I shouldn't be allowed out without parental supervision.

Well, here's a fun confession:

I just visited the bathroom and checked myself in the mirror on my way out to make sure everything is still where i left it (and to fluff my hair, if you must know) when i noticed that there's a bit of white shmutz under the arm-holes of my shirt. I'm wearing kind of a sleeveless top with sort of a cap-sleeve thing and for some reason my deodorant, my INVISIBLE! solid deodorant, has mushed itself all over my dark red shirt. In the arm pit area. Obviously.

I inspected the area fully and determined that i'm not going to be able to wipe this off with a wet paper towel, that will probably just make it worse, and kind of resigned myself to keeping my arms down all day today. Which sucks, because i'm either going to be totally self-conscious the whole day or i'm going to forget about it in all of 20 minutes from now and wave my arms around like a baboon who's just spotted a helpless car coming into the Six Flags Safari that likes to rip off all of the radio antenae that pass by. I am forgetful like that.

I walked back to my desk and started "working*" again and remembered that i have one of those Shout Wipes in my purse. Right where they're supposed to be! For messy people like me! But it's been in there since April and i haven't thought about it in months! Look at me remembering things! And proceed to take it out and start to blot the underarms of my shirt at my desk, where People walk around all day.

It occurs to me that
#1: Someone is bound to catch me with my face and a wet-nap in my armpit.
#2: It's going to be very hard to explain.
#3: A mirror may be in order here to fully contend with the extent of the mushed deodorant.
And #4: I look like an asshole.

I trot off to the bathroom to further investigate the situation.

By this point, i'm awful proud of myself for having something like a Shout Wipe to get rid of the shmutz under my arms and take off my shirt to do the job right (It's ok, i have a camisole on underneath). However, i didn't realize just how WET these little wipes ARE. But i think, No Problem! I can just dry my shirt under the hand-dryers here in the bathroom!

I look around.

Lo, but there are no hand-dryers. They probably haven't been here since 2002. Disappointment.

I try blotting the moisture out with a paper towel and put my top back on.

Now i look like i've been sweating profusely, seemingly, just from sitting in my cubicle all morning with these giant sweat rings under my arms. The white gunk is gone, but now i'm left a sweaty, sweaty pig.

I will still need to keep my arms down all day. Oh, and chuck that damned INVISIBLE! deodorant. Really, Dove, who are we kidding.



*Read: catching up on my Google Reader.

Maybe it's a joke that they're not letting me in on.

I was standing in line at the bank yesterday and i was watching the "Fun Fact & News" TVs that they set up so that surly account holders have something to keep them occupied while they stand in line. You know the ones.

One of the Fun Facts / News items was telling us that according to Billboard, the Jonas Brothers album is at Number 1 for the second week in a row.

Now. I need someone to please explain the Jonas Brothers to me. Please. I really don't get it. It's not even like they're all that cute for the little girls or whatever. The cutest one has too much in the way of eyebrow to be taken seriously. The song. It is awful. AWFUL.

I thought, maybe it's like the New Kids on the Block were to my generation of 11 year old girls. Maybe. I mean, I never liked them, but all my 11 year old friends did. And i distinctly remember NKOTB not being nearly as voice-crackingly pre-pubescent as these boys.

Here, why don't you watch the video:



DO YOU SEE WHAT I DID? I EMBEDDED A JONAS BROTHERS VIDEO ON MY BLOG.

I can't imagine the hits i'm going to get after that.

I just like to share

I know i haven't provided a real post in awhile, but this picture, this stupid lolcats picture, just makes me crack up every time i look at it.




moar funny pictures


*************

My birthday is on Thursday, so i assume i'll have SOMETHING to talk about. If not, i'll be spending the weekend in the city - in Chelsea (this time in NY, which is a really, really NICE part of town - believe it or not, Bostonians) with the boy. We'll be doing some nice birthday type things like going to a comedy club and basically boozing it up until one or both of us falls asleep, more than likely, before midnight.

Cause we are rock stars.

And we'll probably go gallery hopping because that's what you do when you're staying two blocks away from a hotbed of the NY art community. Almost every storefront on West 22nd Street and the surrounding area is an art gallery and i haven't been visiting in a few years, so i'm looking forward to that.

I haven't told TheBoy about all the ART quite yet, but woooo, i am not missing out on that and it's MY BIRTHDAY. I do what i want.

Reconize. Dammit.

