Senate. I am at the bottom of the food chain. My main duties include answering phones, making coffee and copies, shredding documents and running errands. Call me a human switchboard/answering machine. Even though I may have the most mundane job in the world, I have to say it has been an enlightening experience. Working at the South Carolina Senate has opened my eyes to how state government truly functions and can be characterized in two words: extreme inefficiency. If SC state's government is any indication of how federal government works, then this country is is in for a rough road and that's not a stab at Columbia's awful infrastructure. Let's take my job for example. All pages are pretty much expendable. While it's true that some senators, like the one that I work for, get high volumes of phone calls it really isn't anything that the main administrative assistant couldn't handle. If you think I'm being whiny, I have to agree with you. Whenever I complain, I think about what I actually do, which is read and play on the computer all day long and occasionally answer a phone call. There are worse jobs out there.
Let me give you a breakdown of the main players in the laugh/cry that is my job:
Ms. Joanie is a sassy septuagenarian who is The Senator's administrative assistant. She is the sweetest woman in the world to those on her good list (luckily I am), but if you cross her, god help you. She would have no qualms destroying you old-southern-lady style, which means talking about you behind your back, the cold shoulder and ignoring your messages. Despite the fact that Ms. Joanie rolls in at 3:00 many days during the summer, she is actually very good at what she does. She has giant rolodexes of The Senator's contacts and she knows every one of them and if she doesn't she fakes it like a girl on prom night. The Senator also happens to be a hypochondriac (read: needy baby) and she dutifully puts up with every one of his "ailments." I couldn't do it.
Bobby Caution is The Senator's chief of staff. If you're wondering what the chief of staff for a state senator does, you're not alone. In my year and a half of working there I still can't really tell what Bobby does to earn the $150,000 and corner office that he has, and to be frank, I don't think he knows either. As far as this amateur sleuth's eye can tell, his main duties include drinking diet coke by the gallon, chain smoking and talking on his cell phone in a way that can only be described as religulous, as Bill Maher might say. He is without a doubt the most interesting character in the office. Think Creed Bratton from "The Office."
Penny is The Senator's actual right-hand woman even though on the . I'm not sure of her official job title, but as far as I can tell, she picks up Caution's slack. When I worked early mornings, I was always expected to be there at 8:50ish to make the coffee and catch any early morning phone calls and Ms. Penny was consistently there at 9 a.m. or earlier, which shouldn't be some miraculous feat considering that everyone there is supposed to work a standard 9-5 day, but from what I can see only a handful within my department adhere to that rule. It should also be noted that Penny and Ms. Joanie are BFFs 4 eva in the office and gossip over coffee and cookies daily. I guess I'd need an outlet if I worked full-time there too.
The Senator. What can I say about the Boss Man? Last christmas he gave me a computer screen cleaner that looked like a knock-off beanie baby manufacturer realized he lost a ton of money then wondered to him/herself, "what can I do with these damn beanie babies? I know, I'll repurpose them into computer screen cleaners! Donezo, I think I'll smoke some more weed now." Surprisingly, rubbing a beanie baby's tummy on your computer screen will only smudge it and leave fuzz on it. There's other stuff about him, but this is the shit you really wanna hear about, not about his stance on the Voter Identification bill or charitable raffles.
Moral of the story: get a job in state government! You can make a pretty living doing minimal work! Also, it's never as bad as it seems.
P.S. I wish I could take credit for that amazing pun in the title, but I cannot. Senator Lee Bright said it in reference to a bill that says South Carolina should make its own currency in case the Federal Reserve collapses. I won't even get into it. Too. Many. Jokes.
Let me give you a breakdown of the main players in the laugh/cry that is my job:
Ms. Joanie is a sassy septuagenarian who is The Senator's administrative assistant. She is the sweetest woman in the world to those on her good list (luckily I am), but if you cross her, god help you. She would have no qualms destroying you old-southern-lady style, which means talking about you behind your back, the cold shoulder and ignoring your messages. Despite the fact that Ms. Joanie rolls in at 3:00 many days during the summer, she is actually very good at what she does. She has giant rolodexes of The Senator's contacts and she knows every one of them and if she doesn't she fakes it like a girl on prom night. The Senator also happens to be a hypochondriac (read: needy baby) and she dutifully puts up with every one of his "ailments." I couldn't do it.
Bobby Caution is The Senator's chief of staff. If you're wondering what the chief of staff for a state senator does, you're not alone. In my year and a half of working there I still can't really tell what Bobby does to earn the $150,000 and corner office that he has, and to be frank, I don't think he knows either. As far as this amateur sleuth's eye can tell, his main duties include drinking diet coke by the gallon, chain smoking and talking on his cell phone in a way that can only be described as religulous, as Bill Maher might say. He is without a doubt the most interesting character in the office. Think Creed Bratton from "The Office."
