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Category Archives: Drone Life

Foolish, Yet Intriguing, Thoughts to Ponder– Part One.

Bananas clearly enjoy communal living, hence the reason they reside in a bunch, no? Why, then, do people feel the need to break apart the family? You know what I’m talking about (hell, you may even be the guilty party). You are wandering the stacks of bananas and you can’t help but notice an orphan over here, two orphans over there, oh, and don’t forget those single ladies in the back! Who’s responsible for this? Do they not know that they are tearing families apart, breaking the banana code, shattering lives? Who are these people? I demand answers! I want to know who only wants to eat two bananas. Who can’t handle six bananas, especially if they are still green and in no danger of crossing over to the mushy banana mess we all hate.  I mean, really. If you don’t like bananas, don’t buy any! Don’t tear off two because you feel like trying them again (even though you don’t really like them), leaving a broken banana village filled with orphans in your wake.

What is it about the weekend that makes people not want to cook? Isn’t this when we have the “most” time? So why do we abandon our kitchens and pack ourselves into mediocre restaurants that we have to wait 45 minutes to get into only to sit down (finally!) and then have to rush through the meal because hundreds more just like us and impatiently waiting for our table? Why do we rush during the week to try and put a home cooked meal on the table in under thirty minutes because we are so pressed for time, yet don’t even attempt to cook when we have all the time in the world? Don’t look at me for answers; I do the same damn thing! I’m just throwing it out there, that’s all.

At times I find myself hiding out in the bathroom at work because I just can’t take it anymore. This gives a girl a lot of time to think… which leads me to the question—why are people messy when they think no one is looking? I mean, you wouldn’t throw paper towels on the floor at home, would you? Then why do we do it at work? Are we really such selfish people that we delight in making a mess that we know we won’t have to clean up? Or is this just the little way we get back at the man for making us work in such a boring, stress inducing environment?  Maybe it’s just for the sheer delight that we know no one is watching; it’s one of the few places in the world where we can still remain anonymous, so we celebrate our anonymity by being total and complete pigs.

Desperately Seeking Travel.

 

I’m inundated with work. There is about 80 feet of snow on the ground. The excitement/stress/chaos of the holidays is just about behind me. The landscape of the calendar stretching out before me looks bleak and unrelenting. I need something to cure my winter blues. I need travel. I need to feel the thrill of getting on a plane and soaring away to someplace outside of reality, outside of the comfort zone. I need arrival and departure times. I need a suitcase plump with goodies from foreign lands (or hell, even known lands would do right about now). I need the obsession of constantly checking if I have my passport. I want to feel the need for two memory sticks for my digital camera because it’s going to be that amazing. I want to fall asleep in the sun and wake up with a sunburned nose.  I want smiles from people who don’t know me and random advice from strangers. I want new food and a different sky. I want to find familiarity in the foreign.  I want to put on my “out of office” auto reply and have my friends and family saying “When is she coming back again?” 

It has been four months since I have ventured, and it’s killing me softly. I need to roam and wander, especially in the mind. I need to be set free and rejuvenated, but sadly, I can’t.  There’s school and work and a diminished bank account due to Christmas presents, parties and food. The reality is that I must face January head on, from a cubicle, from behind a desk, peering out of a textbook, with nowhere to go except home.  ((Heavy Sigh))

My restless, roaming spirit would not allow me to remain at home very long– Buffalo Bill

The Heat War, part 1.

Welcome to October in the Northeast United States, a lovely time of sunny days and cool, refreshing breezes, perfect for tossing on a nice, cozy sweater and enjoying the lower temperatures.

Yes, enjoying the weather… as long as you don’t work in my office, however.

Nope, if you work with me, you’ve got to come in full on beach gear, year ‘round.

I am not a fan of being hot unless I am lounging on a beach (or hammock), unencumbered by the world and its spiteful responsibilities. I particularly hate the dry, smelly, suffocating hot false heat created by heaters inside a building. If you regularly follow my blog (you better!!), you know that I am subject to excruciating temperatures throughout the year inside my little drone land (lots of middle aged women… you get the idea).  It should come as no surprise then that the change of season brings about The Heat War in my office.  The Heat War is a reoccurring battle, one that I usually loose (no surprise there). As usual with the way things work in the world, the way of the few and powerful is forced upon the masses. This is no different in my office. The thermostat is treated like the most scared object that one could possibly encounter. I mean, I’m shocked it’s out there in plain view, for all us non-elites to see. Oh, wait, that’s right… it’s only there as a tease. You see, the thermostat is better protected than the President. It sits high and mighty on the wall, in a clear, impenetrable locked box. The key that unlocks this magic box is apparently on par with The Holy Grail, and it is keep under watchful eye, with access going only to the privileged and elite.  Only a precious few have access to the key (and a temperature regulated paradise!), and the rest of us peasants must accept the temperature and suffer. That’s right, as soon as the calendar flips its page to October; the heat kicks on, even if it is 72 balmy degrees outside. You may not ask for it to be turned off either, God no!  This cannot and will not happen, so don’t get any crazy ideas. Instead, just come dressed for the beach (make that the nude beach, ok? It’s that freakin’ hot!).

My conspiracy thinking head begs me to believe it’s a test, honestly. A sick game, if you will.  They’re trying to sweat us out, see who cracks first, who reveals the damn secrets. The secrets of what, you ask?? Well, I’m not sure exactly, but there must be some, right?? I mean, what else could be the reason for this heat torture? (Didn’t I tell you readers previously that this office was better than Guantanamo?  Let’s consider this “Exhibit B,” shall we??) (If you haven’t read it, check my entry from July 15, 2010)

I mean, it couldn’t possibly be that the person in charge of the almighty key was just too… illogical (and that’s being so kind) to watch the weather and control the temperature accordingly, could it?? No, they would never give someone that… (lacking common sense, lazy, totally out of touch with reality)… illogical (being kind again!) so much power, would they??

