Panda jerk!

Yep, it's 4pm on Memorial Day Friday and no chance in hell of me getting out of here any time soon. I weep. Deep inside. I also itch. In my scalp, mostly.

Today we had a massive jam in our printer. Oddly, more than forty people rely on this one fucking printer. Although I'm quite skilled in most things of this ilk: paper jams, toner lackings, etc . .this one was a doozy. A co-worker called it in and the guy who fixes these things came by my desk as I was eating a toasted everything with cream cheese and tomato.

"Uh, excuse me?"

I turn around, most of my face covered in cream cheese.

"Yes?"

"I'm so sorry to interrupt . .the printer?" the man had a look of horror on his face, as though he had walked in on me taking a dump.

"Jammed! In back!" I say, mouth full.

"I am so sorry. So sorry to interrupt."

Jesus Christ.

Why can't you be proud of me? As my peer? And as my gentleman lover?

Happy to report that I nailed the interview, friends. I interviewed with a woman who would be my peer and was pretty much making sure I'd fit in with "the girls" aka the other admin assts who support the partners and principals. If Nic and Mena Suvari had a lovechild, she would look exactly like Dawn but have more of Nic's personality. We hit it off right nice. I have no further info yet.

Have you heard about all this "pre-pregnant" whatnot? I'm just wondering when men will also have to be considered pre-pregnant. Perhaps men should be asked to stop smoking, having unsafe sex and curb their weight? I don't know. Just a thought.

In other news, I've taken to staring daggers at people on cell phones indoors. In less you're in a loud bar, there is no reason to be on a cell indoors because inevitably someone on a cell phone is not talking at a normal conversational level. They're yelling. There I was, in Ruthy's Bakery in Chelsea Market, about to order my mayo-free tuna with swiss on an untoasted everything when Suzy Tightass Perky Tits is yapping away and then getting pissed when they fuck up their order. She yells at them while still talking to her friend. It's like: "Hey idiot? Perhaps if you got off your phone and treated the people PREPARING THE FOOD YOU'RE GOING TO EAT with a little decency, they'd get your FUCKING order right. Right now they're thinking you're a dumb bimbo lacking common sense and multiple brain cells who, in short, is a completely spoiled brat."

When did using your cell while shopping, while ordering food, while waiting in line, while sitting in a dentist's office,while on a crowded bus, while on an elevator, BECOME SOCIALLY ACCEPTABLE? I'm going to start saying something. I like staring though. People become really uncomfortable when you stare at them. When they stare back or say something, I'm going to say:

"I'm sorry, it's just your voice is so pleasant (not nasal at all!) and your conversation so FASCINATING (not utterly mundane and unnecessary and not consisting of "i'm on the ele- i'm on the- i'm on the ele -can you hear me? i said i'm -") that I simply must ask you to please, continue talking on your cell phone for my enjoyment. Really, for everyone's, you brilliant, beautiful person who is not a complete and utterly rude asshole."

Fucking tools.

Some chicken, maybe some sex.

Did you know? It's anchorman one-liner titles this week! Huzzah!

Am eating a bagel with cream cheese. I know. Empty calories, excess carbs. But when a girl has her monthly friend descend upon her, aptly coined Captain Bloodsnatch, one cannot argue.

2nd interview for potential job tomorrow morning. Must do nails and straighten hair this evening. I find kempt hair looks more professional. Whether or not this helps my odds is unknown, as my one recent interviewer's feedback was that I was "too professional," whatever the fuck that is. I keep planning my going-away words to my current co-workers. "I'm almost 30 and I make $(insert my incredibly low salary) . . did you honestly think I could stay here, you idiots? And rather than the traditional overpriced pizza lunch we do for every lucky fuck that gets out of here, I want sushi party platters. It's the same price, honky."

Sixty percent of the time, it works every time.

Not as gassy as yesterday, I'm happy to report. Now it's just your general bloating of the female variety. Not so fun but utterly predictable. One of these days I'll have the body I dream of. Wonder if I have to go off the meds to lose weight. Hhhm. Insanity . . or thinness . . . it's a tough call. Regardless, I don't like this portliness.

Work hasn't been quite as hellish thus far this week and I'm due to have a 2nd interview at some admin job thurs or friday which will pay me significantly more money, if they offer it to me. And by significant . .I mean more than 10k. Twould be glorious. And the work can't be any worse than what I'm doing now. I will have to dress better but I can walk to work. If I get hired. If. If. If.

Three hours and fifteen minutes until I can get out of here today. There's work to be done but so much of it depends on someone else doing the next step before I can put something to bed. And some people I work with are, quite frankly, lazy. I support more than seven people and you are your own entity and yet you can't send a fucking email to your boss? what the hell?

Haven't talked to my dad in a while. Perhaps I'll call him after work before having a drink. yes, that sounds like a good idea.

Milk was a bad choice.

There was a "culinary festival" (aka street fair) essentially outside of my apartment on saturday and sunday. Yesterday morning I guzzled homemade lemonade and a strawberry banana crepe and have been in gaseous hell for a good 24 hours now.