Penny is The Senator's actual right-hand woman even though on the . I'm not sure of her official job title, but as far as I can tell, she picks up Caution's slack. When I worked early mornings, I was always expected to be there at 8:50ish to make the coffee and catch any early morning phone calls and Ms. Penny was consistently there at 9 a.m. or earlier, which shouldn't be some miraculous feat considering that everyone there is supposed to work a standard 9-5 day, but from what I can see only a handful within my department adhere to that rule. It should also be noted that Penny and Ms. Joanie are BFFs 4 eva in the office and gossip over coffee and cookies daily. I guess I'd need an outlet if I worked full-time there too.
The Senator. What can I say about the Boss Man? Last christmas he gave me a computer screen cleaner that looked like a knock-off beanie baby manufacturer realized he lost a ton of money then wondered to him/herself, "what can I do with these damn beanie babies? I know, I'll repurpose them into computer screen cleaners! Donezo, I think I'll smoke some more weed now." Surprisingly, rubbing a beanie baby's tummy on your computer screen will only smudge it and leave fuzz on it. There's other stuff about him, but this is the shit you really wanna hear about, not about his stance on the Voter Identification bill or charitable raffles.
Moral of the story: get a job in state government! You can make a pretty living doing minimal work! Also, it's never as bad as it seems.
P.S. I wish I could take credit for that amazing pun in the title, but I cannot. Senator Lee Bright said it in reference to a bill that says South Carolina should make its own currency in case the Federal Reserve collapses. I won't even get into it. Too. Many. Jokes.
Monday, February 21, 2011
THE NEIGHBOR
I'm not Catholic, so I was unaware there was a patron saint of changing light bulbs/ evicting creepy neighbors, but apparently there is and he comes in the form of an old handyman with a thick southern accent. Let me explain.
When my roommate moved into our duplex four years ago, the neighbor that she shared a wall with was the kind of neighbor that you'd want: nice, friendly, you know, neighborly. So when she moved out, I guess the universe decided to even things out a bit and in comes Chris, who we now refer to as Creepy Neighbor, or Pedophile Neighbor, or simply THE NEIGHBOR (I considered writing a short slasher screenplay based on him). He's your average white dude; you wouldn't pay attention to him if you saw him walking down the street. But if I've learned anything from Chris Hansen on "How to Catch a Predator", it's the average white dudes in their early 30s you want to watch out for. He does not have a job, though purports to be a writer, and is fully supported by his parents (our walls are REALLY thin and I have the unfortunate luck of sharing a bedroom wall with him). Since he doesn't have a job, he's up at 3 a.m. blasting Metallica, which don't get me wrong is a great band, but not exactly the soothing sounds of rain on a tin roof. This dude has Spinal Tap amps and they are set at eleven. I couldn't care less what my neighbors do in their own house, but when it starts to affect my sleep, you better believe I'm coming at you.
My roommate has called the landlord and the cops on him countless times and nada. We tried to be diplomatic by setting reasonable hours during which he could play his music and we wouldn't bang on the wall or bother him, but night after night, he would blare his music. One word. HEADPHONES. They aren't new technology. We theorized that maybe he played his music so that we couldn't hear the screams of the people he kills.
I'm also pretty sure that he has a massive crush on my roommate because she was initially nice to him, which must have been a new experience for him. On the flip side, he HATES me for basically telling him to shut the fuck up. I have a particular hatred for him because he refuses to call me by my name and instead calls me "Asian Roommate" and believes that China is out to get him. Just him.
Just to give you a taste of what I'm dealing with, here is a scenario that stands out in my mind from when I had just moved in. My friend and her husband came over to help me troubleshoot my router and see my new digs. They happened to park their car in his spot so when THE NEIGHBOR came back from whatever a 30 year-old unemployed bipolar idiot does, he parked behind me, effectively blocking me in just as I had to go to work. I knocked on his door to ask him to move his car. I would just paraphrase the conversation I had, but it is too bizarre and needs to be told verbatim.
Me (holding The Girl Who Kicked The Hornet's Nest): Could you move your car while I pull out? I have to go to work.
Creepy Neighbor (speaking very quickly and standing too close for comfort): I was wondering when you were going to come over here where am I supposed to park if your friend is parked there? What's that book about?
Me: umm... you probably want to start with the first one; it's the third in a series...so about my car...
CN: You know where the hornet's nest occurred? The Civil War.
