right back at’cha

So I work at a non-profit.  Well, 5 non-profits, really.  Lately I’ve been in charge of opening the returned direct mail, which is fun because I get to watch the money come in.  But every time I open an envelope with our letter smattered in, “NO WAY!” or “TAKE ME OFF YOUR LIST” or “THIS IS A HORRIBLE IDEA” I take it a little personally.  Alright, a lot personally.  I shouldn’t, but I do.

Talking across the room/country

An interesting new communication dynamic has developed at the office.  In the past few days Brian and I exchanged screen names, which means that I’m now connected via AIM during the work day, which means that instead of having to shout the 30 feet he can now IM me.

This has also connected me with Josh, who works for us in another state.  He and Brian are are always talking to each other over the phone and chat.  And now I’m in on it.

We were dealing with a problem today that I had been doing the research on.  Josh was filling out the paperwork.  Brian was also putting in his two cents.  At one point I was on the phone trying to “say yes if this is correct” my way to solving the issue.  Brian was on the phone with Josh.  I was IMing Josh giving him updates on the situation as well as listening to Brian, who is in my plain-sight, ask Josh about the updates I was getting.  I would then respond with my own voice (!) to answer Brian’s questions that he was asking Josh about the situation.

Whew.

In the end I wanted to give everyone high-fives for their efforts.  Josh’s would have looked like this: *high five.*

where I’ve been/not been

It isn’t that I don’t have things to write about.  It is more like I’ve been writing them in my head and then when I have a moment to actually write none of it comes out.  This is coupled with the fact that I’ve been quite busy lately, which seems strange because school JUST started and I haven’t had homework for the last few weeks.  And, as of Tuesday, made the decision to cut back from 3 to 2 classes, making it official that I’m a part-time student.

This decision comes after last semester’s constant feeling of being stretched too thin and floating through classes without getting much more out of them than what was brought to class discussions.  Realizing that paying for classes and not actually doing much with them is stupid, on top of the fact that the cooler KJ has really inspired me to publish and/or present at conferences and/or create podcasts and/or blog about being a librarian, I decided to take a deep breath and stay on for an added semester with the wiggle-room to actually read the assigned articles and perhaps even write one of my own.  Or, *gasp* read something of my choosing.

Right now I’m finishing up a John Bingham book about running.  He gets me, you know?  We run much the same.  Slow but steady finishes the race.   I’m also half-way through a Tolkein, though I suspect it to take me a bit longer now that I’ve started the semester.

Lastly, outside of traveling to Pennsylvania twice over break, I’ve been working like crazy downtown and loving it more than ever.  I’ve been getting a lot more responsibility and it adds pressure, but I also feel like I’m really helping the office function.  I pretty much open all the mail now–a job that sounds silly, but this means that I also process everything that goes with it too.  And I love it.

Half-marathon training starts on Saturday.  I hope you’re ready to run.  I even bought the tights.

He’s got great manners and stops talking at your request

A few weeks ago at the office my boss and I were going over a mailer he was about to send out–making corrections, discussing grammar, and making sure it was 100% professional.

“I know this is super nit-picky,” I said, “but Internet should have a capital ‘I,’ because it is a proper noun.  It describes a specific place.”

“Really?”  He replied.

“Yeah.  I am certain on this because it just so happened to be the topic of the grammar podcast I listened to this morning.”

Note to self: do not admit to listening to grammar podcasts.  I’m still living it down.

 Grammar Girl was just finishing up her segment yesterday when she gave a shout-out to Mr. Manners.  A had a fleeting moment of glee.  A manners podcast?  Right-on!  Now, I’m no Emily Post or anything (and as the maid-of-honor to Stephanie’s upcoming wedding she can certainly attest to this) but I am all about etiquette.  I think somewhere it falls in line with that whole Catholic/drum corps/gets excited about APA style books/wants to be a nun/librarian-in-training thing.  I like knowing that there is a proper way of doing things and as much as I don’t like being told what to do, I sure do like knowing that someone else has things in control. 

