Things That Piss Me Off (part like, a hundred)

When I'm reading a book (I have a lot of peeves regarding me and books) don't ask me what I'm reading. I don't have my book with me in the hopes that you'll comment on it. I have my book with me because I want to fucking read it. When you ask me what I'm reading, I have to either show you the cover, or actually tell you. The fact that I have to do either of those things infuriates me. Here are my reasons why:

If I show or tell you and then continue to read it, you will either say something like "oh I've never heard of it", "oh cool, is it any good?", "I don't know that author" or my least favorite question ever: "what's it about?" When you do this, I am left with no choice but to engage in conversation with you. This conversation will in no way be entertaining, intelligent, insightful, or enjoyable for me whatsoever. You have already presented me with more than enough facts for me to determine that you're a fucking idiot. When a person has something in front of them that can command their attention, and they are allowing it to, this generally means they do not want their attention diverted. By asking stupid questions, "what's it about?", you are diverting their attention. If that book was a person that I was in discussion with, and you waltzed up and just started asking me what we were talking about without politely interrupting and excusing yourself for doing so, both the individual I was speaking to and myself would consider you rude, impertinent, and impolite. Also, a douche.

Don't be a douche.

If I do answer your question and you are familiar with the book, there is no need for you to say anything else. Because, again, I am not looking to have a conversation with you. If you do feel the need to further comment, please always bear in mind that from that point on I am killing you in my head. Slowly. Every word you say is another drop of water on your forehead, another electric shock, another bamboo shoot under your nails. If you ever say the words "I approve" I immediately lose all respect for you as a human being, and my perception of your intelligence goes from wherever it may be at this point in our relationship straight down to zero. In fact, everything you've done to garner favor in my book, whether you're aware of it or not, vanishes. Just, fucking, vanishes. You must begin again. You must start slowly. (That, is a literary reference. It is paraphrased, so I have chosen not to use quotation marks.)

I will direct you to a previous paragraph, in fact the first paragraph, and to a sentence, the second sentence to be precise, and the end of that sentence, to be very precise: "in the hopes that you'll comment on it." I feel like I really need to drive this home. The fact that you approve of the book I am reading is literally worthless to me. You're opinion, of my taste in literature, has. No. Worth to me.

Here are my answers to your stupid fucking questions that I don't care to answer. Please commit them to memory so that in future, we will not have to have this completely pointless and useless waste of my goddamn time:

You: Oh I've never heard of it.
Me: (noncommittal grunt)

You: Oh cool, is it any good?
Me: (noncommittal grunt)

You: I don't know that author.
Me: (noncommittal grunt)

You: What's it about?
Me: (noncommittal grunt)

Do you see a pattern emerging?

If there is a book present, that book is always more important to me than you.


I'm a very angry person.

See how much more majestic this is than you? Remember that.  This is the Trinity College Library, motherfucker. And it is not fucking around.

Sunday Night Reflections

The thing about work that I think irks me the most, well second most because one thing in particular infuriates me so much sometimes I grind my teeth in my sleep over it, is the insincerity. I'm a very dry, sarcastic person. Obviously I'm aware of this. But if someone is exceeding at something that they previously have not been, I make it a point to be as sincere as possible when complimenting them on it. Or, if they're just doing a good job in general I like to be supportive to encourage more of this behavior. The other day at work, I was working in an area that I hadn't been in at all that day and two supervisors were standing near by chatting. They saw me begin work, chatted briefly a bit more, and than made very sardonic comments pertaining to what I was doing. "Storm over here, finally getting some work done." "Yeah Storm, jeez just standing around all day?"

I love sarcasm. It's one of my favorite forms of humour. But for god's sake: read your frickin' audience.

That is unprofessional, it makes me look like a lazy, incompetent employee, and it makes you look bad for putting someone like me in that position. And not just if the store is open and customers can hear you, but to other employees as well. Just be professional. There is a time and a place for being dry, and it is not when an employee has been working hard her entire shift but you haven't seen it so you think it's all joke and fun time. Had you been there with me my entire shift, while I was climbing ladders and sweating and lifting heavy objects and generally doing what I can to perform my job duties to the best of my abilities, than I would not mind your sarcastic and derisive comments at all. I would be humored by them and I would laugh and joke back with you.  Because I would know you were just joking. Do not just clock in and immediately start jokingly critisizing my work and my work ethic. That feels like a personal attack to me and it only makes me want to cause you physical harm.

In unrelated news, I bought a pair of prescription sunglasses today. I'm excited for their arrival. In a few short weeks, I'll be able to protect my eyes from the sun and I won't have to worry about my eyes getting tired from my cheap contacts because I can't afford the super wet and moist ones. More to come when they get here.