Me (baffled): umm... ok. so if you just move your car and could you also keep your music down? you've been playing it at 5:30 and 6 am
CN: You don't have to bang on my wall and don't call the landlord.
Me: You have to understand from my perspective 5:30 am is not a reasonable time to be blasting Metallica. It wakes us up.
CN: Who are you to dictate when I can play my music?
Me: I'm not. The landlord does.
CN: This is just like you liberals. There's me on the right and 200 people on the left. I know ALL the politicians, judges, lawyers, and cops in this town.
Roomate: What does that have to do with anything?
CN:...........
He eventually moved his car and I drove away confused, angry, late for work and wanting to put a flaming bag of dog poo on his door step.
Fast forward several months on one fateful day when our industrial-sized florescent kitchen lightbulb burned out. St. Handyman promptly came over to fix it then asked me about THE NEIGHBOR because he had also blocked him in (sensing a trend?) From there I spilled the beans about how much trouble he was giving us. When St. Handyman politely asked THE NEIGHBOR to move his car, he lost his shit and started cursing. One curse at St. Handyman and BOOM! evicted. I had no idea that Saints worked so quickly. Maybe I should also casually mention those parking tickets to Him.
When my roommate moved into our duplex four years ago, the neighbor that she shared a wall with was the kind of neighbor that you'd want: nice, friendly, you know, neighborly. So when she moved out, I guess the universe decided to even things out a bit and in comes Chris, who we now refer to as Creepy Neighbor, or Pedophile Neighbor, or simply THE NEIGHBOR (I considered writing a short slasher screenplay based on him). He's your average white dude; you wouldn't pay attention to him if you saw him walking down the street. But if I've learned anything from Chris Hansen on "How to Catch a Predator", it's the average white dudes in their early 30s you want to watch out for. He does not have a job, though purports to be a writer, and is fully supported by his parents (our walls are REALLY thin and I have the unfortunate luck of sharing a bedroom wall with him). Since he doesn't have a job, he's up at 3 a.m. blasting Metallica, which don't get me wrong is a great band, but not exactly the soothing sounds of rain on a tin roof. This dude has Spinal Tap amps and they are set at eleven. I couldn't care less what my neighbors do in their own house, but when it starts to affect my sleep, you better believe I'm coming at you.
My roommate has called the landlord and the cops on him countless times and nada. We tried to be diplomatic by setting reasonable hours during which he could play his music and we wouldn't bang on the wall or bother him, but night after night, he would blare his music. One word. HEADPHONES. They aren't new technology. We theorized that maybe he played his music so that we couldn't hear the screams of the people he kills.
I'm also pretty sure that he has a massive crush on my roommate because she was initially nice to him, which must have been a new experience for him. On the flip side, he HATES me for basically telling him to shut the fuck up. I have a particular hatred for him because he refuses to call me by my name and instead calls me "Asian Roommate" and believes that China is out to get him. Just him.
Just to give you a taste of what I'm dealing with, here is a scenario that stands out in my mind from when I had just moved in. My friend and her husband came over to help me troubleshoot my router and see my new digs. They happened to park their car in his spot so when THE NEIGHBOR came back from whatever a 30 year-old unemployed bipolar idiot does, he parked behind me, effectively blocking me in just as I had to go to work. I knocked on his door to ask him to move his car. I would just paraphrase the conversation I had, but it is too bizarre and needs to be told verbatim.
Me (holding The Girl Who Kicked The Hornet's Nest): Could you move your car while I pull out? I have to go to work.
Creepy Neighbor (speaking very quickly and standing too close for comfort): I was wondering when you were going to come over here where am I supposed to park if your friend is parked there? What's that book about?
Me: umm... you probably want to start with the first one; it's the third in a series...so about my car...
CN: You know where the hornet's nest occurred? The Civil War.
Me (baffled): umm... ok. so if you just move your car and could you also keep your music down? you've been playing it at 5:30 and 6 am
CN: You don't have to bang on my wall and don't call the landlord.
Me: You have to understand from my perspective 5:30 am is not a reasonable time to be blasting Metallica. It wakes us up.
CN: Who are you to dictate when I can play my music?
Me: I'm not. The landlord does.
CN: This is just like you liberals. There's me on the right and 200 people on the left. I know ALL the politicians, judges, lawyers, and cops in this town.
Roomate: What does that have to do with anything?
CN:...........
He eventually moved his car and I drove away confused, angry, late for work and wanting to put a flaming bag of dog poo on his door step.