Mr. Manners and I–we’re going to be good friends. 

Another encounter.

The boys from the office were on their way out for lunch.  They were conversing and laughing as they walked down the hall.  Being that we were walking toward each other I smiled and said, “have a good lunch!”  Only one of them looked and me and half-heartedly smiled.  The other darted for the stairway.

Soiled.

Alright, my turn.

I woke up this morning with an outfit preplanned for the day. This allowed me to sleep in a bit more. Nice.

While I lay in bed I realized that I have a dinner tonight with potential future employers. I’d been planning all weekend to wear a suit today. I processed the outfit I’d picked out last night….I didn’t have a blazer that would go with the skirt. Plus, the shoes. The red shoes + black tights + pencil skirt were NOT going to cut it. Regroup.

Brown suit. Check. Clean shirt. (well, clean except that I wore it yesterday…) Check. It was then I realized that all the other essential pieces–tights, undershirt–were in the laundry. I started frantically pulling things out. Brown to go with the suit…would they notice that I used this as an undershirt to jog in? Pew! Yes! Where are those darn tights? After an explosion of laundry and a few solid sniff tests I found the pieces that would work. I put it all together and was out the door on time (so to speak). And for the most part I believe it looks okay. It wasn’t until I go to work that I noticed last week’s soup on the underside of my sleeve. Soiled!

I’m just hoping no one notices.

“Hi, you might remember me as the well-dressed stinky girl. Hows about a job?”

surPRISE!

I’m in the office and the guy that owns the building and the other company in here is across from my desk. His office is about 8 times the size of my cubical and although he always says good-morning to me, he usually is too busy for anything much more.

Earlier in the day I could hear him telling his wife to bring the kids in and “tell them I’ve got a special surprise.” His assistant and I perked up. A surprise?!

A few minutes ago the kids arrived and the usually quiet office has become a flutter of activity. He is trying to talk them into getting their nice clothes on–which is seemingly a challenge.

I don’t know what the surprise is, and it certainly doesn’t effect me, but I am admittedly giddy.

Francais? Anyone? Anyone?

I just finished a “webinar” (an online + phone seminar) on a product my organization is looking into.  The presenter, who sounded remarkably like the moviephone guy, posted his name on the last slide.   I wrote it down.  And then looked at it again.

Painchaud.

You might not have giggled a bit, but I did.  And then I got hungry.

“My fellow nerds and I will retire to the nerdery with our calculators.”

The office I work in has three different organizations/businesses functioning completely separate of each other within it.  Yet, we share the same space.  The same copier, the same walk ways, the same lunch room.

One of the businesses has something to do with computer programming.  As such, the scale is tipped in favor of the male gender.  As I walk to the break room (which I do quite often) they sit, slouched in their chairs, eyes glued to the screen.  There is usually an open bag of chips accompanied by a soda can to the left of the monitor.

I work really hard to keep my head up when I walk and say hello to those I make eye contact with.  Yet, these men always divert their eyes.  I assume my feminine nature must make them all kinds of nervous.  Which, in turn, makes me nervous.  Have I done something wrong?  Is there a reason you cannot return my hello? Isn’t the office supposed to be a somewhat social place?

I know they can talk.  I hear them.  Especially on days like today, when their boss’s office remains vacant.  Once, I even made a joke as I passed by a few of them–at which they laughed–but it obviously didn’t break the ice.

Not that I want anything more than a hello.  I mean, we don’t even have to be friends.  But their social awkwardness makes me increasingly awkward.

knot good

My back is killing me.  I’ve been too stubborn to ask anyone for a massage–something I’ve desperately needed for weeks.  It’s my own fault.   Sitting up straight at my new job combined with running has left me in knots.  And now that I’m ready to ask for help, the reality of living alone has set in.  When I leave the office no one will be at home to care for me–even if I were to ask for it.

Sandy, I miss you.  Come live with me.