Did I mention that we recently sold my piano to a friend of ours? Well we did. I was really happy about it too, thinking we had given it to a good home and if at some point in the future I wanted that particular one back we could just call up our friend. Turns out, no. That future is not to be. Our friend had in his truck and he wanted to use a forklift to get it back out, and he gets the lift positioned under the piano, then realizes he's going to need to move his truck to get the piano out without incident. And I tuned (pun) out a little bit but somehow the piano straight up fell out of his truck.

And broke into a bunch of tiny pieces. Ivory keys and gold plating and all.

I am very sad/angry about this.

Also, (and this is only a footnote because I'll get crazy emotional if I write about this) Ray Bradbury passed away June 5th in his sleep. He was 91. And I'm devastated over it, and every time I think about it I'll get that tight feeling in my chest like when you wrap a string around the tip of your finger and it starts to go numb because you're cutting off the circulation and my eyes will prickle, just a tiny bit. Nothing obvious. But it will happen.

Catching Up (Briefly)

Had a third interview at the library. It went very well. It was approximately 30 minutes long. I shelved some books, corrected some spelling, and changed the paper orientation in Excel. For reals. I won't hear anything for at least another two weeks while they hire someone for a technical position that is actually open. But I feel really good about this. (Famous last words.)

We finally got rid of our piano. I don't think I've talked about this much, or ever, but I used to have a piano. Big, space-taking-up thing, upright, and out of tune. Desperately out of tune. My dad got me one when I was about 17 for my birthday, it was free-ish. It was also in worse shape than the one I just got rid of. And we traded it in somehow for the current one. Then I moved out and it came with me and I was playing for awhile but then I wasn't, and then it had been months since I had played it (then years), and I kept moving it around the apartment trying to find out of the way places for it, until it basically became and enormous shelf that could, if you really wanted it to, play music. So we sold to a friend of ours for 5 bucks, he loaded up in his truck one night, and now my living room looks massive. And I miss it. (Of course.)

I think there's moisture under our carpets. It feels almost tacky when I walk in my barefeet. If I kneel down my knees don't get wet but the carpet feels like they should. I know I need to call our landlord about it but I keep forgetting to clean the candle wax off the one wall from that time the candle melted while I was actually home and in the same room as it and still managed to completely miss it. I don't need him finding things to give me shit about while he tries not to take care of the black mold in the basement and moisture in my floors. (I hate this place. So damn bad.)

Our next big trip is traveling Route 66. Since part of the original route no longer exists we're going to take another one as close as possible. We'll follow through the original states on the way to Los Angeles and then on the way back we'll take the route Google Maps recommends because it'll take us through Colorado, Utah, and Iowa, and we want to hit as many states as we can. We'll take off like a week and a half, maybe two, so we can have time in each state and get pretty pictures and stuff. If you drive straight through it takes about a day and half and you go through 8 states so that seems like a decent amount of time to still be able to see things. Some states, like Kansas, you're barely there so those will be the ones where we grab a shot glass from a gas station. I'm so excited about it. I really want to go in time to coincide with the Albuquerque Hot Air Balloon Festival, cause I've heard it's really beautiful and the pictures are always so cool, but that's in early October so we aren't sure on that one yet. It would mean leaving here just as it's getting chilly, which isn't a big deal cause we'd get out to L.A. and it wouldn't totally kill us, but it would also mean coming back just as it's getting chilly. (We don't really like the cold.)

That's basically it. I don't do much.

And I Would Say Yes

On this day twenty-seven years ago, at approximately 4:20 in the morning, a ten pound baby boy with a head roughly the size of a bowling ball was born. He would have skin so pale that one of his first sunburns was so bad he would actually blister and be miserable for the rest of his summer break.

He would have subtle grey eyes that sometimes appeared blue and a large nose that suited his face so well it would take a moment for observers to realize the true size of it. Along his arms, up his shoulders, and across his back would be scores of freckles.

His hair would start out a dark orange-red, and as he got older the orange would turn even darker, like leaves in autumn, so that the color was brown-red. But his beard would be orange. Very, orange. With blonde around the corners of his mouth. The hair on his arms would be blonde, and his eyelashes would appear short, although they were long, because the very tips were a coppery color that showed up beautifully in sunlight.

He would be tall, very tall. Well over six foot, and with shoulders like doorways. He would be lean, but it would be just barely evident that of all the meals one could eat, dessert would be the one he favored most. He would grow into his enormous head and he would wear glasses. The combination of his obvious strength combined with his poor eyesight would have a disarming effect on those he met, while at the same one could find themselves intimidated.