To answer Johnny's question, I've been battling a wicked cold-like thing for two weeks now. Think I've finally licked it. Kicked it? You know what I mean. I had to go home early from work two days last week. And Johnny, we must discuss a key trade off, no? And yes, another writer's mtg.

Discovered I have to be in a bathing suit on Sunday. My sister is buying me a spray tan but between the dimpled thighs and gaseously bulging abdomen . . . I don't know how much the spray tan will help. I don't even know if I fit into last year's bathing suit, quite frankly. Will drink nothing but water and tea for the rest of the week. Eating . .well, I'll switch to an all-salad diet this evening. For lunch, I must look to the other half of last night's burrito.

Michael Stipe is gracious.

Met him on the street last night. He looks like hell but he's quite nice.

I just ate overpriced jumbalayla. It was delicious. Am counting the hours until I meet with a dude to talk about my play. Most of the annoying people in my office are currently out of the office, which brings me much joy.

I am tired of being overworked, supremely underpaid and unrecognized.

7 Grain bread is somewhat tasty but it's really dense. And thick.

Gabe, you're bringing some of your ire back into your blog, which is nice to see. But it sounds like you're writing to a specific audience, which makes me sad. You really don't have to prove anything to anyone. If you want to be successful, go do it. And do it for yourself. Not because you owe someone something. And in the mean time, maybe keep the self-deprecating, rage-filled persona around as a persona if nothing else . . . I miss him.

Katie Holmes sucks, in case you didn't know

Shan and I saw "Thank you for smoking." It was, in a word, awesome. Katie Holmes, however: riDICulously miscast. She was described as smokin' hot with AMAZING tits. And as we all know, Katie Holmes attractiveness (which has gone to shit in light of recent events, quite frankly) lies in her cute girl-next-door qualities and she has no tits to speak of (although, I imagine they're quite full in preparation to nurse the spawn of Satan). Her acting was terrible but one does feel an obscene amount of joy when . . well, I won't ruin it for those of you who must see it.

In other news, I've decided my TV watching must revolve solely around the Law and Order franchise (not including the god-awful Conviction) and Meg Ryan marathons on TBS and, it should go without saying, daily Seinfeld screenings at 6:30, 7:30 and 11pm. I don't have much cable, as you may know. Oh, and I do enjoy some GDL on Food Network as well.

But I've decided our government is part of a vast conspiracy that includes pre-packaged teen tartlets and their eventual demise: Hilary Duff, Britney etc and the creation of those pre-packaged teen tartlets (American Idol) and other reality tv programs: Unanimous . .dear god.
Reality TV is just that: the reality to which our government hopes we will subscribe. And it completely pays for itself with product placement, which in turn makes American citizens fatter while the shows in question make us dumber. It's quite brilliant, actually, in a supremely fucked up sort of way. Anything fat and dumb won't attack you. Even a brilliant wild animal, when adequately fed, won't feast on a human .. .but make that animal obese (and thus immobile), stupid, and incapable of proper decision making beyond a mass vote in a faux reality via text message .. . well . .

And then there are the wedge issues that our government presents as a flavor of the month, be it gay marriage, or as the case of this month, illegal immigrants. Sure, while we continue kill off our troops in Iraq, let's send the National Guard to the Mexican border! Makes unbelievably perfect sense to me. Forget that labor by illegal immigrants provides a huge part of our nation's economic success or that, perhaps, just maybe, we should be focusing on the war in Iraq instead . .or, if we want to shift focus to homeland issues, why not look at the soaring numbers of teenage pregnancies and children born outside of the realms of a committed, loving relationship? (note, i didn't say marriage.) which perpetuate a vicious cycle of crime, lack of education and in turn, more welfare mothers. But instead, Bush, let's focus on the Mexicans! of course!

Fucking A.

My guilty pleasure

Okay, so I admit it, I watch "American Idol" when I'm folding my laundry and sometimes I listen to it while I'm in the bathroom doing my makeup before going out. I admit it.

That being said, there is an uncanny similarity between the relationship of Randy Jackson/Paula Abdul and my friends John and Nicole. Much like John and Nicole, Randy and Paula give similar advice/criticism but one of the them's a bit tougher. Paula is gentle with her criticism and waits for Randy to speak, then cushions the blow. Randy will give it to you straight: tell you that you had pitch problems and that it wasn't your best performance or the best song you could have picked but will still give you props. Randy will call you dog but Paula will call you by name. And Simon's just an ass. Any theories there are welcome.

All that being said, I think Nicole is Randy and John is Paula. But Nicole has fantastic hair, much like Paula. And neither Nic nor John have that glassy-eyed look to them or talk without moving their mouths, like Paula.

i hate my job.

i mean, i truly hate it. hate.hate. hate. hate. hate.
people are dumb. dumb. dumb. dumb.

My life. My card.

We just did this at work.