Fast forward several months on one fateful day when our industrial-sized florescent kitchen lightbulb burned out. St. Handyman promptly came over to fix it then asked me about THE NEIGHBOR because he had also blocked him in (sensing a trend?) From there I spilled the beans about how much trouble he was giving us. When St. Handyman politely asked THE NEIGHBOR to move his car, he lost his shit and started cursing. One curse at St. Handyman and BOOM! evicted. I had no idea that Saints worked so quickly. Maybe I should also casually mention those parking tickets to Him.
Friday, February 18, 2011
Hello!
Oh hi there! My name is Page. Not really. I don't want to start our relationship off with lies, but I've got some juicy tales in store for all you readers (i.e. the three friends i've actually told about this blog) about my job, which is a page in the South Carolina Senate. Even though the job pays less than what Lindsay Lohan is getting paid to act these days, it's the only job I've held for more than a few months so I don't want to fuck up my chances at maintaining my slave wages. And for those of you who have stumbled upon this blog because you googled "NBC Page," sorry, you won't be getting any inside info into the application process or the interviews because I haven't been through it myself, but I hope to someday. Sure, I'll still be doing bitch work, but maybe it'll be for Seth Myers (swoon). Right about now you're probably starting to think "screw this, I'm going back to my NBC page research...or maybe Facebook...or StumbleUpon...or ooh there's that piece of pie in the fridge..." At least that tends to be my train of thought, but if you stick around, you'll get the inside look into a recent college grad's life and job at a state senator's office where my main duties include making coffee, handing papers from one person to another and slowly dying of boredom and brain atrophy, if that exists. That last one isn't in the job description, but I bet you're on the edge of your seat waiting to hear more, eh?
So why start a blog when I can't even tell anyone who I am? I don't know, why the fuck not? You wanna start something?!?! No, wait! Don't go! But seriously, I used to have a blog with my two best friends in 8th or 9th grade called "The Perfect Threesome." We were awesome. We thought so, and so did our two fans (a special shout out to Dillion and Caitlin). Unfortunately, we had to make it private between the three of us because my bestie's dad found out about it and was not pleased about our risque conversations about boys and kissing and cooties and reading The Lord of the Flies and how much that totally sucked butt. But I digress. I started the blogging again for several reasons:
1. I'm really bored.
2. I liked blogging back in the day.
3. Who doesn't relish the thought of internet fame that doesn't include an embarrassing YouTube clip?
Are you still reading? Whew, good. That would be a real kick in my non-existant balls if you had already stopped.
You've already heard a little bit about my 8th grade days, but let me bring you up to speed on 2011 me. I just turned 23. I'm a TV and movie junkie. Spiders are my biggest fear. I graduated with a business major with Spanish and Chinese minors. I'm 3/4 Chinese and 1/4 Korean. Sandwiches are my favorite kind of food. I could be the world champion in procrastinating. If I could pick any super power to have, it would be teleporting. I went to an all girls, six-week summer camp for seven years that my cabinmate's dad affectionately calls "Cult Mont Shenandoah," so named because we were dragged away sobbing at the end of each summer. I met some of my best friends there and wouldn't have traded one day there for any beach vacation.
I'm sure you're dying to read more, but enough for tonight, greedy readers. That piece of pie in the fridge is calling my name.
So why start a blog when I can't even tell anyone who I am? I don't know, why the fuck not? You wanna start something?!?! No, wait! Don't go! But seriously, I used to have a blog with my two best friends in 8th or 9th grade called "The Perfect Threesome." We were awesome. We thought so, and so did our two fans (a special shout out to Dillion and Caitlin). Unfortunately, we had to make it private between the three of us because my bestie's dad found out about it and was not pleased about our risque conversations about boys and kissing and cooties and reading The Lord of the Flies and how much that totally sucked butt. But I digress. I started the blogging again for several reasons:
1. I'm really bored.
2. I liked blogging back in the day.
3. Who doesn't relish the thought of internet fame that doesn't include an embarrassing YouTube clip?
Are you still reading? Whew, good. That would be a real kick in my non-existant balls if you had already stopped.
You've already heard a little bit about my 8th grade days, but let me bring you up to speed on 2011 me. I just turned 23. I'm a TV and movie junkie. Spiders are my biggest fear. I graduated with a business major with Spanish and Chinese minors. I'm 3/4 Chinese and 1/4 Korean. Sandwiches are my favorite kind of food. I could be the world champion in procrastinating. If I could pick any super power to have, it would be teleporting. I went to an all girls, six-week summer camp for seven years that my cabinmate's dad affectionately calls "Cult Mont Shenandoah," so named because we were dragged away sobbing at the end of each summer. I met some of my best friends there and wouldn't have traded one day there for any beach vacation.
I'm sure you're dying to read more, but enough for tonight, greedy readers. That piece of pie in the fridge is calling my name.