you'll never catch me po po!!! oh...damnit!

#1 reason why today sucks balls: I got a speeding ticket.

Everything else is sucky only because I got a speeding ticket. I told the cop I was late to work (I was, and only getting later by the second) and if I was late to work again I would get into big trouble (not true). He asked me where I worked and I told him the autism clinic up the street. I thought maybe God  or Zeus or Oprah would smile down upon me and send me the cop who has an autistic nephew or something and he'd let me off with a warning. NO. Oprah isn't as all powerful as people think she is. Bitch did squat for me in my time of need.

Hey! Happy Holidays! Here's a speeding ticket! Also, Santa isn't real! Have a nice day!

LAST DAY AT THE STATEHOUSE!!!!

So if you couldn't tell by the caps and the multiple exclamation points, I'm pretty stoked that this is my last day at the Statehouse. This doesn't mean that I'm not a teensy bit nostalgic. If this were a tv show (it really should be) and this was the series finale, they would bring back all the old characters for a giant party in my honor: the intern and friend who got me this job, the one other page that I actually like, the other page who used to speak legalees to the constituents and later went on to Harvard Law School (read: DOUCHE), and the lawyer who became a judge who still gets his mail sent here. But alas, this is not a tv show, it's my so-called life (without Jordan Catalano?!?). Instead of a grand party, I did the same thing I do pretty much everyday: arrive 3-4 minutes late, park illegally in the garage, make the coffee, check facebook, have an awkward bathroom run-in with a co-worker while I try desperately to poo silently as she talks about the construction in the building, blog, check the senator's ancient voicemail that has no vocal cues just morse code-like beeps, and wait patiently for the phone to ring while I fuck around on the internet.

There are a few things I will miss about this place though...

-Ms. Joanie's outdated colloquialisms (the bees knees, the cat's pajamas, golly day etc.)
-using tap water instead of the spring water to make the coffee because no one can tell the difference
-reading the senator's mail. Especially the Republican club newsletters from his "lady friend" that have these horrible jokes poking fun of Democrats.
-The comments section of the annual constituent surveys. Constituents say the darndest things about how Obama is going to ruin the planet and how we should abolish all taxes forever.
-Seeing Ms. Joanie's exasperated face as she hears that Bobby Caution is calling in sick again (as she rolls into the office at noon).
-the 3 pm sugar rushes after yet another staff birthday cake
-watching everyone walk around with their buttholes clenched because the Senator is here (especially Bobby Caution)

And there are few things I won't miss...

-the paralyzing boredom that comes after sitting in the same chair for hours on end with nothing to do but stare at a computer screen
-the crazy constituent phone calls that aren't short and sweet. They're long and annoying as shit, which I realize is not the opposite as sweet but just...ok?
-When people are "too busy" to walk their papers from one room to the next room so I become their room-to-room courier. Don' they get that they end up waiting longer for a response?
-it's 100 degrees outside and I'm dripping sweat from getting everyone's lunches only to realize the sandwich place didn't give me pickles and I die of a heatstroke trying to run back.
-Going to the Senate Chambers to deliver a message to Senator X only to realize that every single senator in there looks like Senator X because they are all old white dudes (there are two or three black men and no women).
-When I finally find Senator X and he doesn't acknowledge my presence.
-Walking to almost every room in the six floor office to deliver a flyer saying that a meeting has been changed when the same thing could have been accomplished without wasting paper or time by using this new fangled thing called e-mail.

Both lists could go on and on (mostly the one about the stuff I won't miss) but I really will miss Ms. Joanie. She has always been so sweet and supportive; like the slightly judgmental grandmother I never had.

Statehouse, we've had a good run. It's been real, it's been fun...I wouldn't say it's been real fun but it's been interesting. I'm off like a prom dress!


**Amendment: Ms. Joanie gave me a going away present which included Palmetto stationary, $20 for a nice meal out and an appointment book from the Chinese consulate that got sent to the Senator. I think she knows I stole the invitation to the Emperor of Japan's birthday party. Whoops.  Also she knows I'm Chinese.

Does Facebook think you're a slut?

I've been watching the BBC mini-series "Sherlock Holmes" on Netflix and for those of you who have not seen it (you should), it isn't set in Olde English Tymes, but in modern London. They have real iPhones and everything! So it got me thinking about my "personalized" ads on Facebook and, just go with me on this, if I was murdered and all that was left was a screen shot of my Facebook ads, could Sherlock deduce what type of person I was and find my murderer (dun dun dun)?

...a slightly morbid and strange thought I admit, but have you read the rest of my blog?