I mean, wait… aren’t people “in charge” usually smart and educated and able to make rational decisions? Hmm… what’s that, you say? Have I ever heard of whom? Politicians? Ooooh, that’s right

To be continued….

“Busy” is not a word I like. At least not today.

No, no, it’s really not… however, it is (sadly) a word that is frequently in my vocabulary these days. I do not like being a busy person, rushing from here to there. I like to stop and smell the roses (and touch them and photograph them) as I go from here to there.  I don’t like having piles of things (read: work) surrounding me, seeking to take up my time. I want my time to be my time, not their time (whoever they might be).  I like the word “languid” much better.  I would like to be a person of leisure, if the world allowed it.  I like to sit and think; to contemplate. It’s exercise for my brain.  I also like to wonder… that is a favorite pastime of mine. I wonder about life, and all its unexplained idiosyncrasies, and sometimes I wonder about pointless things, like why the 1800’s is the 19th century (thank you, thank you, to the brilliant person that actually answered that for me, but damn, you took away my wonderment! It’s ok, I’ve got more… as you know).   Did I mention I’d like to do all this thinking in a hammock? I mean, where else would a person of leisure “work?”

P.S. If you would like to hire me for anything… totally ignore this post. I LOVE being busy. Hell, I live for it.

I didn’t go on vacation with you for a reason!

Fine. We work together and I am therefore obliged to know about your life, including, but not limited to:

*your husband
*your new kitchen
* how much you spent on shoes
*you son’s new girlfriend
*your kid’s soccer game
*your sister’s wedding
*your dating life
*the dating life of your daughter

 (All incredibly stimulating and engaging topics, aren’t they?)

I suffer through it, yes, but… *news flash*… I don’t care!

Your life is boring, and therefore, I know your vacation was boring, ok? If I thought you were cool, we would’ve been traveling together, no?

I truly don’t care about your vacation. All I needed to know is that you were gone and I was happy. I’m really not interested unless your situation went all “Locked Up Abroad.” THEN we can talk (and hopefully watch the video).

I don’t want to see pictures of your family all lined up like cookie cutter soldiers (in matching outfits!) on a cruise ship. Nope, I really don’t! Besides, (most) cruises are for people who are scared to get down and dirty in a place. It stops you from finding the heart and soul of where you visit, thereby not enabling you to come to any interesting revelations about yourself, your life, your world. It’s like meeting a person and just finding out their name, but not what makes them tick.  Anyway, I digress.  Your vacation belongs to you and whoever went on it with you (God Bless ’em, is all I gotta say about that). Unless you’ve made some fascinating observations (doubtful), or you plan to send me on vacation, leave me to my drone work! Now!

(For the record, when I talk about my vacation, that is totally ok. Just so we’re clear on that, ok? Oh c’mon, I give you interesting things to think about, I swear!)

Why Fridays are the BEST!

The highlight of being an office drone is, of course, the weekend.  If you are an office drone, your entire work life revolves around the day you can say (yes, it’s corny) “Thank God it’s Friday!” Office workers live for this little (corny) sentence. From Monday morning, you simply start counting down the hours until you can enjoy blissful freedom for 2 and half days. Yes, two and a half days because Friday night totally counts and it is the absolute best of all the weekend days. You can shrug off responsibilities (the laundry can wait until tomorrow!), you eat out and drink wine, and stay up late if you please.  There is no office waiting for you on Saturday morning. Ah yes, sometimes the joy of being off on the weekend makes up for the monotony of everyday office life. (Ok, fine, it really doesn’t, but I need something!! I’m grasping at straws here, ok? Leave me to my small moment of happiness!)

 When Friday rolls around, all the ills of the week are forgotten (until Monday), and they are replaced by the joyful feeling that you have 2 whole days of freedom ahead. It’s a bit like being granted a weekend leave from jail (if they really did that). Ok, fine, it’s more like being out on probation… you can do what you want for a few days, but eventually you’ve got to check back in. The thought of checking back in, however, does not even cross your mind on a Friday afternoon.  All you know is you have 6 more hours, 4 more hours, 1 more hour, 20 more minutes…. until freedom opens its glorious doors to you.

Instead of Gitmo, Try an Office FULL of Women…

You already know that my day job is being a drone. What you didn’t know is that I am a drone in an office made up of entirely women. (Well, ok, fine, there’s  2 men but they stay locked in their office 99% of the time, so they don’t really count).

It’s a fate almost worse than death.

(and yes, yes, I too am a woman, but I am not one of them! I’m a spy in their world, a collector of information.)

Picture it:

They whine. They complain. They have minute to minute mood swings. They talk about their husbands. They talk about how much money their kid makes. They talk about their demands.  They talk behind your back. They get mad at you for no reason. They talk about diets and obsess over food (oh, so much more about THAT topic to come). They’re hot. They’re cold. They’re hot again.

Multiple women, multiple ages, multiple personalities all let loose in the same area for hours on end. How can this NOT drive a person to insanity?? (Or to spew the secrets of their leaders just to secure freedom, glorious freedom! Hell, I’d make something up about KSM if it’d get me out of here!! Yes, yes, I  know KSM is already caught, but you get the idea…)

It’s exhausting, really. No wonder men never listen to anything women say. I can’t blame ya, fellas!

Yes, in case you didn’t already know, women are an insufferably unsatisfied species.

Godspeed, men. Godspeed.