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InstantPudding
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Name: Sobrina
Country: United States
State: California
Gender: Female
Interests: Libraries, aquariums, reading, writing, strolls
Occupation: Market Researcher
Industry: all sorts
Message: message me
Member Since:
1/4/2004
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| On the 5th floor we come in and turn on our computers and sift through emails that came in late at night or early that morning. Some of us go to the kitchen to put away our frozen lunches that will be devoured in 2.57 minutes at 11:35 because the urge to eat is too strong to wait till 12. Others of us will be impressed that the new coffee service on this floor means we get real half in half in pint size cartons instead of the white powder made of hydrogenated oils and solids and cow hooves, our former dairy-free coffee creamer. We will talk about how the water from the water cooler looks like our old water cooler, but dispenses cool water that tastes like soap residue and tell each other to tell everyone else if they are to die that the probable reason is because of the soap-y water. We notice that even though there is the demolishing of buildings and jackhamers to concrete outside our windows, that to be in an office with any such conduit to the outside world is glorious, adds to the quality of our lives by over ten fold, and we re-think, even if just for a second, the reasons why we are giving notice and leaving such hearty and wholesome new coffee creameries and corner window offices. Then someone will ask someone else why these numbers don't match, and we will be reminded of the brain-numbingness of it all, and then we will remember. | | |
| So I am waiting (this seems to be the story of my life recently) for another interview. Via the phone! Normally I would absolutely hate phone interviews, but this morning I am actually feeling rather calm and can't see my heart beating through my chest. I think maybe why I'm not so nervous is because I'm sitting in my room versus sitting in some office on the same floor my office is on, worrying with every passing second and every witty, clever comment I try to squeeze into the conversation, that my boss will come barreling through the door, with fingers pointed "Gotcha!!!" Or... after leaving the office, with a smug smile on my face, she will be standing around the corner ready to knock it right off, "I heard you." Can you imagine? Okay, maybe I do it to myself, but still. It makes me realize I could never be that person you hear about on Dateline specials who lives two complete and separate lives, with two different families and jobs who don't know about each other. Yeah, that could never be me.
I feel like Leo in the Departed. | | |
| This weekend I noticed a yellow post-it with my name on it on the coffee table. I don't normally notice the bits of mail and receipts and things that live on the glass top, but I noticed this because it had my name on it, all big like, right in the middle. Near the top of the posty, was a name and a number for Joey. Joey who??? Do you know this Joey? Am I supossed to know Joey? I don't remember ever meeting a Joey, and even if I did, why would he/she write my name down too on the same paper he/she wrote their name and number to give to me? It is clearly labeled with my name on it, but I have no idea why or who... Should I call? What would I say? Maybe it might go something like this:
Joey: Hello?
Me: Hi, Joey.
Joey: Hey... Who is this?
Me [response option 1]: Oh, haha, funny story, it's Sobrina -- see you wouldn't know that cause you wrote my name down on that paper-- uh-huh, that post-it, yeah, heh, yeah that yellow square one. Yup, yea that's it. Anyway, yeah, so you wrote my name down and then actually, ha, you GAVE me back the paper... so anyway, it's me, and I was just wondering if you wanted to go get some Pinkberry?
or
Me [response option 2]: Who is THIS? Who are YOU?
Joey: I'm Joey.
Me: Uh-huh.
Joey: But you already knew that.
Me: Right.
Joey: ...
Me: So... I like the original flavor best, but I get a sample of the green tea kind from time to time to see if I like it more than from the last time I tried it. What about you? | | |
| Let this be known: I hate Time Warner Cable.
Standing in my undies and brushing my teeth this morning, I decided two things, to walk out and get a hair clip from the bathroom, and for a second had the fleeting thought that my roommate's boyfriend might see me, and also, to try once again and see if my internet was working. Well, he didn't see me (I wonder what that would have been like) and NO, it wasn't working. So here I am at the Rumor Mill, my go-to place for internet usage when Irene is at work and my internet has crapped out. I like the Rumor Mill because of the obvious (the free internet) and also because it's cozy with art-for-sale on the walls and a clean bathroom and multiple outlets to plug your computer into. Along one side is 4 computers and for some reason I always end up sitting near them. And it never fails that I will see someone looking at boobies and things, which is fine, it is totally fine to like looking at boobies and penii and things of that nature, but IN A CAFE?? I could even understand maybe at the publice library, in a remote corner where people go to quietly read and be alone with one's thoughts, maybe even at work with cubicle partitions up, I could understand this. But in a cafe where the computer screens face the whole, entire cafe, for all to see?? Maybe that is part of the thrill?
Once I saw a woman looking at straight up pornographic girl on girl action shots, sipping her coffee carefully and clicking from page to page. Today there is a man, he looks a bit tense though, his shoulders shrugged, feet crossed at the ankles, back hunched slightly, and he is looking at soft-core porn star wanna-be pictures on myspace. He lets the page linger on the womens' faces and then he slowly scrolls down to study their bodies in their g-strings and bras with holes where the nipples should be. I can't help but look at him looking. God, he looks so tense, or maybe he's just really into it... I want to poke the guy next to me on his teeny-tiny 8-year old Vaio so we can giggle together, but I'm not sure he would appreciate it, so I don't. I really have to pee though and there is no one to ask to watch my stuff. I'm sure not going to ask Mr. PornoViewer there. And it's cold. It's making me focus even more on the need to pee. | | |
| I like to pretend like I am good at it, and if not good, then at least I don't like it to show that I am actually not very good with it when people leave. Or when things change. I hate that. People who don't know me very well, but make big assumptions from my hair or the comments I make in passing, like to imagine that I am good at it. This worries me a little bit. Usually when there is one assumption, it spiders out into very many more branches of falsities. I think I have a good grasp now of what the warning signs are. The warning signs consist of things like people wanting to buy me things that cost more than a bag of skittles or a meal at In n Out, or telling me that they can set up some drawers in their room for me to keep clean underwear and socks in before our names have been permanently replaced with "Babe" or "Baby." Or when there is mention of things enduring forever or never waning. Things like that worry me.
Which is why I think I tend to get along best with people I don't initially like. Because that means that for me to like them or for them to like me, there will have to be putting up with things like sloppy eating, runny noses, excessive use of profanity, gimp walks, things like that. And that should be what friendships are made of right? I think so. | | |
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