I asked my tech savvy friend how Facebook ads worked and she told me that they will use your picture on third party sites and other information so that the ads are more tailored to you and your friends. Thanks, Facebook for doing me that favor even though I didn't ask and don't want it. Your profile pic could be the face of gettestedforherpesnow.org and you'd never know it.

Looking at my own Facebook ads in a Sherlockian way, I can deduce that:
-I either drink/do drugs too much or have friends that drink/do drugs way too much,  have a shitty job ("Become an addiction counselor!", "Be a pre-birth tech in SC")
-I have good taste in TV and movies ("Princess Bride shirts!", "Watch 'Angry Boys' on HBO this Sunday", "30 Rock tonight on the CW at 10:00!")
-I like tasty gummy snacks ("Welch's Fruit Snacks!")
-I lean to the left politically ("Pass the jobs bill!")
-I shop...a lot (ModCloth, Target, Juicy Couture Push-up Bras, Victorias Secret...the list goes embarrassingly on. Wait. Does Facebook think I have small boobs?).

Gmail chose to judge me in other ways. It thinks I'm really fucking poor ("Stop Payday Loans Now!", "Nonprofit Debt Counseling". There are so many of these. Facebook and gmail are holding an intervention via ads to make me confront my shopaholic habits) but knows that I want to travel ("Cheap Flights to Israel!", "Club Med 50% off!").

I am taking a stand to not let third party advertisers backhandedly judge me anymore. Come at me, Bro! I know the secret to keeping my info private now. I urge everyone to say no to the big whigs at corporations who try to subliminally make you think you need a cake ball maker or whatever. Just one click. Say no to advertisers. Fight for your rights. Be strong. Semper Fidelis. Carpe Diem. I seem to have lost my train of thought.

...or you could probably just ignore the ads and be ok.

A love letter to "The Sing Off"

Dearest "The Sing Off",

Once upon a time I was ashamed to say that I watched you but now I stand tall when I proclaim that I love you, "The Sing Off." When we first met, it was a cold winter and I was very sick and in need of some company. I found it where I least expected it.

At first, I mocked the iridescent shirts of Nick Lachey, the fact that Nicole Scherzinger is judging anyone and the costumes that the "Queer Eye" guys would deem too gay, but then I started to look past your faults to see that Ben Folds' highly technical yet witty remarks made you different from the cabal of inferior singing reality shows. I've also always had a special place in my heart for Boyz II Men, especially Shawn, whose vocabulary extends past the word "dawg". To this day I can sing every word of the heart-wrenching ballad, "End of the Road." I also like that you're self-assured. You never wait for all of America to decide what happens in your show. Most importantly, you're never a douche (I'm looking at you, Ryan Seacrest and Simon Cowell).

I can still remember that sudafed-induced sleepless night when I watched the entire marathon on Oxygen, Television for Women, and found myself surprised when I was rooting for my favorite groups. The a capella aspect of you actually forced the contestants to know the technical side of music, not just belt out one amazing note at the end of the song, a la Mercedes on "Glee", and expect everyone to drool. I can't be fooled by those tricks. I need more substance. You gave me that.

After that marathon night, I thought that the attraction would disappear and I would forget about you, but I missed you. I had to wait a whole year for the next round of talented a capella groups that would capture my attention even more than I imagined. Our meeting was short but sweet. Luckily, you came to your senses and decided to move to a prime time spot for an extended period of time. You even got rid of your biggest fault, that Pussycat Doll, and replaced it with the much more charismatic Sara Bareilles. Well done.

You have grown over your short three seasons into a humble, yet impressive reality show that I'm proud to say I watch.


Love,
Page

New Job Jitters...NOT

It's been a week and a half since I started my new job at an autism clinic doing front desk nothingness or "administrative work" as they like to call it. Here's the breakdown of my job:

1. Sit at desk
2. Sit at desk

Ok, that's not actually all that I do, but I would say that "sit at desk" is approx. 60% of my job. The other 40% is split between handing pens to parents to sign their kids in, watching hulu/netflix/megavideo, gchatting, answering phones and looking up dumb shit on the internet. Normally I get really bad new job jitters where I walk on eggshells for a week or two trying not to fuck something up, but I can't really fuck up "sit at desk". This job is ridiculously easy and the pay is disproportionately high (not that I'm complaining) and as an added bonus, two of my close friends work here and have worked here for years. They've told me all the gossip so I know stuff that I probably shouldn't. However, if I happen to get into a tiff with any of the therapists, I am ready at a moments notice with a verbal smack down, Blair Waldorf style.