My clothes. They do not match.

A brief IM from this morning with friend, M.

This is how today is going so far... it's only 9:20. I think i'd like to go home now:

8:56 AM M: merning

8:59 AM Claire: mernig

M: how was the weekend

9:00 AM Claire: better than today.

M: oh.

Claire: is for sure.

today is bad.

M: why

Claire: yesterday - good.

today - bad

M: why today - bad , and why yesterday - good

Claire: i have a sneeze from out of nowhere.

my face, there's two big spots.

my eye - has some sort of ouchie in it that i can't find since before i showered this morning.

my clothes. they do not match.

hair is drying half-wildly, also.

i sneezed myself sick, i think. again.

i was just sick.

how can i be sick again?

M: yeah Im sick now too , and with Goldenrod season and the eye problem yea yay

Claire: where's the justice in that?

hmm. allergies.

M: you might have them

flavor.. I has it*

Claire: Allergies. I has it.

*If you're not familiar with the lolcats thing, stay away from them. I love them. And that makes me pathetic. I know.

A LETTER FROM THE PAST! (oh god, i'm so embarrassed.)

A couple of weeks ago, i got the bug to go through some of the things i left behind at my mother's house. Most importantly, i was looking for my journals. Journals that had been crammed into every unsuspecting corner of my bedroom, hidden in such ways that i had to remember where they all were - and there are quite a few. I was good at keeping this stuff a secret by writing in old class notebooks; at the ends when there were always a couple of sections left empty if it was from a class that didn't require much note taking. So i would fill up the remainders of spiral notebooks and then put them right on my bookshelves in plain site. Very sneaky.

The trouble in finding them, is which notebook is really just Trigonometry and which has the details of that day in my junior year when i ditched school and walked to the stores around the corner instead of the bus stop to wait, crouched in the bushes by the deli so that my mother wouldn't see me when she drove past but keep an eye out for my friends who were going to pick me up and take me to the beach? Which notebook is that filed in? Hard to tell, is what i'm saying.

So i found a couple of them, some in spiral notebooks, others in yellow legal pads which were my note taking medium of choice when i started college (the first time). Probably because they were cheap and i had no money whatsoever.

This is so not the point.

The point is: I remember a lot of this stuff being kind of racy. And the idea of leaving my teenage thoughts lying around my bedroom unsupervised had kind of given me the heebie-jeebies for, oh i don't know, ever. This is stuff Mom should never, ever see. Ever. Even when i'm 50, mom should not accidentally come across my journals. You might think i'm being dramatic, but i just don't think she could ever look at me the same. It's not worth it.

The earliest one I unearthed is from 1998 and DAMN, THE DRAMA. I turned 18 that year, and I know that this is not the first one. I know this because it starts: "August 1, 1998: I guess i'll be starting in the old math notebook now..." and if you flip towards the front, you see... oh look at that. Trigonometry. Good guess, i had up there. I was just pulling something out of my ass...

ANYWAY.

I've found some really interesting things that i probably can't share here, unfortunately. See this post about telling people i know about having a blog. Sucks. There is possibly some incriminating dirt amongst the driveling, world-weary bullshit. It truly is amazing how difficult and heart-crushing it is to be 18.

After much persistence, i was able to find the one thing that i know i can share because i wrote it. On February 13, 1992. I was 11.

Inspired by Metalia in this post, i wanted to find some kind of notes from the way back to show what was going on in my head. And then i thought of this letter that my 6th grade English teacher had us write - to ourselves. A LETTER TO THE FUTURE!

We wrote a bunch of crap that was going on in our 11 year old lives, sealed and addressed them to ourselves. They were dropped into Ms. D's file cabinet and were scheduled to be mailed out 10 years later when we least expected it. According to the postmark, i received this in June of 2000 so i'm not sure what happened there, but i have a feeling Ms. D retired and decided that she wasn't going to be responsible for dealing with this shit after she was done and just sent them all out to the world. Not important.

Ready for this? Oh god, here we go:
My comments will be italicized. Because i cannot just post this and not beat the shit out of myself. I mean, come on.

2/13/1992

Dear Claire,

Hi! How am I? {That's a little LETTER FROM THE PAST humor}.
I'm in 6th grade at [name of jr high school].