My name is kdub.
childhood ambition Olympic long-distance runner
fondest memory running my first marathon
soundtrack "short skirt/long jacket" by Cake
retreat my home computer and a cup of coffee
wildest dream actress on a good sitcom
proudest moment last night of my one-woman show
biggest challenge slowing down
alarm clock usually unnecessary
perfect day starts with a good screw
first job involved buying daily scotch for alcoholic publisher
indulgence hair products
last purchase peeled Italian tomatoes
favorite movie Shawshank Redemption
inspiration my sister
my life is a mystery, even to me
my cards are all chopped up.

Of all the people I've slept with to run for office . . .

Sander Hicks?

But it's true, thanks to a heads up from Gabe and Hackett, Sander is a) WAY less hot than he was when we dated, b) a PRACTICING Catholic, c) married, d) has a SON and e) is running for SENATE.

And it looks like his wife might actually be around his age, which is also shocking. As he was digging chicks at least seven years younger back in the day.

I will hand this to the guy: he can clearly re-create himself. Not unlike Madonna, quite frankly.

Does that mean Fat Daly will stop being an untalented fat fuck in the near future? Quick, someone check out his myspace page: myspace/ottersrule. Let me know. Thanks to the new internet policy in my ofifce, I can't access myspace.

This is all way too weird . . .

Brie and tomato

I dare say, the sandwich I just ate, although decidedly unhealthy, was quite delicious; however, as I am about to get an incredibly bad cold any day now, 'twas not the best choice. But it was free and in the kitchen. And did I mention it was brie and tomato? Two of my most favorite things EVER?

I discovered a lovely art supply store on w. 23rd, called Ultrecht, I think. I have buckets, well boxes, of pictures I've longed to frame (some are ones from you, TG) and now I shall.

The job search has taken an interesting turn. Yesterday I was inflexible and too professional. Today, feedback from another company was "they loved you! want you for a 2nd interview next week when the boss is back from honeymoon!" And this one is three blocks (avenues, admittedly) from my apartment. That would be beyond delicious.

I recently re-discovered a mystery man that I supposedly spent a lot of time with at a work party a few weeks ago. I had no idea what my co-workers were talking about until I ran into him in the hall and gave him an embarrassed "good morning." He looks like Fat Daly and Sander Hicks had a lovechild. 5'8, near bald, Buddy-Holly esque glasses, slightly dark skinned. But I say mix a Fat Daly with anything and you're gonna get a big chunk of ugly. Well done, Kath. You should be very proud of yourself. Sigh.

Today's blog brought to you by

Vagisil Cream and Vagisil Medicated Wipes.

I had to direct voiceover talent today to read such things. Wipes is funny. But whose grand idea was it to include "vag" in vag-related items? I think snatch cream is much better. Or snatch ointment. Medicated Snatch Wipes. See? Much better. Or you could just call them Swipes! ''
I'm coming down with a cold and in general, feel like ass.

I'm far too busy at work to do anything remotely creative and a recent job interview earned me the following feedback from my headhunter:

Good morning. As for Mxxxxxxx, they really liked you, but they felt that perhaps you were a bit too professional and inflexible. I think so often employers are looking for someone who is extremely competent, but also comes across as as a little warm and fuzzy. Having met you, I know that you have a real warmth to you, so I think you should just feel free to let that side of you show a bit more in interviews. There's no question that you are incredibly bright and could handle anything thrown at you, so I don't think you have to worry about that coming across. I know this may seem like strange feedback, but I think these types of interviews are so much like the acting world. They need to know that you have the skills and that you're going to be fun to work with. I think you're terrific, so please know that I tell you this only because I want to be honest with you and help you land the job you're looking for. Hopefully, this info will just help you find the right balance in an interview.

Too professional? They told me my potential boss was a yeller and I'm too professional? What the hell does that even mean? Another potential employer said I was too sophisticated. What the hell?

spring time smelly

Yes indeedy. How does one dress when it's 48 degrees when one leaves the apt and when it's 67 degrees by noon? Dear god.

I need to make an addendum (amendment?) to the comment about Fat Daly and Gabe's asshole. It was declared that Fat Daly is what you would get if you turned Gabe's asshole inside out. So, rather than the fresh-faced, usually good-smelling Gabe . .. well, you can imagine. Although, to be fair, I haven't smelled him in a while. But I have a feeling he doesn't smell like an asshole. Gabe?

So I'm giving the apartment search a breather. For now. The kicker is that when my dad kicks it, I get first right of refusal or whatever as well as the chunk of change I'll need to buy it. (God willing, I should be out of debt before he dies). Meaning his investment will become my investment, which is a very nice investment indeed. But all of that is . . well, reading tealeaves, as Ron would put it. He could write me out of the will tomorrow. Maybe he already has. I fully expect Mr. Brown to get everything: both New York apartments, any chicks my dad has, cash and prizes totalling who knows how much.

I'm drinking a Coke. Not a Diet. It tastes like sugarcoated asswater. But I needed something to wash down last night's exceptional leftovers. Salmon and mixed vegetables. Outstanding.

I'm swamped at work. Absolutely swamped. Swamped is good. At least the day goes by quite quickly.