The other hidden advantage of this job is that it's a great icebreaker. My other jobs have had their own merits when it comes to meeting new people and ice-breakage but people perk up when they hear autism. Let's look at the facts: Autism is super trendy these days. I remember watching an episode of Top Chef Masters and at least 3 of those Masters donated their winnings to an autism charity. Yes, I judge level of trendiness based on Top Chef Masters. It has a certain mystique to it too (as if you needed more reasons than "Top Chef Masters). There's no certain cause or cure and more and more kids are being diagnosed with it at a surprisingly high rate. After cancer, AIDS and heart disease, autism is climbing the charts for "most likely to have a 5k for." People love wearing their 5k for ______(fill in the blank with charity/disease) shirts.

When I utter the words "I work with kids who have autism" to a stranger, I suddenly look like Mother Theresa in their eyes. And even though I am nowhere near the Mother, I think it's pretty Mother Theresa of me to not let them think that I work for a non-profit and am just volunteering out of the kindness of my heart. No. This job pays and the owners are greedy as fuck. I actually think putting "autism therapist" down on my resume landed me my job at the Statehouse. So after I burst the stranger's bubble, I get to talk about how cute the kids are and the funny things they do or say. For instance, my roommate got a marriage proposal from one of the kids she works with. They've decided on a long engagement. Ok so that didn't happen to me, but it's only my second week. I hope a special someone will put a ring on this finger by the end of the month. Am I right, ladies?!

**Correction: a small child with autism just grabbed my butt not one minute ago. Let the anecdote collection begin.

My life for the past two weeks can be summed up in one word: chaos.

Here are the stats:
2: job offers
2: jobs accepted
1: tutoring job quit
2: shifts as a foodrunner at a greasy pizza joint
1: shift as a waitress at said greasy pizza joint
23: dollars lost in tips as a result of my shoddy bookkeeping skillz
1: job at greasy pizza joint quit
5: jobs I had at one point in time
5: years off my life trying to decide how I will juggle these jobs
5: hour shifts at my new desk job where I have little to nothing to do but fuck around on the internet (more blarticles!)
1 million: tissues I've used since this damn allergy attack started
4: the number of feet high the trash pile outside my apartment is after cleaning out the attic
3: cockroaches that fell out of the attic
1: small claustrophobia-induced panic attack from the massive amount of shit piled in our living room (which later transformed into 4 ft high Trash Mountain)

...and a partridge in a pear tree.

Reasons why I might actually be an old man

To a stranger walking down the street, I look like a normal girl in my early 20s. Upon further examination of my life and the sweater I'm wearing, I've discovered that I'm actually a crotchety old man. Here's why:

1. It's a Saturday night at 11:30. I could be at a cool bar listening to my friend's band play, I could be at my other friend's housewarming party, but I'm here, listing the reasons why I'm an old man. 

2. If I go out more than 2 or 3 nights in a row, my body goes into a tailspin. My body aches, I'm loopy, and all I want to do is lay in bed and do crosswords and drink tea.

3. Right now my pillows are propped up against my wall like a hospital bed. I really want a hospital bed with a remote that not only allows the top half of my bed to move, but also calls a nurse to bring me jello (preferably orange).

4. Yesterday I went to a fancy cooking demonstration with a wine tasting where the median age of the other customers was at least 25 years older than me.

5. After said cooking demonstration, I went to a restaurant/bar where the median age of the other customers continued to be at least 25 years older than me. We did not drink bud light from cans or anything from a solo cup. Real glass, folks. It felt right.

6. Today I watched "Friends with Benefits" at the $2 movie theater. I identified with Justin Timberlake's father  who had alzheimers and  just wanted to eat a steak and take his pants off. While I'm at home, I rarely wear pants. Let me tell you, it is far superior to wearing pants. Try it. You'll never go back to the way it used to be. Then comment and tell me how right I am.

7. I forgot that two of my friends were supposed to crash on my floor for a night. I had to put my pants on to answer the door and now this old man is grumpy.

8. Because my friends interrupted me while writing this post, my words per minute is now approximately 7 words per minute, which I think is comparable to an old man's. Two-finger typing all the way. Also, AltaVista is my search engine of choice. Just kidding! There's just very few occasions where I can bring back AltaVista. ahh memories.

So for all my 20-something comrades out there heading into a quarter-life crisis, don't worry. I'm experiencing what happens when we turn 70 and it's not bad. But I think I'll be signing another tune when I head into adult diaper zone and wearing Life Alert around my neck.