He would be handsome, in the way that people could be handsome yet not immediately take your breath away. One would think, 'not bad', and move on. That person would be a fool. They would never get to know him then, they would never talk to him and learn his sense of humor (dry, sarcastic, very very funny), how he sees the world (it's stupid but it's beautiful too), his opinions on canceled sci-fi shows (what happened to Firefly is a travesty), or anything about him that's interesting (which would be everything).

They would never see his smile that completely transforms his face, that turns him from simply handsome to someone you can't take your eyes off of. The way his eyes crinkle when he laughs, the sound of his laugh. They would never hear the low rumble of his voice when he speaks, or the slightly higher pitch he unconsciously adopts when he's really excited about something. They would never hear the way he says 'I love you', even when he doesn't speak the words.

On this day twenty-seven years ago, at approximately 4:20 in the morning, a ten pound baby boy with a head roughly the size of a bowling ball was born. Twenty-three years, three months, and x number of days later he would be sitting in a classroom at a table one row in front of a young blonde girl who chose that day not to wash her hair before class. The students would introduce themselves at the front of the class and say a few things about themselves and afterward during a break, he would turn around in his seat and say to her seven words that would change her life forever:

"Do you have a brother named Scott?"

Friday Morning 8:24-10:20am, Re-Cap

I had an interview at the library Friday, and I swear to god, I have no idea how it went. Here's what happened:

I know in advance that there will be a small group of us all involved in a 'joint interview.' So I'm prepared for a few other people. There are at least ten. At least. I am the youngest. And I don't mean by a 4 or 5 years, I mean I'm the youngest applicant by a minimum of 10 years. So naturally my entire game is thrown off. I don't know what I was expecting but I sincerely did not expect that.

I also know in advance there will be a series of clerical tests, after all I'm applying for a desk clerk position at a library. I understand there are some things that are difficult to phrase on a resume, e.g. I can answer 20 mathematical questions ranging from addition and subtraction to multiplication and division in under 7 minutes with approximately a 90% success rate. So I'm ready for the testing. There are four tests involved.

Typing test: type as much of this page (which consists of 4 paragraphs, indentations, quotation marks, and one underlined word) as can you 5 minutes. If you finish the page, begin writing again until time has run out. You take the test twice and they take your best score. Pretty simple stuff. We're given a minute or two to practice. Half way through my practice run, the woman on my right leans over and earnestly says, "You're making me nervous! You're typing so fast!"

I actually apologized to her.

So we start the test. I'm just trucking along feeling pretty good about things, and why shouldn't I? I only need to be able to type 30wpm, and they're giving me 4 paragraphs and 5 minutes. I've got this under control. Then I stumble on the underlined word. And I completely blank on keyboard commands. So I skip the underlining part and from there it gets worse, but in really simple, irritating ways. I don't even finish the page. When the time is up, I've just tabbed in to begin the last paragraph, which is one goddamn sentence. So I'm pissed that I couldn't finish the damn thing. Then we're asked to "send the print job". We're in Microsoft Word, a program I used to use all the friggin' time. I glance up to my tool bar. There's no File tab. I glance around for a printer icon. There's nothing there. I sit quietly and begin freaking the fuck out internally.

How is this going to look if I have to ask the librarian for help in printing the typing test I haven't even managed to complete that I'm taking so that I can apply for a position in the library, possibly working with her?

It's going to make me look like a goddamn fool, that's how it's going to look.

I use OpenOffice. I have no need for Microsoft Office, or any updated versions of it. Not when I'm just writing at home on my own laptop. But in the library, I do. And apparently a few changes were made when they moved on up. For example, the 2007 edition does still have a print option. And if you've used it you know where it is. I sat very still for a moment in time that seemed to stretch on forever, hoping like hell the librarian wouldn't come over and ask how I was doing. Then finally, salvation. The woman to my left clicked on an icon in the upper left corner, and a menu dropped down. I followed suit on my own computer. And lo! there was the Print option.

Bless that random applicant. Bless her tiny haven't-taken-a-typing-test-since-'78 heart.

Then we were asked to delete everything and start again.

Afterwards  we went back to the room we started in, with tables strewn about like a classroom, and we were given the math tests. I hate math. I hate math so much I want to punch it right in it't stupid math face. But math doesn't have a face, so I have to be satisfied with the knowledge that I'm awesome at it, but only if I want to be. And I never want to be. I was under the impression, thanks largely (read entirely) in part the library website, that I was allowed to use a calculator. She hands the tests out, and nobody is taking out a calculator. I want to ask if I can, but then I remember how much younger than everyone I am and suddenly feel incredibly insecure and shy. I stay quiet. We start the test and I literally find myself tapping my pencil on the table as I count off numbers in my head. I'm so messed up and anxious about the entire thing I completely forget that 6+7=13, or that 9x8=72.