This past year, the U.S.S.R. (Union of Soviet Socialist Republics) {yeah, I really spelled it out. And underlined it. Just in case} just broke up and became their own countries. That took place January 1, 1992. There was a war in the middle east last year. The Berlin Wall came down last year. {i have a strange feeling that our teacher wanted us to say all of this - i don't remember being that up on my current events at 11. not like we could miss any of this stuff, i just don't buy that this was my idea.}

Enough about news, lets talk about styles. {oh yes, lets} One of the great styles this year are overalls with one or both straps down {gah, hello, 1992. I don't even know why i would mention this since i DIDN'T ACTUALLY OWN OVERALLS. I was SO not cool.} Another are button-down shirts that have sheer sleeves {also did not have any of these} Last year and this year Z.Caverrichi's [sic] are in style. {I certainly didn't have a pair of these. WAY too expensive and mom did not understand my need to be trendy. so i wasn't. I wore jeans - Levi's, most likely - that were tight rolled at the ankle and lots of socks. Also, leggings (so flattering) and giant ugly sweatshirts to cover my ass. I believe Keds were involved.}
Music that everyone likes {everyone? really?} is really a lot of rap. {i was so misguided in the 6th grade. and a sheep. baahh.} Like Boyz-2-Men, Club Cheatin' {who? i don't think i knew who this was back then, either}, Naughty by Nature (O.P.P) {Yeah, you know me}, Marky Mark {and his Funky Bunch?}, Iced Tea [sic], Ice Cube. {This is all so contrived i can't stand it. I was actually trying to fake being cool in a letter to myself. Hello, low self-esteem!} I like Boyz-2-Men, Good Vibrations (Marky Mark), O.P.P, Deee-Light[cough, sic] and B-52's. Vanilla Ice is totally out. {Like, ohmygod, TOTALLY OUT. He was like, so LAST YEAR.}

My best friend is Laura. She is here right now helping me write this letter. {oh. that's where the music inspiration came from. Laura had older sisters. We would pretend we were homeboys. Oh yes we did. Wrapping our arms across our chests with our hands on our shoulders and lean back just a little? You know. Word to your mom. I think she has pictures} Pretty cool huh? {It certainly is.}

My two very, very good friends are Angela and Kim. {Sadly, after i wrote this letter to myself, a huge fight erupted in which i lost these two "very, very good friends". They stopped speaking to me aaannndd prevented the rest of the class from speaking to me as well. The second half of 6th grade sucked ass.}

This year the 1992 Winter Olympics are goin' on {i'm hip} in Albertville, France. {yes, they certainly were. i looked it up, just to make sure.} We have about 11 medals. (Cool, huh?) {so cool.}

Well, I better go! {I must have had a lot of absolutely nothing to go get started on. Maybe perfect my Dance Party USA moves; listen to some BelBivDeVoe}

Bye! Talk to ya later!
Claire [full name - including middle name]

And then there are some doodles at the bottom, including a BEST FRIENDS 4 EVER thing that is in Laura's handwriting, also a "Right now I like Philip [full name, including middle initial]" with his name encased in a heart. Phil sat in front of me in all of my classes. Alphabetical order was good to me that year. And lastly, this gem written by Laura: "Oh Yo! Wonder if were still best friends? I really hope so!"

To which i say, "then you shouldn't have fucked me over at Friendly's after we went to see "Fried Green Tomatoes" with Kim and Angela, eh? EH? Perhaps we would still be best friends if you didn't start telling people not to speak to me. That could have been helpful. Is all i'm saying." Meh, doesn't matter. We made up that summer. Kids.


And now this is on the innernets for all the world to see. I am so, so proud.

Monkeys, cocktails and Her Majesty the Queen.

And here's where i apologize AGAIN for being such a stranger.

I'm sorry.

Okay, then.


I've become a bit more adjusted to life on the second floor. It's still unbearably quiet, but at least now i know that it's not just me that thinks this is a totally bizarre business atmosphere. Most of the people up here have commented to me about the sheer, pin-dropping silence i've been experiencing up here, so i've learned to just deal with it and try not to let it effect my neurosis.

Which it is.

But hey, i'm trying.

Also - there have been a few people asking me to e-mail my last post to them, so if you're interested (but really, it's not THAT good) and you don't work for the Overlord (specifically in HR) just let me know and i'll send it along to you. If you don't know what the hell i'm talking about, see here.


Now on to some actual CONTENT:


I don't know if there are still any Brits reading here, and while i suspect not, i'm still going to talk about a TV show that no one here in the US has seen, unless they are illegally pirating it (YARR, YARRR) like we are.
I'm talking about "Britain's Got Talent".
I know. You're saying, "Claire, why in the hell would you want to go through the trouble of downloading a shitty reality talent show when you can watch the one we have right here in America?"

To that i say, "I really have no idea."

Except that it was there, on the internet, and that is pretty much how we watch all of our TV because it's almost better than Tivo. You know, almost.

So, in the queue went "Britain's Got Talent" last week, and then everyday until it was finished. They only aired it for about a week and a half - it was on every single night until they called the winner - and i have to say, it is actually a lot better than the American version. I don't know if it is because there is an actual point to the whole competition (the winner gets to perform for the Queen at the Royal Variety Show (who knew the Queen enjoyed crap variety shows)) or because there is no mention of The Hoff anywhere on it.

My vote goes for No Hoff. Cause he bugs the shit out of me.
Instead, they have Simon Cowell. Obviously.

Why am i talking about this? Good question. I want to share with you, my 3 fine readers, the wonder that is a good Monkey Puppet Act. Never have I enjoyed a Monkey Puppet Act, but this? This is something. Use your speakers:



Brilliant.

And? Damon Scott? Hot.
Yes he is.

He made it to the finals, which i thought was pretty impressive for a Monkey Puppet Act, but was a little touch-and-go during the semi-finals where everyone pretty much told him that the performance he gave was total shit.

To see the look on his face when everyone was telling him he was a loser who probably touched monkeys in an inappropriate manner, was probably the saddest i have ever felt for someone on the TV EVER. I wanted so very badly to just reach through the television (or rather, computer monitor - pirates, remember) and give him a hug. He looked CRUSHED, absolutely CRUSHED. I felt terrible for him. Come to mama... bring the monkey... i'll make it all better..

*Ahem*.

They did give him another chance, which was nice and uplifting. Certainly seemed to make him feel better, which of course made me happy. It was nice to see him smiling again, instead of looking like someone kicked his puppy down the stairs. Or rather, monkey, i guess.
But of course he didn't win. I mean, it's a Monkey Puppet Act, for chrissakes.

Instead, it was opera singer, Paul Potts, who won - and rightly so. He's quite amazing and i'm sure the Queen will love him and whatever. But he didn't have a monkey, so i'm not spending any time talking about him.
No monkey, no press. That's what i say.

If there IS anyone from the UK still reading here, can someone explain to me why the judges thought the bar flair guys were so exciting and "different"? Did they not have the movie "Cocktail" over there? I mean, sure throwing bottles and shit around can be fun to watch, but it's not like its so damn innovative.
"Cocktail", yo. Tom Cruise did it. Like in the 80's. Before he was buttfuck crazy.

Shining Star atop a very Small Head

I don't even know what to say anymore. I am stuck waiting some more. More waiting and also again.

I do not have an official start date and i have to wait for my boss's boss to decide when they will be ready "to release me". This person has no great love for me so i am somewhat surprised that he is not jumping at the chance to throw me to another department. But on the other hand, i can see how it would be fun to torture me with this bullshit for just a little bit longer... bastard.

Anyway. I am really excited about starting this new thing and thank you for all of your well-wishes on Monday. However, i am just now starting to feel like maybe I threw myself into something that I'm not really prepared for. I keep hearing the words "challenging" and "make or break" or "throwing you in with your eyes closed". These are not comforting words.

But I'm also being told about being a 'shining star', which is encouraging and also? Freaking nice to hear. Look at that, my new boss might actually believe in me. How F-ING WEIRD.

Ugh.

It will be nice to finally move on and "embrace" my "challenges" or whatever you're supposed to do when you don't know anything about what the hell your job is.

It'll be fun. I'm sure of it.

-------------------

Today i am experiencing Small-Head Syndrome. (I would Google this phrase to see if it is used elsewhere and not my own creation, but I'm at work and i have a feeling that not all of the hits would be PG. All i need is to be fired for surfing p0rn on teh innernets.) I have my hair pulled back into a ponytail, sort of straightened, and for whatever physiological reason it makes me look like i have a small head. As in: not proportionate to my body. Which is kind of weird.

I often notice this phenomena when I'm wearing something kind of bulky - like a sweater - and i have my hair up. It's noticeable. At least i think it is. And for the rest of the day i feel self-conscious about the size of my head.

Is this normal? Am i the only one? Hmm.