Picture, if you will, me sitting at this table by myself, because nobody wanted to sit with me, at the back of the class, hunched over my test, gripping my pencil like I'll die if I let it go, one hand fisted in my hair as I struggle to both count without using my fingers 7 plus 6, and not fog up my glasses because I'm leaning so far over there's barely any room between my face and the table for air.

Then picture that same thing, except me adding 9 eight times, still struggling not to use my fingers, because if you had held a gun to my head I still could not possibly have told you that the total of 9, eight times is seventy-fucking-two.

I got that cold feeling in the pit of my stomach as reality sank in and I accepted that the only thing that could possibly save me was just not answering the question. Not answering seemed safer somehow than answering wrong. So I said fuck it, and skipped it.

The two other tests were first alphabetizing and then determining whether three sets of number were all the same, all different, or if only two of them were similar, and if so, which two. The last one I nailed. I'm sure of it. The alphabetizing I felt great about, until I got home and I was telling Jeremy about it and I suddenly thought: fuck, did I misunderstand the directions?

I have no idea how I scored on any of the tests. Not one.

There was no actual interview. There has not been an actual interview. When I first applied, it was via emailing my resume to the human resource assistant, who sent me a few questions in reply. I sent her back my answers, and they called to ask if I wanted to come in for an interview. I don't know if this interview will ever actually take place. Apparently, it's a really long hiring process. If they're interested, based off of my emailed responses and my test scores, then they'll ask me to sit down with human resources. If they're still interested I'll be asked to come back to sit down with someone else in the library. And then, if they're still keen, after all that, I'll be asked to come in for a trial work day.

And even then, that doesn't guarantee employment. They require a 4-5 year job commitment from all applicants. Which I said, sure no problem, to. Stupid answer, because they aren't even hiring right now. I knew that to begin with but I agreed to come in and test because they hire 3-4 clerks a year and they say some people are talking about retiring. Jesus this whole thing sounds ridiculous now that I see it written out:

I applied for a position that isn't open yet, but may be open in the near future, they think.

I'm applying for a rumor, basically.

This is my life.

World Book Night (Feed Your Head)

(The book pictured, The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald, is not one of the books to be given away. This year. Just FYI.)
Today is World Book Night. People sign up to be book givers (before February, I missed the cutoff date but fear not I'm doing it next year and you should too.) and then get 20 books to give out to the masses (of 20... obviously) to encourage literacy among adults.
The books are meant for people who aren't avid readers.
One of my new life goals is to be one of the authors whose book is being giving away.
There's no charge to the givers, no charge to the receivers, and no royalties to the authors.
Just people sharing the gift of literature. And it makes me stupid-happy.
Plus, when I interview at the library in May, having this knowledge and being a giver next year, is going to make me look awesome. In your face other applicants! This one's mine!

Connecting With Others and How To Stop It

Spent a good deal of the afternoon talking with my brother and his wife, via texts, about job opportunities and moving and stuff and I was all excited about the future and then I talk to Jeremy about it, he who has previously also shown interest in moving and more opportunities, and he basically shot it down entirely.

Awesome. Stuck here forever.

Completely unrelated is this brief list I came up with: Things People Should Stop Doing

Yelling when you're on the phone in public. If you're that sure that the person on the other end can't hear you, just hang up or go outside. You make me hate you.

Ignoring your crying child in public. If you don't do something about it, I effing will, and you and your child will both be scarred for the rest of your unnatural lives. Seriously. Shut that kid up. You're embarrassing yourself and your entire genealogy.

Making brief, but obvious, eye contact when in the restroom. Look, I get it. We're both women, we're both in the restroom at the same time. Maybe I'm just leaving a stall and you're going in one, maybe it's reversed. Maybe we're both going to the sink at the same time. That does not mean we are now, nor have ever been, in a secret society of special people who are in the same room at the same time. That would be a totally pointless secret society. What would their purpose even be? Just to meet, accidentally/on purpose, in rooms? Any room too, or specific room? Does the room determine how long you maintain eye contact, or if you share a glimpse of a smile in passing? Shit, maybe there should be a society. Ladies, let's discuss in the restroom. But only briefly.

People walking their dog, nodding and saying hey to other people walking their dog. Or people walking and saying hey to other people walking. People on foot, at any time, passing another person on foot, and saying hey because of any similarity whatsoever. When I'm driving somewhere, I don't nod what's up to another driver next to me at the red light just because we're both driving. If I'm checking out at the grocery store and I notice the guy behind me putting a can of green beans on the conveyor, exactly like the one the cashier just rang up for you guys!, I don't even make eye contact. You know why? Because that does not make us friends! In any damn way. Stop trying to connect yourself with others in completely asinine ways, entire human race!